Highland Promise (29 page)

        "I think your mother has grown a bit too domineering," Faith whispered to Megan.

        "I have told you not to chat so much," Alera admonished, hands on hips. "Especially with your arrow notched and drawn, Faith. Distraction at such a time could prove dangerous."

        Faith rolled her eyes. "I believe you have become more arrogant since last we were together." She released her arrow and hit the edge of her target.

        Megan clapped and cheered. "You did well, Lady Sutherland."

        Alera favored Faith with a smug grin, not at all perturbed over the arrogant insult. "You are still not balanced."

        Faith ignored the gibe and turned her attention on the happy six-yearold. "You do not have to be so formal with me, Megan. You may call me Faith."

        "Nay," Alera decreed, causing Megan to pout. "She calls Bren, Uncle Bren, so she may call you Aunt Faith."

        "I like that," Faith said. "And I shall be honored to be your aunt."

        "Me too," Megan agreed. "'Tis my turn now."

        Megan notched her arrow, sighted her target, and released her bowstring. She hit her mark dead-center, then cheered.

        "You are a flaunter." Faith grinned and notched her arrow. "And I hope to become as good an archer as you."

        Alera snorted, then jested, "When I am old and gray that might happen."

        "I like her, Mam," Megan said. "I am glad you made Uncle Bren promise to marry her."

        "You what!" Faith shouted, jerking around. Appalled by Megan's declaration, she lost her grasp on her bowstring. Her arrow soared into a nearby strand of trees.

        An enraged howl shook the mountain.

~ * ~

        He would throttle the little imp this time.

        "Faith!" Brendan stormed onto the range toward his wife. He had stood with Duncan in the trees so he could enjoy his wife's practice without distracting her. He was impressed by her developing skill, and turned to tell Duncan just that when her arrow pierced his flesh.

        Faith held her ground. "Do not dare yell at me, you insufferable man."

        Duncan raced past Brendan and assumed a bracing stance in front of Faith. "Bren, let's get that arrow out. You can speak to your wife after you calm down."

        The Sutherland warriors closed in beside Duncan, forming a human wall between Brendan and his troublesome wife. Damn them all.

        "I do not want to calm down!" Brendan fisted his hands at his sides. Damn it, she had him shouting, and he never shouted! "Get out of my way," he gritted out. "She did this on purpose."

        "Huh!" Faith scoffed, hands on hips. "I did not know you were there, but I would have if I had known. Move, Duncan, and I shall put another arrow into the scoundrel. Mayhap I shall hit something vital. Just where did my arrow strike anyway?"

        "His arse," Roland replied, humor buzzing through his burr.

        "His—" Faith slapped a hand over her mouth as her eyes glittered with mirth. She finally burst into laughter. "You said I would hit you there."

        Now the lass had the gall to laugh at him in front of others. He couldn't allow such behavior. Aye, just as soon as they were alone, he would lift her skirts and blister her bottom.

        Thoughts of her bare backside stirred his lust. He didn't need that distraction now. He had an arrow in his arse, for God's sake. His wife was making him daft. "Damn it, Faith, give me your bow."

        She whipped the bow behind her and tipped up her haughty chin. "Nay."

        "Dare you deny me?"

        "I not only deny you," she taunted, "I shall also not speak to you again until you apologize. I shall not entice you either, and I believe for the rest of the day, I shall even be English."

        "What the hell am I supposed to apologize for?" He must surely be gaining graces from the penance of having such an insolent wife. Aye, he was the one the Almighty had been after when this marriage was conceived. His wife had it much easier than he did.

        Faith gazed pointedly away from him and tapped her leg with her bow. "Alera, please tell my husband I cannot answer as I am not speaking to him. Tell him too that I know 'tis my duty to remove the arrow, but he might find it less painful if someone else performs the task. I've a notion I may twist it a mite."

        Duncan released an exasperated sigh. "Faith, lass, if you have any sense at all, you will run."

