Wicked Highland Ways Page 2

  The cook was yawning and sitting by the fire as he nursed a mug of cider. His apron was stained and grubby. He looked up as Brenda came through the doorway, clearly not interested in another request from his patrons.

  “She insists on water,” Addams spoke up.

  The cook started to rise, resigned to his duty. “I will fetch it, sir,” Brenda muttered sweetly.

  The cook settled back down with a pleased smile on his lips. He pointed toward a barrel sitting near the open back door.

  Brenda picked up a pitcher sitting on a table and took it toward the barrel as Addams grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. “No one drinks water.”

  “We drink it often in Scotland,” Brenda answered.

  “Best get used to the way we live in England,” Addams informed her as he came up to snatch the pitcher from her fingers. He dipped it into the water without a care for what might be on the outside of the vessel.

  Brenda offered him a disapproving glare. He shot her a smug grin that froze on his lips as he looked over her shoulder and dropped the pitcher into the barrel.

  Someone pulled her back, encircling her waist with a hard arm and lifting her right off her feet. It happened in an instant, and Addams was knocked in the jaw with a hard fist as a man grabbed a handful of his doublet front to keep Addams from flying into the wall. His head jerked and his eyes rolled back in his head before he was lowered to the floor in an unconscious heap.

  “He needs a wee nap to think about the tone he was using with ye,” Bothan Gunn informed her firmly.

  Brenda didn’t care for the way her heart accelerated. Perhaps if she could have attributed it to fear, it might not have mattered, but she knew that wasn’t the cause. Which only alarmed her more.

  She knew the danger of emotions. Aye, she knew it well.

  “Chief Bothan Gunn,” she muttered as she caught sight of his captain offering a coin to the cook. The man took it in a blink of an eye before settling down and casting his attention toward the hearth. “Ye should not have followed me.”

  Bothan Gunn was a huge man. He’d ducked to make it beneath the roofline and had to stay away from the edges of the kitchen because the roof sloped, preventing him from standing upright. They were still close enough to the border that his kilt did not cause too great a disturbance with the men he’d walked past in the yard. But she knew him for what he was: a Highlander. The English around them might make the mistake of believing all Scots the same, but Brenda knew better, and anyone who took the time to look at Bothan Gunn would see he was far harder than any Lowlander.

  Bolder too because he was standing there. Somehow, she wasn’t really surprised. Bothan Gunn had always been a man who wasn’t afraid to reach out and grab what he wanted.

  “Did ye think I would no’ come for ye, Brenda?” Bothan asked softly, his lips twitching up into a mocking grin.

  I’d hoped.

  Brenda stiffened, chastising herself for the stray thought. She couldn’t afford such things as personal ideas.

  Especially with regard to Chief Bothan Gunn. It wasn’t his clan the King of Scotland would hold accountable if she didn’t go through with her wedding.

  Duty. So very sharp-edged. She felt like the very word left open wounds as it crossed her soul. She drew in a deep breath, looking at Bothan and the freedom he represented and knowing she had to deny herself.

  Deny yerself…what?

  Brenda had refused his suit and ignored the stirrings inside herself.

  And she would not be acknowledging any of them now.

  Not now when she had duty weighing her down like a heavy yoke.

  “I didn’t realize ye were one to waste yer time,” she muttered as she reached into the barrel and retrieved the pitcher. Water drained down from her hand as she fought to maintain her composure. Her tone wasn’t as bored as she would have liked. And the way his eyes narrowed suggested he saw through her pose.

  Bothan always had affected her oddly. Of course, tonight she was certain her heart was beating faster because she longed to be free of her English escort and her date to be wed. The response was only natural, after all.

  Yes, that was why she felt so very breathless.

  “Keeping ye from being forced to wed a black-hearted bastard is no’ what I’d call a waste of me time,” Bothan informed her.

