Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (4 page)

"Quit yer yippin' and show some respect," rejoined Leith as he straightened.

"For the lady?" quipped Colin.

"For me, ye dolt," growled Leith before rounding the mare to greet the newcomer.

She was a bonny woman with perhaps a score of years to her life.

"I've come to bring you a bit to drink," she said, raising the tray of sweating pewter mugs so they could be clearly seen above the rough-cut rails of the fence. "Tis hot for so early in the season." Her gaze settled for a moment on Leith's somber face before turning downward to the mugs.

"Aye," Leith said shortly, and Colin grinned, fully appreciative of his brother's characteristic lack of banter.

"Verra hot," Colin supplied, then added, "and verra kind of ye to think of us, lady..."

"Widow," the woman said softly, lifting her gaze finally to Colin's. "Widow Devona Millet." Her eyes, Colin noticed, were an amber color, her features delicate, and her mouth utterly kissable. "I am told you are Scots."

Leith turned his attention to the mare again, seeming to dismiss the woman.

"We are indeed Scots," said Colin, his brows rising as he noticed the widow's low neckline and his brother's blatant lack of interest. "And about to travel back to the land of our clansmen." Leith had been laird of the Forbes too long if he could not appreciate such a fine display of bosom, thought Colin. But perhaps the widow was just the thing to break the monotony of the journey home, as well as pull Leith's mind from his ever-present worries.

Yes. Colin's smile widened as he forced his gaze from the widow's chest. "But we are in great need ..." He let the statement fall flat, thinking of his own needs for a moment before remembering his brother's. "We require a companion for the lady we will take back with us."

"A lady?" the widow asked.

"A nun," explained Colin, wondering for just a moment if he heard disappointment in the woman's tone.

"From the abbey yonder?"

"Aye," supplied Colin. Turning to Leith, he asked, "What of
her,
brother? She looks strong of leg—don't ye think, me liege?"

"Methinks ye talk too much," said Leith as he straightened to glare at his brother.

Colin only laughed. "'Twould be too much to hope that ye might be free to travel with us as a lady's companion," he said.

"All the way to Scotland?"

"Far into Scotland, in fact. To Glen Creag in the Highlands. But ye would be well paid for yer troubles, and carefully..." His gaze dipped to her bosom again for just an instant and his breath caught in his throat. "... carefully... guarded," he said roguishly.

Her cheeks colored prettily and her eyes lowered. "I am not needed in the house of my husband's family," she said softly.

"Then ye will come?" Colin asked, surprised by his good fortune and well aware of the rousing effect she had on him.

"Why do you take the nun to your country?" she asked. "And what would be expected of me at the journey's end?"

It was what was expected
during
the journey that interested Colin most, for if Leith wasn't intrigued by the possibilities, he certainly was.

"She is na yet a nun," corrected Leith evenly. "But a novice, and one said to be a skilled healer. We will take her to the MacAulay who is gravely ill. Ye would but keep her company and return here after our arrival."

"Oh." For a moment Devona's gaze flitted from Leith's to Colin's. "And you would guarantee my safe passage?"

"Nothing can be guaranteed," said Leith soberly. "But we will do all that is in our power." His hand went to the dirk at his side. "And that is a considerable amount."

She was silent, watching him, seeming to measure the man. "I will go," she said suddenly.

Colin grinned.

Leith nodded, giving the mare one last pat before striding away to duck between the rails and unwind his white stallion's reins from the post. "Buy the dark mare," he said to his brother. "Make arrangements with the widow."

"Arrangements?" Colin asked, pacing toward Beinn. "Does that mean ye are interested?"

Leith was in the saddle in a moment, but bent low to speak directly into Colin's face. "I am not an auld milk-fed maid who needs the help of her witless brothers to make a match. The widow will come as a companion and nothing more."

"And if she wishes for more?" asked Colin evenly.

"Then ye have me blessing," said Leith, and turned his stallion away.

"Well..." Colin turned back to the widow with a grin. "It seems we have much to do."

Devona blinked, lowering the tray slightly as Colin bent to step between the rails and straighten again.

"Me apologies for me brother," he said quietly. "He is the laird of the clan Forbes and does na take time for pleasantries."

