Highland Velvet Page 13

  It was when she turned her head the third time that she thought she saw something. It seemed like an eternity before lightning illuminated the wall again. Her neck felt as if it would break from holding her head up.

  The lightning flashed, and suddenly all her pain left her. There, to her left, about halfway down, was a familiar flash of the red plaid Alex favored.

  She waved her hand, and the men pulled her up. “Alex! Down there!” she gasped, her mouth filling with rainwater. She impatiently wiped her forearm across her eyes. “He’s on a narrow ledge. We’ll tie a rope around me. I think I can get to him.”

  “Let me go!” Francis said.

  “You’re too big. There’s not enough room on the ledge. Get me some rope and I’ll put it over my shoulder. Understand?” Her shouts were accompanied by hand gestures.

  The men nodded, and almost immediately she was coiling a rope to put around her shoulder. She gave one end to Douglas. “When I jerk twice, pull him up.” Next she tied another rope about her waist. “When Alex is safe, get me.”

  She walked to the edge of the cliff. She wouldn’t look down at the hard nothingness below her. She paused for a moment. “Tam is my successor,” she said, without adding that he would be only if she died.

  The heavy rope cut into her waist, and although the men eased her down as slowly and gently as they could, she slammed against the rock wall several times. Her knees and shoulders ached painfully, and she could feel the skin coming off her hands as she clutched the rope. Think of Alex, she thought, think of Alex.

  It was a long time before she reached the narrow ledge. There was barely room for her to put her feet beside Alex’s big body. After some careful maneuvering, she managed to straddle his hips.

  “Alex!” she shouted above the lashing rain.

  The young man slowly opened his eyes, then looked at Bronwyn as if she were an angel on earth. “Chief,” he whispered while closing his eyes, the sound of his words lost in the storm.

  “Damn you, Alex, wake up!” Bronwyn screamed.

  Alex opened his eyes again.

  “Are you hurt? Can you help me with the rope?”

  Alex suddenly became aware of his surroundings. “My leg’s broken, but I think I can still move. How did you get here?”

  “Don’t talk! Just tie knots!”

  She was standing in a precarious position, and there was very little room for moving about. She bent forward, keeping her legs straight, not changing the placement of her feet, as she and Alex fastened the rope around his body. They made a crude sort of sling, the rope going between his legs and around his back.

  “Are you ready?” she shouted.

  “You go first. I’ll wait.”

  “Don’t argue with me, Alex. This is an order.” She gave two hard tugs on the rope, then felt it tighten as the men above pulled it up. She frowned as Alex slammed against the wall, further injuring his leg.

  When he was just above her head, she plastered herself against the rock. The rain slashed at her; the sheer wall of the cliff was hard and menacing against her back. Suddenly she felt very alone—and very frightened. Her concern for Alex had motivated her early courage, but now she had nothing. Alex was safe, and she was so alone and so frightened. It flashed through her mind that where she wanted to be right now was in Stephen’s lap, sitting before a fire, his arms around her.

  The rope about her waist tightened, and she had no more time for thought. Yet even as she held on to the rope, her hands tight, her feet wrapped about the cord to relieve the pressure on her waist, the image of Stephen stayed with her.

  Somehow it was no surprise at all when she reached the top of the cliff to find Tam and Stephen pulling her up. Stephen put out his hands and caught her under the arms, then lifted her onto the land. He caught her close to him in an embrace that nearly crushed her, but she enjoyed the pressure, was glad she was no longer alone. He held her away from him, her face between his hands, and studied her. His eyes were dark and shadowed. She wanted to say something, that she was glad to see him, glad she was safe again, but his expression didn’t allow for words.

  Abruptly he moved his hands to her arms, then began an impersonal inspection of her. He tossed her back against his arm and ran his hand over her legs, frowning at the bloody places on her knees. All her soft feelings left her. How dare he inspect her in such a way in front of her men!

  “Release me!” she commanded.

