If You Loved Me

April 1874

Invergarry, Scotland



Bagpipes blared the bold Failte Mhic Alister, Glengarry's March, just as the massive wooden doors of the renovated chapel in the ruined Invergarry Castle opened. Head held high and walking with a slight limp, Charles MacDonell, the eighteenth Chief of Glengarry, entered the room. His weathered face held more than the lines of time; it held the pride and power of his position.

From his place near the altar, Aeneas Alexander "Mac" MacDonell felt bitterness and resentment instead of pride. He'd been raised to respect and obey the clan chieftain without question. But he struggled now to control his anger. He was bound by the invisible bonds of clan loyalty to go against what he believed was right and honorable.

For twenty-five years he'd understood the sacrifices he must make in his life as the first born son to The MacDonell. He had accepted that one day he would become the chieftain. He had accepted having been pledged at birth to marry the first-born daughter of the neighboring Cameron clan once she turned eighteen, still three years away. As he'd matured, he had even managed to make peace with that idea, and had come to feel fondly about Mary Cameron. But he didn't love her and knew that he never would.

He exhaled a deep breath. This was wrong. What he would be forced to do this day would break young Mary Cameron's heart. As far as Mac was concerned, this travesty ended the already precarious relationship he had with his father. Yet he had no choice in this matter. Too many of his clan's fates depended on him honoring his duty this day. One day, though, he would control his decisions and his life.

For now, he was forced to stand here, grinding his teeth harder with each note of the bagpipe's music. Waiting. Fuming.

He watched his father walk down the center aisle, the white fur sporran bouncing against the front of his kilt. When The MacDonell took his place of honor in the row of wooden benches a dozen feet behind Mac, their gazes finally locked. Challenge sparked silently between them. His father was the first to look away. At that moment Mac both loved and hated the man he had long tried to emulate.

Nervous expectancy filled the stone room. Then silence. Everyone waited for his American bride-to-be to appear. Beside him, his younger brother, Gavin, leaned close and whispered frantically, "Ye dinna have to do this, Mac. There has to be another way."

Stiff with determination, Mac looked into Gavin's worried green eyes so like his own. "Aye, I must do this." He heard the barely controlled fury echo in his words and tone, and shot one final look of resentment toward his father.

The sudden whispering of the small gathering of witnesses captured his attention. He followed their craned heads to the back of the chapel. Mesmerized by the sight before him, he stopped breathing for a second. Sunlight poured in the long glass windows and concentrated on the arched doorway. It surrounded and caressed the tiny female dressed in a deeply flounced white satin gown and long blond veil. Then she moved forward—glided really—on her father's arm.

Mac couldn't take his gaze from her. His pulse suddenly raced with anticipation. His palms grew moist. He had never reacted this strongly to a woman, certainly not to dear Mary.

"Saint Ninian, but she's a bonnie lass," Gavin gasped, sounding every bit as entranced as Mac felt.

Aye, she is beautiful. Even more so than the other times he had seen or been near her. Caitlin Curran looked like a glimmering angel. An angel with a face like a China doll he'd once seen. Yet he could see an impish spirit dancing in her golden brown eyes. The eyes of an eighteen-year-old woman. Spirited, innocent and far more of a temptation than she should be for one so young. Dangerous. At least dangerous for him, for what he believed in.

He clenched his hands into tight fists to regain control of the sudden aching need that filled him. His body might desire her, but she was not the woman who belonged in his life.



* * *



Caitlin moved slowly closer to the tall, powerfully-built man with shoulder-length mahogany hair soon to become her husband. From the instant he'd spotted her in the doorway, she had sensed his bitterness. Oh, she had seen a brief flash of male lust. Since her body had matured toward womanhood this last year, she had witnessed such a look on other men's faces many times. That look had typically repulsed her, as well as the way the men had acted so sickeningly complimentary. But with Mac MacDonell's annoyed look of appreciation in his mossy green eyes, she had felt a momentary flutter of pleasure. Then his handsomely carved face tightened and his entire body stiffened. If she'd held even a slight hope that this arranged marriage would one day work out, it vanished with his disapproving glower. Not that she was happy about the situation, either, thank you very much.

