Highland Promise (25 page)

        Faith wiped a hand over her face and blew a stray tress from her view. Hadn't she toyed with being Brendan's in her dreams? There was no going back. She would just have to become a good wife and hope he thought their war was over.

        She had a great responsibility. The Church taught that a wife must see to her husband's spiritual welfare. She would have to save his soul from Perdition. It would be a tough job. Not only did he run around half-naked, but considering the way he had pounded on Edrik, he probably enjoyed fighting too. He was a flawed man all right.

        He was also close to possessing her heart. Sinful though she was, she rather liked the notion of loving him. Why, she had vowed to love him in front of an archbishop, so she should get started.

        It wouldn't be easy to love the contrary man or save his soul. Though she was rather enthralled with what he had done to her during the past night. She wondered how long he would wait before he mated with her again. If not for the throb between her legs, she would ask him. Rats, was she going to ache this badly every time they joined? Considering his size, she supposed it was likely.

        She released a weary sigh. It was going to be a hard life. Life as a penitent nun would probably be easier.

~ * ~

        The lass probably couldn't pleat a parchment.

        Brendan forced himself not to laugh and ordered his men to restrain their mirth by sending a stern glare in their direction.

        Faith wore a pale-blue kirtle over an ivory undergown that peeked enticingly out at the edges of a scooped neckline. Her long raven tresses gleamed under the sun, drawn back into a simple style with a matching blue ribbon. Her lips were rosy and swollen from his kisses. She would probably faint from humiliation if she learned of the love marks on her neck.

        In contrast to the delightful picture she presented, her plaid was in complete disarray. She had loosely wrapped it around her torso several times in a jumble and tossed one end over her shoulder.

        She stood before him with her eyes aimed at his boots, her cheeks a lovely shade of pink, and her hands clasped at her waist. "Brendan, I believe I may need your assistance with my plaid after all."

        He didn't say a word. He was afraid if he opened his mouth, his barely restrained laughter would burst forth.

        With a few deft moves, he outfitted her in his colors, the pleats neatly arranged. He tied the rope belt at her waist, securing the garment. Then he raised her chin with the nook of his finger and smiled. "All done. My colors have never graced another so fair."

        Her eyes shimmered like aquamarine pools. Her breath hitched, and her tongue flicked over her lower lip. He had to stifle the urge to drag her back to the lake for a thorough loving.

        "My thanks," she said in a breathy voice.

        "Are you hungry?"

        She gulped and flushed bright red. "I—"

        "You are and you will eat." He had no intention of letting her say nay and starve herself again.

        She knocked his hand from her face and scowled. "You do not have to order me. I am famished, and I appreciate that you wore your tunic."

        He cocked a brow and wondered how long it would take for her to realize he had returned to the camp to get the tunic, so his men had seen every mark.

        "Here, milady," Jamie said, approaching her. "Farl to break your fast."

        She accepted the small, flat, brown loaf and puckered her brow as she turned it over in her hand. "What is farl?"

        "'Tis an oatcake, and you will eat it." Brendan crossed his arms over his chest, so she would know he was prepared to wait until she consumed every crumb.

        Faith ignored him and beamed at Jamie, causing the warrior to blush like a virgin at an orgy. "My thanks, Jamie."

        She bit into the farl, grimaced, and swallowed hard. Then she favored his men with a hesitant smile. "I do not wish to fash you, but is there aught to drink?"

        Luthias handed her a pigskin filled with heather ale. Faith took a swig, turned crimson, then coughed and gasped for breath.

        Brendan patted her back. "You will get used to the taste."

        "I shall die before that happens." She pulled a linen from her sleeve and dabbed at her mouth and watery eyes. "Are there any pears?"

        "All eaten," Brendan replied.

        Cleit cleared his throat and tossed Brendan a pear.

        "I knew the lady liked them," Cleit said with a bashful shrug.

        Brendan shook his head and handed Faith the fruit. His men were infatuated with his bonny wife. She was proving troublesome. He would probably have a feud or two over her before all was said and done.

        After she finished her meal, he signaled his men to prepare to depart. He mounted and reached for Faith.

        She backed up, balling her hands at her sides. Then she heaved in a deep breath and looked him right in the eyes. "Brendan, I want to get along with you, and I know you are in a hurry. While I do not wish to aggravate you, I am not riding today. And I think 'tis mean of you to expect me to."

        One had to admire her grit, but she had to learn her place, which was in his lap at the moment. "Dare you challenge me?"

        "I do not wish to challenge you, but I must." She moved near him and placed a hand on his thigh. Her heated touch sizzled straight to his loins just as he noticed the cloudy-blue hue of her eyes. That doused his ardor. "'Tis not just my...bottom that is bruised," she whispered. "I do not believe I can sit astride your mount and endure a jolting ride at the pace you set. I would rather run alongside."

        Hell, he should have known. Her words made him feel like dirt, especially after he had told her he would protect her. "Michael, bring me Lady Sutherland's bundle."

        Michael took the roll from the back of the gray mare and passed it along.

        Brendan secured it to the pommel of his saddle. Leaning down, he clasped her waist. Then he lifted her onto his lap with her legs dangling over his left thigh. Her fingernails dug into his arms. A small groan escaped her as her tender backside landed on the old padding inside the bag. He slipped an arm beneath her knees and the other arm around her back. Then he lifted her against his chest.

        "Roland, take the lead," he called out. "And set an easy pace today."

        Her fist slammed against his shoulder. "You knave, you are doing it again."

        Brendan sighed. "What am I doing besides seeing to your comfort?"

        "You are making me appear unfit in front of your men."

        Her outrage was so misplaced he couldn't help taunting her. "You are unfit."

        "I am not," she grumbled. "And you should not deliberately embarrass me."