  Stephen ignored her as he looked up at Tam, who hovered over them. “Several cuts and a few bruises, but it looks like nothing serious.”

  Tam stood up from his half-crouch and nodded. About ten years seemed to leave him.

  Bronwyn kicked once and struggled against Stephen. “If you are quite finished with me,” she said haughtily, “I’d like to go home.”

  Stephen turned to look at her, and she understood the expression on his face. He was angry—very, very angry. The rain was beginning to lessen somewhat and dawn was lighting the sky. She sat up and attempted to pull away from him. “I need to see to Alex.”

  “Alex is being cared for,” Stephen said flatly, his teeth clenched. His hand firmly clasped her wrist, and as he stood he pulled her with him. He started toward his horse, dragging her behind him.

  “I demand that you release me,” she said as quietly as possible, since all her men were standing near them.

  He whirled on her, jerked her close to him. “If you say one more word, I just may throw that bit of shirttail over your head and beat your backside black and blue. Alex is safe—safer than you are at the moment, so don’t tempt me further. Is that clear?”

  She put her chin in the air and glared at him. But she gave him no cause to carry out his threat. He turned and pulled her toward a waiting horse. He gave her no time to mount but picked her up and slammed her into the saddle so hard her teeth jarred together. Instantly he was on his own horse.

  He held the reins to her horse. “Will you follow me, or must I lead your horse?”

  She couldn’t bear being led away like some naughty child. “I’ll follow,” she said, her back straight, her chin high.

  They rode away from the men on the narrow cliff path, and Bronwyn didn’t look back. Her humiliation was too complete. Her men respected her, obeyed her, but Stephen tried to reduce her to a child. Rab ran along beside the horses, following his mistress as he always did.

  They rode for over three hours, and Bronwyn knew they were headed for her northernmost estates. The country was hilly, wild, with many streams to cross. Stephen kept a slow, steady pace, never looking at her but sensing when he needed to slow down to wait for her.

  Bronwyn was very tired. She hadn’t eaten since before the cattle raid during the night, and now that seemed like days ago. She was so hungry her stomach felt as if it were eating itself. The rain had slowed to a cold, wet drizzle, and she was chilled to the bone. She shivered often and sneezed a few times. Her legs were cut and bruised, and no matter which way she turned, the saddle rubbed on a sore place.

  But she would have died before she asked Stephen to stop and rest.

  Toward midday he halted, and Bronwyn couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Before she could dismount, he was beside her, pulling her down from her horse. She was too weary, too cold, too hungry, to even remember the happenings of the night.

  He stood her on the ground, then walked away from her. When he looked back, she saw that none of his anger had gone away. “Why?” he asked, and the word showed how much control he was using to keep from lashing out at her. “Why did you drug me?”

  She tried to hold her shoulders straight. “The MacGregors were planning another raid, and I had to protect my people’s property.”

  His eyes were cold and hard. “Has no one ever told you that it is a man’s duty to lead a war party?”

  She shrugged. “That is how you’re taught in England. We’re different in Scotland. I was fostered when I was seven, just as my brother was. I was taught how to ride and, if need be, how
to use a sword.”

  “And you thought I wasn’t capable of leading the men, so you threw off your clothes”—he sneered at the short skirt she wore—“and led them yourself. Do you consider me so little a man that you believe yourself to be a better one?”

  “Being a man!” she said in disgust. “That’s all you concern yourself with. On the last raid you went in your armor. Do you know the MacGregors laughed at me! They said the MacArrans had a woman for a laird and a steel pillar for a leader. Well, last night I made them stop laughing. I carved a B on the MacGregor’s shoulder.”

  “You what!” Stephen spluttered.

  “You heard what I said,” she said arrogantly.

  “Oh, God!” Stephen said, running his hand through his wet hair. “Don’t you understand anything about a man’s pride? All his life he’ll bear the mark a woman put on him. He’ll hate you—and your clan.”

  “You’re wrong! Besides, the MacGregors and the MacArrans already hate each other.”

