Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) Page 6

  A movement caught his eye and he turned in his saddle—just in time to see Rose’s pale-robed body plop to the earth. His brows rose in astonishment. Now this was an interesting twist, he thought. Dropping the packhorse’s rope, he stepped from his mount. Striding forward, he scooped the girl’s flaccid form into his arms.

  Her lovely eyes were shut, her skin pale, but she still breathed. He touched his hand to her brow. No fever, but she was so very delicate, like a fine work of art. But stubborn to a fault—starving herself. And for what? For her religious beliefs? Suddenly he doubted it. Did she fast then simply to torment Leith? Colin touched her cheek, liking her more with each new thought. The lass had enough spunk to trouble Leith for a lifetime. He smiled. But the girl moaned now and so he subdued his cheerful expression with wise self-control and called, “Brother! We have a wee problem here. If ye can scrape yer eyeballs from the widow’s bonny bosom, ye might come have a look.”

  Jerking away from the kiss, Leith snapped his gaze to the bundle in his brother’s arms. Sweet Jesu, he swore in silence and in a moment was before them.

  “What happened?” he questioned, his eyes pinned to the girl’s pale face.

  “Methinks she fainted,” declared Colin.

  “I know she fainted, God damn it!” snarled Leith in return.

  “Then why did ye ask?” queried Colin, snuggling Rose a bit closer to his chest.

  Leith’s scowl darkened at his brother’s actions. “Did ye na see her fall?”

  “Aye, I did,” Colin assured him blithely.

  “And ye didna catch her?”

  Colin’s brows shot up as he watched his laird’s face. It looked nearly as pale as the girl’s, he noticed with avid interest. “Ye are right,” he said, nodding gravely. “It be entirely me own fault. Thus I will care for her.” He pulled Rose nearer yet and shifted to move away, but Leith’s hand was on his arm.

  “Think ye that I trust ye with a woman of God? Give her to me!”

  “Think ye that I trust ye?” retorted Colin, intrigued by the intensity in his brother’s face. “I will keep her.”

  “Ye willna!” Leith’s tone was deadly flat, brooking no argument. “I will take her.” Silence settled about them, punctuating each unspoken thought. “Now!”

  Colin shrugged finally, fighting down a grin and extending his burden toward the other. “As ye wish.”

  Leith gathered Rose’s limp body into his arms, keeping his expression impassive. But still Colin could read the worry there, stamped hard upon his rugged features.

  “We will stop for the night,” Leith commanded, his tone tight. “Make camp in the woods and see to the widow.”

  “Aye, me liege,” answered Colin dutifully and catching the loose horses, strode merrily toward the trees, stopping only long enough to wink at Devona.

  Her back stiffened as she stared down at him. “And why do you grin like a demented fool?”

  “Na reason, dear lady,” he said, then laughed aloud, throwing back his golden head and thinking her temper was a marvelous thing. “Na reason atall.”

  Leith held Rose gently, watching her lovely face in silence. He’d removed the woolen cloth from her head, baring the winterberry-auburn of her flowing hair.

  “Awaken, lass,” he ordered gently.

  Rose heard the heavy burr of Leith’s voice as if it came from a great distance.

  “Open yer eyes, lassie,” he whispered, so close to her ear she could feel the vibrations of his voice. “Or I will kiss ye awake.”

  Her eyes snapped open.

  The rogue was smiling.

  “Ah,” Leith breathed softly, caught in the glorious depths of her violet eyes. “So I now ken how to make ye obey.” His smile deepened as he touched her cheek. “Threaten ye with kisses.”

  She blinked twice. He was so near he made her head spin, or was it the strange weakness that seemed to lay like a soaked coverlet upon her limbs? “What happened?” she whispered groggily.

  “Ye are such a frail thing.” He caressed her cheek with the pads of his fingers. “Ye swooned,” he murmured. “And after only three days of starvation and many miles on yonder nag’s jolting back.”

  There was humor in the warm depths of his eyes. She could see it and felt drawn irresistibly to it. “I… ” She blinked again, realizing for the first time that he held her in his arms. “I fell?”