She released her father's arm and stepped, chin raised high, beside her solemn bridegroom. She would never let him know that even for an instant she'd experienced her first real stirrings of physical yearning for a man. It was clear he didn't want her. She was determined to feel the same way. And she despised her father and Mac's father even more for making them do this.

Interrupting her thoughts, Mac bent down enough that he could loudly whisper, "'Tis naught right what we do today, lass. Ye know it as well as I do."

Her stomach quivered at the deep, husky Scottish burr. She fought back the urge to rub at the nerves tingling now in her abdomen. "Nevertheless it will happen. Neither of us have a choice in this matter." She met his gaze, not the least bit intimidated by his scowl. Still, she understood his aggravation, his helplessness. They were both being used by their families. "For now, we'll have to make the best of the situation. But one day we will end this difficult situation. I promise you that."

He looked surprised by her statement, and then gave a curt nod. "I'll be holding ye to your word, Lass."

In spite of not being happy with their predicament, she couldn't help being peeved at his quick response. His rejection stung her pride. "Believe me, I want to be married to a future Scottish chieftain as much as you want to be married to—"

"A spoiled American heiress," Mac finished. Although what he'd said was far from a compliment, the hardness in his eyes had softened somewhat.

She bristled anyway. "I may be young, Mac MacDonell the aged," she countered, "but I am not spoiled." Well, maybe she was at times, but her father was quick to rein her in with a firmly applied hand to her bottom when she got too big a head about things.

Her stomach fluttered again as she glanced at Mac's hands. Lord, they were huge! Then she frowned, annoyed that she was even remotely thinking about what those hands would feel like smacking her bottom. "It will never happen," she muttered under her breath.

He blinked. "What did you say?"

Heat crept up her cheeks. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

"You're a sassy one, Lass. No doubt a handful for yer father," he said with disapproval, though amusement flickered in his eyes.

She stood as tall as possible, still being a good foot shorter than Mac. It irritated her that her heart had again skipped a beat at the sound of his deep, warm voice. She chose to focus on disliking what he'd said. "I speak my mind. I tend to be independent. There is nothing wrong with either of those things. I will never be a rug for a man to walk over, a woman to be ignored."

"No, you're hardly a woman that a man could possibly ignore." His eyes darkened for just a second. "But you're a woman to try a man's patience." He held her gaze. "I'm not a man known for his patience when riled."

Caitlin noted the way his hands flexed at his sides, again noticing the size of them. His implication was not something she wanted to think about. Ever. Yet she couldn't resist whispering, "You're a man to try a woman's patience."

Making her suddenly realize that their quick whisperings hadn't been all that quiet, Gavin chuckled.

Mac's expression immediately soured and he glowered at Gavin, who struggled not to chuckle again. She, in turn, struggled not to snap at him for eavesdropping.

Before she could say something that might worsen the situation Mac barked, "Get this over with!" The authority of a future chieftain rang in his order to the minister waiting anxiously a few feet away. As the much older man hurried to open his well-worn Bible, Mac slid a glance at first Caitlin, then over his shoulder to both fathers and her somber-looking brother, Theopolis. A vein pulsed in his neck when he bit out, "Join me in bondage with the lass, so the pact between the families is near completed."

While the minister continued fumbling with the Bible, Mac bent toward Caitlin a final time. "The marriage must be consummated. Understand that now. After tonight, though, it willna happen again."

Must be consummated. The idea of being bedded by such a hardy man would no doubt cause most of her young female friends to succumb to the vapors. She, however, did not find the idea so distasteful. She'd had more than one dream about Mac, and he hadn't been wearing a kilt like he wore now. He hadn't been wearing anything at all. In those dreams, she hadn't been clothed either. Oh, yes, she'd definitely pondered a time or two about what it would be like to have such a powerful man have his way with her. And she with him.

"Did you hear me, Lass?" Mac broke into her wandering thoughts.

He had shattered the last remnants of her foolish dreams and forced her to remember the other words he'd spoken. While he planned to take her as his wife by bedding her this night, he wouldn't have relations with her ever again. Disappointment swamped her. Anger quickly took its place. She gave a brisk nod. "I understand, and I couldn't be in more agreement." Liar, liar. She would accept the decision and live with it, but at least for once in her life she would have known the intimacies between a man and a woman.

"Good," Mac said, turning away from her to focus on the distressed looking minister, who had obviously overheard the conversation and disapproved.

