Highland Velvet

by Jude Deveraux

  The cold night air blew into her face, and she breathed deeply of it. She lifted her eyes toward Heaven. She knew the Lord could not forgive her for what she did, but then neither could she forgive herself for what had happened. “Good-bye, my brothers,” she whispered to the wind. “Good-bye, my Brian.”

  She crossed herself, put her hands across her breasts, and jumped to the stones below.

  The animals of the Chatworth estate sensed something wrong before the people did. The dogs began to bark; the horses became restless in their stalls.

  Brian, upset and unable to sleep, threw on a robe and made his way outside. “What is it?” he asked a stableboy who was running past him.

  “A woman threw herself from a top-floor window,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ve got to find Lord Roger.”

  Brian’s heart stopped at the boy’s words. It had to be one of the women who was held captive. Please let it be the woman he didn’t know, Bronwyn, he prayed. But even as he thought the words, he knew who lay dead.

  He walked calmly toward the side of the house that contained the window to Mary’s room. He pushed through the crowd of servants peering down at the body.

  “She’s been raped,” a woman said quietly. “Look at the blood on her!”

  “It’s just like when Lord Edmund was alive. And here I thought the younger one was going to be better.”

  “Get out of here!” Brian shouted. It made him sick that they felt free to look at his beloved Mary. “Did you hear me? Get out of here!”

  The servants weren’t used to taking orders from Brian, but they recognized the tone of authority when they heard it. They turned quickly and left to hide in the dark corners and stare at Brian and this woman they’d never seen before.

  Brian gently smoothed Mary’s clothes. He straightened her neck from its unnatural angle. He wanted to carry her into the house and even made a few attempts, but he wasn’t strong enough. Even his weakness seemed to feed the anger rising in him. The servants assumed Roger had raped her, but Brian didn’t believe them. One of the guards! he thought.

  As he stood he began to imagine tortures for the man, as if it would help bring his Mary back.

  As if in a trance, he walked up the stairs to Mary’s room. The guards started to hinder him, but they stepped back when they saw Brian’s face. He pushed open the door to Mary’s room.

  He stared for some moments at Roger’s form, dead asleep, snoring, as he lay in Mary’s bed. He didn’t seem to have any thoughts, only a feeling that ran through him. He seemed to grow and strengthen with each passing moment.

  With great calmness he turned and took a pitcher of cold water from a table. He poured it over Roger’s head.

  Roger groaned and looked up. “Brian,” he said groggily with a faint smile. “I was dreaming of you.”

  “Get up!” Brian said in a deadly voice.

  Roger became alert. He was war-trained and knew how to control his senses when he felt there was danger. “What has happened? Is Elizabeth—” He broke off as he sat up and realized where he was. “Where is the Montgomery woman?”

  Brian’s face didn’t change from its look of steel. “She lies dead on the stones below.”

  A flicker went across Roger’s face. “I wanted to prove what kind of woman she was. I wanted to show you—”

  Brian’s low voice cut him off. “Where is Stephen Montgomery’s wife?”

  “Brian, you must listen to me,” Roger pleaded.

  “Listen!” Brian gasped. “Did you listen to Mary’s screams? I know she was a timid woman and I’ll wager she screamed a lot. Did you enjoy it?”

  “Brian…”

  “Cease! You have said your last words to me. I am going to find this other woman you hold, and we are leaving here.” His eyes narrowed. “If I ever see you again, I will kill you!”

  Roger fell backward as if he’d been struck. He watched numbly as Brian left the room. He looked at the blood on the sheet beside him and thought of the woman lying dead below. What had he done?

  It didn’t take Brian long to find Bronwyn. He knew she’d be in the room where Edmund once kept his women. Again the guards outside the door didn’t challenge him. The undercurrent of the night’s tragedy was being felt even through the walls.

  Bronwyn was awake and standing ready when Brian entered her room. “What has happened?” she asked quietly of the hard-looking young man before her.

  “I am Brian Chatworth,” he said, “and I am taking you to your family. Are you ready?”

