by Mary Wine
“Aye… I’ve heard the tale several times over already.” Edme lifted the cover off a soup terrine, and a puff of steam rose. “Never known the laird to give up his hot bath for a lass before. Right kind of him.”
“Kind—”
Edme raised an eyebrow at her tone. Clarrisa shut her mouth with a click of her teeth. A small smile appeared on the older woman’s lips.
“Yer mother would be proud of ye,” she decided with a nod.
Clarrisa shook her head and reached for the spoon lying neatly beside the bowl. “If you’ve heard the tale, you know my behavior has been less than perfect.”
The stew was still hot, thanks to the heavy silver bowl someone must have warmed before ladling the meal into it. She sighed as she swallowed and scooped up another spoonful quickly. She was too hungry to control the urge to eat fast.
“Ye’re in the Highlands. Spirit is respected here. Ye’d nae have survived the trip if ye did nae have enough of it.”
Clarrisa stared at Edme as she turned and went to the room’s huge bed. The feet were carved like lion’s paws, and two full rampant animals dominated the headboard. Edme tugged down the coverlet, exposing creamy linens.
“Is this Broen’s chamber?”
The spoon was halfway to her lip as she noticed the fine table and chairs near the window. Costly squares of glass were set into the windows, and the tub was an overlarge one.
“As I told ye, the laird gave up his bath for ye.” Edme came back toward her. “But it’s good to see that dressing robe used. The laird never wears it, mind ye. He’s young enough no’ to be bothered by the chill of night. Still, some of the younger maids find it shocking when they see him walking about in naught but skin after his bath.”
Naught but skin?
Her eyes went wide as heat rose in her cheeks. She stuffed another spoonful of stew into her mouth to prevent voicing some careless comment. The dressing robe was thick. Even with only a chemise beneath it, she was warm.
“I’ve told ye plenty of times, Edme, no’ to put the lasses to work hauling water up here. I’ll bathe in the bathhouse.”
Clarrisa dropped the spoon and stood. Broen stood near the doorway, wearing only his kilt and a shirt that had its collar lying open.
“What are you doing here?” Clarrisa demanded.
He lifted one eyebrow. “It’s me chamber, as Edme just told ye.” He walked toward the bed and placed his sword on two iron poles protruding from the stone wall. The pommel lay within reach of the bed.
“Ye’re the laird now. Privacy is yer due,” Edme muttered while inclining her head.
Broen wasn’t watching his clanswoman. His blue eyes were on Clarrisa. The chamber was lit only by candles now, the fire in the hearth no more than a glowing bed of coals. The golden light danced off drops of water left in his hair.
“I admit, Edme, yer persistence in continuing me father’s tradition of bathing up here came in right handy tonight.”
“I disagree,” Clarrisa informed him. Her voice trembled, and she bit her lip before adding more to her statement. She needed to find her composure, and quickly, before the man decided she was besotted enough by his charms to fall easily into his bed.
His kisses certainly scatter your wits…
Broen chuckled. “Well now, Clarrisa, I’m going to call ye fickle, for ye railed at me about how ye did nae care for the stench our journey had left ye with.”
“That was not an invitation for you to carry me to your chamber like some prize. After all, I was telling you about the wisdom of us remaining separated.”
“That does nae mean I agreed with ye, lass.” He closed the space between them. “Ye’re me prize, sure enough, one that will help ensure the king cannae begin any new trouble.”
“Why are you not loyal to your king?” It would have been better not to ask. Learning about him would only make it so much harder to maintain distance between them.
All traces of teasing left his face. “A king must earn his loyalty by dispensing justice when his nobles come to him. Me father was murdered in cold blood, and James refused to even see me. I will nae follow him when he’s so selfish as to leave such a grave matter undecided, which will lead to feuding. I want justice, no’ having to listen to the mothers of me retainers weeping because their sons are run through this summer now that the Grants know the king will allow them to get away with whatever they want. I and me men will have to protect our own, or blood will flow.”
“How will bringing me here help?”
