Wicked Highland Ways Page 14

  Alba’s tone carried the sort of authority only age could grant a person. There was a scuffle on the floor as Leif took off in a hurry like any lad of eight who had thought to snatch a tart before Alba decided to serve them.

  Isla slowly smiled, enjoying her mother’s ability to command the full-grown captain. She caught Brenda watching her and lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

  Brenda laughed. She realized it had been a long time since she’d done so too. The knowledge made her more tired than she’d realized she was.

  “Here now.” Alba turned her attention toward Brenda and the task at hand. “Let’s get ye out of yer dress. It’s trailing mud.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Brenda agreed. They’d ridden hard and long. The tub was inviting, even filled with only cold water. She wrinkled her nose as she peeled off her layers of clothing. At best she might describe herself as smelling stale.

  “Honestly,” Brenda remarked as her bodice was lifted away and her corset unlaced, “I do nae mind that Leif came here, only that he was kind enough to bring me a clean smock.”

  “The chief rides hard,” Alba responded as she pulled Brenda’s smock free. “It’s a good thing ye have something clean to wear. The weather is turning gray now. This dress will no’ be clean until the rain passes.”

  Isla added hot water to the tub. Brenda was climbing into it before the girl finished. The ability to be clean far surpassed her concern over being chilled.

  Ye also do not want to be stared at…

  Well, that was also true. Brenda began to pull the pins out of her hair because Isla and her mother were taking the time to look her over. It was a common enough thing, and yet Brenda discovered she had no courage when it came to having her bare body inspected.

  She was so tired of being measured against everyone else’s standards.

  Bothan’s people wouldn’t care much for her sentiments, though. As his wife, she’d be expected to measure up to whatever expectations they had for her. There would be those who resented her and those who tried to befriend her in an effort to gain favors. Somewhere in it all, she’d have to sort out who was sincere. At the moment, she had no strength for the task.

  Alba voiced her opinion. “Stop worrying so much.”

  Brenda lifted her head and looked over the foot of the tub at her.

  Alba shot her a steady look back. She lifted a ladle and pointed at Brenda. “Ye do nae need to worry so much about impressing the Gunns. Even if I think ye are of good character to want to make a fine impression. I’ve learned folks will think what they will for their own purpose most of the time. Best to enjoy the comforts ye might and leave worrying be, for it will change naught in the end.”

  Brenda nodded. Alba made a little noise in the back of her throat before she dipped the ladle into the water and lifted it above Brenda’s head so she could begin washing her hair.

  Yes, people would think what they would. And most of them were motivated by personal gain.

  Bothan didn’t come seeking yer dowry…

  He hadn’t. Which left her pondering how she felt about the Gunn chief. He’d come for her.

  But would he like who she truly was if she shared it with him?

  She picked up a lump of soap and rubbed it across a piece of linen as she contemplated the idea. No one knew her.

  Well, no one besides God.

  She’d once been foolish enough to think her marriage would include an intimacy of souls where she might be herself behind the closed doors of the bedchamber.

  She had been so very dreadfully wrong.

  Brenda drew in a deep breath and set to washing her legs and feet. She’d been naive and young. Two things she’d made certain Bothan knew she was not any longer.

  So what are ye going to do?

  Brenda closed her eyes as Alba began to rinse her hair. She discovered herself slowly smiling.

  Well, she was going to do precisely what Bothan had offered her the opportunity to do.

  Make him woo her.

  * * *

  Maddox was stroking his beard. Bothan was used to the way his captain watched him. Today, though, Bothan turned away from his stallion and shot Maddox a hard look.

  Maddox slowly grinned, proving Bothan’s attempt at warning him away had failed.

  Bothan let out a word of profanity. He gave his horse a final pat before allowing the animal to settle into the stable stall to enjoy the first night indoors in many weeks.

  “Ye’re hiding,” Maddox accused him.

  Bothan grunted, but his captain wasn’t deterred.

  “Hiding,” Maddox repeated louder. “Like an untried lad.”

  “I’m giving the lass time to bathe,” Bothan said, defending himself.

  “Brenda is no’ some fancy noble lady,” Maddox answered. “She’ll be finished now. Seems to me a wise man would have timed his arrival before she managed to get her clothing back on.”

  Bothan pointed at his man. “There is where ye are mistaken. Brenda is no’ going to be bent by me arriving and claiming me rights. I do that, and she will never trust me.”

  Maddox returned to stroking his beard. Bothan might have walked away, but he had a healthy respect for Maddox’s insight. His captain took his sweet time before nodding.

  “Aye, ye’ve set yer mind on a woman,” Maddox said. “A lass wed young, well, she’s easier to lead to the place ye want her, coming as she does at her father’s direction. Brenda has tasted free will. That’s a dangerous thing for men and women alike. Makes it hard to accept authority.”

  “I am more concerned over the fact that she tasted what a bad marriage is,” Bothan declared as he cast a look across the space between the stables and the towers. “As for free will, I do nae want to rule her.”

