Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (31 page)

"As if any could corrupt you," Rose murmured, but now the flat of his fingers eased over the swollen folds of her womanhood, and this time her gasp was more of a moan, coming from deep in her throat as she pressed against his hand.

"Leith, we mustn't. Truly, 'tis not a good time."

"Aye, love," he crooned throatily, pressing his bare chest closer still. " 'Tis," he insisted, and she arched slightly upward, turning her face so that her cheek was against his hard, smooth chest.

His hand had taken up a rhythmic movement and her body followed of its own accord. Her lips were parted, showing the pearly rows of her teeth, and her eyes were closed, so that the dark forest of her lashes lay softly against her ivory skin.

He kissed her again. Not gently now, but deep and hard, and she answered back, forgetting everything and gripping his plaid where it crossed near his wounded shoulder.

Sweet Jesu, she was as hot as a glowing coal in his hand, as desperate as he for fulfillment. He could wait no longer. He could not. No man should be expected to do so.

Letting his hand continue to ride her, Leith drew his mouth away. She groaned and sought to drag him closer, but he was busy trying to loosen his belt single-handedly. She moaned in frustration. His chest was near and she kissed it, feeling him jerk at the touch of her lips. His obvious excitement only stoked her own and she pulled him closer with considerable force and found his nipple with her mouth.

"Sweet Jesu!" he rasped, jerking his hand from his belt. "Lass, do na—"

But she did!

He could feel her teeth and tongue as she suckled him.

"Please! Fiona!" He groaned and tried again to undo his belt.

She arched upward. Her breasts, wet and smooth, coursed against his belly.

Breath hissed between his teeth. “Jesu!" he gritted in agony and in that moment pulled the belt free. His plaid fell away and he rose quickly, dragging her with him.

She was hot and slippery and he pressed her to his chest with a groan.

Between them his engorged manhood throbbed with urgency. Her hand caught his hair and she pulled him closer, finding his mouth with her own.

"Sweet..." He caught her round buttocks in his spread hands, pulling her from the water, and she bent her legs to wrap them about his waist. "Lass!" he groaned, pressing hard against her.

They were so close—within a heartbeat of ecstasy, but footsteps sounded in the hall.

For one instant he was pressing toward his most earnest desire with desperate urgency, and the next he was grappling to hold her still.

There was a breathy shriek against his ear, a slither of luscious flesh against his, and then she was gone, flying across the room to yank a sheet about her.

"Me lady," Judith called, and in that instant, Leith swiped up a towel to cover his aching private parts.

"Yer milk, me lady." The door swung open and Judith stepped inside.

Her jaw sank like a rock.

Before her stood the laird of the Forbes, seeming to have just exited his bath, and caught in wordless immobility.

"Bless me!" Judith said, shaking so badly the warm milk sloshed over her fingers.

"Don't ye knock, woman?" Leith questioned, his voice low.

“I… Oh!" The elderly woman inched backward, bumping into the half-open door. "I... Forgive me!" she squeaked, and fled the room in panic, slamming the door behind her.

Leith turned with deliberate slowness, his manhood still high and aching behind the towel. "Come here, lass" he ordered.

Rose shook her head, backing away and trying not to laugh as she shook her finger at him. "I told you 'twas not a good time."

"Lass," he warned, "come here."

"Nay." She tripped on the tail of her sheet, only to bump into the bed behind her and finally stumble onto it. " 'Tis very late. And I am..." She faked a yawn and hurried carefully backward across the feather tick. "... so very tired. Could you please ask Judith to bring my milk that I might..."

"I have brought ye sommat better," Leith growled, and, lunging forward, snatched her sheet away.

She fell to the bed with a squeal and a giggle, but both sounds were lost beneath his kiss and the sweet, hot press of his body.

The morning was wind-tickled and ruffled with clouds.

Rose stretched toward the turquoise sky and smiled, remembering the night just past.

Leith had left their bed early. So she had risen too, and stood now, holding Maise's reins and gazing out upon the beauty of Leith's domain. She'd left the castle with the promise of not venturing too far, and though she had earnestly set out in search of medicinal herbs, she'd been too intrigued by the awe-inspiring land around her to remember her promise to remain close to the castle.