“Me father died on me neighbor’s land. Donnach Grant will nae face me to explain what happened, which leaves me men demanding vengeance. Me overlord was willing to trade the favor of backing me cause if I made sure the king did nae get the York-blooded son he craved.”
Anger smoldered in his eyes, and she struggled against the wave of compassion that swept through her. “A just cause, but I should be free to leave now that you have prevented your king from using me, not kept here by your order.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and considered her for a long moment. “To go where?”
“Well”—she searched her memory—“I have a cousin who would most likely welcome me.”
“A relation who does nae obey the will of yer uncle?”
Her uncertainty must have shown on her face, because Broen scoffed at her. “Where would ye end up next time? In whose bed, lass? Or beneath whose blade?”
Heat licked across her skin as she noticed that his bed was too close for her comfort. The knowledge that they were in his chamber refused to be pushed aside. She suddenly realized Edme had left silently. “Not yours, Broen MacNicols. You can put the thought straight out of your head.”
She sputtered and moved to step away from him, but he snaked out his hand to grasp her wrist. The bench she’d been sitting on toppled over, raising a cloud of ash when it landed in the coals of the fireplace. Broen pulled her against him and away from the coals before she truly had time to fear being singed.
“Who is thinking of bed sport more, lass? If ye were nae dwelling on it, ye’d have insisted no one wanted to spill yer blood. Instead yer mind only heard me speaking of beds.” He was warm, just as she remembered, and her body eagerly approved of being in contact with his. “Ye kissed me back, Clarrisa, with passion hot enough to burn.”
“That does not mean I am content with being in your chamber.”
He had her arm twisted up behind her back. For a moment, the embrace tightened, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her nipples contracted, the soft globes compressing. A soft gasp escaped her lips when sensation went shooting through her. She’d never realized her breasts might feel so much enjoyment.
“Shall I court yer contentment?” He leaned down until she felt his breath against her lips. “Shall I test yer resolve to resist returning me kiss once again, lass? Ye failed but a few hours past. A lover is something most women never get the chance to enjoy. Are ye sure ye want to turn yer back on the opportunity? There is passion between us, lass. It is no’ a common thing. Ye think me unwise, but I know how rare this sort of flame is.”
She shivered with the knowledge and felt heat licking at her insides. Need began pricking her with tiny demands that rejected her reasons for denying what she craved. But the growing intensity frightened her.
It would overwhelm her so easily…
“Do not make this a matter of your pride, Broen. My purity is the only thing I have. I was sincere when I thanked you for taking me away from your king. Please do not behave like him.”
He lifted his head, pressing his lips into a firm line. In his eyes, there was a conflict, one that burned brightly before he released her and turned to lift the bench out of the hearth. She shivered once more, this time from loss.
“Ye wound me with yer words, lass. For all that ye accuse me of being a brute, I have no desire to have ye gaining evidence to support yer claim.” He turned to consider her. “At least no’ when it comes to the matter of sharing me bed. I s
tole ye to prevent war, and ye’ll stay here until the earl aids me in doing what needs doing. Leave, and I’ll run ye down. That’s a promise.”
His tone held the authority she’d so often heard in her uncle’s; the difference was that Broen seemed to deserve it. She wasn’t sure where such an idea had come from; it was completely foreign to everything she’d been raised to believe. Her gaze settled on the open shirt that revealed the light hair covering his chest. He was the barbarian she’d always heard Highlanders were, but he didn’t lack integrity. In many ways, he stirred more admiration inside her than any Englishman she’d ever met.
The wilds of Scotland were tearing her away from civilized thinking, just as she’d heard they would. There was no other explanation for the yearning to argue with him in the hope he’d impress his will upon her once again.
“Edme will have turned down the bedding in the chamber at the end of the hallway. Go on with ye now, before I’m tempted to bury me hands in yer hair. Ye’re a tempting woman, Clarrisa.” He studied her from narrowed eyes. She lowered herself and heard him mutter a curse.
