Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (22 page)

And at the very top of the steps was the giant's castle, built of brown native stone that seemed to reach for the very sky.

"Your home?" she whispered, and found to her surprise that he was not looking at the castle, but at her.

"Our
home," he corrected softly, and she swallowed, half-terrified of her own future.

Leith pressed his mount onward and the mare hurried along behind.

The bridge they crossed had been hidden from their vantage point on the hill. Wide enough to allow a wagon to pass with room to spare, it creaked under the weight of their horses.

Ropes the width of a man's wrist were attached to the far end of the bridge. Rose laid a hand on Maise's neck, trying to calm the mare while absorbing every strange detail.

But there was too much. Too many faces, too many voices raised in greeting until finally they came to a halt at the very roots of the towering structure. She slipped from Maise's back into Leith's arms and was escorted through heavy timber doors into a huge hall.

The bustle there was frenetic. Men and women hurried in every direction, carrying tables, raking aside crushed rushes, and scurrying past them in their haste, directed, it seemed, by a small, plump woman with jittery hands and a round face.

It was that woman who noticed them first.

"Leith!" Her jaw dropped as her hands flew to her mouth, which formed a pink oval of astonishment. "Leith!" she said again, and suddenly she was catapulting toward him and flinging her arms about his waist. "Me lad," she crooned, though the top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest. "Me lad." She patted his back as if he were no more than a child, and he cleared his throat, seeming ill at ease as he turned his gaze to Rose.

She watched with fascination and a slight smile. Never had she seen another embrace the formidable laird and she wondered about the woman's relationship to him. How little she knew of this man, she thought suddenly. How much there was to learn.

"Ye have returned," the woman said, finally pulling herself from Leith's chest with an expression of slight embarrassment. With one hand she tried to right the square of linen that covered her hair but somehow it gave the effect of being forever askew. "There now, I've na need to act so silly," she chided herself. "Of course ye've returned." She took her two fluttery hands in a firm grip as if to admonish herself for such an unseemly display of emotion. But she could not quite stop the smile as her wide, round eyes shifted shyly to Rose. They were brown eyes and not unlike Leith's. "And ye've brought..." She actually giggled. "Yer bride-to-be?"

For just a moment Rose thought she felt Leith tense beside her. Though she did not know who this woman was, it was clear he did not like the thought of lying to her.

"We are handfasted." He settled his arm at the waist of Rose's green velvet gown again. "So mayhap in time—"

"Na mayhap," said the plump woman with a shake of her head. "She shall be yer bride." She smiled, looking pleased enough to perish from it.

"Aye." Leith nodded stiffly. "Me bride."

That was it. All he said was "me bride"—like she was so much grain just brought in from the field. Rose considered giving him a good sharp elbow to the ribs to goad an introduction, but the plump woman seemed to need no prompting.

"Well, lad, does she have a name?"

Leith's brows lowered slightly and he shifted his weight, as if made uncomfortable by the question. "Aye, Aunt Mabel, that she does," he said softly. Most of the laborers had ceased their duties by now and were staring at them in open curiosity. "But we have ridden long and hard, and I would have the lass sup and rest before any introductions are made."

"Oh!" Mabel's hands fluttered again. Her fingers came to a brief rest on Rose's arm. "Ye must think me a heartless ninny. Of course." In a moment she was clapping her hands. "Hannah. Judith. The laird has returned," she declared, as if everyone present had not taken full note of that fact. "With his young bride-to-be." She said the words with a half-suppressed sigh and a delighted smile. But she straightened suddenly in a businesslike manner, clapping again. "Fetch food up to the laird's chambers. And ye others," she said, "ready the hall." She waved. "Ready the hall. There will be a feast this night."

The laird's chamber was large, its walls covered with bright tapestries, and its window slits tall and generous, but it was the bed that drew Rose's attention. A sudden weariness had overtaken her.

She'd slept little the night before, for she'd worried and fretted over her meeting with Laird MacAulay. And now that that meeting was behind her, all the events of the past weeks seemed to weigh down upon her, pressing an ache to every part of her body so that the bed drew her like a fly to honey.

