Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (8 page)

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.

"Sleep, wee nun," he whispered. "Soon we will reach our home."

From the ridge above, Colin watched with a grin. So he'd been right all along. Not only was Leith interested in the lass, but he was interested enough to show patience and tenderness, two characteristics not generally associated with the great laird. Turning, Colin hurried back into the darkness.

Not far from his watch-place, the widow slept. He stepped closer, gazing down at her. She was not his type, of course. Too sharp-tongued and aloof. He liked women who swooned over him. Still, she was a bonny lass. Stepping a pace closer, he squatted, noting how her lips were slightly parted, her eyelids heavy with thick lashes. She was indeed a comely thing. He reached forward and ever so gently caressed her cheek.

She moaned and turned her face so that his fingers pressed more firmly against her flesh.

"Devona." He said her name softly, feeling her allure whip a hard response from his deprived masculinity. "Bonny Devona."

She twisted slightly, so that her blanket was pulled lower, exposing a half-bare shoulder.

"Mayhap, ye are na so aloof as ye seem," he whispered.

Her left leg bent and straightened, pulling the blanket lower still, revealing further charms.

"Mayhap," Colin breathed, "ye dream of me just as I dream of ye."

She moaned again and in that moment it seemed to Colin she revealed the truth of her need. She was not detached and cool, but lonely and vulnerable, keeping herself from him only by the harshest discipline.
Poor lass,
he thought, and, realizing he could no longer delay the kiss, he leaned eagerly forward.

"Leith," she whispered in her sleep.

Colin's head snapped back. Leith! He was on his feet in a moment, glaring down at the first woman who had refused to be moved by his presence. Leith!

"Dream on then, widow," he declared, striding away to his post.

And in the darkness, Devona smiled.

Chapter 7

“Awake, lass."

Rose heard Leith's voice through the fog of her slumber, but her dreams were too rich and warm for her to be drawn immediately from sleep. He was there again. The tall, sable-haired man with the compelling eyes. He was there in her dreams, kissing her, his chest bare and ...

"Mayhap I shall need to kiss ye again," Leith suggested.

Rose's eyes popped open.

God's teeth! He was there—in the flesh and...

"Where—where are your clothes?" she gasped, taking in his changed appearance with openmouthed shock.

Leith placed his fists on his plaid-covered hips and laughed aloud. "I am a Scotsman, wee Rose," he reminded her. "Na one of yer coddled English lords."

"But..." She'd known he was a barbarian, but never had she seen his barbarism displayed with such breathtaking boldness.

His hair was dark, long, and loose but for the narrow braids—one nestled beside each ear. His shirt was made of brown wool, soft as hide and open at the neck to show his broad, dark throat. A length of plaid wool crossed his left shoulder, pinned by a pewter brooch, and wrapped around his chest and abdomen to meet the same tartan fabric that was held to his waist with a broad leather belt. In the center, but just below the belt, was a leather bag, perhaps the width of both her fists side by side. It was covered with a flap of the same fine hide and kept closed with a narrow thong. Against his right hip his sword was strapped and across his thighs lay the pleated wool of his plaid.

But below that... God's ears! His lower thighs and knees were bare—broad and corded with muscle above the tall horsehide boots that covered his flesh from toe to upper calf.

"You ... cannot mean to tell me you go about wearing tiny gowns?" she murmured in awe.

"Gowns!" began Leith with a scowl, but Colin's laughter cut him short.

"Leith wears a wee gown." He chuckled, striding forward to stand beside his brother, arms akimbo in the same manner. "But we true Scotsmen wear
plaids."

Rose's eyes widened even further, for Colin too wore the indecent garment. "But your..." Her voice failed her for a moment. "Your knees are ... naked!" she squeaked.

Leith's scowl deepened. "Need I remind ye, wee nun, that I've seen ye ... "

Her eyes were huge gems of terrified amethyst as she stared at him in mute appeal, begging for his silence.

Leith's dark eyebrows lowered even further, but in a moment his expression softened. "That I've seen ye... sleep too long," he finished roughly. "Get yerself up, lass," he said. “Today ye see Scotland."