  “My sister-in-law is also being held prisoner. I won’t go without her.”

  Brian clenched his jaw. “My brother has raped your sister, and she has killed herself.”

  He said the words flatly, as if they meant nothing to him, but Bronwyn sensed something deeper. Mary, she thought, sweet, dear, gentle Mary! “We cannot leave her here. I must take her back to her brothers.”

  “You need not worry about Mary. I will take care of her.”

  Something about the way he said “Mary” told Bronwyn a lot. “I am ready,” she said quietly and followed as he left the room.

  Once they were outside in the cold night air, Brian turned to her. “I will arrange for a guard to accompany you. They will take you wherever you want. Or you may return with me to the Montgomery castle.”

  It didn’t take Bronwyn long to make a decision. She’d had a month to think about it while she was confined in the room alone. She had to make peace with the MacGregors before she could see Stephen again. She had to prove that her love was worthy of him. “I must return to Scotland, and I want no English guards. I will travel more easily alone.”

  Brian didn’t argue with her. His own misery and hate occupied all of his thoughts. He nodded curtly. “You may have a horse and whatever provisions you need.” He turned to leave but she caught his arm.

  “You will care for Mary?”

  “With my life,” he said from deep within him, “and I will revenge her death also.” He walked away.

  Bronwyn frowned as she thought how Mary would hate any talk of revenge. Suddenly she looked about her and realized her freedom for the first time. She must go as quickly as possible, before more violence erupted in this place. She had much work to do. Perhaps the saving of lives, even Scot’s lives, would please Mary’s ghost. She turned toward the stables.

  Chapter Nineteen

  BRONWYN LEANED HER HEAD AGAINST THE WARM SIDE OF the cow as she milked it. She was glad she’d come to Kirsty’s parents’ cottage instead of returning to Larenston. Kirsty and Donald had taken little Rory Stephen and returned north to their home. Bronwyn turned back to her horse and started to mount when Harben caught her arm.

  “Ye’ll stay with us, lass, until ye’ve met with the MacGregor. That is, if ye still want to.”

  She looked from Harben to Nesta and back again. “How long have you known?”

  “Donald told me after ye left. I always suspected something, though. Ye don’t talk like an ordinary woman. Ye have more…”

  “Self-confidence?” Bronwyn asked hopefully.

  Harben snorted. “More like as it’s more insolence.” He stared at her. “The MacGregor will like ye.” His eyes went to her expanding stomach. “I see that man of yers enjoyed my home brew.”

  She laughed at him.

  Harben led the way into his little cottage. “One thing I don’t understand. I can see that you’re the MacArran, but I can’t see that that man of yours is an Englishman. I’d rather believe in a MacArran than an Englishman.”

  They went into the cottage, laughing, Nesta smiling at both of them. It was Nesta who kept the farm going and saw that Bronwyn and Harben worked while they argued.

  It had taken a few days to arrange a meeting with the MacGregor. He agreed to tell no one and to bring no men with him, just as Bronwyn did. The next morning, at dawn, in the mist of the moors, they would meet.

  She pulled harder on the cow and brushed at a stray strand of hair that bothered her. She finished the
milking, swatted absently at her hair, and carried the pail to the far end of the barn, noticing that it was already growing dark outside. Just as the last drops of milk splashed into the pail, she heard a noise that made her stop instantly.

  There was a little bark, just a small sound, but something about it reminded her of Rab, and tears instantly came to her eyes. She remembered all too clearly seeing Rab on the ground, the gaping wound in his side.

  The sound came again, and she turned, the bucket still in her hand. There, standing quietly, his eyes alight, his tail wagging, was Rab.

  She just had time to drop the bucket because the next moment all one hundred and fifty pounds of the dog were upon her. The dog knocked her back against a manger and nearly broke her in half.

  “Rab!” she whispered, hugging the dog in return. “Rab!” She laughed as he threatened to drown her in his exuberance. “Oh, sweet dog,” she cried. “Where did you come from? I thought you were dead!” She buried her face in his fur.

