Highland Promise (22 page)

~ * ~

        The icy water nearly did her in.

        Faith arrived at the lake and stripped. A relieved moan poured from her mouth as the last garment peeled away. She had worn those clothes for so long they stuck to her flesh like a second skin.

        Armed with a chunk of lavender-scented soap, she jumped into the lake. It was all she could do not to shriek Brendan's favorite word. The lout could have warned her that the water was as frigid as a midwinter ice storm.

        Gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering, she scrubbed every spec of her body twice. She wanted to scrub until she was rosy pink, but had to settle for dusky-blue due to the cold. Then she washed her long tresses until they squeaked. Lord, it felt good to be clean.

        She couldn't believe Brendan intended to keep her. He knew the peril this marriage posed to her immortal soul. She had figured out Brendan Sutherland all right. Once he made up his stubborn mind, there was no changing it.

        She would have her revenge though. Aye, she would show the rascal a thing or two about enticing. She might have hated her looks since the age of twelve, but she was thankful for them now. He had told the councilmen that he wanted an ugly wife, but he was stuck with her.

        Racing from the water, she patted her gooseflesh dry, then doused her skin with soothing lavender oil. She groaned as her hands rubbed over her throbbing bottom. Twisting about, she could make out deep blue and purple marks in the fading light. She wished she hadn't looked, because that somehow made the bruises throb harder.

        She donned an undergown, then spread a blanket on the ground and gingerly sat upon it, clenching her jaw against the jab to her backside. She pulled a mint leaf from a small, tightly sealed wooden box in her pouch and rubbed it over her teeth, cleaning them by habit as Noreen had taught her. Then she combed all the tangles from her hair and leaned back, spreading the strands to dry.

        A chilling breeze swept her flesh, and she shivered. Her gaze fastened on the soft-woolen plaid Brendan had given her. 'Twas decadent and sinful. Of course, he was just contrary enough to burn her gowns if she didn't put it on.

        Unfolding the plaid, she lifted the edge and frowned. The material was twice her height in length and a good arm-and-a-half in width. How did they wrap the cursed thing around them and get the folds to lay just right?

~ * ~

        Anticipation was a pain in the arse.

        Brendan paced the camp with hands clasped behind his back. He had no doubt Faith purposely taunted him by taking so long. She had spent enough time at the loch for three baths.

        His men grinned and snickered. He knew they were amused by his impatience, but they hadn't felt the padding beneath Faith's gowns, so they couldn't begin to understand his eagerness.

        He was finally going to see the woman he had wed.

        "Brendan?" Faith's whisper floated from just inside the woods and caressed him like a soft autumn breeze.

        He stopped his pacing and smiled at her shyness. The lass had worn her disguise for so many years that she probably felt timid about showing her real self. "Aye?"

        "Can I perhaps wear a plain gown tonight and don your plaid another time?"

        "Nay. My wife will wear my colors. If you are having trouble with the pleats, come out here and I will help you."

        "I would rather not. Can you come here?"

        Brendan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He would have to be forceful with the lass, or she would stay in the woods all night. "Faith, come out here."

        "But, Brendan—"

        "Now," he ordered in a tone so quiet it was not to be defied.

        There was a slight rustling in the bushes, and he could have sworn he heard her grumble the word damn. His men gathered about to view their new lady in the Sutherland colors.

        And, hell if that wasn't all she was wearing!

        Lust whirled through him like a gale wind as Faith stepped from the trees. Her plaid wrapped her body from below her arms to just above her knees, temptingly molded to every sensual curve. She had the body of an ethereal goddess from high, well-formed breasts to long, sleek legs. Midnight tresses swirled about her shoulders down to her waist, framing an oval face of fragile features. And to see her eyes now—with her coloring they actually glowed despite the uncertainty he read in their aquamarine depths.

        Her lower lip was caught in her teeth as she held a loose end of the plaid and twisted it in her hands. Peeking up at him through long, sooty lashes, she cleared her throat. "'Tis a decadent garment, Brendan, but I absolutely refuse to show my...top."