  “Aye, ye do,” Maddox argued from behind him. “It’s no’ a pleasing thing to say, but ye want to run her to ground, and the battle between ye is as much of a draw as the surrender. Ye set yer mind on her because she refuses ye when ye know she craves ye.”

  Having said his piece, Maddox went through the doorway and headed up to the towers, no doubt ready for a warm meal.

  After weeks on the road, Bothan should have followed Maddox.

  Instead, Bothan went in search of the thing he’d been unable to forget for the last year. She was there, in his home now.

  And he was going to make her his.

  * * *

  “This way.” Isla took over the duty of showing Brenda abovestairs.

  Three stories above the hall, Isla stopped and opened a door. Inside was a chamber that took up the entire floor. Brenda went inside, feeling a ripple of awareness go through her.

  This was Bothan’s chamber. It was an idea as much as a fact. Her insides tightened as she caught the faint scent of his skin.

  Brenda heard Isla leave the room and close the door.

  Was this home, then?

  Brenda discovered her mind contemplating the idea. She looked around the room, standing because she couldn’t seem to remain still. Sitting down felt like waiting in place for a beast to arrive and eat her.

  Ye are being dramatic…

  She was. But she smiled as she moved around the chamber. There was no curtain to section off the front of it for a receiving chamber. No, the Gunns didn’t waste something such as cloth on the newest notion of how a chamber should be divided up.

  Instead, Brenda found the chamber clean and serviceable. There was a large bed off to one side. As sunset approached, that side of the chamber was the darkest, proving the bed was placed where the windows would brighten with the first light of the day.

  Serviceable.

  Practical.

  She decided it suited Bothan. The man was strong and hardened by his environment. The village around the two towers was full of people who were thriving. They were strong, with many of the older o
nes displaying weathered skin from the elements, but they were not gaunt. The land must be fertile.

  She stopped by one of the windows. There were thick shutters to close if the weather was foul, but they were open now, allowing her to see the yard behind the kitchens. Men were gathering as they anticipated the final meal of the day and the chance to sit and take their ease with one another.

  “It’s a solid tower,” Bothan remarked from behind her. “If less fine than what ye find at court.”

  Brenda turned her head, looking behind her. The light was fading, the sun glowing on the edge of the horizon now. Still, there were rays of light coming through the window to illuminate Bothan.

  “I suppose it is a matter of what one considers fine,” she answered. “Tapestries on the walls do not cover the stench of too many people living together or ease the pain of being shackled for the sake of some royal personage’s desire for gain. If I never see another palace in me life, I shall be most grateful.”

  His black hair still had droplets of water glistening in it. But he’d combed it and tied back a section of it so it didn’t hang in his eyes. His shirt was clean as well, along with the wool that made up his kilt. But he hadn’t put on a doublet or chosen a shirt with ruffles at the cuffs. She doubted he owned anything so frivolous.

  Ye notice details about him…

  Such as how deep a blue his eyes were. More like the color of the sea than a summer sky. She was transfixed by the way he focused on her, as though there was nothing else in the room except her.

  “I am glad to hear ye say such, Brenda,” Bothan said as he drew closer to her. “I would have ye be happy in yer home.”

  Awareness of him prickled across her skin. She shifted, moving to the side as he watched her.

  “Do nae argue against it,” he said as he reached out and caught her upper arm. “Ye found me to yer liking very well, so have done with arguing against this union. I’ll no’ take it as a sign of unconditional surrender. We have a fine summer ahead of us to get to know one another.”

  Ye are tempted…

  And yet still so very resolved.

  Brenda pulled against his hold on her arm, gaining her freedom only because he let out a grunt and released her.

  “I do nae know ye,” Brenda responded. “And ye know little of me beyond the fact that ye want to bed me. So do nae think I find any comfort in that.”

  Bothan tilted his head to one side and grinned at her. “I know a few details about yer tastes, lass, and that’s a fact.”

  Brenda felt her eyes narrowing in response. But she had only herself to blame. Weakness was something she’d learned long ago to seal herself against because the price she’d pay for such lapses in judgment would be very high indeed.

  “Ye are far too cocky, Bothan Gunn,” she informed him tartly.

  He moved across the room and sat on the end of the bed. She felt her cheeks heating because her mind was offering up ideas of just how much she might enjoy sharing the bed with him.

  “I want to bed ye,” Bothan declared boldly. “Ye were of the same mind after we crawled out of that river.”

  Same mind? She’d been frantic to have him.

  The memory singed her. Reminding her in vivid color of just how intensely she’d wanted to have him inside her. Her clit began to throb softly.

  “But I want far more than what we had in that moment,” Bothan continued. “Come here, lass. Let me strip ye bare and show ye I have more intent than just fucking ye.”

  His eyes glittered with promise. The look on his face froze her breath in her chest for a moment.

  Dare ye?

  Bothan pushed off the bed as she stood contemplating him. Her eyes widened as he crossed to her. He seemed to hold some strange power of fascination over her because even though she was undecided, she couldn’t seem to make her feet move. It was only at the last moment that she broke and turned aside.

  But it was too late. Bothan clasped her to him, closing his arms around her to bind her to his body.

