“Sit,” she ordered as she helped him to a cushioned chair. “I’ll make a fire and get ye some of the medicine Maggie left. Ye still look pale, but I’ll take that over yer condition last night.” She went to the table and picked up the container Maggie had left, measured the correct amount into a smaller vial, then walked back over to Brodie. She held it out. “Drink.” Thankfully, he downed the liquid without protest.
His lips puckered as he handed back the container.
“Och, what did she put in that?” Despite the sour face, his boyish charm made it amusing. She giggled. It was the first time she had done so and really enjoyed it in recent memory. “Ye rest. I’ll put things away and make us something to eat.”
“I can help.” He started to rise, but she shook her head.
“Nae, ye need to get better. Looks like we are stuck with each other for a couple of days.” The wolfish grin that greeted her reply made her blush as her insides warmed.“Dinnae get any ideas. I am here to see ye get well. Then, ye will have to take me back to my uncle.”
As she put the items in the baskets away, she was struck again by how little inside the house had changed. Why had Brodie kept it all the same? Was it because he was never here, or had he purposely made as few changes as possible? He’d also been sleeping in her bed. Why not her father’s much larger room, which would have suited him better?
Returning to the room with a steaming bowl only moments later, she noticed him leaning back with his eyes shut, but he didn’t look peaceful. His cheeks were red, and he looked drawn. She placed the oatmeal pudding with cream, honey, and a berry compote on the small table where they had eaten so many times before, and tiptoed over to him.
Brodie’s chocolate-brown eyes opened when she neared. When his face lit with a sleepy, innocent smile, she had the urge to lean down and kiss him, but instead, she put the back of her hand to his cheek. He had warmed once again. “Ye must get up and eat. Then I’ll let ye rest.”
Taking his hand, she pulled him to his feet to draw him to the table. Once he was seated, she went back to the kitchen for her own bowl then plopped down in a chair across from him.
“This is delicious,” he said after he’d swallowed.
She blushed. “Thank ye.”
“Where did ye learn how to cook like this?”
“In the Cairntay kitchens. I didnae ken anyone when I first got there, so I threw myself into cooking because I loved all the people being about. It has become a passion over the last few years.”
“I can tell. ’Tis the best oatmeal pudding I have ever had.”
She tried to contain the pleased smile by blowing on a portion and spooning a bite between her lips.
“Did ye find a man on Skye?”
She froze, finding it hard to swallow, and when she did, the oatmeal stuck in her throat. How could she tell him she was to wed another, when what she really wanted was to stay right here with him, despite all the past hurts and the possibility that she would end up alone. She opted for half the truth.
“Nae. I didnae find another at my uncle’s home. Cooking became my passion. I wasnae looking for a man.”
She should try to make him jealous after the years of hearing about his lecherous ways, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him she would soon be a MacPherson. For some odd reason, it was important he know she had thus far remained faithful to her childhood love.
“Will ye never marry, then?”
She gulped. “Uncle has determined ’tis time I take a husband. That is why he took me to the wedding at Stirling.”
“Did ye find a husband?” His spoon stilled midair, and she thought he stopped breathing.
“There is a man my uncle has in mind.” His slackened jaw had her confessing more than she should have. “’Tis for the good of the MacDonald clan.”
When he didn’t reply, she filled the silence. “What were ye doing in Stirling?”
“I went to the wedding with my family. They will be pleased to see ye when they return.”
“And I them, but I fear this weather will delay everyone. The snow still falls at a steady pace.”
She was surprised at how they fell into a comfortable discussion just like old times; he was still easy to talk to, despite the years they’d been separated. It was comfortable, and he seemed to be feeling better, so they moved to the cushioned bench where the conversation kept going for hours.
Later, she made lunch, a vegetable soup with potatoes, leeks, and carrots. Maggie had sent her an array of spices, and she was able to toss in a few to liven it up.
“Ye look tired,” she observed as they moved back to the table, and she handed him the bowl.
