Highland Hellcat

by Mary Wine

  “I’ll hold on to yer belt.”

  He turned his head to look at her. “Ye’ll lose yer grip and fall once yer strength diminishes.”

  “I’ll take that risk, or better yet, place me back on my mare.”

  She heard him make a soft sound of frustration beneath his breath.

  “I will nae. So ye can lift yer arms, or I will have Shawe do it for ye.”

  Brina hissed at him. “Ye’re a brute to do such a thing. I’ve never placed my arms around a man, except my father when I was little.”

  He rotated his entire body, so that he almost facing her. “Are ye telling me that ye are too timid to touch me, lass?”

  “I am nae timid, simply dutiful to my sire’s word and the place that he has said is mine.”

  The words were out of her mouth before her wisdom warned her that challenging him wasn’t the best idea. If the man thought her timid, escape might be so much more possible.

  “Then place yer hands over my head and prove that the idea of pressing yer body against mine does nae disturb ye, little Brina.”

  Disturb her? It did far more than that, but her pride refused to allow her admit it. Saying it would only stroke the man’s ego.

  “Ye are acting like a barbarian to want to have me tied about ye like some prize ye took during a raid.”

  His eyes darkened. “But I do consider ye a prize worthy of stealing, lass. I wouldn’t be taking ye if I didna think that way.”

  His tone had deepened, and he was mocking her, but at the same time tossing a challenge at her that her pride was quick to rise to. She lifted her arms before thinking about it but came to her senses with her hands raised between them. She hesitated, berating herself for so quickly taking the bait he dangled in front of her nose. If she planned to escape from him, it would only be by thinking before she acted.

  Connor took advantage of her raised hands and put his hands through hers before she finished thinking. She caught a quick glance at a mocking grin on his lips before he raised his arms up and ducked his head beneath the circle of her bound arms. She had no choice but to rise up off the back of the horse for a moment when he straightened up. He caught her wrists inside his warm hands and pushed them down his body to his waist. She was pulled against his back; her only choice was which on side of his back she wished to place her chin.

  She snorted with frustration. That was no true choice, for the scabbard encasing his sword was strapped to his back so that the pommel rose above his left shoulder. She might place her face against that leather, but it was sure to give her bruises and possibly cuts, because the leather was well waxed to keep the sword from rusting in the Scottish weather.

  That left her the option of leaning against his right shoulder. His waist was trim, but her arms barely reached around him, and the amount of rope that he’d allowed between her wrists didn’t afford her the ability to keep a few inches between them. Her senses were filled with the scent of his skin and she felt an odd quiver in her belly. Connor urged the stallion forward at almost the same instant.

  She heard an owl’s cry, and his belly tightened beneath her hands as he made the noise. Many clans had a cry that was uniquely their own. The clouds were closing over the moon again. By using the owl’s cry, it would be very hard for her father’s men to track them. Connor knew the ground they traveled over well. He guided his horse through the trees, leaving the known roads well behind them.

  The motion of the horse bounced her, and she gasped when she landed hard on the most tender part of her body. Connor frowned.

  “Hug me tight and move yer hips with the motion of the horse, lass. I’ve seen ye riding astride, so I ken ye can do it well.”

  Brina found herself grateful for the darkness, because her cheeks flared with a blush. She was bounced twice more before Connor made a sound of disgust and reached over her back to cup one side of her bottom. She jumped forward before he got the chance to move her to where he pleased. A soft moan issued from her lips, because she was now pressed against him, with nothing save for a few layers of clothing to separate their skin.

  “Ye’ve a stubborn nature, Brina.”

  “If ye are going to complain about me, sir, I suggest ye return me to my father’s men, for I never promised to be an obedient wife—not to you, that is for certain.”

  “A fact that makes me more sure that I’m going to enjoy having ye, lass. Ye’ll not find the Lindseys to be men who force their daughters to be meek. We leave that to the English, since it appears they are no’ men enough to stomach a little spirit in their lasses.”

  “Ye are insane.”

  “Nay, lass, I’m happily anticipating the next time we wrestle. Hopefully we’ll be alone so that I may spend a little more time investigating yer sweet blushes and what my kisses do to ye.”

  She snarled at him. His belly vibrated in response, and she knew that he was chuckling, even if she couldn’t hear the sound because he was looking forward once again. Her fingers curled into talons when she felt it, for her temper was rising again. There was something about the man that brought out anger in her. She was forcing herself to maintain some manner of civility and not dig her hands into his midsection. But the desire was there, and it shocked her with how hot it burned.

  There was a softer target just a bit lower…

  That thought sprang up in her mind, and it brought a renewed surge of heat to her face.

  Oh, she knew full well what was beneath the man’s kilt.

  Brina bit her lower lip and chastised herself. She didn’t know well. Not in detail, that was to say. But there had been a few times that she had spied what males had and women didn’t.

  It was called a cock.

  She’d heard that a time or two, and she also knew that a woman could drive her knee into it if she needed to wound a man.

  Her lips twitched up. Her hand had done a fair amount of damage when she had connected with that spot.

