She glanced up at him, her heart in her eyes, and he wanted suddenly to take her into his arms and hold her, comfort her.
He recognized something in her, something that spoke to him instinctively, something that told him they were very much alike. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on, but there was something there, nonetheless.
“You have no brothers or sisters?”
Broc shook his head. “Nor mother nor father. They were all murdered.” By your people, he nearly added. “When I was but a lad.” His anger resurfaced just in the telling, but he reminded himself that she was not responsible for their death. And the look she gave him tempered his rage, so deep was the compassion he spied in her eyes.
Still he could not speak of this, not even with her. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “And I’ve a good family and many friends.” He was fortunate, he told himself. Many had not even that.
Auld Alma’s voice whispered in his ear: Find ye a good woman to cherish and give her strong bairns. Let your father’s blood live long in your veins and those of your children. You are the last of the MacEanraig clan, lad.
He stared at Elizabet, his heart hammering.
She looked away. “Have you... a wife?” she asked, sounding dejected at the mere possibility.
Broc blinked at the question. “Nay.”
She lifted her gaze, a sudden smile hidden in her eyes, and somehow her hopeful expression lifted his mood.
“But as long as I had my dog I never suffered a cold bed.”
“Dog!”
“Aye, well, who needs a wife when ye can have a hound, right?” He winked at her.
She laughed softly and the sound of it sent an unexpected shiver through him. She was lovely—more so every instant he knew her.
She arched a perfectly formed brow and lifted a hand to her thick plait, toying with it nervously, her smile brilliant. He wished she would undo it again so he could see it in the light of day. Last night it had felt so soft in his hands. Her mouth had tasted so sweet. He found himself thirsting for another drink of her mouth.
“But you must have a woman?”
“No,” he assured her. “And no hound either, but you have one, he suggested, lifting his brows.
“Now I know what you want from me,” she said and laughed softly, glancing down at the crucifix she wore, her expression suddenly wistful.
“What is it, lass?”
Her smile turned melancholy. “It feels good to laugh—it has been a long, long time,” she confessed. “I’ve sorely missed it.”
Who else had she shared that beauteous smile with? Broc wondered. His gut turned over the possibilities. He didn’t want her heart to belong to anyone else.
She touched her plait and stared, transfixed, as though lost in a memory and he wanted that look to be for him.
Aye, he wanted his woman to desire his body, but he hadn’t realized how much he craved that gentle, loving look until he spied it in Elizabet’s eyes.
She began to fiddle with the bindings of her plait, pulling at the golden ribbon, and the shimmering material was a reminder that she was not for him. She had been born to a world of riches and luxuries, while he had been raised in the dirt.
What did he have to give her?
Nothing.
His father had been chieftain of their clan, but his true kinsmen were all dead and buried now. He had no coffers of his own to share, nor, in truth, even the right to offer sanctuary. He was risking much to help her—much that wasn’t his own.
Guilt pricked at him.
Still, he wasn’t about to walk away.
Before he could stop himself, he reached out and seized her crucifix, pulling her nearer.
Elizabet gasped in surprise.
“Whose memory do I see in your eyes?” he demanded to know.
For an instant, she didn’t answer, and he thought she would refuse him an answer. He tugged on the crucifix.
“M-my mother,” she said at last.
Her hand gripped the cross more firmly, but she didn’t resist him. “This was hers. She wore it always.”
Relief washed over him.
He wanted to kiss her, but the memory of what happened between them last evening—the way she had reacted to his advances—kept him at bay.
Elizabet’s heart fluttered at the intensity of his gaze. He made no further advances, merely stared, tugging gently at the crucifix.
Some part of her prayed he would kiss her now. Some other part of her screamed in fear.
Fear of losing her freedom.
Fear of losing her heart.
She remembered the way her mother had wept so bitterly when she was alone, broken-hearted, while her lovers were at home with their wives. Her chastity, her mother had, claimed, was the one thing that stood between Elizabet and the very same fate.
He glanced at the crucifix and then back up into her eyes.
“It was a gift to my mother… she gave it to me before she died.”
He continued to stare at her, his eyes gleaming strangely. “Beautiful,” he said softly.
Elizabet felt her legs go weak. She swallowed convulsively as he tugged once more on the crucifix, with a little more determination. Sheer will kept her from tumbling into his lap.
She held her breath.
“Did no one ever tell you how beautiful you are?”
Elizabet’s entire body quivered at his words. She shook her head, her heart beating more furiously still, her lips feeling suddenly parched as he continued to stare into her eyes. She wetted her lips with her tongue, watching his expression intently.
His eyes never left hers.
He tugged a little harder on the crucifix, drawing her to him, and Elizabet found she hadn’t the will to resist. If he kissed her, she would not deny him.
She swallowed convulsively.
God forgive her for her wicked thoughts… in truth, she was worse than her mother, because she was a wanton without a cause. Her mother, at least, had been able to claim her daughter’s best interests.
He lifted a hand to her nape, tangling his fingers gently into her hair and shivers raced down her spine.
