Highland Promise (15 page)

        "Brendan, is Heather a clever child?"

        "Aye, and into too much mischief for her own good."

        "Sometimes..." Her hands stilled. "Sometimes bad things happen when we are young. If we are clever, we learn from them. We discover how to protect ourselves so they do not happen again. I doubt Heather would sneak away. She is probably too afraid."

        The sadness behind her words tugged at his chest. "How do you protect yourself, Faith?"

        Her hands pressed almost painfully into his flesh. He found himself holding his breath in anticipation. Then she resumed the massage, and pride entered her tone. "Well, my sister told me where to kick a man to fell him and taught me how to punch."

        Damn, she had lost her confiding mood. He wished she trusted him enough to tell him her woes. "Your sister did well. I must take precautions in case you ever decide to fell me. Some of your punches have left me marked."

        "I apologize," she said contritely. "You do try my patience, but I should not strike you. I am teaching myself how to shoot arrows. I even hit the target sometimes," she boasted. "You know most nuns cannot hunt, thus they eat poor fare. I shall be an asset to the convent if I ever get good enough."

        Mayhap he should tell the lass that nuns ate poor fare as part of their penance, and no abbess in the world would allow her to hunt. Nay, she would surely wish to argue the point, and he didn't want to spoil the amity between them. "Women should not have to learn weapons and hunt. They should be protected and provided for. Saint Andrew knows you are more likely to put an arrow in my arse than in a hare."

        "Huh. My sister Chris would clout you for that remark against women, and I just need more practice." She poked his back and giggled. "And mayhap a target this big." She placed her hands on the sides of his arms, measuring his space.

        "And mayhap a few lessons for safety's sake," he suggested, glad her mood had lightened. "I shall see to it."

        "Brendan?" she asked in a small voice, her hands settling on his shoulders.

        "Aye?"

        "Do I truly show promise for kissing?"

        He had suspected she would get around to this subject if he waited long enough. Hell, he hadn't quit thinking about kissing her since he had tasted her lips. He didn't answer her fast enough.

        Her hands left his shoulders, and the mattress shifted as she moved away. "I only ask because I rather...enjoyed it."

        Shame crackled her words, and Brendan wanted to overcome that emotion. He also didn't want to push her so fast that anything she experienced with him would add to the guilt that currently drove her. "Are you wanting another lesson, Faith?"

        "Aye," she whispered.

        He turned around, and she bowed her head. He had to stifle a chuckle. "If you turn any redder, lass, you may lose that wart."

        She snapped up her head, raising a hand to her upper lip. He read fear in her eyes. He shouldn't tease her so, but it galled him that she hid herself under such a hideous disguise.

        "Aye, the thing will burn right off." He gave her a slow sexy grin as irritation spread over her face. "Now do not be angry. I had to get you to look up. Kissing doesn't work so well if the woman keeps her head bowed. Are you sure this is what you want, Faith?"

        She nodded and glanced away while raking her fingers through her hair. The rest of her braid fell out. Brendan's breath hitched as the un-floured strands shimmered in the candlelight—black as a raven's wing down to her waist. His fingers itched to slide through the glossy strands and memorize their texture.

        "Then come to me."

        Her aquamarine gaze met his. Reaching out, she placed a hand on his

shoulder and inched over to him. "Brendan, I truly want to kiss you, but this has to be the last time, all right?"

        He didn't answer the ridiculous question. Instead, he pulled her against him and wrapped her in his embrace.

        She splayed her hands against his chest and drew her head back. "All right, Brendan?"

        "Leave the future to the morrow, Faith."

        She tensed and tried to push away. He wouldn't allow retreat. She had asked for this kiss, and he would give her one that unleashed her fiery passion.

        Gripping the base of her skull with one hand, he tightened his hold on her with his other arm. Then he captured her lips with his.

        Running his fingers through her slick hair, he reveled in the essence of lavender that floated about them. His loins stirred. He sucked on her sweet lower lip and ran his tongue over her teeth in silent command.

