The Highlander's Triumph (8 page)

The power Mariana held was her charm. She could will a man into doing her bidding—through smiles, witty conversation, the perfect dip of her shoulder, and the curve of her lips. More often than not, men thought with their cocks, allowing their fantasies to rule their decisions, rather than their minds.

Brandon’s hands spread over her waist as he helped her down. For a brief moment, their bodies collided and frissons of need sparked a path from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Had he felt it? He took a quick step back, and she liked to think the reason was because he had.

He offered her his elbow and she took it, lifting the copious amounts of fabric from their cloak. They slogged through the muddy courtyard, through the thick, iron-studded wood door and up a curved stone staircase. They entered through another door into a room filled with warriors dispatching their wet garments.

Mariana gasped, her eyes widening for only a second before she averted her gaze.

“Och, lads, ye could have waited,” Brandon growled. He steered her quickly through the throng of half nude warriors and up another flight of stairs, where they entered into what appeared to be the great hall, though it was empty. “Sorry ye had to witness that.”

Mariana giggled. “’Tis not anything I’ve not seen before.” Her hand flew to her
mouth, she’d not meant to say that.

Brandon swiveled his head toward her, stopped in his tracks and raised a brow. “Ye’ve been in a room full of naked men afore tonight?”

Now, Mariana laughed in full, her hand to her chest. “Nay, nay.” Oh, how was she going to get herself out of this? “I meant naught but that I’ve seen a nude man before.”

“Ye have?”

Her face heated, indeed her neck and chest and entire body seemed to burn. Mariana swallowed. Nodded.

“I was married once,” she said, choosing to leave out what the nature of her survival was now.

“Were ye?” He studied her, as if seeing her in a new light.

Mariana nodded.
“Not for long.”

“What happened?”

She shrugged, not really wanting to go into much detail. “He was much older.”

Brandon nodded.
“Happens to a lot of lasses. An alliance?”

“
Oui.
” Sold to the highest bidder like a sheep for its wool. Too bad she’d proven to be a defected purchase—no babes ever graced her womb.

“I offer
ye my condolences. How long ago?”

“A few years ago.”
Tears touched the back of her eyes, not for the loss of her husband who she hardly knew, but for the loss of her freedom. The loss of her hopes and dreams. She blinked and glanced down toward the floor.

Brandon cleared his throat.
“Let me find the housekeeper. She can show ye to your room.”

“Thank you, my laird.”

“’Tis the least I can do after ye suffered at the hands of Ross.”

Mariana made an attempt to tame her tresses which from her peripheral vision appeared to be shooting out at every angle like Medusa. She stopped when she realized Brandon
was staring at her. Their gazes locked. His crystal blue eyes flickered with emotion she couldn’t decipher in the dimness of the candle-lit room. Lips pressed together in a firm line, Brandon reached up and threaded a hand gently through her hair, tucking errant strands behind her ear. His eyes never left hers, instead, tempted her with what his actions might mean.

“You
’ve more than made up for it,” Mariana said softly. “I’m safe.”

“Mmm-hmm.”
Brandon took a step closer, his boots nudging into hers. His heavily lidded gaze caressed her features. “For now. But ye mentioned having to return.”

She nodded, every nerve tingling with anticipation of his touch. Just one
taste, that was all she wanted. “I did.”

“I’m not certain I can let ye leave.”

Lord, his words had so many different meanings. Dare she think he meant the one she wished for?

Mariana chewed her lip, pressed her hands to her belly and asked,
“What reason have I to stay?”

“A good question.”
Brandon touched lightly on her elbow.

Never had there been a more sensual caress.
An elbow no less. Delicious tendrils of sensation flowed from the spot to every other sensitive area of her being. Mariana drew in a breath, swallowed hard, refused to move her arm in case he took it as a rejection. With unhurried ease, he slid his fingers up her arm to her shoulder. She glanced down at his hand. Strong, long fingers, a few scattered scars, clean nails. A hand she would gladly let glide over her entire being. A hand she’d hold, kiss, never let go of.