As it was, she had gone farther than she'd planned and stood now beside Creag Burn. It was a noisy river that flowed with white-water quickness over the brown boulders it was named for. The chuckling sound of the river seemed to speak to Rose, and she bent to pick a few flowers and meander along the water's serpentine course.

To her left a tawny shadow followed her and she smiled. It had been long indeed since she'd been afforded the freedom to ride with the wild feline at her side. Silken had been seen bedding down in the loft above the stables, and she knew Leith was to be thanked for the animal's protection. Perhaps the Forbes felt a special kinship with wildcats, since their crest boasted that beautiful animal. Or, Rose thought, biting her lip, perhaps it was her own high regard for the cat that caused Leith to protect it.

That thought seemed to make Rose's heart beat a little more rapidly in her chest. Could it be that he cared for her just a little?

He was a laird to respect. A man to look up to. An enemy to fear. And a lover to make a woman's blood race.

Of course he did not love her, he only desired the magic they found together in his bed. But wasn't it possible that she might someday win his love? If she was kind and gentle? If she was soft-spoken and...

But she was not. She cursed like a warlord—by his own admission. She rode like a man. And once she had beat him with a felled branch.

Soft-spoken? Hah! She was lucky to avoid being dangerous when he was near.

From the bushes beside her, Rose heard Silken issue a strange sound from his throat. Turning, she saw him standing in the shade of a bent elder, his pointed ears pitched forward as he peered up the rocky slope from whence the water tumbled.

"What... Oh!" Rose drew a sharp breath.

Had she seen something move? Or was it simply a feeling so intense that a visible image had burned itself across her mind? Fair hair. Plaid.

"Silken?" She whispered the cat’s name, though she knew not why. Dropping the flowers, she walked slowly toward the bottom of the slope.

Ahead, smooth brown rocks led upward in step-like ascent. Purple heather grew in clumps amidst prickly gorse and coarse grasses.

There! At the top. A movement!

Or not?

Rose shook her head, trying to deny the shivery feelings that skimmed up her arms. She should return to Glen Creag immediately. But...

A shadow flitted across her mind and she halted, waiting, breath held, heart thumping.

Nothing. No sound. But something called to her, something she could neither define nor resist.

She climbed despite the branches that grabbed at her skirt and the rocks that slipped beneath her soft-shod feet.

Her breath came hard and fast. Something drew her. Her eyes were trained on the top of the ridge and her heart pounded like a thousand hoof beats in her chest.

Emotions of varying hues washed over her. She was nearly there. Only a few more steps and...

A flash of tartan!

"No!" she screamed, feeling the evil intent like a blow to her chest. "No!" She stumbled back. Terror gripped her heart, and then she was running, scrambling down the slope. Rocks slid and bounced away. From somewhere above Silken snarled, but Rose did not stop. Death! Death was near!

Panic rose like bile, stiffening her legs, and suddenly she was falling.

Her shoulder hit a rock, and then her hip. Plants flashed past. Her arms flailed wildly, searching for a grip, but suddenly the world stilled its careening movement.

Her breath came in painful gasps and she moaned, cradling an elbow in her opposite hand.

There was the sound of boots on rocks. Fresh panic nabbed her and she abandoned her elbow to cover her face with the back of her arm.

"Please," she whimpered, raising her eyes.

Harlow stood not three strides away. His expression was taut and unreadable. Over his shoulder hung a bow.

Her body trembled as chaotic emotions clashed within her. Fear? Relief? Terror?

Her hand slipped lower, her skinned knuckles pressing against her quivering lips.

"Harlow?" she whispered, premonition and logic merging and drowning.

Hoofbeats thundered toward them, and suddenly, like a flash of heat lightning, Leith was there, mounted on the pearly back of his great stallion.

"Leith." She said his name like a prayer.

He slid from Beinn’s back even before the giant hooves were still, and in a moment he was gathering her into his arms, smoothing back her hair. "What happened?" he asked, his voice terse with emotion, his arms tight around her.

She tried to speak, but she could not. There was nothing to explain, for she understood none of what had transpired. Tightening her grip on his shirt, she viewed the evil again in her mind, though it was more misty now and already fading.

