Highland Brides 03 - On Bended Knee (8 page)

She nodded. “I need you to teach me to woo a man,” she said again, a little firmer, a little louder.

He surged to his feet, taken aback by her request. “Och, lass, you’ve got it all wrong! It isna a woman’s place to do such a thing!”

Her green eyes narrowed as she peered up at him. “Says who?”

His voice softened, and he reached out to touch her face. He lifted it to his gaze. “You don’t understand.
You
have no need to woo any man, lass!”

Didn’t she realize how lovely she was?

She shrugged away from his touch, and gave him a look he couldn’t quite interpret. Colin had never had a woman reject his touch. It took him by surprise. He might have even pouted over it like a spoiled lassie had her expression not reminded him that something was amiss.

“But I cannot afford to waste more time!” she lamented, her eyes glazing with tears. “Everyone is getting married!” She cast him a beleaguered glance. “You’re the only one who can help me now,” she declared.

Colin’s expression twisted with confusion. “Me?”

“Aye, Colin Mac Brodie! You!”

He sat down upon the grass and lifted his knees up, wrapping his arms about them, resigned to listen. He furrowed his brow. “How?”

“You know what attracts a man to a woman,” she told him. “Right?”

Colin’s brows rose. “
Everything
attracts me to a woman.”

She shook her head, eyeing him pointedly. “Nay… not everything!”

Colin studied her a moment.

She seemed to be telling him something, accusing him even. But nay… accusing him of what? What could she possibly have to accuse him over when he had never set eyes upon her in his life before last eve.

Her expression remained somber.

Was she serious?

She seemed perfectly sober.

Or was this some sweet scheme to win his attentions? He’d had women fall into his lap, in fact; others baked and brought him sweets; still more had dragged him behind their father’s stables and boldly offered him kisses and more. Perhaps this was merely her way of gaining his notice, he reasoned, and his lips curved into a knowing smile.

He thought it might be so—
wanted
it to be so—and damned if he could think of anything better he’d like to do than feel her melt into his arms.

He cocked his head as he looked at her.

Lovely eyes, lovely lips, lovely dark hair.

He’d like to teach her a few things all right.

He narrowed his eyes. If she was serious… she was either perfectly naive, or shrewd as the devil… and Colin intended to discover which.

He eyed her deliberately. “And what precisely did ye have in mind for me to teach you, lass?”

She averted her eyes, shrugged, looking flustered, and then met his gaze once more. This time, she did not look away, though he held her gaze intimately, willing her to see the danger she was courting by asking so boldly for his… help.

He never took a lass for granted… never assumed she understood the sway he held over her… never stole away innocence… not without forewarning.

She didn’t look away, but rather, she seemed determined to enlist him, and some part of Colin shouted with glee. His body tautened with anticipation. His blood quickened in his veins. He wanted that mouth… wanted to feel his tongue slide between those lips… His gaze lowered. He wanted those breasts in his palms.

Swallowing, he peered up once more into her eyes… and wasn’t entirely convinced she knew what she was asking for. There was confusion there, he thought.

Mayhap he should show her.

Holding her gaze, he reached out to wrap his fingers about her heel. Her feet were bare, soft with dust. She didn’t protest, didn’t even seem to realize he had touched her for an instant, and then he slid his hand up the back of her calf, gently caressing.

He heard her intake of breath when she realized, but she didn’t pull away. She blinked. “What… what are ye doing, Mac Brodie?”

Colin grinned, unleashing the full power of his smile. “Teaching you, o’ course,” he replied.

Warring emotions flashed over her face before she drew her brows together and peered down at him. “So you’ll do it?” Her expression was hopeful, though she swallowed as she glanced nervously down at his hand beneath her skirt. His grin widened as her expression grew more uncertain. She slapped a hand over his suddenly, halting his progress, gripping his fingers as though she would break them did he move. “And what precisely are ye teaching me?” she demanded of him.

“Whatever your sweet heart desires,” he answered roguishly. His body hardened.

“Must you… must you do that?” she asked. Her voice faltered.

“Do ye want my help, or nay, lass?”

Her strangle hold upon his hand eased a bit. “I do… but… but…”

He had scarce moved an inch when her grip upon his fingers tightened painfully.

“Ouch! Rule number one,” he announced, letting go of her leg, and shaking off the pain. “Dinna break your lover’s fingers if ye want him to cherish you!”

“But you aren’t my lover!” she pointed out, and gave him a disgruntled glance.

He gave her one back.

“So, then,” he replied, “did ye have someone particular in mind… to woo?”

“Broc Ceannfhionn,” she announced without hesitation, and pushed herself off the woodpile.

Colin saw more than a tantalizing flash of shapely calves before her declaration registered. “Broc!” he exclaimed, and felt at once annoyed, though he couldn’t possibly comprehend why.

“Aye, Broc Ceannfhionn!”

“I heard ye the first time, lass!” He hadn’t meant to raise his voice.

She turned her back on him then, brooding.

Broc was his closest friend. He couldn’t possibly begrudge him anything, and yet he did. No wonder she had vanished when Broc appeared last eve.

He peered up at her, watching her. From behind, she was unmistakable, with hair as black as a raven’s wings and a body that made a man’s hands ache to wander over its luscious hills and dales. Not even her thin and tattered dress could detract from it.

Beautiful.

It was enough to spoil a man’s appetite.

“I have loved him forever!” she declared, turning to him, pleading with those deep green eyes. “And you’re his best friend, Colin Mac Brodie!” There were tears welling in her eyes. “You can help me win his heart, if only you would!”

Colin suddenly felt less than charitable.

“And why should I help you snare my good friend? I dinna even know your name, wench!”

She gave him a wounded look, though he couldn’t understand why that simple fact should bother her.