  “Like a stone, lassie.”

  “Oh.” Never in her life had she fainted. What would have caused her to do so now? Oh, yes.

  It wasn’t the hard days of riding or the gnawing hunger she remembered, but the kiss. He had kissed the dark-haired widow—damn his worthless hide.

  “Let me up,” she ordered now, struggling to rise, but he held her in place with no obvious effort.

  “Ye will stay as ye are,” he said casually.

  “I will not.” Anger streamed back to her senses. Not long before he’d been kissing the widow. Now he held her as if he had every right to do so. “I will get up!”

  “Ye willna.” Their gazes caught and kindled. “Ye are as weak as a newborn cub. Ye will eat before ye move.”

  “No!” she argued, incensed by his imperial manner.

  “Then…” He leaned closer, the ends of his loose sable hair falling upon her robe. “… I will kiss ye.”

  Breath whistled down her throat as she leaned back into his arms, which were hard and broad, strong with sinew and muscle. “You wouldn’t dare!” she said, but her denial was little more than a whisper.

  “Aye, lass.” His vow was a husky assurance. “I would.”

  “The Lord would surely strike you dead.”

  Leith stared at her in wonder before tilting up his lips slightly. Small wrinkles appeared beside that sensual mouth and bracketed the outer corners of his deep-hued eyes. “Ye must think well of yerself indeed, lass, to believe the Lord would take such offense to a simple kiss. When in truth…” He bent lower, until his lips were mere inches from hers. “… I spoke to Him regarding the matter. He said He had no objections.”

  Rose could find no words. Her heart thundered like a thousand stampeding horses, and her gaze was caught on his mouth, which was sensuously curved and dangerously near.

  “He said,” Leith whispered smokily, “that though ye are marvelously well-meaning, ye were na crafted to be a nun. Ye were made to be a woman—and kissed well and often.”

  “Blasphemy.” She meant it as a denunciation, but the strange, breathless tone more closely resembled a plea. “You would not dare.” She meant to turn her gaze from his—to search for some help, but her eyes would not leave the dark, alluring features before her. Still, she must try to fight.

  “Your… your brother would stop you,” she murmured weakly.

  Leith raised his brows at her. It was an odd assessment of his relationship with Colin, he thought. Then again, perhaps not. Colin had indeed seemed earnestly concerned about the girl’s well-being. And somewhat distrustful of Leith’s intentions. “I am his laird,” he explained simply, not quite losing his smile. “He would eat Beinn’s saddle if I so commanded.”

  She let her mouth fall open, hoping to scathe him with some caustic remark, but nothing came.

  “And too, lass,” he murmured, “Colin is na here. He takes first watch at the top of the drama behind us.”

  “Droma?” she questioned weakly, struggling to straighten the facts in her mind.

  His fingers brushed downward, caressing her cheek, then sliding lower, across the small promontory of her chin to the delicate pulse in her throat. “Ridge.” Leith nodded, seeming no less distracted than she. “He is on the ridge with the widow.”

  Rose swallowed hard. “Oh,” she whispered foolishly, then realized belatedly that his fingertips were touching the bare flesh of her neck. “Where…” She reached up shakily, pressing her own fingers beside his. “Where is my wimple?”

  “Wimple?” He raised his brows, wondering at the term, then smiled. “Ye mean that awful bit of woolen that hid yer
bonny neck?” His fingers trailed softly downward and she shivered. “We Scots also use the word,” he said, his gaze following his hand. “But we have a different meaning.”

  Rose was mesmerized by his touch, breathless at the sight of him—so close. So achingly close. Silence shivered between them until she could bear the quiet no longer. “Oh?” she said, forgetting their conversation, her watchwords, and every single important fact she’d ever learned in her life.

  “Aye.” Leith lifted his gaze from her slim throat to her violet eyes for just a moment. She was as light and delicate as thistledown in his arms—as soft and firm as a wildcat cub. “It means.. .a crafty twist.” The exploration of his fingertips was arrested at the top of her robes, causing his fingers to lie, warm and tingling against her collarbone. “Yer swooning now…” His hand moved slowly outward, brushing against her hair, which she realized abruptly had been freed and spread across his knees in shameful abandon. “Might it na be called a ‘wimple’?”