"Are ye tired?" Leith stood a pace behind her, his back to the door, noticing how her shoulders sagged. She'd handled herself like a battle-seasoned warrior, had survived more in a few short days than most women endured in a lifetime. Aye, she had done much to prove she was indeed a woman of few needs.

His own needs, however, were neither so few nor so simple, and the sight of his own bed made him ache. But not with fatigue.

"Rest," he urged, realizing his tone was a bit tight from the pressure of his surging desires. "Ye are tired."

"No," she lied, not pulling her gaze from the bed. "I'm not tired."

Leith shook his head as he stepped behind her. "Surely ye are the most stubborn lass in all Christendom," he said in husky tones. "Ye
are
tired." He placed his hands on her arms and felt her stiffen. Was it the fact that it was
his
bed that made her refuse to admit her own fatigue? Or was she still insisting she had no physical needs? Whatever the reason, he found he respected her fortitude while simultaneously resenting her reasons. It was strange indeed how she forever seemed to put his emotions at odds.

"Sleep, lass," he urged softly, pressing the warring thoughts from his mind as he turned her gently. "It shall be a long night."

Seeing the slight flush of her cheek, Leith realized the full implication of his words. And yet he could not regret his lack of tact. She was so lovely, so tempting, that the thought of bedding her seemed to be forever on his mind.

"I didna mean that quite as it sounded, lass," he murmured softly. "But that doesna rule out the possibility, if ye are so inclined."

Rose stared into his eyes, saying nothing, and he waited with bated breath. But just as it seemed she might speak, there was a knock at the heavy portal.

Leith mentally ground his teeth. Damn him to unholy hell if he hadn't seen a spark of desire in her eyes. Holy Jesu, now was not the time for an interruption.

"We bring yer meal, laird," called a timid voice.

"Aye." Though he feared his own tone sounded only slightly warmer than a wolf’s growl, the thought of Rose willing and soft in his arms made him want to shut out the world, leaving him to explore the desire he had momentarily sensed.

But she stepped from his hands like a bird frightened to flight. Leith watched her, noting again the lovely flush of her cheeks, the delicate structure of her face.

With a silent sigh he turned to the door.

A servant carried in a large trencher covered with meat, cheeses, and bread. Leith lifted his eyes to Rose where she had seated herself beside the bed on the room's only chair.

"Mutton?" he asked.

Rose squeezed her hands and shook her head.

"Ye shall waste away to little more than a wisp of hair and bone, lass," he said, but took a portion of bread and cheese and ordered the second serving girl to bring in bowls of soup.

A small, sturdy table was pulled before Rose's chair. On it were placed two bowls of soup, red-streaked cheese, bread, and a huge tankard of home-brewed beer.

"Eat," Leith ordered, fists on hips. "And sleep."

"But what of you?" Rose asked.

For a moment Leith's heart threatened a violent escape from his chest. Never had he considered that taking her far from her homeland and flinging her into a strange culture might make her long for the relative security of his presence. God bless Scotland and its foreign ways!

"I will eat below," he said, sternly subduing his suddenly buoyant mood. He was laird here. He had no time for romance, and yet, just seeing her in his chambers seemed to lighten his heart. "I have much to discuss with me people," he explained brusquely.

"Oh." She looked lost and helpless and for a moment he was tempted to order the serving girls from the room and take the auburn-haired lass to bed. Never had he wanted a woman so much. "Will you ... be gone long?" she asked hesitantly, her small face pale.

Her brow wrinkled slightly when she was worried, and she sucked her lip seductively between her small, even teeth. "Na so long, lass," he said, wanting to stroke her hair, to scoop his hand behind her velvet-soft neck and pull her into his arms. “Though ..." He dropped his voice, allowing no one else to hear his words. "... it will seem so."

He left a moment later. Rose eyed the huge amount of food and wondered whether Glen Creag had a small army that might be in need of her meal.

After a moment and a few questions spoken in a language Rose failed to understand, the women left too. With the closing of the door, Rose felt the raw ambush of loneliness, and the heavy need for sleep.

Regardless of her fatigue, however, she was determined to take a few bites.