  He eased closer to her. She caught a glimpse of his blue eyes in the dim light and realized she was savoring the moment, putting off answering him because he was correct—she had no liking for her circumstances.

  Still, duty was duty. Bothan was not just a man. He was chief of the Gunns. It was somewhat more than laird because he’d been elected by his fellow clansmen. He didn’t just have their loyalty; he’d earned it beside them. She drew in a deep breath and stood firmly in place.

  “Me cousin will be branded a traitor if I do not wed Galwell Scrope.” Brenda forced the words past her lips. “I will not shirk from my duty to me family and laird. And ye would not have me if I did. Yer clansmen would vote against ye if ye brought home a woman who turned her back on her kin. Ye should go now, for there is no reason for ye to stay.”

  Her words gave Bothan a moment of pause. That in itself was remarkable. There was something about him, a sense she gained by being so close to him, that made her shudder as she seemed to recognize his strength on some deep level. It was a strange idea, one that she dwelled on because she’d never encountered it before in a man. She was no maid and not even a young woman, and yet Bothan struck her so very differently than any man she’d ever known.

  If only she might indulge herself and discover just why she was drawn to him.

  Do nae!

  She had no idea why her inner voice warned her away from him so intensely, only that it raised gooseflesh along her arms. His lips thinned, which made her think he knew precisely what she was feeling.

  “This wedding is an unjust thing, demanded of ye by a boy who is no’ yet man enough to understand he is being manipulated by his friend Esmé Stewart. James may be King of Scotland, but he is still a lad,” Bothan insisted. “Come away with me, Brenda. I will no’ leave ye here.”

  She was so very tempted, and still she felt herself stuck in place, bound by the repercussions that would land on her cousin Symon Grant.

  “Ye must leave me, for I will not shrink from this wedding. My kin will suffer if I do.” And she didn’t care for how despondent she sounded. Just because she had no fondness for her predicament didn’t mean she should allow her personal feelings to bleed into her tone.

  Crying was for the weak. In the end, tears would change naught.

  No, she’d learned a very long time ago to keep her personal feelings hidden from others. She suffered less that way. Dignity was poor comfort when she was alone with her plight, but it was the only thing she seemed to have any control over.

  Bothan cocked his head to one side. He had dark hair, black as ink, like he’d been carved out of the darkest hours of night sky. He was reaching for her, stretching out to capture her hand with his large one.

  Part of her liked the idea of being drawn into the dark hours of the night where she might at last be free…

  She drew in a startled breath, recoiling as their flesh met.

  Ye couldn’t like the feeling…

  “I will perform my duty,” she hissed at him in a near whisper. “Just as ye would, as me cousin Symon has always done. Do no’ insult me by telling me it is acceptable for me to run away like a coward because I am a woman.”

  She jerked her hand free, but all he did was release her fingers in favor of catching a handful of her skirt. His grip kept her in place as he moved up so that she had to tip her head back to maintain eye contact.

  “There are a fair number of things I’ve contemplated telling ye to do because ye are a woman,” he muttered softly.

  She caught the fl
icker of a promise in his eyes. It should have rubbed her temper, for she’d told him she would not have him.

  Instead, her insides twisted with anticipation.

  “And it’s the truth I’ve thought ye frightened of me more than once,” Bothan continued.

  She let out a hiss, flattening her hands on his chest to push him back. “I am no’ afraid of ye, Chief Gunn.”

  Bothan didn’t budge. He stood steady, while her breath became raspy and she felt like her insides were warming, melting the wall she was trying to maintain between them.

  “Perhaps it is more correct to say ye are overwhelmed by the way ye respond to me.” He shifted so he was whispering next to her ear. “I understand that, lass. It’s the truth I contemplated staying in the north Highlands, far away from ye so I’d no’ have to admit how much ye enchant me. Find meself a bride who did no’ stir me the way ye do.”

  A shiver went down her spine. Her flesh responded to him so immediately that there seemed no way to prevent it.