  She had turned her gaze to watch his hand caress her hair. It was a strangely sensuous movement that caused her breath to come in short, hard gasps.

  “Dunna ye agree, lass?”

  “What?” Her question was barely audible.

  “Dunna ye think yer swooning might be considered a crafty turn, seeing as how I was just kissing the widow?”

  Rose swallowed hard and raised her eyes to his. “Were you?” she asked breathlessly. “I—I didn’t notice.”

  Leith chuckled. “Aye, lass,” he disagreed gently. “Ye did.”

  “I did not.” She lied—but poorly.

  “Ye are the most contrary woman I know, wee nun.”

  “And you are the most…” Magnetic, she thought hopelessly. “… brazen man.”

  He chuckled again. “Ye sorely disappoint me, lass.” He sighed. “For I waited with baited breath for a compliment.”

  His fingers slipped into her hair, massaging gently, and her eyes fell closed of their own accord. “You shall get none from me,” she promised.

  Sweet Jesu, he could not resist her. “That I believe, wee lass,” he said, and kissed her.

  His lips felt like fire against hers. Like the first rapid touch of flame, before it is possible to discern whether it is hot or cold. She did not open her eyes but felt the caress of his mouth sear through her tingling being, felt his tongue gently touch her lips, felt her body jerk with the shock and excitement. Her own lips opened without her command, allowing his entrance, and his tongue slipped inside— caressing, arousing, until she found to her stunned disbelief that her arms had crept about him so that she hugged him to her.

  Dear Lord, what was she doing? She must remember her watchwords!

  Her eyes opened abruptly. Her arms drew away just as quickly. One hand pressed against his chest. “Please.” The single word was breathless and wavering.

  “Anything, me wee one,” he responded, his voice no more certain.

  “Let me go.”

  “Anything but that.”

  “I am meant to be a nun,” she breathed.

  “Ye are na, lass. Ye are meant to be loved.” He stared at her in some awe now, for he had tried to say she was meant to be a woman, but the words had not come out right. “Loved by me,” he murmured, failing to correct his statement.

  “No.” She shook her head vaguely. “I have promised to keep myself apart from human weaknesses, to fast and—”

  “The fast has been broken, wee one,” he said huskily.

  Confusion showed in her eyes, so that he lowered his mouth to hers again, touching her lips with a brief, searing flame. “Well broken, lass,” he breathed. “And there will be more. Much more.”

  “No!” Her eyes looked as frightened as a fawn’s. “Please.”

  “Please what?” he whispered.

  “Please,” she repeated, but could find no way to finish the plea.

  “I will, lass,” he promised huskily, listening to her inner voice, ignoring her words. “But first ye must eat.”

  Had she just begged for his favors?

  Did he believe she had? Was she losing her mind? Or just her struggle for purity?

  Hold, fast, pray. “No!” she rasped suddenly, and attempted to rise. “No! Let me up!” Her legs flailed and her arms pumped, but she went nowhere.

  “I have said,” Leith rumbled, his lips close to her ear, “the fast is broken.”

  “No!” She continued to struggle, though it seemed she was only falling more firmly into his grasp. “I must atone for my sins.” And what sins! Cursing! Striking! And now this! Kissing! Good Lord, her sins were mounting about her ears like so many bushels of barley.

  “What sins now, wee nun?” he asked, seeming nonplussed by the commotion she was making— like a beached codfish in his lap.

  “Sins, sins!” she sputtered, still flailing wildly. “Hell, I have sins beyond number!”

  He laughed, both at her poor attempt to escape and her poorer attempt at piety.

  “Damn! I did it again,” she wailed in feverish frustration. “Let me up before we’re both struck dead by a bolt of righteous lightning. This is all your fault!”

  “Me fault?” With one large hand Leith captured her left arm, then pressed his body tightly up against her other, holding it firmly between them. Her struggles gradually decreased in violence, until only her eyes flailed him.