  “Not as far as I can see. You seem to tease each other. It’s more a game than a true war.”

  “You know nothing about it. You’re an Englishman,” she said as she turned back to her horse and began to unbuckle the saddle.

  He put his hand across hers. “I want your word that you’ll never drug me again.”

  She jerked away from his touch. “There are times when—”

  He grabbed her shoulders and turned her to face him. “There is never a time when you can control my life as well as my reason. What would have happened if there’d been trouble and I was needed? I was asleep so hard someone could have torn down the castle and I wouldn’t have known. I cannot live with someone I cannot trust. I want your promise.”

  She gave him a little smile. “I cannot give it.”

  He pushed her away from him. “I’ll not endanger my men because of the whims of a foolish girl,” he said quietly.

  “Girl!” she said. “I am the MacArran. I have hundreds of men and women who obey me and respect me.”

  “And let you have your own way too often. You’re an intelligent woman and your judgment is good. But you don’t have the experience to lead fighting men. That I will do.”

  “My men won’t follow you.”

  “They will as long as I am awake enough to lead them.” He stared at her when she didn’t answer. “I have asked you for your promise, now I will take it. If you ever drug me again I will take that dog away from you.”

  Bronwyn opened her mouth in astonishment. “Rab would always return to me.”

  “Not if he’s several feet under the ground, he wouldn’t.”

  She was slow in understanding his words. “You’d kill him? You’d kill a dog to get what you want?”

  “I’d kill a hundred dogs, or horses, to save one man, either mine or yours. Their lives are in danger if I’m not there to protect them, and I can’t spend my life worrying that my own wife will decide whether or not she wants me conscious on any given night. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Very clear. You would no doubt enjoy killing my dog. After all, you’ve taken nearly everything else away from me.”

  Stephen gave her a look of exasperation. “It’s obvious that you’re going to see only what you want to. Just remember that if you love that animal, you’ll think twice before tampering with my food again.”

  Suddenly it was all too much for Bronwyn. The long, wet night, the horror of being lowered down a cliff, and now the thought of losing Rab were all too much for her. She sank to her knees in the soggy ground, and Rab came to her. She put her arms around the big dog and buried her face in his rough, damp coat. “Yes, I love him,” she whispered. “You English have taken away everything else, you might as well take Rab too. You killed my father and his three favorite men. You killed all my chances for happiness with a husband I could love.” She lifted her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Why don’t you take Rab? And Tam too? And burn my house down while you’re at it?”

  Stephen shook his head at her, then offered her his hand. “You’re tired and hungry and don’t know what you’re saying.”

  She ignored his hand and stood up.

  Stephen suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. He didn’t seem to notice her struggles to push him away. “Has it ever occurred to you that you could love me? If you did, it would save the both of us an awful lot of quarreling.”

  “How could I ever love a man I couldn’t trust?” she asked simply.

  Stephen didn’t say a word but kept holding her to him, his cheek against her wet hair. “Come on,” he said after a while. “It’s about to rain again. We have several more miles before we reach shelter.” He didn’t look at her after he released her, and Bronwyn had a passing thought that he was sad. She dismissed it immediately and mounted her horse.

  Chapter Eight

  IT WAS LATE AFTERNOON BEFORE STEPHEN STOPPED IN front of an old stone house. The back of the cottage was buried into the side of a little hill, the roof covered with grassy sod. Rain was beginning again, just when Bronwyn’s clothes had begun to dry.

  She stopped her horse but didn’t dismount. She was too tired and weary to move.

  Stephen put his hands to her waist and half dragged her to the ground. “Hungry?” he murmured just before he tossed her into his arms and carried her into the cottage.

  The dirt-floored room was warm from a peat fire. There was a stool against the wall. He put her on it. “Stay here while I see to the horses.”

  She hardly noticed when he returned, she was so tired.

