Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series) (7 page)

“Does that feel good?” he whispered.

Her breath caught in her throat and she nodded, unable to speak.

His black eyes locked with hers as he continued to blow soothing currents over her skin, his full lips curved and intimate. She shifted in her seat, unsure of what to do or say. She tried to look away but could not, held captive by his gaze.

Her pulse quickened. His other hand descended on her arm, stroking her skin. Although calloused and rough, his powerful hands moved like a soft breeze that ignited a chain of sensation, causing her to tremble.

Her body leaned toward him of its own volition like a flower turning from shadow. Finally, she could bear it no longer. With a gasp, she stood up and pulled her hand free. He looked up at her with wide eyes. Then he lunged to his feet, his chair falling back with a crash. A string of curses filled the room as he stormed outside.

She could still feel the heat of his touch on her skin, burning hot, masking the pain of her wounds. She closed her eyes, yielding to the sweet fire. Then her eyelids sprung open.

What in God’s name was she doing?

She looked over at Nellore who had fallen asleep curled up beneath her blanket. Relief poured over her as she realized whatever had just occurred had not been witnessed by her daughter—short-lived relief as her mind returned to Duncan.

She was no maid. She knew the name of the feelings he awakened with his touch. It was desire, but what sent her mind reeling was the intensity of feeling from the lightest caress. This was new. It felt like a wave washing from his body into hers, except the water was not cool or crisp like the ocean. Heavy, undulating currents seeped through his fingers, pouring warm honey into her veins.

Sweet Jesus above, had he felt it too?

Horrified, she laid her head on the table, hiding her face in the crook of her elbow, burying her head deeper when a worse idea presented itself: what if he hadn’t felt anything at all? He despised her, could not even tolerate the sight of her. He likely deplored the contact that had made places within her come alive.

She started and sat up with a jolt as the door swung open, and he ducked inside.

“Unwrap the other bandage,” he growled. The muscles in his arms and chest were flexed with tension.

She sat unmoving as a chill crept up her spine. Dark emotion twisted in his eyes like seething whirlpools of fury. She had never liked Duncan. She did not trust him, but until that moment, she had never been afraid of him. She continued to stare with wide-eyed trepidation.

“Damn and hellfire,” he cursed loudly.

She stood pointing to Nellore, her instincts as a mother trampling her fear. “You will check yourself at all times when my daughter is near, Duncan MacKinnon.”

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When he looked at her again, it was as though he was leagues away. Indifferent Duncan had returned. This Duncan she knew how to handle.

She stripped away the bandages, tearing them off heedless of the blisters beneath. The sooner he was done dressing her

wounds the better. Judging by how quickly he hurried over, he agreed.

“This will hurt at first, Brenna, but it will clean the sores and encourage healing.”

He did not look at her as he spoke, which she could only pray continued.

“Just be done with it,” she said.

He dipped a rag in the bowl with the sea water mixture then applied the saturated fabric to her blisters. She flinched but more because of his touch than the sting of the salt. Nothing was pouring out of his body into hers this time, but it brought back the all too recent feelings. She swatted his hand away and immersed both of hers into the bowl. Her face twisted with pain, but she refused to utter a sound. She could not avoid his touch as he smeared the salve and wrapped her hands in fresh linen, but she knew he was just as eager to be done. Beneath his hurried motions, she detected a hint of desperation.

“There,” he said after tying a final knot. Then he took a few strides back, away from her and closer to the door.

“I shall speak to Bridget and tell her of your need. She will send a woman from the village to stay with you for a spell to help you tend house and care for Nellore.” Without another word, he was gone.

She exhaled and slumped into her seat. Her mind was reeling like a wounded bird spiraling toward land. She put her head once more on the table as she prayed for God to restore her self-possession.

***

Barely an hour past when help arrived in the form of Rona, the youngest daughter of the cottar who lived just beyond Brenna’s land. With an eager knock, she chirped, “’Tis I, Rona.”

Brenna groaned before encouraging the lass to enter. Rona’s fine qualities could fill a room. Never could fault be found with her kind and hardworking nature, but her chatter never ceased. She would have preferred Rona’s older sister, Nessa, who guarded her words like precious keepsakes.

“Good evening, Brenna,” Rona said as she danced inside. Brenna imagined Rona was grateful for her new duty. A change from the everyday routine was always welcomed by young lasses who craved excitement more than anything else, something Brenna never had time for in her youth.

“Forgive me for saying so, Brenna, but you look terrible,” Rona said with gasp.

“I’ve felt better,” Brenna said as she wondered exactly what about her looked unwell. Her hands were bandaged, but the rest of her should be just fine. Did her face reveal how unnerved she was by her last encounter with Duncan?

Once more, she felt the heat of his fingers stroke her arm and the curious weight of his gaze. Unnerved, she decided, was a trifling compared to how she truly felt. Mortified was a more apt description.

“You look as though you’ve not slept for days and days. You will never find a new husband if you do not rest.”

Brenna lifted a chiding brow, “My husband passed but two months ago. Hold your tongue, Rona.”

“Forgive me, Brenna, but a new season is at hand, and you have a home and family to consider.”

Brenna took a deep breath as she tried to remember that Rona was little more than a child. Likely, she was repeating gossip said by her mother or some of the other ladies in the village. A tug on her tunic provided a necessary distraction.

“My sweet lass,” Brenna said, smiling down at Nellore’s expectant face. Chubby, wee arms stretched high. “How did you know your mama needed a hug?” Suddenly, the peace Brenna craved returned. All that mattered was Nellore.

Enough nonsense. Real concerns awaited her attention.

“I thank you for coming, Rona. There’s much to be done before nightfall.”