        Fury blazed away his lust. She must be trying to get revenge for his refusal to wear English garb. He balled his hands into fists to keep from slinging her over his shoulder and carting her off to give her a ringing scold.

        "What in the name of all that's holy are you looking at?" he bellowed at his men, who gawked at his near-naked bride. "And what the hell are you trying to prove, wife?"

        "You yelled at me." She stepped back, her fingernails curling toward her palms.

        "Do not dare cut your palms, Faith." Damn if his cheek wouldn't explode over this prank.

        "You never raise your voice." Tears welled up in her eyes as she spread her hands to him as if in a plea. "I do not understand your anger. I but followed your order to wear this indecent garment."

        Michael turned and braced his stance halfway between Brendan and his bride. "She is right, Bren," he said, using the name one brother to another, and not using Brendan's title. "You did order her."

        Roland moved beside Michael. "She does not know, laird. You cannot blame her."

        "She probably never saw how a woman wears a plaid." Jamie moved to Michael's other side.

        "She was trying to follow your order, Bren," Luthias added from beside Roland.

        "You cannot blame the lass for trying," Cleit said, closing ranks.

        Brendan couldn't believe the audacity of his men. They stood in front of his bride, forming a protective barrier. 'Twas an insult. He also admitted 'twas a wise move. It kept him from throttling the lass.

        "You must admit she looks fine in the Sutherland colors," Tormey commented, rubbing a hand over his beard.

        Brendan slammed a fist into Tormey's jaw, because the rogue had dared to ogle his wife. The Irishman fell to the ground and didn't move.

        Brendan drew some satisfaction from the punch, but he had a major problem. He still wanted to kill his bride right after he ripped that plaid from her body and enjoyed her for about a trillion nights.

        She was exquisite...and delicate. She would have difficulty surviving the rugged Highland climate. He would ensure she did though. Aye, she was a woman worth keeping.

        She was also trembling with terror. Brendan took a deep breath and rubbed a hand over his face to ease the throb in his cheek.

        "Over a gown, Faith," he said in a well-modulated tone. "Women wear their plaids over a gown."

        Her eyes rounded, and her chin dropped. "You mean…" Her voice broke, and she gaped at him. "Oh, for heaven's sake!"

        Spinning about, she dashed back into the trees.

        "Move, Michael," Brendan ordered.

        "Stay, Michael," Roland said.

        Brendan couldn't believe his first commander's gall. "You dare to countermand me? Are you looking for a fight?"

        "Not unless you are," Roland replied with a grin. "We are pledged to protect Lady Sutherland's life with ours—even from you."

        "I have no intention of fighting with her," Brendan gritted out.

        "Wise man." Roland chuckled and went to grab Brendan's extra plaid. "A word of advice, laird. Be gentle."

        "Aye, 'tis probably her first time," Jamie said.

        "True," Luthias agreed. "No man would have wanted her the way she looked before."

        "And she is English," Michael added as if that would make the mating harder on Faith.

        Roland tossed Brendan his blanket. "Until later."

        "Like hell." Brendan caught the plaid and shoved Michael aside as he headed after his bride. "Until morn."

~ * ~

        A body could not die from mortification, Faith decided with certainty. For if humiliation could kill, her husband would be digging her grave.

        Faith ran all the way back to the lake, blinking back tears. She winced as her tender bare feet landed on fallen twigs and debris. Her plan to entice Brendan had surely failed. All she had managed to incite was his wrath and her embarrassment. She could never face his men again. They probably thought her a slut.

        "How was I supposed to know, for heaven's sake?" she muttered as she reached the lake. She scrounged around, searching for her belongings in the dim light of the quarter moon. A fine mist rolled in from the lake and blanketed the earth like a fallen cloud, increasing the difficulty of her task.