        "I have done nothing to embarrass you." He nudged his mount onward.

        "I was worried about your soul, but you know what? 'Twould be a wasted effort to continue, for as mean as you are, you will surely end up in Perdition just to plague me for all eternity."

        "You worry too much." She was a vexatious bit of baggage, and he was damn irritated with her at the moment even if he did like holding her in his arms and breathing in her intoxicating scent. "Are you comfortable?"

        "Aye," she admitted grudgingly. "Though I could have used more sleep."

        "Then get some and cease your blethering." He shoved her head down on his shoulder.

        She blew out a long, exasperated sigh. "Brute."

        He clenched his jaw. The lass was annoying in her need to speak the last word. At their current pace, it would take six days to reach the Ranald holding. She ought to be thanking him for this kindness. If word of his softhearted gesture got out, he would be the laughingstock of the Highlands.

        A few moments later, her arms tightened about him and her warm breath caressed his neck. "Brendan."

        "What?"

        Her nose nuzzled his neck, and she released a blissful purr.

        He grinned as the sun shone brighter. His lass was asleep and dreaming about him.

Sixteen

        The sight pleased him.

        The Highlander was infatuated with the wench. Given a little time, the high and mighty laird might even come to love his new bride. Aye, then vengeance would be doubly sweet.

        He had thought the woman virtuous until she brazenly displayed herself. She had certainly turned out to be a beautiful slut. Just thinking about her exquisite curves made lust slither around in his gut to provoke his festering rage. He could almost taste her succulent flesh.

        His mouth watered. His craving roused. He grew ravenous.

        He would have to hunt up other quarry to ease his current desire. God, how he hated this country. Prey was scarce and well guarded. He would have a successful hunt though. Aye, he would prove his prowess.

        And in the not too distant future, his lustful appetite would be satiated with revenge.

Seventeen

        Her barbaric husband was neglecting his duties. She was glad she couldn't see her toes. They were probably blue, for heaven's sake. The further north they rode, the icier the air became, and it was only October. She might well freeze before winter. And her husband apparently intended to let her. He sure wasn't sharing his body heat.

        The past night she told Brendan she wasn't sore any longer, hoping he would enchant her again. All he had done was kiss her forehead, tell her that was good, roll away, and fall asleep. Now she wished she had kept her improvement to herself. If he thought her still sore, she would be pressed against him with both his arms wrapped around her, not six inches in front of him, clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering, while holding his arm for dear life and trying not to fall from his horse.

        She wanted Brendan to make love to her again. She would have to figure out how to seduce him, because he didn't seem inclined to intimacies. He had said she enticed him before. She just needed to understand exactly what aroused his lust.

        But first she must get warm. Faith reached behind her. Grasping Brendan's shoulder drape, she tugged it free from his belt.

        "What are you doing?" he demanded.

        "Trying to get warm." She pulled the material over her shoulder to cover her front, then scooted backward and pressed against his chest.

        He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, cloaking her with his warmth and manly scent. Then he began massaging her in an effort to restore heat to her icy flesh. "We'll stop soon. I'll get your extra blanket then."

        Hot breath wisped over her neck like a heated caress. Tingles of desire swept through her as her chills subsided. She might not be able to seduce him, but he had arousing her down to a fine art, and he wasn't even trying. "I do not need the blanket now. And be careful how you touch me, or my plaid will fall off."

        "Good." He nuzzled her neck. "'Twill save me the bother of taking it off. I am glad you are no longer sore."

        He nipped her tender ear lobe, then his tongue slipped into her ear canal. Faith groaned as a shudder of yearning spiraled through her body. She suppressed the urge to twist about and seize his lips for a wanton kiss.

        "Brendan, you shouldn't do this," she complained in a breathless voice. "'Tis daylight, and your men might see."

        His sigh should have parted her hair as he settled his chin on top of her head. His hands kept moving though. He thoroughly caressed her, and had her shivering again, only this time with fiery longing.

        She glanced down and gasped. "Would you look what you have done! My pleats are jumbled again."

        "I will fix them later. And you like when I touch you. It makes you hot."

        The fire in her belly moved to her cheeks. She couldn't very well deny his words without making herself a hypocrite, and he sounded as if he wouldn't mind being seduced. "I do like when you touch me, but I do not wish to speak of this now. How much further before we reach your home?"

        "Less than a day." His hands continued roaming over her.

        "Then we shall be there this eve?" She gripped his arms to still his wandering hands.

        He sighed and settled his arms around her waist. "We are stopping at the Ranald holding and shall pass the night there."

        "Why do we not just go home?" she grumbled. "I weary of this journey."

        "I wish for you to speak with someone at the Ranald holding."

        "Who?" She twisted around and looked up at him.

        "You will know soon enough." He tapped her nose, then brushed a stray tress from her cheek and tucked the strand behind her ear.

        Butterflies fluttered in her stomach. She didn't want him to know how flustered he could make her with a simple gesture. "Humph. I think you jest. We shall not see anyone, for we have seen nary a soul since we crossed the border. All the smart people probably moved south to flee the cold."

        "We have not seen anyone, because I did not wish to tarry with friends, and everyone else is afraid."

        "Afraid of what?"

        "Me."

        Faith suppressed an unladylike snort with great effort. "Have I told you lately how arrogant you are?"

        "Nay, but 'tis good to know you still notice." Cobalt eyes raked over her in a sensual caress, increasing the tension gripping her womb.

        She compressed her lips and glared. "'Tis sinful to hold so much pride."

        "Not if it is deserved," he replied smugly.

        Instilling the virtue of humility in the man was hopeless. His proud features held her spellbound for a moment. She realized she liked his arrogant ways. His attitude made her feel safe. She faced forward and leaned her back against him. "If you do not wish to tarry, then why do we stop at the Ranalds?"