  Brina flattened her hands again and felt the ridges of muscle hidden behind Connor’s doublet. She frowned when she realized that his name rose so easily into her thoughts. She should be able to think of him in some derogatory manner, such as labeling him her captor or considering him a barbarian. Instead his name paraded so easily into the center of her thoughts.

  Yet that was not the only thing she was aware of. Pressed so close against him, she drew the scent of his skin in with each breath she took. It was different than anything else she had ever encountered, because for some reason, she enjoyed it. No matter how much she might try to tell herself that it was wrong to notice that she liked it, she could not change the fact that she did.

  He smelled male, and part of her was stirring in response to it, that part she had always been forbidden to listen to. She had hidden it deep beneath her plans for a future where she was a mother superior, and ignored it, but now, lying against his back, she could not stop her mind from noticing all the pleasures that came with the contact. Just as she had enjoyed the kisses he’d pressed against her neck.

  To think that her skin was so sensitive…

  She understood now why those promised to the church were dressed in undyed wool from birth. It kept them from discovering how good another human felt while clasped in their arms, because everyone kept away from her when they saw her wearing the garments of a nun. Her plain wool skirts were bunched up around her legs now, the knee-high boots that she wore protecting her lower legs from the night chill. They were sturdy boots—a gift from her father because he knew that they would most likely be the last new pair she ever wore. In many abbeys, the newest girls went barefoot to prove their dedication to serve no matter how humble the conditions they would have to endure. Even though she would eventually become a mother superior, she would begin as a novice, just as every other girl did.

  As Connor’s wife, she wouldn’t have to suffer those hardships. There would be those who wou
ld consider her fortunate, but she couldn’t ignore the fact that she would have to dishonor her father to embrace being wed to Connor Lindsey. Her word was the only thing that she truly owned. Men so often thought their honor was more important than a woman’s.

  Of course, the church would tell her that her place was lower than a man’s. She knew that well enough.

  She couldn’t wed him, not without her father’s blessing. But there seemed no way to prevent the man from taking her where he would. Even with the night being so black, he guided his horse with an experienced hand. Neither the men following them nor their horses hesitated. They continued on, the clip from the animals’ hooves the only sound they made. She thought of screaming, but the rope binding her wrists was a rather blunt reminder of the fact that Connor was stealing her, and she doubted that he’d hesitate about gagging her too.

  The plaid lying across his back kept her nose from becoming chilled when she turned her face into it, but the rest of her body was drawing warmth from his flesh too. He was far warmer than she might have thought a man would be, and her female body clung to his as the horse continued to cover ground. She shivered, the new emotions shaking her down to the foundations of her beliefs.

  Every year that she had grown and taken instruction on what was right or wrong was being challenged. Her pride ached because she did not seem to have enough discipline to ignore what she liked about Connor Lindsey. Deep inside her mind, dark whispers were stirring like snakes, slithering and winding through the lessons she had been given on keeping her body pure because it belonged to Christ.

  “Release me, Connor. This will bring trouble to both our houses.”

  She knew that he heard her, she felt his muscles tighten beneath her cheek and hands, but he never pulled the stallion up, not even to slow its progress. The night still surrounded them, growing colder almost as if evil were rising from the ground in celebration of what he was doing. Her eyes strained to see, but the night was darkening even more. The first snow of the season began to drift down onto her unprotected back. The snow did not melt, and it was a full month early. It was falling too quickly too, covering their tracks in a foot of fluffy ice that would give her father no way to know where they had gone.

  Despair finally won the battle to wrap around her. It smothered her confidence, leaving her without hope.

  Three

  Dawn was gray and miserable. They stopped to rest the horses, and Brina pulled her frozen fingers to her mouth to blow her breath on them. Her fingers pained her because she had not been able to turn her hands about to protect them from the frigid air.

  Her heavy wool cloak was soaking wet down the length of her back, where the snow had melted against her body heat. But at least the wool continued to keep her warm. She stomped her feet to regain feeling in them, while the men began to rub the legs and ankles of their mounts. They untied the small fabric bags of feed that had been secured to the backs of the younger lads who weren’t carrying full swords yet. Connor had stopped them near water, and the men waited to feed the horses until the beasts had dipped their noses into the stream for a long drink. After that the men tied the sacks around the horses’ heads and left them to eat while they might.

  “I didna think of yer hands, lass.”

  Connor captured one before she realized he had finished tending to his stallion. He pulled a small dirk from the inside of his doublet sleeve, surprising her. Highlanders did like their weapons, but not every man had his clothing sewn to accommodate more weapons. That spoke of a harsh life, one where Connor needed to watch his back and be prepared for treachery.

  He sliced the rope in the center so that her hands might separate; her arms were stiff from being in the same position so long. A tiny moan of relief escaped her, but she stepped away from him when he reached for the loop of rope still knotted about her wrists. His lips pressed into a hard line in response.

  “I can see to my own comfort.”

  Brina took over the task of soothing her skin where the bindings had bruised her, while she lifted her chin in defiance of his attempts to do it. He frowned, his eyes narrowing.