"I'm certain he has much to occupy his thoughts."

"Aye." Colin smiled. She was indeed a beautiful woman. A woman unspoken for, and a woman apparently not desired by his brother. It would be a shame to waste such an opportunity, especially since she was a widow, a woman in whom the spark of sexual desire had once been lit and had now dimmed, left unfulfilled. "We dearly appreciate yer offer to travel with us," he said. "'Twas indeed generous."

Devona lowered her eyes with a blush. "Perhaps not so generous as you think. I fear I have my own reasons for wishing to be gone."

"Indeed?"

"There is no purpose for my presence here," she explained, resting her eyes on the mugs. "Since my husband's death I feel..." She shrugged.

"Unwanted?" The word slipped unbidden from Colin.

"Yes." She nodded slowly. "Unwanted."

Sheer instinct propelled Colin across the short distance between them. "I want ye." The statement came out as a husky caress.

Devona's mouth fell open.

Suddenly he gripped the wooden tray between them.

"But I... I don't know you."

"Ye will," he breathed. "In yonder barn."

The widow's eyes opened wide. "The barn?" she gasped.

"Aye, lass. I burn for ye. Let me take ye to the barn and ignite—"

Her palm hit his face with enough force to rattle the mugs atop the tray in his hands. "How dare you?" she hissed.

Colin's jaw dropped. Apparently he'd employed the wrong methods. "I did na mean to insult ye. I only meant to lay-”

"How
dare
you?" she repeated, sounding even more offended.

Colin's brows lowered as the unsated edge of his desire burned on. "There are those who have na been so insulted by me offers."

"And there are those who sleep with pigs," she hissed. "But I am not one of them."

"Pigs," Colin exclaimed, but already she was striding stiffly toward the house, leaving him to hold the tray in abject bewilderment.

"You will care for her?" asked the chaplain solemnly.

"I will," Leith said, looking down into the man's worried eyes.

Dawn had come and gone. It was past time to be off. Beside him Colin stood unspeaking, restraining his mount, the newly purchased black, and a horse which was packed with their belongings. Just behind him, the Widow Millet silently sat a mousy-brown mare with heavy bones and narrow eyes. Leith kept his gaze on the chaplain, wondering again at Colin's choice for the widow's mount. It was a sturdy-enough steed, but homely and bad-tempered.

"And you will be patient with her?" asked the chaplain.

"Patient?" Leith was momentarily intrigued by the question. Aside from the fact that the girl had not yet arrived, why should he need to be patient?

"Rose..." the chaplain began slowly with a single shake of his head, "Rose Gunther is a ... special child."

Leith glanced toward the north, wanting to be off. “Special?"

"Gifted."

Leith narrowed his eyes, shifting his gaze downward. "How is she gifted?"

"She has gifts of God."

"Canna ye be more clear, Father?" asked Leith impatiently.

But the chaplain only shrugged. "You will learn her worth soon enough, I think."

Leith scowled. When questioned, the people of Millshire had spoken freely of the lass' ability as a healer, granting him a perfect excuse to take her to Scotland. Now, however, he did not believe the chaplain meant her gift of healing.

The door of the abbey opened. Leith raised his eyes.

She stood there, looking small and young, overwhelmed by her pale, voluminous robes and concealing wimple. And yet there was something about her that drew his gaze—or was it his memory of her by the lochan that intrigued him?

"Protect her," said the chaplain quietly, his expression somber. " 'Twill not be a simple task."

Leith watched in silence as the chaplain turned away. He passed the girl at the door where he spoke a few words to her before disappearing into the abbey.

She approached finally, her steps slow and uncertain, her hands tucked demurely into her sleeves, her eyes reddened. From tears? For a moment Leith wondered if he'd been mistaken, for surely this small innocent could not be the bold, enchanting fairy princess he had seen by the lochan.

His fingers fell unconsciously to the pocket of his doublet, feeling the irregular form of the purloined cross through the fabric as she stopped before him.

Silence settled uneasily between them. Leith tightened his grip on Beinn's reins. She was little more than a child, he reasoned uneasily. And he was a deceitful bastard.