“I do feel verra tired.” He dipped a spoon into the soup and brought it up to his lips. He blew and steam wafted away from it. He did it again then put it in his mouth. “This is delicious.”
She swallowed a spoonful. Not her best, but it worked from what they had on hand. Brodie’s movements were getting slower. “Ye should lay down after ye eat. I’ll tend to cleaning up and checking on the animals.”
“’Tis cold out there.”
Memories flashed of all the times her father had sent her outside to do the farm work, and Brodie had insisted she fill the water troughs while he did the more labor intensive tasks. Funny, she’d never realized before now how often he had willingly taken on those burdens for her, even showing up late in the day when he should have been at home resting after a hard day’s work with his own family.
“The cold willnae hurt me.” She gave him her best smile. “Ye can do it when ye get better.”
“Nae,” he insisted in a stern voice that belied his weak state. “I’ve worked out with one of the neighbors to see to the animals. I dinnae want ye out there until we ken what Ross and Argyll are up to.”
Shuddering, she nodded. Being in her old home had given her a false sense of security—there were very dangerous men out there, looking for her. Rising, she grabbed the bowls to take them to the kitchen. “I’ll stay in for now.”
Only half of his stew had been eaten. When he’d been ill, her father had lost his appetite, too. Gut twisting at the thought, she put the dishes down without bothering to clean them and hurried back to Brodie’s side.
As she strode into the room, she noticed he was shivering, so she felt his head again. His cheeks were too rosy and gave off heat as if he’d been standing too close to a fire.
“Let’s get ye in bed.” Taking his arm, she pulled him up.
“Do ye ken how many times I’ve wished to hear ye say that, and now that ye are here, I am as weak as a puppy.”
“Ye’ll be better tomorrow.” She patted his shoulder and wished she hadn’t, because her hand lingered. His muscles were firm and tight, and she envisioned him braced upon those arms above her as he made love to her. Her own cheeks warmed, and she turned from him to avoid his gaze as they walked down the hall.
“Will ye tell me to come to bed tomorrow?”
“I dinnae ken, Brodie. I find myself doing things I promised myself never to do again, and ye can believe that scares me.”
Her rebellious body wanted him, and she wasn’t sure she would be able to fight the attraction that had rekindled between them.
…
Brodie woke to a rumbling belly and a cold bed. Drifting in from the kitchen was a delicious aroma that beckoned him almost as much as the thought of seeing the angel who had apparently been cooking. It smelled so good.
Propping up on his elbows, he looked around. With the snow that still fell outside the window, it was impossible to pinpoint the time of day, but he knew Skye had been beside him at some point during the night, and she hadn’t objected when he’d wrapped his arms around her and drawn her close to his chest.
Now, a dull light broke through the lingering storm. How had he slept so long? He threw the covers back and quickly dressed. Rubbing his eyes, he made his way to the kitchen, but not before looking out every window in the house to make sure the snow lay undisturbed, and that ther
e were no signs of an imminent threat. As soon as the snow let them, he would have to get to Kentillie to make sure he had others guarding Skye as well.
Leaning on the doorframe, he enjoyed the sight of her in the kitchen, moving from task to task as if she’d never left. She’d changed over the years, but she was still that girl who jumped headlong into loving something with every fiber of who she was—a stray animal, cooking, and, at one time, him.
He found himself wishing for this life he could not have. The Royalist Raven needed to seduce Skye to do his job, but Brodie Cameron didn’t think he could bring himself to do it. But how else to get the information he desperately needed?
“Good morning, bonny lass.”
She turned, and her lips curved up. The smile was almost as lovely as the one she’d given Alan the day before, and he grinned. “How are ye this morning?”
“I feel normal again, thanks to yer care.”
“Yer color is back.” She put down the pot she’d been holding and sashayed over to him. Her hand rose up to meet his cheek, and he froze at the sensation her caress elicited. “Yer fever is gone as well. I think Maggie’s medicine has done wonders.”