“We should go in now,” she proposed, trying to find some measure of reason amidst the insanity of her thoughts.
“Should we?” he asked her, his voice husky.
Elizabet shuddered softly.
Mercy, he was tall and strong and his skin seemed so soft and yet so hard. She wanted more than anything to reach out and touch his face. She wanted to kiss him again, wanted to feel the delicious weight of his arms around her.
“’Tis a lovely crucifix,” he murmured, and bent nearer, closing the distance between their mouths. It seemed to Elizabet that he hovered so near... so blissfully near... but so very, very far.
She would never have the nerve to crane her neck upward, to touch her lips to his. She could never be so bold as to kiss a man. But, more than anything, she wanted to.
In that instant, there was nothing she had ever yearned for more.
Again she swallowed.
“My m-mother never made any apologies for who she was,” she said, trying to find suitable conversation, though her throat was almost too thick to speak. She was rambling, she realized, but couldn’t help it. “She did what she pleased and chose to live frugally so that she could leave everything to me. I never realized at the time how much she gave up for me. I miss her desperately.”
She could feel the warmth of his breath on her face; his lips hovered so near. “She left you her coffers?”
“Aye,” Elizabet said, and smiled as she added, “Though ’tis hardly enough to compensate a man for having to bear with my wayward tongue.”
His eyes seemed to twinkle at her self-deprecating jest. “You’re a contrary lass,” he agreed and bent a little closer.
Elizabet shut her eyes, praying for the touch of his lips.
She wanted this so desperately.
And then suddenly her eyes flew open with a sudden realiz
ation. She understood what Tomas would have to gain with her death. “My dowry!”
He blinked at her, confused by her outburst. “What?”
“Judas! Why did I not realize sooner? My dowry!” she declared. “That’s what he’s after!”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
“You see, my father insisted I take it with me to give to Piers so that Piers might use it to make me a better match. Only Tomas, John and I knew of it—but ’tis hardly enough to kill a man over,” she added quickly.
“Some men would kill for a morsel of food, lass. How much were ye carrying and where is it now?”
“A tiny pouch full of jewels and coins,” Elizabet revealed. “John held it for me.”
He seemed to consider her disclosure, and his brows knit as he asked her. “You say John held it?”
Something like dread crept through her at his tone, at his look. She nodded. What if Tomas intended to be rid of them both? What if he had already killed John? “Oh, no... Broc... are you certain my brother is unharmed?”
He didn’t answer.
Elizabet’s heart skidded to a halt.
He averted his eyes for the briefest instant, then said to her with absolute certainty. “When last I saw your brother, Elizabet, he was in danger of suffering no more than a headache. I tell you, he was fine.”
Elizabet knit her brows. “You must go to him, Broc--beg him to come to me, so I can tell him what we suspect. I cannot bear to think what may happen to him before we can speak with Piers.”
His jaw clenched, and he appeared distraught at her behest.
“Please!” Elizabet beseeched, thinking mayhap he didn’t wish to leave her unprotected. “I swear I will stay out of trouble—and I promise to wait inside and take no chances. I give you my word!”
He reached out and gently touched her cheek with a finger, startling her with the tender touch.
Elizabet’s breath caught at the tenderness of the gesture. For a long moment, he held her gaze, saying nothing, and in that instant she thought she spied his heart in his eyes. No one had ever looked at her that way—so sincerely, so full of genuine concern.
She trusted him. She did. The realization brought tears to her eyes. She knew without doubt he meant only to help her, and her heart swelled with gratitude.
Words stuck in her throat. There was nothing she could say that would reveal her appreciation.
But there was something she could do.
Chapter 14
The lie was becoming his cross—and with every untruth he spoke, another nail drove deep into his soul.
That look in her eyes, that trust she had placed in him, weighed heavily upon him now. He couldn’t keep the truth from her forever. He knew that. Soon she would have to know, but he wanted to be certain she would no longer be in danger once he let her go.
She would loathe him, he realized.
As soon as the words left his lips, she would never again look at him that way and he dreaded that moment more than he’d ever dreaded anything in his life.
What was he supposed to do now?
She wanted him to speak to her brother, to bring him to her. How was he going to manage another lie without Elizabet discovering the truth?
And where was he supposed to go now? Certainly not to Piers. But he needed to confide in somebody. Not Iain—he couldn’t involve Iain. Not Colin—he couldn’t place Colin in such an untenable position. Nor Seana—he couldn’t ask her to lie to her new husband.
Never in his life had he felt so alone.
If he confided in Iain, Iain would take his side but insist they hand Elizabet over to Piers. Broc couldn’t just hand her over to her murderer. It would be Broc’s word against Tomas’s, and who would believe him?
Not Elizabet.
And truthfully, that seemed to be the only thing that mattered right now.
For now, Elizabet was safe enough in the hovel. No one could tell her anything so long as no one knew where she was. He just needed to be certain Seana would not stumble upon her. And with that in mind he decided to pay a little visit to the newlyweds.