  “I will not allow my cousin to be branded a traitor.” Brenda shifted her head so she could lock gazes with him. “I cannae believe ye’d have a woman so lacking in loyalty to her family. Ye may be very certain yer men will no’ thank ye for bringing home a mistress with scandal staining her name.”

  His expression tightened. For a moment, she was staring at Chief Gunn. A man who would do what needed doing for the sake of the men who had pledged their loyalty to him. An understanding passed between them, one that left her with a sense of achievement. She knew she had earned respect from him.

  It also made her hope evaporate like a puddle on a hot summer day. Nothing was left but hard dirt. No life. Just dry dirt.

  “It’s the truth I would have overlooked it because of the injustice of asking this duty of ye,” he offered. “But ye’re right that there would be others who would always consider it a flaw in yer character.”

  His agreement left a bitterness on her tongue. Bothan was a man of his word. He’d leave her to her fate now, and she would miss him, no matter how much she forbade herself to. At least there was a measure of satisfaction now. One that stemmed from knowing he approved of her.

  “Goodbye, Chief Gunn,” Brenda stated firmly. Her tone was more for herself than for him.

  His lips twitched. “Ye’d send me off without a kiss? Unkind of ye, lass.”

  She should do exactly that.

  But not because she didn’t want to discover what his kiss tasted like.

  No, she wanted to refuse because she knew without a doubt that she would never forget what it felt like to be kissed by him.

  The memory would be a torment. One she willingly visited upon herself.

  “It would be unwise,” she muttered, pushing at him.

  His teeth flashed at her as his lips curled up into a smug grin. “Aye, on that point we agree.”

  She watched his fingers release her skirt, and disappointment stabbed through her. A lament for the thing she was going to be denied. Could she not even have a memory to savor?

  “No’ that I’m ever the one to take the wisest course of action.” He slid his hand up and around her hip, locking his arm around her waist so he could pull her completely against him. “The truth is I prefer to play with fire. Which is why I’ve come looking for ye, Brenda. The offers for obedient brides in me study leave me cold.”

  She gasped, looking up at him in shock as Bothan caught the back of her head in his opposite hand.

  “I’ll have a kiss from ye, Brenda, for ye’ve denied me it for more than a year now,” he accused her softly.

  Bothan wasn’t planning on taking the kiss quickly. He took his time, pressing his mouth to hers. Lingering over the first brush of their lips as he turned his head and fitted their lips together.

  She shuddered.

  He shifted with her, holding her as her body responded almost brutally to the contact. There was an eruption of sensation, one she was helpless to control.

  And she wasn’t alone.

  She felt him quake as well, the tremor running through his limbs as he pressed her mouth open for a deeper kiss.

  Reason vanished as they tasted one another. Passion ignited between them, roaring to life in the space of a heartbeat. Brenda reached for him, certain she couldn’t survive without the feel of him beneath her palms. Need was a living force inside her, beating against the hold she’d maintained against it for so long.

  “Now that you’ve had your kiss, it’s time to leave the lady in my keeping.”

  Bothan released her in a flash. He’d turned and pushed her behind him before she realized the captain was speaking from the doorway of the kitchen. Her senses were still swimming with intoxication, leaving her blinking in shock as the English captain eyed them.

  The captain was wise enough to stand back out of Bothan’s reach.

  “It’s my duty to deliver her to the Queen, and the lady has explained her intentions quite well,” the captain continued. “So do not lay my men low again, Chief Gunn.”

  The two men faced off, taking measure of each other for a long moment. Brenda let out a huff before coming around Bothan.

  “He will listen to you, Captain,” she muttered as she retrieved the pitcher of water. “Because I have made it clear I intend to honor my word to my king. Chief Gunn is a man of honor.”

  The captain shifted his attention to her, but only for a moment before he returned his focus to Bothan.