Brenna doled out chore after chore with the hope of silencing Rona’s wagging tongue, but much to her dismay, Rona seemed to pause for nothing. How she managed to breathe was a mystery.

“Well, you ken ‘tis only a matter of time before men in the village make their intentions known. You should always put extra fish to fry so you are prepared for when a suitor decides to call. In fact, Tara told me that she overhead Jamie telling Duncan he intended to ask you to dance during the festival for Lughnasa. She also said that Duncan did not seem very happy about this, which of course I dread to consider. Duncan always smiles at me. I can’t imagine him unhappy. I said as much to mum who agreed that Duncan was the most affable of men.”

“So I’ve heard,” Brenna said dryly.

“Nothing could be truer. He is forever laughing. But then you of course know this better than anyone. He does not stray far from your lands these days. My mum told my da that he sleeps up on the hill to make sure the MacLeans do not run off with your steer. Mum said that if you had any decency at all, you would have at least offered him a dry place to sleep in the barn.”

For pity’s sake, the man was rude, insufferable, and now she could add confusing to the list of his supposedly fine attributes. When did she become the villain?

“My mum said that Duncan was of course the obvious choice for a husband. Besides being the handsomest man in the village—
she
said that. I actually think Jamie is the handsomest. Still, Duncan is sworn to protect you. And he already lives here…”

“He most certainly does not live here,” Brenna snapped.

“Well, my mum said he does. And my mum said that you would be a fool to ignore his advances.”

“Is that right? Well, Rona, you can assure your mum that Duncan finds my company barely tolerable as it is. I doubt he is going to make any advances, as you put it.”

“Well, perhaps if you took that ugly scarf off your head, he might notice how attractive you are. You really do look dreadful like that.”

Dear God in heaven, how could one lass have so much to say? And why did everyone care so much about her hair?

Finally, after supper was prepared and Nellore fed and asleep for the night, Rona’s older brother appeared to escort her home.

“I shall return on the morrow, Brenna,” Rona promised.

“Not too early,” Brenna said with a forced smile.

Then she collapsed next to Nellore. She could not remember ever being so tired, but sleep did not come. A strange nagging kept her awake.

“Damn Rona and her Mother and their meddling ways,” she said as she threw off her blanket.

Grabbing an extra blanket, she cursed again and stormed out the door. Why could people not mind their own affairs?

Huffing up the hill, Brenna crested the top and spotted Duncan straightaway. He was stretched out on the ground with nothing to cushion his rest but grasses and bracken. The moon gleamed overhead, casting a soft glow over everything it touched including Duncan’s skin. Her eyes trailed across his broad chest left bear to the new summer. His face was soft and relaxed, his lips slightly curved as though he was enjoying a pleasant dream. She settled her gaze on his broad hands, folded and at rest on his hard stomach. A whisper of longing passed through her, tightening her chest and filling her once again with confusion that gave birth to anger.

She threw the blanket on his head, “You can sleep in the barn,” she said, then spun around and started back down the hill.

“At long last,” he called out.

She released a frustrated screech into the night.

“And a goodnight to you, lass.”

His laughter followed her down the hill, enflaming her temper until she could barely draw breath. She needed to be rid of Duncan MacKinnon. Until that time, she would have no peace.

Chapter 6

The next morning, Brenna awoke with Nellore’s warm, little body snuggling close. Tiny fingers clung to Brenna’s and a busy thumb rubbed Brenna’s hand over and over again while its owner slept. Brenna cuddled Nellore closer, not wanting to let go. She inhaled the scent of her soft, black curls and smiled.

A sudden commotion outside demanded her attention, but she regretted having to leave her daughter’s side. Pressing a kiss to Nellore’s forehead, she rose and hurried over to her washing basin. She splashed her face with cool water, clearing the sleepiness from her eyes. Then she tossed a couple birch twigs in her mouth to chew while she pulled on her tunic and slippers. Not bothering to belt her waist, she spit the twigs into the basin and hurried outside.

She gasped as her eyes feasted on progress.

Cormac and Jamie managed an ox-driven plow over the final field still unturned. Bridget’s daughters, Fiona and Isobel, were spreading seed. Their faces were hidden, but their waves of silver blonde hair revealed their identities. And then there was Anna and Bridget. They popped right up from the plant the moment Brenna stepped out into the morning light and waved.

Belonging wrapped a tender cloak around Brenna’s shoulders. She shivered with delight at the display of support from her clan. She was not born a MacKinnon, and Mull had only been her home for seven years, but she felt as tied to the land and to the people as to her birth clan on Skye.

A more beautiful start to the day she could not have imagined. She laughed noting Rona’s absence and wondered if she would have felt differently if the well-meaning lass was still gibbering away. A nuisance-free morning was just what she needed. She looked around; someone else was notably absent. Calm enveloped her as relief released the tension from her shoulders. Only warm-hearted friends joined her this morning. She was free of scorn and rudeness.

With a smile, she started toward Anna and Bridget. But then
he
came around the corner of the house and headed straight over to her dear friends. She held back as she watched an easy smile spread across his features.

Who was this man? The one that smiled and teased.

She seldom saw his dark eyes as they typically looked everywhere except at her, and when she did they were at best guarded and at worse menacing.

Or staring at her with open desire.

She shook her head mortified by her own thought. She did not ken what transpired between them when Duncan dressed her hands, but one thing she knew for certain was that Duncan would prefer any woman over her. He never feigned affection where Brenna was concerned.

He said something to Anna and Bridget that had them bent over with laughter. His eyes were shining. Nay, they twinkled. In fact, his whole blasted face shone with a lightness she had never herself received. But then she recalled the night they first met and remembered he had once treated her with kindness.