  “Go on and see to yer needs, and do nae make me chase ye down, Brina, for I swear that I will no’ be in a kind mood if ye put me to that trouble in this chill. I hope ye know now that I will do whatever I must to take ye with us.”

  “Ye should notice that God is no’ pleased with what ye have done.”

  One of his eyebrows rose. “Ye think this chill is heavenly wrath, lass?”

  She tossed her head and worked on one of the knots at her wrist, but he had tied it tight, and her fingertips ached as she tried to dig at the rough rope.

  “It would not be the first time God sent punishment to those who displeased him. It is too early for snow.”

  “There have been other years when the snow fell early.” He tilted his head to the side, and his lips twitched. “Maybe God is making sure we have a good reason to stay beneath the covers of a warm bed.”

  Her eyes widened, and so did his grin.

  “But I can see that I will have to take better care of ye. I would nae want yer fingers to be too sore.”

  Connor reached for her wrist once more. Brina jerked against his hold, but his fingers remained solidly in place. All she managed was to make her own shoulder ache.

  “It is only my hand against yers, Brina. Stop acting so skittish over so simple a touch.”

  She felt her jaw drop open with stunned shock, but she pressed her lips together as her temper flared. “You are quite the fiend, sir. I have never allowed even simple touches, for to do so would have been misplaced when my future was to serve the church. I do not know how it is on yer land, but my ankles were switched for forgetting that my body was for God’s service and no other’s touch. Yer frustration with my reactions is yet another reason why ye should abandon this insanity. I was raised to be a bride of Christ; I know nothing else.”

  Her words shocked him, or maybe it was her tone that made him frown at her so furiously. She felt her throat constrict, because she was daring quite a bit to raise her voice in reprimand to a laird while others might hear, even if he had stolen her.

  The fact that she was correct wouldn’t change the reality that he would set the conditions of her life where they were going. It was foolish to anger him, for she would be the only one who suffered if she offended him.

  “I admit that I didna think of that and that ye are correct; girls bound for the church are nae allowed to flirt on Lindsey land either.” His expression softened, as did the grip on her wrist, his thumb beginning to rub gently along the delicate skin. “I believe that I am going to enjoy courting ye, Brina.”

  “This is nae courtship; it is—”

  “It is done.”

  The fingers holding her wrist tightened, so that her arm was held immobile. She felt the cool kiss of the dirk’s blade against her skin as he slid it carefully beneath the rope and jerked it quickly through the rough binding. The severed loop of rope fell away. He released her wrist and reached for her other one.

  Knowing that he was reaching for her hand sent a tingle of anticipation along her arm. She realized it was absurd to jerk away from him when she couldn’t remove the rope herself, but she still flinched. The involuntary motion made her mad, only this time with herself. She should be able to master her own body.

  Connor didn’t finish reaching for her wrist. He stopped in midair, waiting for her to stand steady.

  Waiting for her to find her courage.

  In spite of all the teaching in her childhood about meekness and humbleness that would be expected of her, Brina had never understood her lessons to mean that she should behave like a coward. It stung even to question whether she was doing so now.

  She was still a Chattan after all. Born of Highlander stock, even if she was a female. Brina lifted her chin and held her arm steady.

  “Go
on, then, unless ye’d care to hand me that dirk so that I might do the task myself.”

  Her words didn’t fool him, but she noticed a flare of something in his eyes that looked very much like respect.

  “I believe it wise to keep ye unarmed for the moment; ye did enough damage with that rock.” He cupped her wrist, gently this time, and held her limb with only a fraction of the pressure he’d applied before. The moment felt longer than normal, as though she were poised inside of it, lingering there between breaths, while she noticed every tiny detail, such as how his attention focused on the task of sliding the knife between the rope and her skin. As soon as he had jerked through it, she drew a quick breath and pulled her hand free of his grasp.

  His soft chuckle drew her lips into a frown.

  “We make a better pair than ye know, Brina, for I was called bastard as a boy and spent many a night sleeping in the stable while my uncle was doing his best to ensure that I didna inherit the Lindsey title.”

  “Why were ye called bastard?” Such was a harsh thing for a child to bear, and she discovered herself feeling remorse for the little boy who’d had to face that reality. It seemed cruel, because illegitimacy was the result of his parent’s sin, not his own.

  “My father stole my mother, and she refused to wed him until her father agreed to give him her dowry.”

  She gasped, her temper flaring up. “And ye would do the same to yer own sons?”

  His lips rose into a confident smirk. “I admit that the idea of producing babes with ye is to my liking.”

  Brina turned and grasped a handful of her skirts so that she might climb up the embankment to the privacy he’d mentioned might be hers. She could feel him watching her, but she kept her eyes on where she was going. The man was too pleasing to look upon by far, and the idea of yielding to his whim was too enticing when she considered how many years she had trained to ignore such things. His amusement stoked her temper, tempting her to try her nails out on him once more. That urge shamed her because of how intense it was. Turning her back on him was the only thing she could think to do, but she swore that she was going to be the embodiment of the hellcat he called her if the arrogant Highlander placed even one finger on her because she’d given him her back.