"Yes, good," she said, refusing to let him have the final word. She, too, concentrated on the minister and added her own command, "Please do get on with this farcical ceremony."



* * *



The vows, the lies, had been exchanged. Caitlin stood awkwardly beside Mac, who appeared as uncomfortable with this new situation as she. His lips had barely touched hers when he'd responded to the minister's urging him to kiss his bride. He hadn't wanted to touch her, obviously still didn't. Would he still take her to his bed? Did she really care, especially since he wanted no more than this one night together?

Her father stepped forward with Theopolis at his side. A gleam of satisfaction for having gotten what he wanted sparked his eyes. Yes, he'd gotten the power in Scotland he sought, at the cost of his daughter's hand in marriage. A business deal. She meant no more to him than what she could bring him. Sadness filled her. How could a person mean so little to another? Yet, she meant as little—or less—to the towering Scot who'd inched closer to her as her father approached them. If she didn't have such a strong sense of self, she would feel worthless. For now, only her pride was bruised. Badly bruised.

She swallowed a lump in her throat and raised her chin to meet her father eye-to-eye. He barely looked at her before he gave a quick peck to her cheek. "Congratulations."

Caitlin wanted to ask him for what. Exactly what was he congratulating her for? For vowing to love and obey a man she didn't really know? For giving up her virginity to a man who wanted her body only for one night, in order to make sure the marriage was considered proper? For making it impossible for Caitlin to ever love her father again?

Before she could respond, Thornton moved in front of Mac and shook his hand in acceptance of his new son-in-law. Mac stood rigid, fury clearly so close to the surface that he didn't speak. Unconcerned with Mac's feelings—or hers, Thornton said, "We will be ready to leave for home in the morning. Caitlin must get back to school, you understand."

"Aye. She'll be ready," Mac said, his tone controlled, yet bitter.

There it was: the final details of the pact made between the families. Mac's honor and her virginity sacrificed for one day and one night only. By previous agreement, she was to return home to the States and finish her schooling. Mac would go on with his life almost as if this day had never happened. When she completed her education at the prestigious new young woman's college and turned twenty, Mac could come for her if he truly wanted her for his wife. Which he didn't. They could get a divorce at that time, although her father was opposed to the idea. But until she reached twenty, they were to be legally tied together—for the sake of their respective family's businesses.

Tears burned her eyes. She had never felt so alone, so unwanted. Even though her father had never shown her much warmth she had always considered her part of a family. Now she did not.

Mac's large hand settled at her back and it felt oddly comforting. "We'll be going now. I'm not in the mood for tipping a cup in celebration with the fathers."

Caitlin's heart beat wildly. Heat from his touch, from his nearness made tingling sensations dance through her. She had no desire to celebrate in any manner with the others either. Yet was she ready to follow this virtual stranger to his room? Ready to have him do things to her that she'd barely heard whispers about? She had no doubt that Mac was a man who knew what to do with a woman. She had overheard a couple of the maids gossiping about how their Laird's son was favored amongst the women in the area. Evidently he had one mistress after another. All were pleased with him as a man, again, according to the maids. Quite a number of his mistresses were gravely disappointed that he was getting married, and not to one of them. Yes, he was experienced in the ways of making love to a woman. She would be such a disappointment to him with her complete innocence.

He bent down to speak quietly into her ear. "It willna be so bad, Lass. I willna hurt you, at least no more than necessary."

She blinked up at him. "No more than necessary?" The words had no more than left her mouth when she felt her face heat. She knew what he referred to, but she'd forgotten for a second. She tried to put on a brave face, a strong demeanor. "I'm sure you will be as careful with me as possible."

For the first time since she'd met him, he smiled. Just for a second. It was long enough to send shivers of desire through her. They might only have this one night, and she might be sexually innocent, but she wanted this proud, handsome Scot to turn her from maiden to woman.



* * *



Mac had watched Caitlin climb the stairs before him. She was a tiny lass compared to such a massive man as he. Young, too. While only ten years separated them, when it came to knowing the intimate ways between a man and a woman, he felt that decades separated them. He shouldn't be planning on taking her to his bed, taking her innocence. That rightfully belonged to a man who would truly love her as she deserved. He did not, could not love her. Everything he'd believed in and cherished had changed this day.

