Highland Brides 03 - On Bended Knee (3 page)

“Och!” the older woman exclaimed. “Whatever do ye mean?”

“Well,” Seana continued, just a little softer now, making the girls work a little harder for their gossip. The two girls leaned closer. “I cannot know it for certain myself, you see… but I do know someone who does… they say his manhood is shriveling away. Soon he willna even be able to conceive bairns!”

A look of horror entered the older woman’s eyes. “Och, shriveling away, ye say!”

A collective gasp came from the two girls.

Seana nodded soberly. “Aye,” she said. “’Tis true—and it was told to me by someone who saw
it
with her own two eyes, so ye can see why I canna say who. But, aye, she said ’tis shriveled away… some cok wastin’ disease, she believes!”

The older woman crossed herself. “A penance,” she said ominously. “For all his wicked ways!”

Seana’s brows lifted. “Mayhap,” she agreed and nodded portently.

“Just like his da!”

All of the Brodie men, except Leith, had in some way been tainted by their blood, it seemed. Their sires and grandsires had been rogues, all of them. Their women had been beautiful and sweet and yet their men’s eyes had roved. And Colin… Colin was most certainly just like his da!

All at once, the older woman, the two girls and Seana, peered in Colin’s direction.

He stood there completely oblivious to their whispers, and Seana, once again, nearly burst out with laughter as the two girls suddenly put their heads together, whispered something fervent between them, and darted away into the crowd to spread their newly gleaned gossip.

“May God be with the lad!” the older woman said gravely and crossed herself once more.

“Aye,” Seana agreed, nodding.

May God be with him because he was going to need all the help he could get if Seana ever had her way with him!

Rotten misbegotten cur!

Feeling quite emboldened suddenly, she slipped away from the older woman and made her way toward Colin Brodie.

It wasn’t as though she were asking for charity. Nay, she was willing to give him in return her most valuable possession—something all the clans had long coveted and he’d be a bloody fool if he refused to help her.

A wedding wasn’t precisely Colin’s idea of something to celebrate.

He damned well hoped his sister understood what she had gotten herself into. For some reason he’d never imagined Meghan wedding all, but to see her bound to some devil Sassenach was enough to rot his bloody gut— way worse than this rotten
uisge beatha
Leith had purchased. He tossed out the contents of his tankard, grimacing over the burn in his gut.

Where the hell was Broc?

He’d left to get them both some good ale. Neither of them had been able to stomach the
uisge beatha
, but Broc had yet to return and Colin needed something to wash away this bitter taste from his mouth.

It wasn’t easy to stand by and watch Meghan give herself to the enemy. It wasn’t easy to stand back and swallow his pride. In fact, he’d prefer to be carving the Sassenach’s heart out, but would content himself with a simple tankard of decent ale. Damn, but his bloody cup had long been empty and his best friend was nowhere to be found.

He smiled at a young lass who passed him by. Deep blue eyes and pale golden hair, not unlike his own, with a smile that warmed his loins.

Women were his greatest downfall.

Broc, on the other hand, seemed perfectly content to keep his own company. Colin had never known a man so at ease with himself and the world. And truth to tell, he envied that in his friend. It was partly what drew Colin to Broc, though Colin was only beginning to realize it. Something was missing in his own life, and it seemed Broc held the key to whatever that
something
might be.

Colin would be damned, however, if he’d live the life of a bloody monk. Mayhap it was good enough for Broc, but it was a miserable prospect for Colin.

Automatically, his gaze was drawn toward a fiery-haired beauty with deep green eyes who cast him a shy backward glance. She stood alongside her mother, holding her infant brother in her arms… or perchance her son, though Colin hoped not. He winked at her, admiring the rosy flush that crept into her sweet round cheeks.

Women were beautiful.

Women were godsends.

He stood there, admiring the red-haired wench, imagining the heat of her skin upon his lips… until he was rudely interrupted.

“Dinna tell me you’d bed a man’s wife, Colin Mac Brodie!”

Colin cast an annoyed glance to the bearer of the voice, offended by her insinuation. He didn’t recognize the face, however. Black hair framed a bonny face that had grown tawny beneath the sun’s many kisses. Lips as pink as the petals of a rose were pursed in disapproval. Brilliant green eyes glared back at him. He was stunned, at first, by the animosity apparent there.

No woman had ever looked at him that way.

What the devil had he done to deserve her rancor?

“I have
never
cuckolded a man in all my life!” he argued.

She lifted a brow, and peered up at him, her hands going behind her back in obvious challenge. It was clear she didn’t believe him. “Nay?” she asked. “Why? Because ye haven’t the heart to tangle with her man? Or because, God forbid, ye should have some wee bit of honor after all?”

Who was this wench who dared to speak to him so?

Colin stared down at her with knit brows, trying to remember when he might have ever crossed her path…

Surely he had scorned her some time before… or her sister mayhap. He could not fathom why else he should be the victim of her scathing tongue. And yet… he could not imagine ever having scorned that lovely face. Nay, she wasn’t beautiful in the way his sister was, but she was lovely nevertheless. Those eyes were the cool, vivid green of a forest glade, and that skin… soft looking despite the deep color it bore. And those lips… of a sudden he had the urge to see them pursed… though not with scorn.

“What ails ye lass?” he asked, nonplused. “You look like you’ve been sucking sour berries.” He winked at her, trying to lighten her mood. “A smile would suit that bonny face far better!”

“Aye?” She raised one brow contemptuously. “And what if I happen to like sucking sour berries?” She raised herself up on tiptoes then, leaning toward him defiantly.

Saucy wench.

He’d like to give her something to suck, he thought, and his lips curved into a roguish smile.

“So suck them,” he relented.

Dismissing her, he turned his gaze, if not his full attention, toward his sister and her new Sassenach husband. He watched them dance together, trying to ignore the she-devil at his side.

