Highland Promise (34 page)

        His hands seemed to be everywhere at once. She yearned for flesh against flesh, complete union. She gasped for breath as liquid heat seeped between her legs. "But we are outside."

        "Indecent people do not worry about such things." He moved his sporran to his hip and hitched his plaid aside.

        She glanced down. The ready evidence of his desire caused her to gulp. Her own passions burned hotter. "We are in a savage forest. What if—"

        "Alone in the middle of a forest." He hitched up her skirt, cupped her bottom, and brought her against him. "Wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist."

        "We are standing up." She placed her hands on his shoulders, and he lifted her. She released a satisfied moan as he thrust into her, filling her with exquisite pleasure.

        "What are we doing now?" he asked with a wicked grin that made her pleasure more intense.

        "What?" she asked in a daze.

        "You seemed fond of stating everything we do, so I am waiting for you to say my shaft is inside you and we are—"

        She flushed and placed a hand over his mouth before more shameful words could spill forth. "Can we just do it and not talk about it?"

        Brendan thought that a brilliant notion and granted his wife's request. She went wild, completely abandoning herself and more than returning the pleasure he sought to give her. Ecstasy consumed him. He dropped to his knees and his seed shot into her womb.

        A dog's bark and his name called from a distance brought him back to reality.

        Faith kissed his neck and whispered, "I love you, Brendan. Do you think you planted a baby in me this time?"

        He rubbed his jaw over her silken hair, then kissed her temple, enjoying their combined scent. "I cannot say, but I think we should do this often until we know for certain."

        "Alera says she and Duncan still do even though they know."

        He could hear the blush in her voice. He pulled back and arched a brow. "Has my wife, who was to have been a nun, turned into a voracious wench?"

        "Only for you." She pressed flush against him and tightened her embrace.

        "We are about to have company," he whispered. "My sister calls my name."

        She gasped and pushed away. "Let me up, so I can right my plaid."

        He chuckled, gave her a hot, wet kiss, and eased out of her.

        Faith stood and clutched at his shoulder. "My knees are wobbly."

        "You're welcome." He flashed a rascal grin as he stood. Then he righted her pleats.

        Just as he finished draping her plaid, a blow to his back toppled him on top of her. He quickly rolled away. Before he could assure himself she was unharmed, his face was slathered in greeting by a mammoth wolfhound.

        He shoved the snout aside. "Damn it, Dog, get away from me. Faith, are you all right?"

        "I shall be when this beast takes his nose away from my...private place," she snapped.

        He sat up in time to see Dog sticking his nose toward Faith's crotch.

        She slapped the shiny-black snout. "Stop now!" she ordered. "Sit!"

        The beast sat on his haunches, wagging his tail, his nose still sniffing toward her, but from a distance. Brendan couldn't believe the speed with which the normally ferocious wolfhound obeyed his wife. Hell, half his clan was terrified of the beast. But his wife, who was terrified of tamed horses, dared to slap the animal.

        She tapped his nose again. "Nay!" She turned a disgruntled frown on Brendan. "Your dog has no manners. Does the brute have a name?"

        Before he could answer, a small blonde imp threw herself at him. "You're home!"

        He caught his sister to his chest and kissed her cheek. Then he favored her with his sternest glower. "Damn it, Heather, what are you doing here with no protection?"

        "Brendan, do not say damn it to Heather," Faith ordered with more firmness than a man should tolerate from his wife. "I am certain this slobbering beast is all the protection she needs."

        Heather glared at Faith and tossed out what Brendan was sure sounded to his wife like a curse of her own in gibberish.

        "Faith does not understand you, Heather." He set his sister on the ground. "Speak to her in English and be respectful."

        The lass faced Faith, fisted her hands, and scrunched her face into a scowl. "I said you are not my mother, so you cannot order me."

        "You will show my wife respect, or—"

        Faith cut him off with a wave of her hand and smiled at the girl. "I am glad to hear that, Heather. You see, with no friends here, I was looking forward to a sister who could be my best friend and confidant. And mayhap help me learn Gaelic."