"Kill me, Forbes, and have done with it."
The tortured words yet echoed in his head, though he tried to shut them out.

Deceitful bastard or not, he would do what needed doing. He would use Rose Gunther to heal the wounds he could not mend alone.

"Come, lass," he said, pushing back his dark memories. "The black mare I call Maise. Great Beauty," he translated. "She is yers. A gift for yer trouble."

Rose turned her gaze to the mare, seeming to note the wide-set eyes and clean limbs. But in a moment she dropped her attention to the ground at her feet. "I cannot accept her."

Leith scowled. He'd planned quickly but carefully and could not afford to waste time. He was not a patient man, but he was determined and he
would
be charming, for he needed to win her over to his way of thinking.

"Ye canna walk the long journey to me homeland," he said, keeping his tone gentle. “Take the mare. I give her freely."

"I cannot."

Leith swore in silence, gripping his hands to fists and feeling his jaw harden. He did not like delays. He did not like bickering, and he did not like women who failed to take orders.

Charming, he reminded himself irritably. He must be charming.

"I chose the black meself. She will give a soft ride. Will ye na—"

"No!"

The force of Rose's refusal surprised him, but it was her eyes that rooted him to the ground. Sweet Jesu! He had been unable to tell the color at their earlier meeting, but he saw now that they were violet in hue—as bright and sharp as precious jewels. So it was not only her deep—auburn hair and bonny features that resembled the old laird's deceased wife. It was her bewitching eyes also.

But Leith Forbes would not be bewitched. Nay. He would keep his head. She would ride the mare. And he would make her his wife.

Chapter 4

“Ye canna pray all night," Leith said, squatting down beside the small, kneeling figure swaddled in woolen robes.

They had ridden all day, stopping only for the nooning meal before hurrying on.

Rose Gunther had not spoken or eaten, and now she knelt in the darkness, looking not at all like the enchanting
bean-sith
he had seen by the magical lochan, but more like a bedraggled martyr with pale face and waning spirit. Where had the bewitching little fairy princess gone? The unearthly, moon-gilded goddess who had ignited his imagination and inflamed his hope? Where was the lass who had made him believe in miracles, had made him certain she had been sent as a precious gift from the very hand of God Himself, destined to bring peace to the clan of the Forbes.

He'd been sure such a creature could not be happy in the strict confines of an abbey—had convinced himself he would do nothing but good in taking her to Scotland. But perhaps he'd misjudged her. Perhaps it had only been a vision by the lo-chan, and this woman did indeed belong within the cloistered walls of a musty abbey.

But blood stained Leith's hands. The blood of his own people and of the MacAulays. Blood that would be washed away once Laird Ian accepted the wee nun as the daughter of his own loins.

'Twas true that Ian MacAulay was a wily bastard. But he was also old and tired of the feud, tired enough to offer his only child as the wife of the Forbes, if Leith could bring her back to Scotland.

Leith tightened his jaw. He had found her—beneath an aged mound of dirt in an English graveyard. But his dreams had not died there. Nay, they had found new life in the pale, nubile form of an unclothed novice.

A strange way indeed for the Lord to answer his prayers, but Leith was not one to deny a sacred gift. Rose Gunther was that gift. He knew it, just as he knew Ian MacAulay would accept her. Just as he knew she would be the bond that once again united the tribes torn assunder by Eleanor's death.

"Come," he said, retrospect making his tone hard. "Eat before the food cools."

Her face did not lift. Her hands remained folded. "I am fasting," she said in clipped tones.

Damn it to unholy hell! Fasting! Out here in the wilderness where all the girl's feeble strength would be needed just to stay alive. Leith scowled. For a sacred gift of God she certainly was stubborn. He had no time for her martyred antics. But neither would it do him any good to take an unwilling lass to Glen Creag.

Perhaps Colin was right. Perhaps he was wont to frighten the lasses with his dour looks. Leith Forbes, however, had little time for courtship or flattery. He was a man with the heavy responsibilities of his clan on his shoulders. And just now those responsibilities weighed like a stone about his neck, for he saw the possibility of great changes for his clan. Changes that would cauterize old wounds and forge lasting bonds—if only he could charm the kneeling woman before him.