“What’s more, I dinna even know what clan ye hail from!”

“No clan,” she replied.

“You’ve no family?” he asked her suspiciously.

“Only my da.”

“And who is your da?”

Her lips clamped together suddenly, refusing to speak.

“Broc can find his own bloody women!” Colin told her, refusing her. If she couldn’t be bothered even to answer his simple question, he wasn’t about to oblige her.

She took in a breath and Colin thought she was about to weep. Pride seemed to straighten her spine. “My da isna well,” she said matter of factly. “I
must
wed! He needs a warmer place to sleep!”

“I will give ye all the blankets you need,” Colin reassured her.

“But I love Broc Ceannfhionn! I can make him happy if only I’ve the chance!”

Colin held his ground. “Well, I canna help ye.” Broc was his best friend.

“You know him better than any, Colin Mac Brodie! You could help me, if only ye would!”

Colin shook his head, refusing her. “I will not.”

Would he have helped her had she not caught his fancy first? he couldn’t help but wonder.

Was it merely his wounded pride that kept him from obliging her now?

How many times had he thought Broc would be better off if he only find himself a woman? Five and twenty years had the man lived and was a virgin still. His honor would be the death of him.

“I have something to give you in return,” she said reluctantly. “Payment for your help.”

He narrowed his gaze at her. For a moment, he thought she intended to pay him with her favors but her expression was far from seductive.

Och, but her sweet green eyes beseeched him, called up some long-buried sense of shame that made him feel wretched in her sight. It was something he hadn’t felt so acutely in a very long time, and he didn’t relish the feeling. “And what might that be?”

“My da’s recipe for the
uisge beatha
.”

Colin narrowed his eyes, inspecting her closer, her face suddenly growing familiar. He shuddered as a memory assailed him. “Your da’s recipe?”

“Aye,” she said. “’Tis all I have to give, but I would gladly give everything to win Broc as my husband!”

Colin swallowed uncomfortably, faced suddenly with his ugliest memory of himself.

He would like never to have recalled them, but here she was, after all these years, to smack him in the face with it.

“Donal the drunk is your da?” he asked, stunned by her transformation. Och, but the years had been very good to her.

He certainly didn’t remember her like
that
.

Her eyes narrowed, and her hands went to her hips. “Dinna call him that, Colin Mac Brodie!”

Colin shook his head. He’d wondered where the hell she had gone away to, but had heard nothing except that the old man had gone blind and his urchin daughter was making his coveted
uisge beatha
.

Men traveled leagues to purchase his fire water.

Where the devil had she been hiding?

“I dinna need your recipe!” he told her. “Ye can bloody well keep it!”

She didn’t bring out the best in him—never had—and he damned well wished she hadn’t reappeared in his life. He snatched up his tunic from the woodpile and turned to go, dressing himself as he left her.

He didn’t like the way she made him feel, and he wasn’t going to linger to reminisce.

Like he had years before, he left her staring after him—could feel her gaze but didn’t dare turn. He’d faced her that day so long ago, and had been left wounded by the silent accusation in those expressive green eyes. He wasn’t going to stand about to watch her run away weeping once more. Even without her constant presence as a reminder, it had taken him years to escape the guilt he had felt over the wrong he had done her.

But this time, he hadn’t done anything wrong, and he’d be damned if he was going to scheme with her to trap his best friend into wedlock.

Never mind that he was left suddenly reeling.

In the space of mere minutes, he had been rejected and then had relived his most ignoble moments—courtesy of the woman who had filled nearly every waking thought since the instant he’d laid eyes upon her.

What was she supposed to do now?

Seana sat upon a stone near the contraption her father had built to distill his
uisge beatha
, listening to the sounds it made as it brewed.

As a woman, she was virtually invisible to Broc. She could tell by the look in his eyes that he still saw the pitiful little girl she had once been. That she had blossomed into a woman did not seem to register with him.

Och, but it was enough to make her weep.

How dare Colin be angry with her!

She had no notion what she had said to upset him so much, but he had stalked away from her, without even looking back. All she had done was ask for his help. What harm was there in that?

She had, in fact, even offered to pay him with the only thing of value she owned. That should have been enough for him to realize the great worth she placed upon his time—not to mention how very important this was to her.

What were her options now?

She chewed upon a nail as she contemplated. The sound and scent of the spirits somehow eased her mind. It was familiar and comforting, reminding her of all the times she had sat and watched her father at his labors.

With a heartfelt sigh, she slid from the stone down to the ground, watching the contraption clatter and remembering a time when her da had been strong and full of life.

Seana knew little of her mother. She had died giving birth to Seana. Though Seana oft felt guilty for the pain she had caused her ma and da, her da had never blamed her for it. He’d loved her no matter that his heart had been broken by his loss. And he’d spoke of Seana’s mother so beautifully, telling Seana always that she was her mother’s spitting image. The two of them had loved each other so much that they’d fled their homes to live together in solitude, because her mother’s da had not wished to let them wed.

Her birth had been a difficult one, her da had said. She had been far too stubborn to be born. Her leg had been twisted within her mother’s womb and had broken during her labor. The midwife advised her da to leave Seana to the wolves… claimed she was too small and weak and that her legs would never heal, that she would always be a burden. Her da had refused. Even in his sorrow after her mother’s death, he’d loved and protected her, and when Seana had reached an age, he had worked with her leg to strengthen and heal it.

Seana had suffered greatly in those years, though she’d never complained, because she’d spied her da’s pain in his eyes as he’d watched her suffer, too. Even when he’d broken her leg to reset it, he hadn’t wished to hurt her, but it had been necessary, he’d said, to straighten it. And now, she was better, and her limp was barely noticeable, save at night when the air grew cold and in winter when the chill wind bore with it her pain once more.