Brandon slipped two fingers below her chin and gently turned her to face him, but by the time she glanced up to meet his gaze, his lips were on hers. She scarce had time to take a breath before he stole it.

His lips were warm, soft, yet firm, and utterly wondrous. Mariana sighed into him, grasping delicately onto his shirt, so as not to show how much the touch of his lips made her weak in the knees.

The world seemed to tilt as he snake
d his arms around her waist, a hand splayed wide on the small of her back. The heat of his touch seared through her many layers, as though she wore nothing at all.

Brandon didn’t force his kiss upon her. It was light, decadent, a trial as he measured the width and breadth of her mouth. His essence surrounded her. She let her fingers curl into his shirt as she breathed deeply of his scent—horse, outside and a spicy, heady fragrance that was all Brandon.

His wasn’t the kiss of most men—he didn’t shove his tongue down her throat or lick at her lips like she was going to melt away. He applied a slight pressure before he flicked his tongue over her lower lip. One swipe and she swallowed down a moan. His tongue was hot, wet and had her squeezing her thighs together like her life depended on it.

Mariana answered the dart of his tongue with one of her own. Their tongues collided and they both paused.
Where did they go from here? Neither was sure. Brandon breathed in deeply, as though he’d take all the air from her lungs, but when he exhaled she took it all in, as though they breathed as one.

Brandon’s teeth grazed her lower lip, the same spot he’d tasted moments before
. He licked along the crease of her parted lips before sliding his tongue in to completely possess her mouth.

Dear Lord, she’d never shared a kiss like this…never wanted it to end.

His hand, pressed to her back, tucked her in closer, her pelvis pushing hotly against his. A shock rippled through her at the feel of his rigid length fitting smoothly to the apex of her thighs as though he belonged there. How much she desired him. Their surroundings had long since dissolved. All she knew was the man holding her within his arms, laying claim to her.

“Oh, pardon me.” The startled voice of an older woman made Mariana jump as though she’d been caught doing…well, exactly what she’d been doing.

Chapter Eight

B
randon cleared his throat, backing away from Mariana enough to be appropriate.

“Helen, would ye show Lady Mariana to her room? She’s to be given a warm bath and a hearty meal.”

Helen nodded, her face cleared of any reaction to what she’d just witnessed. “Aye, my laird. Right this way, my lady.”

Mariana, head held high, followed the housekeeper through the arched doorway that led to the stairs. She didn’t look back, and he didn’t know whether or not he was disappointed
that she didn’t. What he was aware of was how his mouth still burned from her kiss. How he’d never been kissed by a lass like he’d just been kissed by Mariana. Hers was completely different. A woman who knew how to pleasure, but whose reaction was so raw and genuine as to be the first time. Had she kissed her elderly husband like that? Or was there another lover?

Brandon growled, raked a hand through his hair and looked up at the oak rafters. A few old birds’ nests threatened to fall on his head, but the birds were no longer there.
Had flown somewhere else for the winter, though they’d be back soon. He needed to head back to his Girnigoe too, but he was avoiding his dwelling as though it were filled with victims of the plague. No victims there, only memories that plagued his mind. Dark memories.

Memories that pushed him to want to stay within the Bruce’s camp.
Aye, he wanted to serve his country and future king, no doubt. Aye, even if life at Castle Girnigoe were the stuff made of fairy tales, he’d still be here. Brandon had made it his life’s mission to help the Bruce and he wasn’t going to back down now. He preferred to be like a bird that flitted from place to place, making his home in one castle, only to fly away with the changing of the season.

He frowned, his hands on his hips. Maybe he was a lot more like a bird than he thought. Hell, he was here wasn’t he? Flew the coup the moment the opportunity arose.