        "No need." She exuded so much confidence that Brendan wanted to wring her neck. "My husband would never hurt me, and I am getting damn sick of people stepping between us whenever we decide to chat about a disagreement." Faith turned and sauntered toward the keep. "I am going to my chamber now. I shall see you later, Alera."

        "She calls this a chat?" Duncan asked incredulously.

        Brendan didn't answer. He was too busy wondering at the fact that his rage left him with Faith's absolute certainty that he would never hurt her. And damn if she wasn't right. He would feed himself to wolves before he would harm one hair on her head.

        He rubbed the back of his neck. His wife moved with a sensual grace that left him wanting to do things other than throttle her. She was turning him into a randy beastie, and he was damn glad her seven days were about up. "Alera, what did you tell her?"

        "Nothing," she said too fast.

        Brendan turned his sternest gaze on his friend's meddlesome wife. "Then why is she angry and thinking I need to apologize?"

        "I cannot say." Alera gave him a mutinous glare and placed a protective hand on Megan's shoulder. "And she probably does not realize Highlanders do not know what the courtesy of an apology is."

        "I didn't know she wasn't supposed to know." Megan shifted from foot to foot and twisted her hands around her bow.

        "Know what, faerie sprite?" Duncan asked gently.

        "About Uncle Bren promising Mam he would marry Aunt Faith." Contrition entered her eyes, and she peeked up at Brendan. "I'm sorry."

        Brendan sighed and patted her curly head. "'Tis all right, Megan."

        "Wait, before anyone else speaks another word, I must say something to Bren." Duncan's grin flashed in the sunlight. "I told you so."

        Brendan grunted. He knew Duncan referred to Faith being angry and not telling him why, yet expected an apology.

        Alera gave her husband a stern frown, then patted her daughter's shoulder. "Go put up your bow, Megan, then go play with your cousins. Bren, come to the keep. I'll remove the arrow while you think of what you want to say when you beg Faith's forgiveness."

        "I have no intention of begging her forgiveness," Brendan said. "'Twas she who insulted me."

        "If you do not, she will not speak to you," Alera reminded him.

        Brendan shrugged. "She's made that promise before. Never keeps it."

        "She will not entice you."

        "A lass with her beauty cannot help but entice him," Roland interjected.

        Brendan glowered. "I will entice her."

        Victory spread over Alera's features. "If you do not apologize, she will be English."

        "Hell." Brendan scowled and shoved his way through his men.

        "Wait, Bren." Alera rushed after him and grasped his arm.

        He halted and glared down at her. "My wife will take her own damn arrow out. You should know I am not in the mood for your mischief."

        Alera snorted and held out a hand to her husband. "Duncan, I need your dagger."

        Duncan laughed and pulled Alera against his side. "As much as I would love a good feud, I'll not let you cut my brother's heart out."

        Alera gave her husband a disgruntled look. "Though the notion holds merit, 'twas not my intent. I wish only to cut the arrow so the plaid will not pull on it and make the injury worse as he walks."

        "Be quick," Brendan turned around. "I have a wife who needs taming."

        Duncan handed his dagger to Alera and slapped Brendan's shoulder. "A word of advice, Bren. Never mention the words wife and taming in the same breath to a woman about to touch an arrow piercing your flesh."

        A twisting jab jolted through Brendan. He gritted his teeth.

        Alera pulled the plaid from the short stub of arrow remaining and held the cut-off end toward Brendan, wearing her sweetest expression. "You should keep it as a memento. I am sure Cupid thought he was guiding it to your heart not realizing he would hit your brains."

        Brendan balled his fists and his cheek throbbed. He had never had trouble with anyone, let alone a woman, speaking to him like that. People were too afraid of him. But these English lassies were a different breed. They had figured out he would never harm a woman and felt at ease being insolent toward him.

        "Duncan, your wife—" Nay, he couldn't say it.

        Duncan planted his fist on his hips and glared. "My wife what?"

        Brendan sighed and wiped a hand over his face. He wouldn't let any woman come between him and his closest friend. "She is as troublesome as my own."