“I think ’tis just ye being here.” She started to pull her hand back, but he caught it and held it as he gazed deep into her green eyes. Tilting his head down as he pulled her tender flesh to his lips and kissed it. A sweet lingering touch. Her skin was as soft as he remembered, and his pulse quickened. She didn’t pull away.
Slowly, he straightened, reluctant to take his lips from her.
“I have some breakfast ready.” Her cheeks were pink, and she averted her eyes. Then she turned and broke his hold. She glanced over her shoulder as she started placing items he couldn’t see on plates. “Go, sit. I will it bring to ye.”
“I’ll help.”
“I may let ye do the cleaning. Looks like ye ken where everything belongs, unless ye havennae touched the kitchen since I left.”
She turned back to her task, but he was glad she couldn’t see his face when he confessed, “I tried to keep everything the same. It reminded me of ye.”
At one time, he had held out hope she would return, and her delight made him glad he’d been so careful to keep everything the same. If she decided to stay, he’d give her back her home, and he would seek accommodations elsewhere.
“I forgot to tell ye, I sent a letter to yer uncle from the last inn to let him ken ye were safe and where to find ye. Do ye think he will leave me standing when he takes ye this time?”
The only real dealings he’d had with the MacDonald laird had been the day he’d overheard the conversation with Skye’s father, the day the arse had called him a simple farmer, and after he had managed the treacherous passage to Alastair MacDonald’s island to fetch Skye and bring her home. Her uncle had refused to let him see her, berated him for hurting her, and announced she’d be wed to another. Then, he’d given orders for men to escort him off the island. They had not been gentle in their removal of him, and he still ached at the memory of the beating he’d endured at their hands.
Which reminded him of his task—although he was certain she was innocent of conspiring with Covenanters, her uncle might not be.
“When yer uncle visited once, I found a Book of Common Prayer in yer house.” It was a lie, but it was to make sure she was safe. If the MacDonald was conspiring with the man who would see his niece dead or worse, he wouldn’t be returning her to the man. “Does he subscribe to the Covenants?”
One corner of her lips and brow turned up, and she seemed confused. “I’m surprised. I cannae imagine him having a copy. He would never give up his Catholic faith.”
Her conviction went some way toward pacifying his concerns about the laird, but the man could be crafty enough to hide his true allegiance from those closest to him.
“He doesnae talk to me much about it, but as I told ye, he was in Stirling to form alliances. Mayhap I didn’t say with other Royalist clans, but ’tis his purpose.” Shrugging, she turned around, holding two heaping plates and started toward the other room, leaving him to follow. “Let’s sit. I’m hungry.”
His stomach rumbled at the buttery smell as he followed then took a seat at the table. Eggs, bread, and sliced meat filled the plate she positioned in front of him. It looked delicious. The steam still wafted off as he lifted a forkful to his lips and tasted. Och, if heaven wasn’t just in having her here, it was her cooking.
“Ye arenae allowed to go back.” She looked up sharply, and he laughed. “I will never survive if I’m left to cook on my own after this.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “I am glad ye like it.”
“Tell me more of yer uncle’s plan. What clan does he wish to marry ye into?”
Her gaze clouded as if she were remembering something or someone. She blinked then said, “It doesnae matter. I dinnae wish to discuss who I’m going to wed, when I’ve been stuck with ye for days now. I dinnae think ’tis right.”
“I would like to ken.”
“’Tis no’ fair to talk about him with ye when we have a shared past.”
If she’d only answer the question, he could be certain her uncle was on the side of the Royalists. Maybe she was covering for him. The thought of her siding with the Covenanters stabbed at him. He’d become a spy because of the lessons her father had taught him—loyalty to God, clan, and the king. Those beliefs had been all that was left to him when she and her father had deserted him, and he had stayed his course with spying to honor his memory and teachings.
“Tell me more about yer uncle’s island.”