        Finding her possessions, Faith pulled an undergown from her pouch and tossed it on her blanket. Then she began unwrapping the long plaid. Shivers shot through her as the cool night air licked her bare flesh. Just as she reached the end of the plaid, footsteps neared behind her.

        She whirled about to face the trail and clutched the plaid to her breasts. Brendan stepped out of the woods, his sinewy flesh rippling with each step he took. She cleared her throat. "Would you go back please? I am not decent."

        He ignored her request. His determined stride and set jaw caused her to take a step back, then another. She realized the action made her appear a coward, so she rooted her feet to the blanket and held herself rigid. She couldn't stop the tremors that seized her though. Heaven help her, she might just shake to pieces.

        Halting less than an arm's length in front of her, Brendan grasped her chin. He turned her to face the wan moonlight and studied her through hooded eyes. One of the hardest things she had ever done was not move as he perused her body. Bird wings fluttered in the pit of her stomach, and she tried to remember how to breathe.

        His gaze returned to her face. Faith couldn't read his expression and worried her thin thread of composure would surely snap if he didn't break the silence soon.

        Unable to bear his scrutiny, she pulled her chin from his hand. "I truly did not know about the plaid." She pushed a stray tress behind her ear and swallowed hard. "Do you hate me for not being what you thought?"

        "You are beautiful." His burr spread through her womb like a warm glow.

        She placed her hand on top of her head, covering her face with her arm. "Please do not say that."

        "'Tis the truth."

        "'Tis sinful and not what you wanted." Her plaid slipped, threatening to expose her right breast. She lowered her arm from her face to hold up the blanket, then bowed her head.

        He nudged up her chin until she met his gaze. "Your beauty is not sinful. 'Tis a gift from the Almighty."

        She lowered her gaze to his mouth to avoid his penetrating stare. Rats, that was a bad mistake. Now she wanted him to kiss her.

        "What is it you think I want?" he asked in a husky whisper that shivered along her spine. First she was cold, then she was hot, then cold again. Her body was surely as confused as her mind.

        "An honest, fat, ugly woman, so you will not have to worry about a cuckold." She shrugged, trying to sound calm, but heard the worry in her tone.

        "Even though you are beautiful, I am not worried about a cuckold."

        That vexed. She snapped her brows together and glared into his eyes. "Well, why not? You think no man would want me?"

        "Two reasons." His lips quirked into a small smile that made her heart flip. "I trust you not to take other men to your bed, and I will kill any man who dares to look at you too long, let alone actually touch you."

        The man was a mystery, and she would never understand him. "But why do you trust me after I deceived you?"

        He cocked a brow in an arrogant fashion. "You never deceived me."

        She raked her fingers through her hair, trying to understand. "I did not tell you about my disguise."

        "You told me you would share your secret eventually, and you just did." He crossed his arms over his chest, as relaxed as if they discussed the weather.

        "But I am not what you thought," she insisted, wishing she could make him feel as uncomfortable as she was.

        He took a step closer, and his scent enveloped her like warm sunshine. She fought the yearning to lean closer to him for a better whiff.

        "I have known of your disguise since our first meeting when I lifted you and felt the padding."

        "You would have said something were that true."

        "I wanted you to trust me enough to tell me." He reached out and caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers, branding her with his touch and making her long for more caresses. "As to what I thought, what you say is true. You are more beautiful than I thought possible."

        She shook her head. "Please do not keep saying that."

        "Why not?" he demanded. "'Tis the truth."

        Why could he not understand? "I do not wish to be beautiful."

        "Your beauty pleases me," he said simply.

        "It does?" she asked, her voice becoming breathy as her heart thrilled.

        He nodded.

        She gulped and stared at the center of his chest. "But what if I entice someone?"

        He tipped up her chin and grinned his rascal grin, sending her heart on a gallop. "You succeeded."

        Her eyes fastened on his mouth. All rational thought fled her mind as she imagined his firm, smooth lips pressed to hers while his masterful hands stroked her flesh. She sighed and noticed he was looking at her expectantly. "Did you say something?"