  It would seem the English Queen had wise captains in her employ, for Bothan wasn’t a man to take lightly. Not when it came to anything, it would seem, for her heart was still beating fast, and moving back across the kitchen took every bit of self-discipline she had.

  All she truly longed to do was leave with Bothan.

  Well, ye do no’ get to do what ye want…and it’s no’ the first time ye’ve faced it, either.

  Indeed. There was a solid truth, one she’d encountered more than once in life. She kept going, crossing through the door and back into the common room.

  She didn’t dare look behind her.

  No, it might prove too much temptation.

  But what weighed the most on her mind as she made it through the tavern toward the stairs was the fact that she had kept Bothan waiting for that kiss for an entire year.

  He’d made his desire for her clear.

  And she’d denied it.

  Back in the room abovestairs, she was free to let her emotions surface. Although it was more a matter of they refused to be contained any longer. She sat down on a stool, feeling the walls closing in on her just as if they were the stone walls of a prison cell.

  That was why she’d refused Bothan. Marriage was a prison for women. It was one thing to be wed for duty, another to walk into the bonds of her own free will.

  So she’d denied Bothan a kiss or anything else, for it would have led to the desire she still felt pulsing through her flesh.

  Duty was something she could perform and still maintain her sanity, for she could tell herself the cruelties of her spouse were insignificant because she didn’t care. Marriage was naught more than a chore to be completed.

  But with Bothan, she feared she would care.

  So she’d denied him.

  And meself…

  Only now did she wonder if she’d been foolish. It was one thing to make decisions for solid reasons and another to realize she was facing a future without any choices. She would be wed to a man who didn’t know she was coming and wouldn’t be any more pleased with the arrangement than she was.

  All for the gain of the families.

  And she would be chattel. Husbands didn’t lose their rights when they wed. No, Galwell would go on with his life, enjoying whatever or whomever he pleased. She would be the one maintaining her virtue. Her temper heated as she considered how very unjust men were. The Scriptures did
n’t say only women should not commit adultery, and yet men never suffered for the transgression. Oh yes, there were plenty of women who took their lovers behind closed doors when they found their marriage bed cold.

  She wouldn’t be one of them. Once more, dignity seemed her only true possession, and Brenda admitted she didn’t want to part with it.

  Brenda suddenly allowed the heat from Bothan’s kiss to linger on her lips, savoring the memory as she admitted she would have liked to see how much more passion there might have been between them.

  Memories she might indulge in. So she closed her eyes and let the moment in the kitchen surface completely. A kiss had never moved her so deeply, nor had she ever recalled one in such vivid detail. Even now, she was certain she remembered the scent of his skin, the way it touched off a need to press herself closer to him while he kissed her. Bothan knew his strength, holding her so firmly yet tempering his hold so he’d never hurt her.

  She smiled as she opened her eyes and made herself let the daydream go.

  No, he hadn’t hurt her, and still she felt like he’d carved the experience into her mind. But as she took in the sounds of the English guards below her, she decided she would savor the encounter.

  The King’s demand certainly wasn’t going to offer her anything better.

  * * *

  Maddox would never be far from his side.

  Bothan wasn’t surprised when his captain surfaced from a shadow to fall into step beside him once he’d emerged from the back of the tavern.

  “So,” his captain began, “since she’s told ye she will go through with this wedding…are we riding north?”

  Bothan shot his man a look. “She has to say such.” He crossed the street and moved off toward the tavern where his men were spending the night. “Ye’d no’ accept her as yer mistress if she were one to take her own whims over her cousin being branded a traitor. None of me men would. It was never going to be as simple as taking her back to Scotland.”

  His men had taken over the tavern. The few patrons who had been inside when the Gunn retainers had arrived made quick work of paying and leaving. Bothan lifted his leg up and over a bench before sitting down to enjoy the remains of a supper that had been served by the wife of the tavern owner. She was watching him and Maddox, judging whether there was ample fare for them.