Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (12 page)

With that, Colin's footsteps could be heard pacing away. Leith let his right hand slip lower, over the fine curve of Rose's buttocks. She stiffened against him, drawing her mouth away, and he scowled.

"Rose," he breathed. "Me wife. What troubles ye? Dunna stop me now. For I need ye as never before. I need ye as a man needs his woman, a final reminder of heaven on earth."

Rose was caught in his eyes, in his heated embrace, in his husky tone. He cared for her. He cherished her. He thought she was his
wife,
for God's sake! She could not deny him. She kissed him again, feeling a delicious, heady desire pour through her. But as her hand slipped from his neck, she felt his blood-soaked shirt and drew away, employing all her strength.

"Leith," she said softly. He opened his eyes. They were as deep as the sea, soft as warm honey. "I must tend to your wound—first."

"First?" he murmured.

God, he was beautiful, his face well-sculpted and rugged, his body as broad and muscular as yon war-horse's. "First," Rose promised breathlessly. "Here." She pressed carefully away from him, letting her fingers open his shirt. It was crusted to the gash, but came away after a moment.

The wound was a frightening sight. It stretched the full length of her hand, she determined quickly, but its depth was uncertain for the flesh had swelled and purpled, and the light was poor.

"Leith," she said weakly, finding her squeamish reaction surprising after all the injuries she had mended in the past. Still, it seemed different with him, for he was her... Her what? Her breath stopped at the thought. What was he to her? To her utter surprise she realized she had no answer and yet, when her gaze lifted to his, that familiar shock remained, that spark of fire that proclaimed him to be somehow very important.

Rose drew a deep breath, calming her nerves and stilling her hands. "It is indeed a wicked-looking wound, my lord."

She was so lovely. Leith could not take his eyes from her. Her face was a small perfect oval, her eyes like sparkling amethysts. Her mouth was a tiny pink bow, puckered with worry and waiting to be kissed. And her hair... He reached up to gently caress the gleaming mass of fire-bright tresses. Surely it was a sin to trap such beautiful hair beneath the weight of that awful woolen sheath she called a wimple.

Perhaps he owed the thieves a word of thanks, for not only had they lost the lass' wimple, they had torn her robes as well, making the garment no longer usable.

His gaze fell to the spot where the high tops of her breasts were just visible above her chemise. He smiled.

Rose watched his face and scowled. He'd lost his mind. She'd seen it happen before. Great pain could cause a person to lose his grip on sanity.

"Leith?" she said tentatively. "I fear you are badly wounded." She swallowed, unable to bear the thought of his pain. "The treatment will hurt, my lord."

He smiled again, lifting his gaze from her breasts to her eyes and letting his hand drift to her cheek. "I like the way ye say 'my lord,' " he admitted quietly. "It sounds verra lovely on yer lips."

"Leith." She closed her eyes, setting a trembling hand to his and turning the palm upward to kiss it. How difficult it was to see his vast strength lost, to know the pain he suffered was so great that he was out of his head. "Do not die,” she whispered, finding her own strength insufficient.

"Sweet Rose," he said, genuinely touched by her emotion, "I trust that if anyone can save me, ye can.”

She stared at him in silence. God's teeth! Had she fallen in love with this man? "Yes." She nodded quickly. "Yes, Leith. You must believe. The Lord and I can save you."

It took only a moment for Rose to tear a wide strip of fabric from her own robes, then, immersing the material in hot water, she opened a cloth bag to rummage through its contents.

She drew out a leather pouch and dumped its herbs into the steaming water. After swirling the rag about, Rose dunked it several times.

A tangy aroma drifted to Leith's nostrils. He breathed deeply, enjoying the fresh scent.

Her gaze rose to his, her face tense. "This will hurt," she warned, but he only nodded.

Perhaps it was best that he was out of his head, she thought. Perhaps then he would not feel the pain. She stared at him in silence, wishing she could spare him.

"Durma worry so, sweet Rose," he sighed. "Methinks I can withstand whatever punishment ye mete out."

He was so brave. So brawny and bold and alluring. She felt lost in his gaze, pulled under by his magnetism. But there was no time to lose. She'd delayed too long already.