  Suddenly a low piercing whistle came, and Rab went rigid. The next instant he stood on the ground in front of her. “What is it, boy?”

  She looked up, and there stood Stephen. His hair was shorter but he wore the Scots dress. She looked him up and down slowly. It seemed she had forgotten how large he was, how strong and muscular he was. His blue eyes looked at her in an intense way.

  “Do I get the same welcome as Rab?” he asked quietly.

  She didn’t think but leaped at him, her arms going about his neck, her feet off the floor.

  Stephen didn’t say a word but began kissing her with all the hunger he felt. It had been so very long since he’d touched her. He stepped backward, carrying her, and fell into a thick pile of hay. Even as they fell, his hands were on the buttons of her shirt.

  “We can’t…” Bronwyn murmured against his lips. “Harben…”

  Stephen bit her earlobe. “I told him we planned an orgy for the rest of the day.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “I did!” he mocked, laughter in his eyes. Then the expression on his face changed. His eyes widened and he looked at her in astonishment. The next moment he was tearing her clothes off her and gaping at the hard mound of her stomach.

  He looked up at her in question.

  She smiled and nodded at him.

  Stephen’s shout of happiness scared the chickens from the barn rafters. “A baby!” he laughed. “Harben was damn right about his home brew.”

  “I was carrying the child before we met Kirsty, so Morag says.”

  He lay beside her and pulled her nude body close to him. “Then maybe it was me and not Harben,” he said from some deep, inner joy.

  Bronwyn nuzzled against him and rubbed her thigh between his. “It may as well have been the home brew,” she said sadly. “I don’t remember anything else that could have given me a baby.”

  He chuckled, then moved quickly as he pushed her face-down in the hay. In an instant he was out of his plaid. He kept his knee on the small of her back. When he was nude, he bent and kissed the back of her knees. “I haven’t forgotten you completely,” he murmured as he ran his teeth along her tendons. His hands caressed her legs as his mouth tormented her. She moaned under him and tried to turn over, but he held her fast as he continued his sweet torture of her.

  His skin against hers sent shivers all through her body. His mouth traveled up to her spine, his legs against hers. The hardness and the hairiness of his thighs worked to excite her. His big hands caressed her back, played with the soft shape of her.

  Just after she knew she could stand no more, he turned her over. He kissed her while his hand rubbed her stomach then inched up to her breasts. She arched toward him as his mouth touched her breasts.

  He moved upward again, his teeth running along her neck. She grabbed at him, pulled him down on top of her. “Hungry, my laird?” he growled in her ear.

  She bit at him, almost too hard, and the next moment he was on her. It had been so long since they’d been together, and Stephen’s mouth on her knees had excited her to a fever pitch. It took only a few thrusts before both of them were shuddering in the throes of their love.

  “Oh, Stephen,” she whispered, clutching him to her. It was so good to feel safe again, to not be alone. She didn’t realize when the tears started.

  Stephen moved from atop her and pulled her into the haven of his strong arms. He covered them with his plaid, and Rab snuggled against his mistress’s back.

  The safety and security she felt made her cry even harder.

  “Was it horrible?” he asked quietly. “We felt so helpless, but there was so little we could do.”

  She wiped her tears away and looked at him. “Mary?”

  He pushed her head down. “Brian Chatworth brought her back to us.” He was silent for a moment. Now was not the time to talk of his grief—and rage—at the death of his sister. Sweet, gentle Mary, who only did good in her life, did not deserve death in such a vile manner. Miles had been the one to nearly kill Brian before Gavin and Stephen could prevent him. When Brian’s story was told, it rang true that even held captive, Mary gave love. Brian’s grief was obvious as he held the lifeless body of the woman he loved.

  “Brian went to find Raine, wherever he is now,” Stephen continued. “We heard he was hiding in the forest. Why didn’t you return to Larenston? Tam has aged twenty years in the last month. He knew so little about what had happened. They found Rab in the morning, and Tam was sure you were dead.”

  “I wanted to do something for Mary.”