        Heather studied Faith through narrowed eyes. Then a smile of pure mischief twitched her nose. "I will be happy to have you for my sister, and I will help you learn Gaelic, too."

        "No mischief, Heather," Brendan ordered. "You will teach her correctly."

        His sister ignored him. "You are even bonnier than Alera." She reached out and caressed a stand of Faith's hair, then snatched her grimy hand back. "I wish I had pretty hair like you. Mine frizzles."

        "Ah, but you have angel hair that floats about your head like a halo." Faith fluffed Heather's hair. "You should be happy the Almighty has blessed you as His own. Mine is so slick that it always falls from its braid."

        "His name is Dog," Heather said.

        Faith tilted her head and frowned. "What?"

        Heather giggled and pointed at the wolfhound that once again had his snout sniffing toward Faith. "You asked Bren what Dog's name is, so I told you."

        Faith raised her gaze to Brendan's. "You named your dog, Dog?"

        Her astonishment only added to her beauty in his opinion, but now was a good time for a jest. Heather could be counted on to join his fun. He suppressed a laugh and folded his arms across his chest. "Actually, his name is Big Dog."

        "Aye," Heather agreed. "That way we can tell him from the other."

        "What is the other's name?" Faith asked sarcastically. "Little Dog?"

        "Of course not," Brendan said, enjoying her incredulity. Her eyes sparkled like aquamarine gems and brightened his day.

        "That would be a daft name." Heather tossed him a conspiratorial wink.

        "My other dog is Wee Dog." And how he managed to keep a straight face with those words he didn't know, but the feat restored his faith in his ability to control his emotions around his wife.

        Dog wagged his tail, happy the conversation revolved around him, and poked his nose back toward Faith's crotch.

        "I ordered you to stop that." She slapped Dog's nose.

        Brendan couldn't resist just a little more goading. "Dog cannot help his nature. He smells—"

        "I know what he smells," Faith snapped with a scorching glare that threatened the surrounding woodlands.

        "What does he smell?" Heather asked.

        Dog sat back and gazed at Faith through adoring eyes and scratched his neck with a hind leg.

        "For heaven's sake, Brendan, the poor brute has fleas," Faith said, ignoring Heather's question. "Which way home?"

        "Have you two been mating?" Heather asked.

        A crimson hue streaked Faith's cheeks.

        "What kind of question is that?" Brendan demanded, fists on hips, as he towered over his sister.

        She shrugged, all innocence. "Well, you would not answer my question about what Dog smells, and anytime you do not answer me, mating is part of the answer."

        "Any time I do not answer, it means you do not need to know." He pulled his wife against his side and guided her through the woods. "Come, sweet. Let's go home."

~ * ~

        Faith's side burned as if a searing iron had run her through. She wasn't going to show her weakness though. She would keep up with the fastpaced, long-legged man if it killed her. She had always loved to walk, but hiking over rocky terrain and through overgrown woods wasn't what she was used to. Her husband needed a lesson on the meaning of short distance too.

        Heather and Big Dog skipped ahead down the craggy path. Faith braced her aching side with one hand while she focused all her energies on keeping up with Brendan. They exited the forest into a long, flat meadow, surrounded by three mountains. A lake took up a good bit of the land at the base of the north mountain. Faith sent up a prayer, thanking her Maker for the flat land. Fluffy white sheep scattered the field, their black faces scrunching as they munched on the tan grass. Dog and Heather disappeared into a woodland on another mountain on the opposite side of the field.

        Faith pressed her hand more firmly against her side. Sweat beaded on her brow and chilled her flesh as she fought both the cool Highland temperature and pain of exertion. Brendan's long legs moved faster across the field, but she would keep up with him before showing her weakness. He surely wasn't wearing her out on purpose. The lout was probably just oblivious to the stamina of a normal person.