“Now ye offer me respect?” He opened his arms, looking like he was preparing to pounce. “Why? Because ye fear following yer passion so very much? Or do ye believe I am such a savage I do nae value a lover who chooses me of her own free will?”
She rose back to her full height. “I offer you respect because you earned it by granting me a choice.”
Her words were low because she was trembling. Longing was burning in her belly, teasing her with how good it felt to be in his embrace. She was tempted to surrender to the moment, take the pleasure that might be hers, and forget all the reasons why it wasn’t a wise idea. His words beckoned with the promise of what delights she’d find in the arms of a lover as opposed to the man her kin had sent her to.
It felt so very good to be in his arms…
He chuckled softly and with an unmistakably menacing sound. “The idea of luring ye into me bed is beginning to tempt me more than I care to admit.”
She backed up a step, having to gather a handful of the dressing robe because it was so long in the back. “You should keep your attention on the reason why you stole me. It sounds as though you have many important matters to attend to, Laird MacNicols.”
His gaze traced her flowing hair. The strands swayed softly every time she moved. The only time she allowed men to see it unbraided was May Day, and it was strangely intimate to notice the way Broen appeared to enjoy the sight of it.
“Aye, but there’s something between us, and that’s a fact, lass.” Now there was a warning in his eyes, something she recognized out of pure instinct.
“Possibly…” She could have bitten off her own tongue for allowing him to hear how much she feared the way he overwhelmed her, so much so, she was lying to cover it.
She turned and moved toward the door but felt him following her—stalking her, really. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was keeping pace with her. What stole her breath was the hunger flickering in his eyes.
“It is lust, common and to be avoided.” She stopped and faced him. “Surely there is a priest somewhere nearby who will happily lecture you on the merits of pious behavior.”
She could certainly have used a good lecture to restore her resolve.
He reached forward and right up the sleeve of the dressing robe. He clasped her bare arm, below where the chemise ended at her elbow. For one moment, their skin touched as he slid his hand down to her wrist. He pulled her hand up and placed a kiss against the back of it.
“Surely there is a reason ye are trembling, lass, and I’d much rather ye listen to me explain why.”
She pulled her hand away, but he’d awakened every inch of her skin. She shuddered, feeling the touch all the way down to her toes. “We cannot.”
Must not…
Clarrisa turned her back on him. It was a foolish way of escaping, but she wasn’t thinking anymore. His touch reduced her to reactions. Heat blazed across her cheek, and he reached out to stroke the scarlet stain when she turned to glance back at him.
“Broen…” She went to step forward but was too close to the door. Broen moved up behind her, flattening his hands on the surface of the door. She was pinned between his arms, but he wasn’t actually touching her. Yet she was so keenly aware of him.
“We can, lass. There is no one here to judge us.”
She felt his breath against her hair. He inhaled and made a low sound of approval. She’d never felt attractive before, but that single sound filled her with confidence. For the first time in her life, she felt the desire to bare her body for another. There was no shame, only need. The heat in her face spread down her body, touching off anticipation. Every inch of her longed to be touched, kissed—or anything else he wanted.
“But I want a lover, Clarrisa, and I believe ye need time to think on that choice.”
She felt him move away from her, granting her the freedom to leave or stay. The power of choice was overwhelming. He chuckled at the wide-eyed look she sent him. “Think on it, lass, for I find I enjoy knowing I earned yer respect just a wee bit more than proving ye truthful when ye call me a brute.”
He went back to the bed and sat on it, patting the space beside him suggestively. “If ye want to know why ye’re trembling, ye’ll have to come to me of yer own free will. Do ye nae want to be the one who decides whom ye yield yer maidenhead to?”
“I don’t want an invitation to your bed because you pity me.” He did too. Behind the glitter of desire, she saw it clearly.
“It’s far more than that, lass.” He stood, and she trembled.
“But you do pity me and my plight.” She shook her head. “I see it in your eyes.”
He didn’t offer her any excuse, only held up his hand with his eyebrow raised.
It would be so simple, so satisfying to know her uncle hadn’t been the one to decide whose bed she occupied. But she did not want pity.