  She heard him let out a sound of frustration. Felt his breath against her neck as his heart beat behind her.

  “I suppose it’s a matter of trust,” he said.

  She let out a little scoff. “Ye kept me tied for the past week. How dare ye ask me for trust when ye have none for me?”

  “Aye, that’s true enough,” Bothan agreed. “I could see in yer eyes ye intended to run if I allowed ye the opportunity.”

  “Can a woman not long for her home?” Brenda demanded. “Men never seem to think about how often they demand women leave everything they know.”

  “There is naught for ye at Grant Tower but fear and a slow death where ye watch yer cousin have a family and try to convince yerself ye do nae long for children of yer own,” Bothan informed her.

  “It is the only place I have ever been free of fear.” And Brenda didn’t care for how pitiful her words sounded.

  Bothan turned her around. Behind her, he’d hidden how truly determined he was. She gasped as she took in his expression and the way his eyes glittered with hard intent. He clasped her to his length as he caught the back of her head to hold her in place.

  “No one will hurt ye here,” he informed her tightly.

  “No one except ye,” she argued. “I will be yer chattel.”

  His eyes narrowed, showing how displeased he was with her words.

  “Ye will be me wife,” he stated firmly.

  She tried to push away from him, but he held her.

  “But I will no’ force ye, Brenda,” he insisted. “Ye are drawn to me. So I will wait for ye to come to me.”

  He tilted his head to one side and pressed his mouth against hers. The kiss was hard, and she resisted. But Bothan proved himself true to his word. He didn’t force her mouth open. He kissed her firmly, tempting her to return the pressure, to dispense with what she thought she wanted in favor of what her body felt. Pleasure was awakening inside her, in too many places to control. Her senses were full of him, the way he smelled, the hardness of his body, and how much she wanted to stroke his chest.

  How much she wanted to have him fill her again.

  But he released her a moment later.

  “The only thing being yer own woman denies ye is an outlet for yer passion,” he informed her bluntly. “Returning to Grant land will mean ye cannae shame yer cousin and his new wife by taking lovers in their home. If ye seek out a lover and go to him, what will they tell their children? If they have a daughter, shall Symon demand she remain virtuous while turning a blind eye to yer behavior? Nae, I think not. Ye’ll not place yer cousin in such a position.”

  Bothan shot her a hard look before he headed for the door and left.

  She watched him go. Stared at the sight of his kilt swaying with his stride. He left her with the cravings he’d awakened. Left her fighting the urge to call him back.

  Left her?

  When had the thing she’d decided she wanted above all else, to be her own woman, become something that tormented her?

  * * *

  Brenda slept past daybreak.

  Even with the window shutters open to let the sunlight in, she awoke to discover she’d buried her head against the soft bedding and shut the light out completely.

  She sat up, startled by how bright it was. Her cheeks heated as she fought her way to the edge of the large bed and climbed out. She turned and straightened the bedding, attempting to make amends for being lazy. Alba’s words from the day before rose from her memory.

  “I’ve learned folks will think what they will for their own purpose most of the time.”

  The older woman might be correct, and still, sleeping so late in the day would earn Brenda a label of being lazy.

  One she couldn’t in good conscience refute.

  At least she’d thought to lay her second traveling dress out the
night before. Most of the wrinkles had eased from the wool. She had little in clothing since she’d been kidnapped before being rescued and taken to the Scottish court. But Brenda didn’t mind. Her traveling clothing was serviceable and easy for her to get into on her own.

  Calling a maid up to help her dress would only add to her worry that the Gunns would see her as a nuisance.

  She pulled the underdress on and worked the lace through the eyelets that ran up the front. There was boning quilted into the top for support, and once she tugged the lace tight, her breasts were secure. The overdress was nearly the same and had sleeves already tied in place. A few shrugs and it came up over her shoulders. Weeks on the trail had taken a few pounds off her, leaving the garment loose. Brenda tugged on the lace to tighten it up before knotting it and tucking the ends.

  She looked around, but her boots were nowhere in sight. Alba had taken them away in the bathhouse because they were caked in mud and needed to be waxed again to make them waterproof. The door was still shut, and she’d fallen asleep soon after Bothan had left her.

  “Well…no time for regrets,” she muttered as she walked toward the door and opened it. Sitting on the floor just beyond the door were her boots. Someone had cleaned them and left them there to avoid disturbing her.

  Brenda sat on the top step to put them on. Below her, she could hear the rest of the inhabitants of the tower. Just muffled sounds as the Gunns worked. A faint scent of fresh bread in the air made her belly rumble.

  Once she’d knotted her second boot, Brenda rose and descended. Her hunger wasn’t the most pressing need, though. She discovered she was nervous.

  The hall was empty, the large doors wide open to let in the fresh air. Brenda followed the scent of bread to the kitchens where five women worked at the long tables. A large side of beef was already fitted to one of the huge bars in the hearth. A boy was slowly turning it as another boy sat on a stool nearby watching an hourglass marked with quarters that would tell him when to change places with the other boy.

  “Morning, Mistress,” Alba called out in her age-weathered voice.