  “Of course, your fault!” she snapped. “You are constantly tempting… I mean…” she sputtered, feeling the heat rush to her face, “Provoking! You are constantly provoking me!”

  “To do what?” he asked innocently.

  He had the most perverse grin, and she wondered suddenly if she shouldn’t wish to slap it from his face. But she did not and that was probably just as well, for the good Lord was likely getting weary of her striking him—even though he fully deserved it. “Provoking me to anger!” she said finally.

  “Ah.” His brows rose. “I thought I provoked ye to do this …” His mouth lowered toward hers but she scrunched back against his arm like a cornered hare.

  “Please don’t,” she whimpered.

  “Na?” His lips were only a hairsbreadth away.

  “No,” she whispered. “Please no.”

  “Then ye will eat?” he questioned softly.

  She remained silent for a moment, then, “Give me that damned saddle.”

  Leith’s brows drew together in question, but in a moment he remembered his boast of his brother’s obedience and he laughed, tilting his head back slightly as he did so. “Na saddle for ye, me wee, clever lass,” he crooned finally. “But venison.” He leaned across her to lift a piece from a nearby plate. “From me own fingers.”

  “No.” She eyed the meat and drew back. “Please. I do not eat meat.”

  “Ye will eat this,” he ordered gruffly.

  She merely shook her head, however, making not a bit of fuss, simply refusing. “I will not. I do not eat the flesh of animals.”

  “Why the hell na?” he asked, taken aback by her strange ways, but she only shrugged, feeling rather silly with his dark eyes so hard upon her.

  “Daniel and Meshach were not eaten in the lion’s den.”

  Leith stared at her. Was she suggesting that he was a lion or that she feared he might eat her—or both?

  “And too,” she said softly, afraid to meet his eyes, “I’ve known animals I like better than…” She lifted her gaze finally. “Some people.”

  He chuckled quietly. “Ye are the strangest lass alive,” he said, remembering the tawny feline shadow that had watched him from beyond the firelight’s reach just minutes before. “And ye must eat.”

  “I will!” She fairly spat the words in her haste to get them out, lest he kiss her into submission. “Fish. I eat fish. Or bread. Bread will do me fine.”

  Leith shook his head but could not resist the plea in her jewel-bright eyes. “As ye will then, lass,” he agreed finally, and, leaning across her, crushed her breasts and abdomen against the hard planes of his chest
. Heat spurred throughout Rose’s already warm body.

  But in a moment he straightened—cheese and bread in his hand, his face only inches from hers.

  “Hungry?” he asked huskily.

  Rose nodded numbly, finding she had no strength to hope her admittance would press him back, and realizing too that she was uncertain what she was most hungry for—food, or the taste of him.

  The thought caused panic to spurt wildly through her. “If I eat,” she whispered weakly, “will you let me be?”

  His expression was somber finally, his nostrils slightly flared. “I fear ye have na the strength for what I ache to do,” he confessed hoarsely.

  They were held in silence, both tense and breathless, but he moved back eventually, drawing air deep into his lungs so that his chest expanded against her breast and arm. “Eat, me wee nun,” he whispered, and she did.

  The bread was stale, hard—and heavenly, the cheese sharp, and each bite taken from his fingers. There was a strange sensuality to the act, an undeniable intimacy as her lips touched his fingers, taking the final piece of cheese.

  He drew his hand away, licking his fingertips as she watched, her eyes wide in her pale face.

  Quiet fell again and she lay in his arms, feeling silly enough to have her ears boxed and searching raggedly for something to say.

  No clever comments came to her mind, however, and he seemed to feel no need to talk, for he lifted her finally, bearing her easily to the spot where several blankets waited.

  “Ye will sleep,” he breathed, settling her gently atop the bedroll before covering her with a tartan woolen. “Beneath the plaid of die clan Forbes.”

  She touched the brown and green tartan. It was soft and warm and, strangely enough, reminded her of something. Something so far away that it tipped just past the edge of her consciousness, giving her that uncanny feeling that had so worried her mother. She scowled a little, trying to recall, but she was tired. So very weary, so very… Her eyes fell closed and Leith watched, touching her cheek with tenderness.