He felt her fear nevertheless, and his own body remained like a shield against hers. "Harlow?" he growled, his face a mask of horrible anger. "Did he—"

"Nay!" It took Rose a moment to understand his question, but she raised her eyes quickly. "Nay, Leith," she whispered, consciously relaxing her grip as she viewed his flint-hard expression. "He did not hurt me."

Leith's gaze remained on Rose's face, but his jaw was clenched and in his eyes Rose saw hot rage.

"Leith." She said his name softly, and reaching up, touched the scar on his right cheek. "He did not hurt me. I was merely foolish and in my haste, I fell."

Uncertainty tortured Leith. Was she lying to save another? Certainly he could not rule out such a possibility, for she'd already proven her willingness to protect others despite great risk to herself.

Harlow was one of his own. He could not accuse the man without just cause. Did the incident by the river where Rose had bathed justify Leith's mistrust of the lad? Harlow had, at the least, planned some mischief there, even if he had not actually hurt the lass.

Rose looked up at him with those entreating violet eyes, mentally pleading with him to hold his temper. He could feel her thoughts.

Holy Jesu, how had they come to this point, where she was the protector of his people?
His
people, for whom he would give his life. But how much more would he give for her?

"Come, lass," he said quietly, though his tone was steely. "I will take ye home."

Her arms slipped about his neck, and as she settled her head against his chest, her gaze slid to Harlow.

He stood immobile, his hands clenched into fists, his eyes filled with hopelessness.

Chapter 23

Numerous gazes followed them as Leith carried Rose through the hall to the stairs, but it was Roman who drew her attention, for he stood at the foot of the steps, one small hand clutching Dora's fur, his green eyes wide.

"Me lady?" he said softly, and Rose noticed with heart-wrenching pain that his face was as pale as his hound's bandages. "Ye are hurt?" he asked.

"No," Rose said, peeping over the barrier of Leith's shoulder. "I am fine." She smiled, hoping to soothe his worry. "Tis just that our Laird Leith likes to display his manly strength by carrying me."

"Yer na hurt?" The lad's eyes were as large as goose eggs, but he followed behind them, his steps slow, his expression solemn.

"No."

"She
is
hurt," Leith amended, taking the steps in twos. "She's just too daft to know it."

Rose smiled at Roman again before glowering at Leith, who returned her fierce expression, though he now found he could not bear to worry the boy with theories of which he himself was uncertain. Especially after seeing Roman in the stable with Harlow just that morning—talking seriously with that young man as if they shared some history. And perhaps they did, Leith thought. The history of abuse and neglect. Sweet Jesu! A muscle jumped in his cheek, but Rose's continued scowl reminded him of the lad's worry and he brightened his tone to say, " 'Twould seem our lady thought she was a fine spring doe, and came scampering down the hillock. Only, she had but two legs and fell head over arse."

"Leith!" Rose scolded, hurrying her gaze to Roman again. "You mustn't use such language around the lad."

"Roman is a Scot," Leith said, finally reaching the bed to settle her gingerly upon it "With a brawny body and a sharp mind. He knows an arse when he sees one. Do ye na, Roman?"

"Aye." Roman came to a halt by the door and nodded solemnly. "That I do, me laird," he agreed, but his voice was faint and uncertain, as though he feared his words might cause anger.

Leith turned slowly, feeling dull rage fill his chest again at the thought of the lad's mistreatment. How could any man be filled with such hate that he would abuse a child so, battering his body as well as his mind? Leith placed his fists on his hips and leveled a stare at the boy.

"Our lady has been scraped and bruised," he said soberly. "It seems she will need someone to keep her put while I do a few tasks. Are ye up to the job, lad?"

Moving his gaze from Leith to Rose, Roman tightened his grip on Dora's fur and nodded earnestly. "Aye, me laird. I shall guard her with mine life."

A gentle warmth lit Leith's eyes and in that moment Rose was sorely tempted to kiss him, for no man alive could care more for this orphaned boy, she was sure.

"Tis a fine thing that ye came to us at Glen Creag," Leith said solemnly. "For it seems I need help protecting a lady as foolish as our Fiona."