“I’m not a coward, nor am I willing to take shelter beneath pity. I’ll bear what I must.”
He didn’t care for her answer, but admiration gleamed in his eyes. “Then ye’d best get on to yer chamber before the sight of yer flowing hair tempts me to try my hand at seducing ye.”
It wasn’t an idle threat, and part of her wanted to linger, just to lift the decision from her hands.
But he deserved better from her. Broen deserved a lover who was as bold as he was. Clarrisa opened the door and frowned when she failed to find anyone there. “Am I free here?”
He laughed at her. “Ye have the same amount of freedom I do. Me clansmen always keep watch on the stairs, for they fear I’ll end up dead before I have an heir. Ye may go to the end of the hall or stay here. But if ye go to that chamber, close the door and stay in there. Argyll will no’ bother ye inside the chamber.”
“Who is Argyll?”
“The ghost of Deigh Tower.”
She wanted to argue with him, but the look of anticipation on his face made her clamp her mouth shut. It wasn’t easy to resist the urge. She choked on her retort as she stepped into the hallway.
Ghost. Truly the man must think her a weak-kneed fool to take to cowering inside her chamber for fear of a ghost.
She sighed. It was most likely true. Broen no doubt had been raised to believe Englishwomen were no better than she’d been taught to think of Highlanders. The last few days had opened her eyes, but that didn’t mean his had been. He was still laird and her captor. At least she’d not been so foolish as to give in to her yearnings.
The chamber at the end of the hall held all the comforts she might wish for. Edme had lit a lantern, and its light spilled over the floor cheerfully. The night was still chilly, but not cold enough for a fire in the hearth. Wood was neatly stacked inside it in case she should change her mind. Such was a luxury, for every resource used inside a tower was accounted for.
Clarrisa smiled when she spied the mirror. Oh, she knew full well it was vanity, but she adored being able
to see her reflection. The mirror was placed in the corner, near a large wardrobe. Framed in silver, it showed her entire length.
Her hair was becoming…
She shook her head to dispel the vain thought but shivered as she recalled the way Broen had buried his face in her tresses. She turned and gazed at the way the strands fell to below her bottom. Newly washed, her hair was curling. It was mostly blond, with darker streaks. Maud had lamented those, declaring them a flaw.
Broen hadn’t seemed to mind. Of course, he’d also been set on luring her into his bed.
She turned and looked at the bed. It was beautiful, and yet she frowned, thinking of Broen. She was mad; there was no other explanation. Edme had turned back the covers, revealing creamy sheets. The coverlet was stuffed with goose down, drawing a sigh from her exhausted lips. The bed ropes creaked slightly when she crawled onto the mattress. Her cheeks were still burning as longings needled her flesh. She lay back, trying to ignore the clamoring in her body. How was it possible to want a man so much when she knew so little about him? Perhaps she might understand if she had harbored affection for him, but there was no way she could believe herself in love with him.
Whatever the cause, she slipped away into slumber before she thought the matter through. The days of travel had taken their toll, refusing to allow her to ponder her circumstances any further. But the longings settled into her dreams.
***
He could have overwhelmed her. Should have.
Broen snorted and tossed his shirt onto the table. He flexed his arms before reaching for his belt. At least stripping brought him a measure of contentment, even if true satisfaction was going to be denied him. His cock was hard. The damned thing ached, but what soured his disposition was the fact that he craved Clarrisa. There was a curse.
Three floors down, he’d find more than one willing lass to ease his desire. Why did he have to have a taste for the Englishwoman sleeping down the hallway?
He grunted and lay down. His bed was soft and warm. Sleep should have come easily after the time he’d been on the road, but it eluded him. Instead, he contemplated Clarrisa. She was his prize, yet he wanted more from her. His bed felt empty without her, but he didn’t lament allowing her to leave. What he truly longed for was for her to choose him. Perhaps he was a blackguard for wanting to have her for a lover, but at least he was not so much of a brute as to overwhelm her. Doing so wouldn’t have been too difficult.