“What are ye brooding about?” Ronan entered the great hall, his boisterous voice a welcome interruption.

“Birds.”

“They’re all gone.”

“Aye.”

Ronan glanced up at the nests. “Such makes ye sad?”

Brandon shook his head. “I dinna give a damn about the bloody birds.”

Ronan raised a brow. “’Haps ye give a damn about a dram.”

“Aye.”

He followed his cousin back down to the cellar where the men disrobed. The room erupted into bawdy jokes, the slamming of mugs and general rowdiness. Those returning regaled any who’d stayed with stories of their mission.

“We hear ye rescued a lass!” one of the retainers called to him.

Jared, the new recruit who’d sent Mariana unattended into the woods, looked like a deer staring into the face of an arrow, and his face lit like a torch—obviously the one to have filled everyone in on that part.

“Aye, a lady,
” Brandon said, clearing his throat.

“Is she pretty?”
one of the men asked.

“Aye.”

“And round?” Angus, an older warrior, hopped to his feet, made a gesture with his hands in the silhouette of a woman and then pumped his hips forward.

“Och, ye buffoon, how the hell would I know?” Brandon
hooted. “She might be as flat as this wall,” he lied, pressing his groin to the wall, knowing full well the crux of her thighs had been the exact opposite of the rigid, coolness of the stone.

“That she’s not, and Sinclair well knows it!” Hamish said vociferously. Why hadn’t the old man found
a lass to bed down with yet? He’d certainly not waited this long before.

Brandon rolled his eyes.
“To the devil with ye, all of ye.”

The men erupted into laughter, clinked mugs,
just as someone thrust a filled mug into Brandon’s hand.

He
took a hearty draw of the ale mixed with whisky. “Lads, another!” His empty mug was replaced within moments.

Someone picked up the fiddle, and Angus started a jig, sloshing ale onto the floor an
d falling with dramatic aplomb.

An hour or so later, Brandon’s head grew foggy. The whisky had dulled his senses.
Momentarily made him forget about the luscious beauty who bathed above stairs. But sooner than he hoped his memory returned and with it, came visions of her delicious body soaking in steamy water. Soap bubbles floating on top, but not enough to cover what hid beneath.

Hell and damnation.

“Sinclair, what say ye?” Hamish called out.

He lifted his head, eyeing
the old warrior he’d known since boyhood.

“To what?”

“Ronan says ye’ll have the lass seduced within a sennight. Daniel says a fortnight. Angus says tonight.”

Dammit. Why did they have to bring her up—his head was already filled with
her
.

“Never, ye sac sucking maggots.”

The men laughed and another round of ale was passed.

“Then I issue ye a challenge,” Ronan said. Everyone turned in his cousin’s direction.

“I love a challenge,” Brandon replied.

“Take one of the maids to bed tonight.”

That was not a challenge he wanted to address. Ever. “I’ve had too much ale. Afraid the equipment’s not quite up to it.”

“Och, it’s not th
e ale!” Angus shouted.

Ronan stood, a smile of glee splitting his face. “I agree. When I fell in love, no other woman but her would do.”

Brandon leapt to his feet, upsetting the stool he’d lounged on. “What the devil are ye implying?”

“That ye’re in love.”

“Love is for fools.”

“My brother Magnus said the same thing. Hell, so did
I.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“Then take the challenge.”

“Fine.”
Brandon puffed his chest. “Ye pick the lass. Send her up.”

Ronan’s smile widened. “I look forward to the results.”

Brandon didn’t reply. He turned on his heel and stomped from the room, grabbing a jug of whisky on his way out.
Ballocks
! What the hell was he going to do?

There wasn’t a chance in hell that he would sleep or attempt to sleep with one of the maids. Aye, he’d thought about it on his way here. Was sure
that was the only way to cure himself of his seeming obsession with Lady Mariana, but now that the opportunity was within reach, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—go through with it.