        A horrible stench worse than a vat of rotten eggs assailed her. She stumbled to a halt and leaned forward, clutching her belly. Bile rose in her throat, and a groan poured from her mouth.

        Brendan glanced over his shoulder. He frowned and hurried to her. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he wiped her brow with the drape of his plaid. "I forgot your frailty."

        That was surely the closest she'd ever heard to an apology from him. She noted he worded it as an insult. "I am not...frail... Just not used to... Have stitch in my...side." She swallowed her nausea and grimaced. "What is that stench?"

        He glanced toward a lone mound of earth with a wooden door and a thatched roof. "Beyond that hut is where the clan disposes of refuse. We bring it down the mountain to keep the stench away from the dwelling areas."

        "You need to smother it and burn it." She wiped a hand over her brow.

        "We do. Every spring and autumn." He pulled her against him, and she was glad for the place to lean. "It did not help the odor the last year."

        Faith eyed the area again. "Does someone actually live there?"

        "Not any longer. This entire field was once filled with such dwellings when I was a lad. The clan lived here. Now most of the clan lives higher up in yon mountain. The keep is at the top of a path just across the way."

        She gave the mountain a skeptical glance and bit back a groan. She didn't know if she could survive much more of this short walk. Heaving in a deep breath, she pushed against his chest. "Then let us be on our—"

        Brendan tightened his arm around her shoulders and scooped his other arm behind her knees, lifting her against his chest.

        She placed her hands on his shoulders. "What are you doing?"

        "Carrying you." He walked across the field.

        She draped her arms around his neck and wiggled her rump, making herself more comfortable. "I know that, but where?"

        "Home."

        "You cannot carry me all the way up that mountain. You will hurt your back."

        "Do not insult my strength. You don't weight much more than a lamb, and you are tired."

        "I do not mean to insult your strength. Now let me down." She pushed against his shoulders. "I shall not have our clan thinking me weak."

        "You are weak." His lips quirked.

        "I am not, and you are trying my patience." Aye, and from that devilish gleam in his eyes, she knew he was teasing her. She settled in his arms and quit pushing. "I am just not...rugged."

        "Our clan will not think you weak." He winked. "They will think I lust after my wife and cannot keep my hands off of her."

        Her breath caught. Lust was surely a first step to love, wasn't it? "Do you?"

        "Do I what?"

        "Lust after me."

        He grunted and increased his pace.

        Faith smiled and laid her head on his shoulder. "I lust after you, too."

        "Do you want to stop a spell?" he offered. "Yon trees will shield your modesty."

        "I want to go home and get away from this stench. My stitch is gone, so I can walk now."

        He sighed as if disappointed and continued their hike across the meadow. "You cannot."

        "But—"

        "I refuse to put you down." His tone suggested she not argue.

        They reached a well-worn mountain trail and entered another forest. The air cleared of the stench, and crisp autumn leaves crunched under Brendan's boots. The earthy scents of the forest mingled with his spicy maleness. Contentment filled her. She thought that strange, because she should be excited over seeing her new home.

        She noticed more mound dwellings strewn amidst the mountain trees. A horn blast resounded. Men, women, and children soon surrounded them.

        A few disapproving glances were cast her way. Faith pushed on Brendan's shoulders and tried to wiggle out of his arms. He tightened his hold and kissed her brow. She let him have his way. Struggling was unladylike and futile after all. When she glanced about again, all objections had vanished from the staring faces, replaced by welcoming smiles. Brendan's tender possessive gesture had accomplished that feat.

        Hooves thundered down the path toward them. A brown-haired clansman with a brawny build approached and leapt from his mount. "Welcome home, laird."

        "Hello, Douglas. All is well then?" Brendan continued up the trail.

        "There were a few problems. I will give you an accounting later."

        Brendan nodded in acknowledgement, a rigid chieftain once again.

        The warrior fell into place beside him, casting her a curious stare through warm hazel eyes. Faith noticed he stood a full head shorter than her husband, but then she supposed most men did.