“There isnae much to tell.”
“Do ye have many friends?”
“Aye, I have lots of cousins there, and since I was helping in the kitchens, I got to ken a lot of the people.” Her eyes lit with excitement.
“I’m glad to ken ye were no’ lonely. I will get ye over to see Donella as soon as we can leave.”
She practically bounced in her seat, gracing him with that smile she’d given Alan. He would do what he could to keep it there with the limited amount of time he had left with her. “Aye, I have missed her terribly.”
“And ye didnae miss me?” The words spilled from his lips before he could stop them.
Green gaze darting away, she visibly tensed. If he were smart, he would drop the subject. The last thing he wanted to do was put her wall back up.
“Why did ye tell Donella and Alan no’ to let me ken how ye were?”
“I thought it would be easier on both of us that way.”
“It was no’ easy.” He fought hard to keep the bitterness out of the words, but it did not work.
“Ye would never ken by the number of women ye have been with. It appeared to me that I was the last person ye were concerned with.” She slammed her cup down on the table. Then picked up her plate, stood, and stomped toward the kitchen.
“What was I supposed to do? Ye left me. Then ye refused to see me. And within a few weeks were betrothed to another.”
She set down her trencher and kept her back to him, her head dipping to stare at the plate in front of her. He could see she was wounded by his imagined indiscretions, a product of the double life she couldn’t understand and he couldn’t tell her. She would not be so resentful if she did not care for him, or maybe if she knew the truth of his spying and false persona.
He strode across the room in two long steps, took her by the shoulders, and gently turned her around. Her body was pinned between his and the wall. His head sank to hers, and the smell of lavender wafted up to his seeking nose. God, he loved the way she smelled.
She kept her gaze down, so he lifted his head and trailed his hand up her arm, across her neck and to her chin. Tilting her head back, he saw a single tear had escaped from her watering eyes. As it ran down her cheek, his heart lurched. He had not meant to make her cry.
“None of them meant anything. Do ye want to know why I was with those women?” She shook her head, but she had started this, and he was going
to tell her the truth. “I was lost without ye. I had no purpose. Both ye and yer father were gone. Everything I had lived for since I was a lad of twelve was gone.”
She bit her lip.
“I slept with those women to try to fill that hole. To feel like a person again. It never worked, and I stopped long ago. I needed ye, Skye.”
He stroked her cheek, and she was silent as she focused her gaze directly on his. Something changed then, like she’d made some unspoken vow to herself, or as if she were reliving the past she had tried to wipe from her memory.
Suddenly her hand was on his cheek, gentle, searching. The caress mesmerized him, and he leaned into her.
“I have missed ye, too.” Her words were so quiet that at first he thought he’d misunderstood.
Closing her eyes and sighing, she seemed to melt into his touch, as if the barrier she’d placed between them had vanished. Tunneling his fingers into her hair, he marveled at the soft, thick, blond strands sliding through his fingers, which awakened the part of him he’d thought he had locked away. Just as he had imagined over the years, just as he had remembered. He fisted the silvery strands as he leaned in to kiss her cheek. His temple rested on hers, and he smelled her honey and spice. Och, he had missed her.
When her eyes opened, she searched his, and this time it was without accusation of past crimes and misunderstandings.
Dipping his head, he put his lips to hers, asking for approval. Her mouth pressed harder against his, and every part of him came alive. He could not promise her a life together, but he could show her now how much she had meant to him.
He opened his mouth, and her tongue reached out, stroking for his, as everything disappeared and there was just her and him.
A blessed peace and contentment he’d not felt in five years filled him, to be needed and wanted by the only woman who had ever held a place in his heart. She pulled back and gazed at him with emerald pools. “Take me to bed, Brodie Cameron.”
A red-hot urgency assailed him, and he wasted not a precious second before he scooped her up in his arms, pivoted, and rushed toward the bedroom.
Highland Redemption (Highland Pride) Page 9