  “For Mary? You came to Harben’s because of Mary?”

  Bronwyn began to cry harder. “You were right. I had so long to think about it. I’m so selfish and I don’t deserve your love.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.

  “What you said. When you were holding that woman,” she sniffed disjointedly.

  Stephen frowned as he tried to remember what she was talking about. Since they’d been married, he’d not touched another woman. Every woman he saw paled in comparison to Bronwyn’s beauty and spirit. He smiled as he remembered the night at Gavin’s castle. “Aggie!” he laughed. “She’s the castle whore. I was sitting there feeling miserable and sorry for myself when she came in the room, opened her blouse, and threw herself across my lap.”

  “You certainly didn’t push her off! You were enjoying her when I came in.”

  “Enjoying her?” he questioned, then shrugged. “I’m a man and I may be angry and upset, but I’m not dead.”

  Bronwyn grabbed a clump of hay and threw it at his head.

  He pinned her arms to her side. “Tell me what I said that night,” he insisted.

  “You don’t remember!” How could he forget something that meant so much to her?

  “All I remember is us screaming at each other, then I got on my horse. I don’t even remember where I was going. Somewhere along the way I fell on the ground and slept. In the morning I realized I’d probably lost you through my idiocy, and so I decided to do something to try to win you back.”

  “Is that why you went to King Henry? To win me back?”

  “I didn’t do it for any other reason,” he said. “I hate court. All that waste!”

  She stared at him, then laughed. “You sound like a Scot.”

  “King Henry also said I was no longer English, that I sounded like a Scot.”

  She laughed and began to kiss him.

  He pushed her away. “I still haven’t had an answer from you. All the time I was at court I thought you were with my brothers. Gavin was so angry he refused to write me. I think he assumed I knew you’d walked out of his house that night I left. You and Miles scared them half to death, you know.”

  “But not you?” she asked. “What did you think when you found out I’d returned to Scotland?”

  “I didn’t have time to think!” he said in disgust. “Gavin, Raine, Miles, and Judith lectured me for days. When they got through, they stopped speaking to me.”r />
  “And all the time I was in Scotland, you didn’t even send a message to me!”

  “But you left me!” he half shouted. “You should have sent a message to me!”

  “Stephen Montgomery!” she gasped. “I did not leave you. You’ve just said you rode to King Henry. Was I supposed to sit and wait for your return? What should I have told your family, that you preferred a fat trollop to me? And after the things you said!” She looked away from him.

  He put his fingers on her chin and drew her face back so she looked at him. “I want to know what I said. What made you leave me? I know you, and if it’d been only the wench you wouldn’t have left. You’d probably have taken a hot poker to her.”

  “She deserved torturing!” Bronwyn said hotly.

  Stephen’s tone was firm, almost cold. “I want to hear what you have to say.”

  Although he was above her, she looked away. The tears came to her eyes easily. She’d never cried so much in her life, she thought with disgust. “You said I was selfish, that I was too selfish to love. You said I hid behind my clan because I was afraid to grow up. You said…you were going to find a woman who wasn’t cold and who could give you what you need.”

  Stephen’s mouth dropped open in astonishment, then he started to laugh.

  She looked up at him in shock. “I see nothing humorous in my faults,” she said coldly.

  “Faults!” he gasped amid his laughter. “Lord! I must have been very drunk! I didn’t know anyone could get that drunk.”

  She tried to roll away from him. “I will not be laughed at! Perhaps it’s my selfish nature that causes me to be unable to see the humor in your words.”

  Stephen pulled her back to him. She pushed him, and for a moment he let her win the struggle, then, still laughing, he pulled her back under him. “Bronwyn,” he said seriously. “Listen to me. You are the most unselfish person I ever met. I have never seen anyone care so little for herself and so much for others the way you do. Didn’t you realize that that’s why I was so angry when you went over the side of the cliff? You had the power to order anyone else to go, or you could have done as Douglas advised and regarded Alex as dead. But not you! Not my dear, sweet laird. You thought only of the life of one of your clan members, not of yourself.”