        He half-expected a struggle, but the lass was finally following orders. She melted against him and parted her lips, giving him access to her sweet, hot mouth. Her hands moved over his shoulders and up to his neck. Then she trilled in the back of her throat, and her fingers spread through his hair. She clutched his head as if she never wanted to let go.

        Her moans and busy fingers drove him wild. His blood sizzled. He slanted his mouth over hers and drank her passion.

        He wasn't sure how it happened, but he found himself lying on top of Faith with one knee between her parted legs. One of her calves hooked over his thigh and his loins ached for release.

        He clenched his muscles and sweat burst upon his brow. Ah damn, he couldn't take Faith like this. Her conscience would plague her into a decline if she lost her virginity without a wedding. It would be dishonorable to use her thusly. And he had promised himself he would hold the real Faith in his arms before he took her, not this disguised padded woman with a fake wart.

        She growled in her throat and began dueling his tongue. Her fingers worked their magic as they stroked through his hair. Hell, he was lost. She was begging for it. And one thing was certain—her padding would have to come off with her clothes, so he would be holding the real her.

        He reached for the hem of her gown.

        The material slid up her sleek, tapered leg. Brendan caressed a slim calf, pleased by the feel of soft, warm flesh. Faith bent her knee as his hand stroked her thigh. Her toes trailed down the length of his leg and up again while she moaned her pleasure into his mouth.

        A snoring snort resonated about the chamber.

        Fiery lust shifted to a lethal fury.

Eleven

        Brendan tore away his lips and glared down at her. She groaned and tried to pull his mouth back to hers. Damn it all, he would kill the lass if she had been with another man.

         Another snore broke the silence. She tensed and opened fear-filled eyes.

        He removed her arms from his neck, forcing them upon the bed above her head, and holding her wrists captive with one hand.

        "Brendan, 'tis not what you think." She cowered into the mattress.

        "You have no notion what I think," he gritted out. "Where is the bastard?"

        "Under the bed, but—"

        "Silence."

        She paled and trembled. Aye, and the lass was wise to be afraid. She would be wiser still to start saying her prayers.

        He got off the bed and noticed a pair of boots just under the foot of the bed, so he kicked them. A grunt issued forth, but the feet didn't move. He leaned down and pulled on the boots. The body was dead weight. Another grunt came from under the bed. With a mighty heave, he yanked the soon-tobe dead man from beneath the bed.

        Drool drizzled from one corner of Michael's mouth, but he showed not the least reaction to the rough handling.

        Incredulous, Brendan raised his gaze to Faith as she rose to her knees on the bed.

        Her hands balled into fists, and she squirmed. "We…ah...shared a glass of wine. Michael ah...well, he rather dozed off."

        "He is out cold."

        "It was potent wine?" she suggested.

        Brendan growled at the bald-faced lie. "You drugged him."

        She shrank back. "What makes you think that?"

        "Michael can drink most men under the table, and he most certainly can out-drink you."

        Wiping a hand over his face, he looked away from her. His gaze landed on her bundle and bow. He faced her, hands on hips. "You were sneaking away and drugged Michael so he wouldn't interfere."

Faith gave up her game and scowled. "'Twas your fault."

        "My fault?" He fisted his hands so he wouldn't give into the urge to wrap them around her throat.

        "Aye, you even made me lie to him, so my next confession will be for you too, and the penance will likely kill me."

        "Not if I kill you first."

        Her complexion blanched to pasty white, and he took a deepexasperated breath. "Explain why you thought you had to sneak away."

        "Why do you not understand?" Anger deserted her, and her face crumpled with anguish. "I am an outcast since my brother disowned me. King Henry wants me to marry. But no man will ever trust me because of my disloyalty to my brother. I could not bear to live with a man without trust, and I am bound by my penance. I must become a nun. I have no choice." Her voice broke, and she dropped her head into her hands, appearing totally defeated.