Wench.

With hair as black as hers she was like to have a disposition as wicked as Eve’s sin.

Would she be wicked in bed? he couldn’t help but wonder, and the thought quickened his breath just a little.

Those fine lips were made for more than sucking berries, he’d warrant.

She didn’t leave him, he noticed, but stood stubbornly by his side, waiting to torture him a little more. Well, she was doing a fine bloody job without even opening her mouth, didn’t she realize.

Her sweet scent drifted to his nostrils, taunting him… rosemary… and sunshine… and… something else he was hopelessly addicted to.
Woman.
He inhaled deeply and held his breath, savoring the pleasurable scent.

If she didn’t get herself away from him—and soon—he was going to drag her into the woods and have his way with those fine firm breasts that taunted him in his peripheral.

Och, but how long had it been since he’d been with a woman? A day? A week? A month? He felt suddenly famished… as though it had been bloody years. His mouth watered at the thought of kissing those impertinent lips, and his loins tightened in response.

She was watching Montgomerie with his sister, Colin realized, and he thought he heard her sigh.

“Meghan is so beautiful,” she said, and Colin nodded in agreement. She sighed again and he turned to look at her. Her expression was wistful, though not the least envious.

“She is,” he agreed, studying her face.

So was she, didn’t she realize?

Few women were gifted with the sublime perfection of Meghan’s beauty, but Colin had come to see rare beauty in almost all women. All but for a few who had been stricken with misfortune, like Alison MacLean. That face of hers was not so terrible, but Colin could scarce look at her for the deformity of her eyes. He felt badly if he’d treated her unkindly, but such impairments often made him recoil deep inside. It angered him, often, that he could not stomach them, but he could not help it.

“Ye dinna even remember me do you?” she asked, and his gaze was drawn downward to the tapping of her toes.

His gaze returned to her face. He stared, trying to place her. Something about her was vaguely familiar though he swore he’d never set eyes upon her before today. Something about those green eyes, however, unnerved him just the same.

Auld Angus of the MacKinnon’s, white-haired and red-eyed, passed by in that instant, singing drunkenly, swinging a tankard of uisge in hand…

“I have me a gentil cok!

He croweth alla the day!

He makes me risen early, my matins for to say!

Ohhhhh, yea, I have me a gentil cok!’’

He stopped to wink at Colin’s mystery woman and then muttered to himself. “Bah, who needs to wed anyway! She wadna even let me look at all the bonny lasses—pluck out my eyes!” He nodded at Colin, and exclaimed, “Dinna get yoursel’ no bride, lad! Ye dinna need one!” He waved his hand in warning and started along his merry way once more. “I can look at what pleases me!” he muttered drunkenly, “and no one can stop me! Yah, that’s right!” he said, and his voice faded into the crowd. “I have me a gentil cok…”

Colin chuckled and turned back to see that his mystery woman was staring at him, waiting… for what?

Bloody hell, had he sampled her sweet wares and completely forgot? Was it possible?

His brows knit. Och, but he prided himself on his powers of recollection. He relished the treasured hoard of memories he had stored… every name of every woman he had ever kissed, every sweet shuddering breath he had ever heard… every melodic note of every whimper… every luscious scent…

He shook his head. Damn, but he didn’t remember.

“Nay, lass,” he admitted a little abashedly. “I dinna remember ye.”

She nodded, looking quite smug with his response. “Of course not. And why should ye?”

Her cute little nose crinkled in what Colin interpreted as contempt. Well, he could not help that he couldn’t remember. His memory was usually very good, and he decided that he couldn’t possibly have forgotten her had their encounter been anything more than a simple halloo.

He waited for her to enlighten him, thinking that mayhap she had the wrong man, but she simply stared at him, her brows knitting, as though she were trying to read his thoughts.

A dog’s bark drew his attention.

He tore his gaze away from his mystery woman long enough to turn and see that Merry, Broc’s ever faithful four-legged companion, was weaving her way beneath the bare legs of his kinsmen. The sight of her brought a smile to his lips. Wherever Broc was, Merry was. The two were inseparable.

“’Tis about damned time!” he muttered to himself. He was growing as dry as a stone waiting for Broc to return.

Merry, the sweet mutt, came leaping at him, perching her paws upon his chest to lap at his face.

“Hell and be damned!” Colin exclaimed.

“Wretched beast! Your master has taught ye naught but rudeness! No kisses!” he demanded, and jerked his face backward, managing to avoid a full slathering of his cheek. Her slobbery tongue grazed his chin. He wiped it upon his shoulder and then patted Merry upon the head, “Yah, yah!” he said, “I like ye too, auld bitch!” His hands went about her to steady them both.

“At least she does not have fleas any longer,” he turned to tell his mystery woman. “Thanks to MacKinnon’s bride…”

She was gone.

He searched the crowd for some sign of her, but she had vanished—not a trace of her save the scent that lingered at his side.

She’d left him talking to himself. Now why had she gone and done that?

He turned and frowned at the dog still panting in his face. “How rude was that?” he asked Merry. “She could have at least bid me g’nite, dinna ye think?”

He couldn’t recall ever having been discarded so easily by a woman. Merry inched her paws up over his shoulder, turned her snout up and panted at the sky, and Colin’s frown deepened.

“Ye must have scared her away with that foul breath of yours. Gadamn dog!” he grumbled to himself, fanning at his face. He’d had a bonny woman at his side—how the devil had he been left embracing a stinkin’ dog?

This was not his day—his baby sister had gone and wedded a thieving Sassenach and his best friend’s dog was his only dance partner!

Broc tapped him on the shoulder suddenly. “That’s my woman you’re messing with,” he said, and his grin was so wide Colin thought it would split his face.