  “I thought you Scots were a stout bunch,” he teased, then laughed when she wearily sat upright, no longer leaning against the wall. “Come here and look what I have.” He opened a chest along one wall and began withdrawing food. There was a warm pot of a heavenly smelling stew. Thick dark bread came next. There was fish and soup, fruit and vegetables.

  Bronwyn felt as if she were in a dream. Slowly she left the stool and went to Stephen’s side. Her eyes hungrily looked at each dish, then followed it to where he set it on the far side of him.

  When she reached for a succulent piece of roast pork, Stephen pulled the dish away from her.

  “There’s a price for all this,” he said quietly.

  She moved away from him, her eyes glassy-hard. She started to rise.

  Stephen set the dish down. “Here!” he said, grabbing her shoulders. “Is there no humor about you?”

  “Not when it concerns a murdering Englishman,” she said stiffly.

  He suddenly pulled her close to him. “At least you are consistent.” He held her away from him, caressed her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “And what do you think I would charge for the food?”

  “That I and my men swear allegiance to you, that we would fight for you even if you bade us fight against our own people,” she said flatly.

  “Good God!” Stephen half yelled. “What a monster you must think I am.” He stared at her, frowning for a moment, then he smiled. “The payment I want will cost you much more. I want a kiss from you. One kiss, freely given. One kiss that I don’t have to fight you for.”

  Bronwyn’s first reaction was to tell him what he could do with his food and his kisses, in Gaelic of course, but she was sure he’d understand. Then she paused. If nothing else, a Scotsman was practical. She couldn’t very well let all that food go to waste.

  “Aye,” she whispered. “I’ll kiss you.”

  She leaned forward, on her knees, and touched her lips to his. He started to grab her to him but she pushed his arms away. “Mine!” she said possessively. Stephen smiled and leaned back on his elbows, allowing her to take charge of him.

  Her lips played with his ever so gently, touching them, moving on them. She used the very edge of her teeth, the tip of her tongue, to explore and search his mouth.

  She moved away just enough to look at him. It was raining outside, and the soft sound made them feel isolated and especially alone. The soft gold of the flickering fire ca
st gentle shadows on his handsome face. With his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, Bronwyn could feel her heart begin to pound. Was it her imagination or had he grown better-looking since she’d first met him? He suddenly seemed perfection in a male.

  Yet he lay still, waiting quietly. There was no sign of the excitement that she was feeling. No sense of humor! she thought and smiled. Let’s see how much humor you have, Englishman!

  Stephen briefly opened his eyes before Bronwyn’s lips descended on his again. This time she wasn’t sweet or gentle but hungry. She bit at his lips, sucked at them.

  Stephen lost his easy position of relaxation and fell against the hard floor. His hands closed about Bronwyn’s waist, pulling her closer to him. She laughed deep within her throat and again pushed his hands away. Obediently he let them fall to his side.

  She pulled her head away, her lips still fastened to his, and his head followed her. With one hand behind his head, her fingers twisted in his hair, she moved her other hand to his knee. As she began to move it slowly upward, she felt his body tremble. He wore the Scots’ dress, and he was bare under the shirt and plaid. Inch by slow inch she caressed his inner thigh, higher and higher. When she touched him between his legs, Stephen’s eyes flew open, and the next minute he’d thrown Bronwyn to her back and had one leg across her.

  “No!” she said, pushing against him. “One kiss, that was your price.” She was breathing so hard she could hardly talk, as if she’d been running for miles.

  Stephen did not come to his senses quickly. He stared at her quite stupidly.

  Both of her hands were against his chest. “You promised I could eat if I gave you one kiss. I believe I did that,” she said in all seriousness.

  “Bronwyn,” Stephen said as if he were a dying man.

  She smiled quite merrily and gave him a sharp push, then scrambled away from him. “Never let it be said that a Scotsman doesn’t keep his word.”

  Stephen groaned and closed his eyes for a moment. “I must have aged twenty years since I met you. Drugs this morning, then you climbing a rock wall, and now you try to finish me. What more can I expect? The rack, or do you prefer the water torture?”