Drawing her eyes from his, she wrung the excess water from the rag, then, with only one quick prayer, she set it to his wound.

He did not so much as flinch beneath her touch. His eyes did not leave her face.

"Ye are verra beautiful, me wee lass," he breathed.

Rose's hands stilled their movements, her eyes round. "I am?" she asked, shocked by his words.

Leith chuckled, the sound coming from deep in his throat. "Aye, lass," he said. "Ye are."

She blinked in wonder, then lowered her gaze and scowled. The fall must have injured his brain more than she'd realized. No one called her beautiful, except Uncle Peter once. Though Rose had assumed he was teasing her, her mother had shushed him, seeming overly distraught by his words. But then, her mother had been very plain and Rose had assumed she was too.

She moved the cloth gently over his wound, washing away the crusted blood.

"Ye dunna believe me?" he questioned softly.

"Oh!" She raised her eyes to his, not wishing to hurt his feelings, nor worry him with the sad revelation that he'd lost his mind. "Yes. Of course. If you say it is so."

He laughed again, seeing her doubt. "I do, lass."

Her eyes caught his. He looked quite sane, but...

Rose pulled her gaze away, dipping the rag once again in the water. The wound did not now look so bad as she had feared, hence it must have been the fall from Beinn that had addled his brain.

Her ministrations were somehow soothing, Leith thought dreamily. Perhaps they should hurt, but the girl's gentle touch and clever herbs seemed to cause no pain, only a slight tingle in his chest and shoulder.

She moved away after the cleaning was complete and rummaged once again in her bag. In a moment she drew out a small jar filled with dried grayish-green leaves.

Rose squatted beside him. "I will return shortly." She touched his hand. "Do not fear," she added and was gone.

Leith did
not
fear. Above him the branches obscured his view of the sky. He could see several stars nevertheless. Lucky stars, he thought vaguely, for things were going very well indeed. Much better than he could have hoped.

He smiled in anticipation. Tonight he would introduce the wee nun to the joys of sheer, ungodly lust.

Chapter 10

White bandages crisscrossed Leith's chest, keeping the healing herbs packed against his wound and making him appear even more untamed and barbarous than usual.

Naked to the waist but for the bandages, his chest was dark, marred by innumerable battle scars, and rippling with strength. His belly was lean and hard, undulating with hillocks and valleys of pure muscle.

Dear God,
thought Rose, leaning back to observe her handiwork. Even without his array of weapons the man looked to be the consummate warlord. Dressed in nothing more than his plaid and knee-high horsehide boots, he seemed not the least bit embarrassed. Nor did his wound seem to pain him now as he lay back upon a spread tartan.

"How are you faring, my lord?" she asked, noting with some misgiving that her voice was husky and low from the sight of him thus.

"Come here, lass," he said simply, and though she knew she should not, she did so nevertheless, for she could not resist him.

Their kiss was like magic, soothing and giving, yet frightening too, scattering a bevy of sparks through Rose's tingling body.

"Are ye a witch?" he breathed, his mouth moving seductively from hers to blaze a trail down her throat. "Or are ye an angel?"

“I-” She couldn’t think when he kissed her so. "I fear I am neither." His kisses slowed, lingering on the delicate hollow where her pulse thrummed a quick rhythm. "I am only human. Nothing but flesh and ..." She drew a sharp breath between her teeth, shivering when his tongue lightly touched the wee valley between her collarbones.

"Ah, me Rose," he whispered. "But such glorious flesh ye are. So soft and full and sweet. Well worth the fall from Beinn Fionn."

It took a moment for his words to sink into Rose's brain, but she stiffened finally, then pulled to the limits of his grip. "I thought you did not remember Beinn," she said softly.

Leith grimaced mentally. He was no good at lies or even shading the facts. He was a man who described things as they were and bore the consequences of those truths.

Sweet Jesu, why had he pretended to be mortally wounded? he asked himself. But when he looked into her eyes he knew the answer. She was not a woman to come easily into his arms, and he would lie again to feel her thus.

“I thought you did not remember," she repeated, a bit louder now, though she prayed she was wrong—that he had not lied to gain his own ends. But there was raw honesty in his dark eyes now. An honesty that made her heartsick.