The stairs were dark, a single torch lit at the top. The
winding staircase made him dizzy. Why had he drunk so much? Mariana. That was why.

He trudged up the stairs, his legs heavy, opened his chamber door and kicked it shut. Not bothering to light a candle, he slumped into the heavy wooden chair by the dark hearth. The room was cold, but he was too ill with unease to light the fire.

When the maid came through the door, he was going to have to convince her to go. Or maybe not. Maybe Ronan was right. He needed to get Mariana from his mind. A life with her was impossible—unsafe.

An image of his mother, bruised, beaten by the hand of his father came to mind.
Aye, unsafe.

A night of fornication with one of the maids was all it would take to wipe her from his mind. And keep her safe.

As the maids cleaned up her bath, Mariana sat on the thick, wool carpet, brushing her hair before the roaring fire. The room was dim, with the only light coming from the fire and a single lit candle. The housekeeper presented her with an inviting guest chamber—a decent size four-poster bed with dark wood posts. There was a table with one chair, a sturdy wooden table beside the bed which held the candle and a basin of water. The armoire, however, was what bothered her most. It held a few linens inside of it, but the thing that made her most uncomfortable about the piece was the fact that she had nothing to put into it. The modest piece of furniture stood starkly empty for a guest with an unlimited stay—even if she herself knew her sojourn at Eilean Donan wouldn’t be too long.

Her toes and fingers
had blessedly regained feeling. The soft shift the maids produced for her was a welcome comfort. Ultra-feminine, the garment was made of expensive, silky-feeling linen. Light pink ribbons were woven in a crisscross pattern just above her navel and ending a bow at her throat.

Setting down the brush, she leaned back on her hands
, stretched out her legs and wiggled her toes before the flames. Her eyes felt heavy. In fact, everything felt rather heavy, even the hair upon her head, which had thankfully mostly dried.

“My lady, will ye let us braid your hair?”

Mariana nodded, her eyes slipping closed as they threaded their fingers through her thick locks and began to weave. The maids talked in low tones to each other, their voices lulling her into near slumber. She was certain as soon as her head hit the pillow, sleep would consume her.

But something about the giddy
change in tone of the maids chatter made her tilt an ear to listen.

“Laird Sinclair?
Truly?”

Silence met the question, to which Mariana could only ass
ume meant a head nod was the answer.

“Oh, my… He’s so…big.”

They laughed and tugged slightly harder on Mariana’s hair.

“Och, indeed he is.”

Mariana scrunched up her nose at the particularly naughty tone the maid used in answer. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from snapping at them.

“So, tonight?”

“Aye.”

“Did he say exactly when?”

Mariana couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Were the maids truly speaking about a tryst with Brandon? Her throat tightened. What did she care? He was free to bed any woman he chose. It mattered not. So, why then did it make her heart flip in a painful squeeze?

“Aye, as soon as we’re finished here.”

A nervous laugh.
“Oh, my… I wish we could both go, ‘twould make the deciding so much easier.”

“
I know, but Ronan said only one of us was to serve the laird.”

Ronan?
Was he Brandon’s go-between for arranging brazen liaisons? The whole debacle did not sit well with her. She
should
simply ignore it. But she couldn’t. The feelings she’d had for him, the spark of interest, none of it meant anything if he was willing to allow another into his bed.

“For the
entire
night.”

“Aye.”

“I will do the whole of your chores tomorrow if ye let it be me.”

“Well, I’ve been
wanting in his bed since he rode over the bridge some weeks ago. Besides, ye’ve already had him, now ’tis my turn.”

Mariana’s eyes popped open, her mouth forming an O of shock, but she kept silent, hoping the maids would keep talking.
Brandon was a rascal. Not wholly unlike any other unmarried man. And she was a fool.

There was a disappointed huff
from the maid who was going to miss out this time around. “I suppose ’twould only be fair… But I get to have him next, then.”

“If he’ll have ye after
a taste of me.”