~ * ~

        It was a foolish rage.

        Despite his arrogance and domineering manners, Brendan had actually made Faith feel special. Learning he had married her as a favor made her chest ache. She didn't like the pain either, so she decided to focus on staying mad.

        She didn't know if she was angrier with Brendan for his promise to Alera or herself that it mattered to her. She wished she had never told him she was glad to be his wife. The lout had probably enjoyed that boost to his arrogance.

        Faith knew her anger was unreasonable, but she didn't want to let go of it. The moment she did, a floodgate of tears would rush forth to bathe her wounded pride. She hadn't realized how much Brendan's words about wanting to marry her meant to her until she learned they weren't true.

        Faith entered the keep, requested fresh water, honey, and bandages from Moreen, then retired to her chamber.

        Pacing fed her churning emotions and wore her out. She sat, but agitation drove her from the chair to pace again. She didn't want to be a favor. She wanted to be wanted. She wanted to be cherished. Raking her fingers through her hair, she chided herself. She would give in to self-pity if she allowed her thoughts to run that course.

        Moreen brought the requested supplies and placed them on a narrow table near the bed. "I heard what happened and have brought Lady Ranald's herbal tray too. Will that be all, milady?"

        "Aye, Moreen," Faith answered with as much calmness as she could muster. "My thanks."

        The moment the door closed behind the housekeeper, Faith burst into tears. Brendan would arrive at any moment in a foul humor. She should cease her caterwauling and prepare for what would surely be another battle. It was her fault he had broken her heart, not his. She shouldn't have let herself fall in love with the brute.

        Faith slapped her forehead as waves of dawning almost swept her off her feet. "Sweet Jesu, help me. I actually love him."

        Before she could consider the significance of her momentous realization, the door banged against the inside wall. Faith spun about and raised a hand to her throat. Brendan filled the doorframe, his face a chiseled mask devoid of expression.

        Faith gulped back her tears. His eyes burned right into her. Lord, now she felt like crying harder. She wouldn't though. She wouldn't tell him of her love or let him know he had wounded her heart. He would only gloat. She turned her back on him and sniffed while wiping her wet cheeks with her fingers.

        "Are you crying?" he demanded in an accusatory tone.

        What a ludicrous question. She should talk to him, she supposed. Refusing to speak seemed childish now, but she would maintain a reserved poise. Aye, she would guard her heart from more bruises. Later she would just have to figure out how to unlove him.

        "I'm not crying," she answered without turning around. She sniffed again, feeling like a fool because she couldn't make her tears stop. "Lie down, and I shall see to your injury."

        His hands settled on her shoulders. She stiffened. The man moved with the prowess of a stalking lion.

"Faith?"

        His low burr flowed over her like a lover's caress, and her breath hitched. She clasped her hands in front of her and tried to get a grip on her emotions. "Lie down please."

        "Not until you tell me the cause of your tears." He turned her around and gently wiped her face with his plaid.

        His caring gesture made her weep more. He drew her into a strong embrace and settled his chin on top of her head. She proceeded to soak his tunic. He tenderly stroked her back. Tension coiled in her womb. Heaven, help her, his nearness was arousing her lust.

        Faith's sobs dwindled and her tears ceased. She thanked the Almighty she had finally run out of water.

        "I apologize for drenching you," she said, pushing away.

        He tightened his embrace, trapping her against him. "I do not like your tears, and I'm not letting go until you tell me why you cried."

        She shrugged. "I did something foolish."

        "What did you do that was foolish?"

        "It does not matter. You will never cherish me." Rats, why had she said that?

        He went completely still. "Do you want me to cherish you?"

        "Never mind. I am not making sense."

        "Make me understand."

        How could she make sense when she was confused? She pressed her cheek against his chest and sighed. "I do not like being a favor. You cannot cherish a favor."

        "What does that mean?"

        "I never should have told you I was glad we married. I thought you wanted me at the time." She detested sounding like the pitiful, weak woman she didn't want to be. "You married me because of a promise you made to Alera."