* * *
“Do ye realize we’ve no’ had five moments alone since before the wedding?” Colin Mac Brodie complained to his wife when they were behind closed doors at last.
It was Seana’s first time in Colin’s bedchamber—their bedchamber—as she’d remained with Meghan until their nuptials and then they had spent their wedding night under Montgomerie’s roof. Tonight, for the first time, Colin had brought her home, and she looked curiously about the room he had called his own, examining all he had chosen to surround himself with—the most apparent, an elaborate bed, which raised her brows. It was obvious what importance he gave the single piece of furniture, for it was ornately carved and polished to a shine—made strong to withstand the most passionate encounter. She cast him a chiding glance, and he seemed to understand precisely what she was thinking.
“I have never brought a woman here,” he assured her. I had that bed built for you and me.
“Truly?” She peered back at him, both surprised and moved by the gesture.
“It is my wedding gift to you,” he disclosed, and smiled that brilliant Colin smile she so adored. Only her husband could manage to look so blessed mischievous and innocent at once.
He came up behind her as she stood running her fingers over the soft blankets that covered the oak monstrosity. “My beautiful wife,” he whispered at her ear.
“’Tis lovely.”
“You are lovely,” he countered, embracing her tightly. Like a wee child hugging his favorite toy, he squeezed and rocked her gently. But then his hands wandered to her sides and he tickled her relentlessly. Seana laughed at his playful gesture.
“Och, I love you.”
She loved him, as well, and she reached back to tickle him where she knew he would most laugh.
“Wicked woman!”
“I intend to remove every memory of every woman from your mind, Colin Mac Brodie!”
He chuckled at her threat and tickled the back of her neck with the tip of his nose. “What women?” he murmured, and she turned in his arms to face him.
She arched a brow. “You know verra well what women we are speaking of.”
“You are the only woman for me, wife,” he whispered as he bent down and gently kissed her on the lips.
Seana tilted him a coy glance, enjoying his attentions. She knew he spoke the truth, but she still wanted to hear it from his lips again and again—and again.
“The only woman?”
He kissed her again with meaning, closing his eyes. “Aye, my love.”
“And there aren’t any other women still on your mind?”
“Hmm...” He opened his eyes suddenly, “Well, mayhap just one.”
Seana gasped at his candid reply.
“Wretch!”
He laughed and pushed her back upon the soft bed, then pounced on her, pinning her beneath him.
Seana pushed at his chest. “Get off me, husband!”
He grinned down at her. “You ask me an honest question, my dear, you get an honest answer.”
Seana narrowed her eyes at him, hardly thinking him amusing. “Who?” she demanded to know.
He wiggled his brows at her, teasing. “You really want to know?”
Seana glared up at him. “Aye!” He opened his mouth to speak and she lifted a finger to hush him. “Nay!”
Laughing, he seized her about the waist and rolled so that she sat next to him. “Silly girl. The only other woman I have on my mind is Piers’ cousin.”
Seana sighed in relief. “Och!” She gave him a pretty pout. “You knew what I meant.”
His gaze turned sober then, and he curled his hand about her nape. “Believe me when I tell you, Seana, from this moment forward, no woman exists for me but you.”
She kissed him again, sighing with contentment. “I love you, Colin.”
“I know,” he replied with a roguish grin, and Seana could only smile a
t his cocky answer. He was absolutely intolerable, her husband, but she loved him fiercely—everything about him from his wicked smile to his unabashed arrogance. She plopped herself down upon the bed beside him, staring at the ceiling.
They had searched again all day but had found no sign of the lost woman. Everyone had been shocked by the abduction, and the clans had all united in their efforts to find the girl. It was a heartwarming sight to see, Montgomerie riding with the Brodies, and the MacKinnons had joined, as well.
“Will you search again tomorrow?”
He slid a hand beneath her back and lay beside her, staring at the ceiling as well. He sighed heavily, and she understood his sentiments precisely. If it were Seana who went missing, she would like to think everyone would do the same for her.
“Aye, we’ll search again tomorrow.” He turned to face her, holding her close. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”
Seana reached out to brush the hair from his face. It was the most beautiful face she’d ever seen on a man, and she never tired of looking at him. “You will never lose me,” she promised.
“Seana,” he said, sounding distressed at the possibility. “It took me a lifetime to find you again, and I vow I’ll never let anyone harm you.”
She smiled at him, hoping he could see the love in her eyes. “I know, my darling.”
Something thumped twice against the window, the sound, like two strikes of a small stone, caught both their attentions.
Colin looked up at the window with narrowed eyes. “What was that?”
Seana cast a wary glance at the window.
“Accursed cats!” her husband said, evidently deciding it was her father’s cats. “I swear they seem to know precisely when to appear. If I didn’t know better I would think their presence was deliberate!”
She looked at him. “Colin,” she said, “cats don’t knock!”
He pushed himself off the bed. “You’ve a point, wife.” He was halfway to the window when the thump sounded once more. “I’ve waited all day for this moment. Whoever is out there had better have a good reason to be rapping at our window!”
Elizabet Page 10