"Leith," she said weakly, perhaps hoping he would lie again, to let her believe for a moment longer that he had not played her for a fool—made her pity him so that she would touch him—and be touched by him.

"I... " Leith paused, he too wishing to delay the pain, to prolong the pleasure and push reality aside. And though he knew it was not possible, he shrugged stiffly and tried a feeble excuse. "Me head has cleared?"

For a moment there was absolute silence as Rose tried to pretend she hadn't heard his pathetic words. But it was no use. "You lied to me," she said evenly, her face expressionless as she pulled from his arms. "Somehow I did not think you would lie."

"Rose," Leith said, moving to stand, his arms outstretched, wanting to draw her back into his embrace before it was too late.

But it was already too late.

"You lied to me!" she accused more harshly, fists like small mallets at her side as she backed away.

"Rose," he said again. "I didna—"

"Didn't what? Didn't really forget your fall, your horse, your—brother?" she shrilled, raising her fists slightly as her teeth gritted. "God, you must think me a fool!"

"Nay." He paced after her. "Nay, lass, but I didna ken how else—"

"Don't come near me!"

"Lass." He stopped, his expression losing some of the tension, for her anger seemed an easier thing to deal with than her pain. "I said things I should na have. But..." He shrugged again, hoping time would cool her temper. "I was wounded—and on yer behalf. I was na thinking clear." He touched his brow with his fingertips and tried another step toward her. "But me head has cleared now and I—"

"Your head has cleared?" Rose backed away another step as she snarled the words.

He took an additional stride.

She stumbled backward, over a branch, and, glancing down, saw the stout limb as a certain gift from God. Stooping quickly, she grasped the branch in both hands and raised it to shoulder level—drawn back and readied. “I will give you something to clear your head!" she said and swung with all her might.

Leith caught the branch only inches from his skull. "Hold, woman!" he ordered, his voice low, his patience ebbing. "I freely admit I said things I should na." He scowled at her, still holding the far end of the branch, and looking as if she should expect no more from him. "What ails ye now?"

She gasped at his cocky attitude, and snatching her makeshift weapon from his grip, circled at a half-crouch. “
You
ail me!" she snarled, and swung a second time.

Leith snatched the branch again, but this time his left hand instinctively responded, catching the weapon in a tight grip. Pain raced along his arm to his shoulder and he winced. He drew a ragged breath between his teeth and glared. “Put down the stick, lass."

"I shall not," she declared stubbornly, but suddenly he yanked the limb and she was propelled forward. She fell with a thud against his naked chest.

They hit the earth together. Leith was on the bottom, his face pale from the trauma to his wound.

"Oh!" Rose gasped, seeing his expression.

Her eyes were wild and bright, her hair a fiery mass of glory about her lively face as she tried to pull away, but already his right arm had found its way about her back.

"Rose, sweet," he murmured, ignoring his discomfort and hoping they could find some sanity now. But he'd misread her mood.

"Don't!" she warned furiously, pushing away with all her strength. It was simple chance that caused her knee to strike his groin.

The air left his lungs in a hissing whoosh of anguish. A muscle in his face twitched with pain and his hands curled to fists. He dropped the branch.

"Don't you touch me, you depraved, warty-faced hog," she hissed, scrambling to her feet. "I'm going home. You can lie there and die for all I care."

She turned rapidly, searching for the black mare, but Leith had already gained some control and his fingers curled about her ankle in an iron grip.

"Ye willna turn back," he vowed. "Ye will come to Glen Creag!"

"Not till bluebells grow in
hell!"
she spat, bracing herself to give her ankle a wild jerk.

"I've been to England, lass," he growled, "and bluebells
do
grow there."

"How dare you..." She fell to her rear with a plop, gasping for breath. "... besmirch my country, you barbarian snake!"

"I do as I please," he snarled, drawing her nearer—hand over hand by the bare expanse of her leg.

Rose barely noticed Colin's arrival beside them, for she had just reached her beating stick. Taking a wild swing, she clobbered Leith, who only flinched slightly under her blows as he continued to reel her in.

"Ye are in my care, lass," he said. "And I'll—"

"Care!" She smacked him a particularly sound thrashing across his back and laughed, tossing wild tendrils from her face. "You call this care? I am mauled and—"