Even through the layers of gown she wore, Mac enjoyed the feminine sway of her small hips. He could easily span her waist with his hands. Aye, she was tiny. Well, except for her breasts. She'd been blessed with breasts that drew a man's attention, certainly his. His body hardened just at the thought of covering her bare breasts with his hands, of tasting them with his mouth. When he started envisioning trailing kisses down her slender body toward her womanhood, he groaned, aching.

She hesitated at the top of the stairway and glanced back at him, innocent confusion on her lovely face. "Are you all right?"

Considering that he wanted to jump her right here on the stone stairway and sink deep into her body, no he was not all right. He bordered on the edge of insanity. Somehow he managed to force down his elemental urges and nod. "Stubbed my toe is all. Wasna paying attention to walking, I guess."

She gifted him with a tiny smile, and then turned to continue on to his room. He followed with more eagerness than he had a right to feel. He shouldn't do this. He had to do this.





* * *



Caitlin lie in the middle of Mac's enormous bed, completely naked, the heat of embarrassment over every inch of her exposed body. She'd tried to convince him to just shove her dress up out of the way and do what he needed to do. He had rolled his eyes and insisted she undress. Actually, he had removed her under-waist to bare her breasts, and then he'd removed her drawers. After that he had stood there silently staring at her for several long seconds and she'd seen how his breathing had changed. She had watched his eyes darken, seen the front of his kilt lift up as his body had responded in arousal. That's when she'd shied away and dashed to the bed to fling herself upon it.

She had reacted like a child. Now she felt annoyed by that fact and she fought down the need to yank a quilt over her. Instead she barely breathed and watched Mac prepare to join her in bed. She had no doubt that he knew she was watching him, and that he didn't seem to care. He had already removed the length of plaid attached by a broache to the shoulder of a waist-length jacket, and the jacket itself. He stopped to calmly hold her gaze. Then he undid the ruffled collar of a white shirt and pulled the shirt off over his head.

Oh my heavens!

She sucked in a breath, awed. Once she'd seen Theopolis without his shirt. His pale chest had been thin, bare of any hair. Unimpressive. Mac's chest, well… Quite impressive indeed. He had muscles like those she'd seen on statues in her art books; muscles that she had believed to be only an artist's improvement on reality. Not so. Mac's chest muscles proved that indeed a man could be so endowed. And the sprinkling of dark hair that trailed down his abdomen to somewhere below the waistband of his kilt intrigued her. As did the way the kilt stuck out in one certain place. Her heart raced in anticipation.

He bent over to remove his shoes and knee-high plaid leggings that encased well-toned calves. Muscles bunched and played on his back as well. She felt a foolish desire to touch him. Everywhere. Then he straightened, caught her staring and gave a cocky grin.

"Curious, are ye, Lass?"

"Of course not!" she countered, forcing her gaze away for an instant.

"'Tis a lie that I can see in yer eyes." His hand moved to the sword belt minus sword and it fell to the floor. "I willna tolerate lying, Wife. 'Tis best ye know that now."

Her father had not tolerated it either. A sound session with the strop had only been necessary a time or two for stretching the truth further than allowed. It annoyed her to think about such unpleasantness now and she snapped, "I do not lie, Husband."

His expression appeared doubtful, but he didn't press the subject. Instead he added the belted sporran and the kilt to the pile of clothing at his feet.

Oh my! So they didn't wear anything under a kilt as she'd heard but hadn't believed. Oh my, oh my, oh my! She should be shocked. She should be closing her eyes and turning away as she believed a proper woman would do when seeing a naked man. Apparently she wasn't a "proper" woman after all, because she wasn't about to close her eyes or turn away. Maybe she was a little "shocked," but really it was more like surprised, intrigued. She wanted to touch that part of him thrusting proudly high at attention. Cock, she believed she'd heard it referred to. She'd heard other names as well, but "cock" sounded best to her.

"Are you done admiring him, Lass?" Mac asked, sounding amused.

"Him?" She rather liked the way his cock seemed to grow while she stared at it.

He reached down and closed a hand around the long, thick shaft. "This proud warrior."

She giggled, actually giggled, which made him frown. "In truth, I was merely curious."

He strolled toward the bed, the fully aroused cock holding her attention. Could that possibly fit inside her? She couldn't imagine it doing so. Oh, she was so going to disappoint him!