        Deep-rooted fears based on outrageous notions learned long ago guided her actions, and he knew she believed her words. Brendan wiped a hand over his face and sought to keep her talking so he could calm his irritation. "How did Michael get under your bed?"

        "I put him there. He passed out in the passage. I was afraid someone might harm him, so I brought him into my chamber." She pulled a linen square from her sleeve and blew her nose. "He looked rather uncomfortable, so I put him on the carpet and covered him. Then I saw Lady Garwick and knew I had to save you, so you would have to come in here. I thought you might not appreciate him sleeping in my chamber when he was supposed to be guarding me. That is why I put him under the bed." She shook her head and twisted the linen in her hands, leaving red stains from her palms. "It wasn't easy. The man weighs—"

        Thank the Almighty someone knocked on the door and cut her off. Keeping her talking had been a bad idea. She had rambled, and he was too confounded to stop her.

        He walked toward the door and heard Luthias whisper, "Lady Faith."

        "Have they all been coming into your chamber at night?" he asked sarcastically, then opened the door. "Luthias, come get Michael and take him away before I kill him."

        Luthias's mouth dropped at the sight of his friend sprawled on the floor. "Saint Ninian, what happened to him?"

        "The lady drugged him."

        Luthias turned a stunned gaze on Faith, who blushed and glanced away. Then he chuckled and hefted Michael over his shoulder. "I cannot wait until he wakes. The lass may have landed me on my arse, but at least I didn't lose my upper works." He walked toward the door. "I'll be back as soon as I take care of Michael."

        Brendan opened the door. "Do not return until morning. Tonight the watch is mine." He packed his words with menace and drew deep satisfaction from Faith's gasp. He closed the door behind Luthias and approached the bedside with a determined stride.

        Faith wouldn't look at him. He nudged up her face and took in her brimming eyes and quivering lips. Damn it, he didn't have the heart to chastise the lass when she gazed at him through cloudy-blue eyes filled with remorse.

        He released her chin and rubbed the back of his neck in exasperation as she once again bowed her head. "We are leaving for Scotland on the morrow, so quit tearing up your palms and get some sleep."

        She jerked her head up and glared. "I am not going to Scotland."

        "Aye, you are, lass." He lay down and laced his fingers under his head as her stormy gaze shot darts in his direction. Damn her mood swings. She would learn that when he made a decision or gave an order, he meant his words.

        "You cannot order me. I released you from your promise. Why can you not get that through your thick male skull?" She ended by punching his belly.

        He grunted. The wench didn't deserve more of an answer than that.

        "Do not grunt at me," she ordered in an outraged tone.

        So the lass disliked grunting, did she? Well, he was just angry enough to displease her. He grunted again.

        "I always heard if it grunts like a pig, then 'tis probably a pig. You, Brendan," she poked his chest, "are a pig."

        Not even his enemies had the gall to provoke him when he was already riled, and he damn well wouldn't take insults from his bride. His hands shot out and pulled her down on top of him.

        "Let go of me and get out of my chamber." She pushed against him.

        He nudged her face up so she would see his fury. "Did you just have the temerity to call me a pig?"

        Her eyes narrowed. "If you are not sure, then mayhap you are slowwitted too."

        Brendan clenched his jaw until his cheek pulsated a wild rhythm. The lass obviously didn't know his limits, and he was damn near them. "You truly do not understand the danger you are in."

        "You would never harm me," she scoffed. "I am under your undesirable protection, and you would never harm anyone you think you are responsible for. You would rather plague them with your arrogance and orders." Her fist came down on his shoulder, and her voice turned plaintive. "Why can you not understand my need to be free of you? You are more temptation than I can handle. You make me want to depend on you and tell you—" She broke off and leaned her forehead against his chest.

        Hell, now he wanted to cuddle up with her and make her smile. "What do you want to tell me?"

        She rested her cheek against him. "My...worries."

        He slipped his arms around her in a tender embrace. "I shall banish your worries if you tell me what they are."