The bread was made of coarsely ground wheat and freshly baked. The cheese was sharp and tangy, and the soup a wonderful blend of broth, barley, and onions that soon sated her hunger.

With a full stomach, she saw no reason to deny her fatigue, and so she pushed the table aside and rose to her feet.

A knock sounded at the door again, a quick, woodpecker rap before Mabel's voice chirped through the portal. "Might I come in, lass?"

A moment later the plump woman stood in the middle of the large chamber, clasping her hands and smothering a nervous giggle.

"Ye see, the situation is this," began Mabel in a rather apologetic tone, her hands already fluttering about. "Leith has never been wed before. And we are ever so glad to have ye here."

"But..." Rose found her voice with some difficulty. "We are only handfasted. And as the tradition was explained to me, my laird and I shall part ways if there is no child—"

"Hush. Hush now," said Mabel. "Of course there shall be a bairn. What with Leith being such a strong laird and ye so lovely." She giggled, then covered her mouth with her hands. “I have wished for children in the hall for so long. And so..." Her hands found each other again. "When young Harlow gave us the news that Leith had returned with ye, well..." She lost the grip on her fingers and they sped apart. "I fear I took the liberty of ordering some gowns begun." She waved to a woman who apparently waited in the hall and suddenly the entire room was filled with a troop of milling seamstresses. "Ye see," she explained, her voice still apologetic, "I bought a wee bit of fabric through the years, but I have na great need for rich gowns and thus..." She motioned to the bed where a dozen half-finished garments were already being laid out.

Rose's jaw dropped. “For... for me?" she asked breathlessly.

"Aye." Mabel bobbed her head, setting her chins to jiggling. “I do hope ye don't mind. This will na take long. Only a few hours to try them and make adjustments, and then ye can sleep."

Chapter 16

Images of years past drifted gently through Rose's sleep-fogged mind. Sunlit days. Laughter. Pleasant jaunts with Silken by her side. The low nickers of the draft horses as they waited for their barley.

These were the things of her childhood—the simple experiences that had made life worth living.

Memories of the abbey slipped in. Prayer. Cold feet. The unrelenting but unspoken questioning of her purpose there. Her mother's final words.

Loneliness. Rose felt it like a draft of cold air.

Then the images changed, shifting mistily till finally a deep, gravelly voice came, low and husky. Dark hair with narrow braids beside a strong jaw. Long fingers, calloused but gentle, playing softly against her skin. A reluctant smile that lifted only one corner of a seductive mouth. And then the fingers again, warm and languid, brushing her skin like golden rays of sunlight.

She moaned in her sleep, arching slightly toward those imaginary fingers. Life had been so cold and lonely with no promise of warmth or friendship. But now, deep within the comfort of this dream, she found heat forged with an intense interest in life. Here she felt alive and needed. If only she could sleep forever.

The fingers slipped like silk over her lips, then curved downward, cresting her chin and falling water-soft down her throat. She shivered as they caressed the tops of her breasts. But it was the press of a warm kiss to the base of her neck that urged her arms to move heavily, as if searching for her misty dream-lover.

Instead of feeling air, however, her sensitive fingers touched warm flesh. Rose's senses reeled, fighting to find the safe folds of sleep again. But now the scent of him filled her head. That masculine scent of horse and leather. That scent of...

Her eyes opened.

"Leith!" she whispered breathlessly, and found she was staring directly into the warm, honeyed depths of his eyes.

"Aye, lass," he murmured, raising his brows at her surprise. "Did ye think there might be another dallying here?"

He wore no shirt, she realized with bedazzled wonder, and noted too that her humble little cross lay with shameless carelessness against his left nipple.

That fact bombarded Rose's already trembling senses like a broadside to a sea-tossed ship. She let her lips part slightly as she frantically sought something intelligent to say.

"Ye didna answer me, lass," Leith murmured, his fingers taking up their momentarily abandoned course along her collarbone. "Who were ye expecting?"

Who indeed?
she wondered dizzily. For all she knew, there might not be another man in the world, for she had never met one who made her body ache for release and her palms sweat.