* * *



His young wife looked nervous, not frightened as Mac had figured she would be, being an innocent. But along with her obvious concern with what was about to happen to her, he noted definite interest. At least in his body. She wanted him, even if she didn't know that she did. Her body was still only in the early stages of womanhood, but he found it more than pleasing. And he'd been pleased that she hadn't broken into hysterical tears when he'd undressed her. His new bride was a brave one with an inner strength that he admired. If circumstances were different… No! He refused to think along those lines. They were what they were. Now he must do what he needed to do.

Mac sat on the edge of the bed expecting her to scurry away. Again, she surprised him. Her golden-brown eyes widened and he could see the rapid pulsing of a vein in her slender neck. She lie stiffly, waiting, her breath coming in quick little breaths. He could smell her sweet woman's scent now. She was aroused; he was painfully drawn to her. Rightness, wrongness…neither mattered at the moment.

He shifted closer and she tensed but didn't move away. He had to touch her, had to feel the softness that he knew he would find. So he reached his calloused hand down to stroke his knuckles down the side of her neck. Soft, so soft. His heart pounded; his body hardened even more. Soon he would need to take her.

She blinked up at him. "I don't… I don't know what…"

"Do not worry, Lass." He gently trailed his fingers slowly, lightly between her breasts. She drew in a deep, quivering breath yet remained still for his touch. "I willna hurt ye. Trust me."

"I-I will try," she gasped.

Humbled by her concerned admission, he cupped one of her breasts. Firm, a handful, tempting. He thumbed the rosy nipple until it pebbled.

Her breath quickened. "Oh. Oh my," she sighed as he continued to play with first one breast and then the other. She arched up into his hands; her eyes glazed over.

Mac knew if he reached lower that he would find her moist and ready. But he desperately needed to pay sweet homage to the breasts first. Leaning over her, he ran the tip of his tongue around the aureole, and then took it in his mouth, sucking gently.

She moaned, arched even more, panted. Her fingers threaded into his hair and she sighed, "I've never… Oh it feels so…" She moaned again.

Her scent surrounded him, called to him. Hard to think. Nearly impossible to not dive between her legs and take what his body so intensely wanted. His need was powerful, more powerful than he could remember feeling ever before. It worried him. He didn't want to feel this strongly about her, about this stranger who he'd been forced to wed. He didn't want to feel anything at all for her.

He lathed one hard nipple again; disgusted that he couldn't seem to stop. But even as he savored the taste of her, he forced himself to remember that they had only this one night. One night and that was all. His life was meant to go another way and be tied with another woman. A woman who understood the proud Scottish ways. Caitlin's life was meant to go, well, he didn't know how it was meant to go, but it was meant to go on without him. They had this one night, and were to be tied together distantly for almost another three years to complete the pact made between the families. After that they could legally cut their ties and go their separate paths forever.

"Mac…Oh, Mac…" Her slender body was writhing now in her own need.

He abandoned her breasts and moved to climb between her legs, feeling a twinge of regret for what he must do…for what his body demanded. As he settled in place for just a second, he felt the beads of moisture on her patch of hair. Ready. Well, almost ready.

She lie tensely, but she didn't stop him from parting her legs even more as he levered up to look down at her. Her eyes were wide in wonder, in uncertainty. "Do not fret, Lass."

She nodded.

Holding her gaze with his own, he reached down to cup her mound. She tensed even more, and then he eased a finger between her swollen lips. It took no more than a couple of minutes for him to drive her to the point of quivering, to the point of begging him to do something—anything—to bring her relief. More than ready himself, he thrust hard enough to turn her forever from child to woman.

She cried out, but only for a second. Then she seemed to melt around him and he could no longer remain still. He drove home over and over until he forced her first woman's release. He drove deeply until he followed with his own release and filled her with his seed.



* * *



The next morning as Mac watched Caitlin step away from him and into the coach with her father, he remembered how his young wife had withstood his taking of her. She had bravely done her duty. She had given away her innocence to a man little more than a stranger. What she hadn't done since he'd stopped suckling her precious breasts was smile. Oh she'd gasped and moaned for him. Her body had been lost in powerful needs. But she had not smiled again.

He hated himself for that. God help him, he'd forced away her smile.