The Highlander's Triumph (6 page)

Damn, he was a cad.

He should pull away, not allow her to think him so weak, when in all reality he was a licentious arse. But she felt too good for him to move. Her warmth seeped into him, sparked a sizzling path straight to his groin. He wrapped his arms around her hips, taking in the way they swelled—not a soft swell like most ladies preferred, this was the type of curve a man wanted, ripe and delicious. Grasping her waist, he took in another breath, certain she would push him away.

“Off the lady now, lad, let me get a look at ye.” The brusque voice of Hamish, Wallace’s own surgeon, broke through Brandon’s sensual haze.

He opened his eyes a little to see Hamish’s weathered face, complete with a frown. Brandon gave a slow smile and a wink, knowing the man had every idea of what he was doing. Hamish had been around the Highlands since Brandon was a boy, serving his father for a time, and wiping up a few of his scrapes. The man was a wanderer, never staying too long in one place, although there always seemed to be an angry woman in his wake, which made Brandon wonder if females were the reason behind his frequent change in living arrangements.

“Hamish, excellent timing,” he said a little too cheerfully.

The old man grunted.

Mariana pushed him away, crossed her arms and gave him a skeptical look. He winked at her, loving the way her cheeks quickly flamed.

“Rogue,” she muttered with a huff.

Brandon chuckled, and went to push himself up off the log, bu
t the pinch of pain in his shoulder made his elbow buckle.

“Stay where ye are,” Hamish said gruffly. The old man marched behind the log and with rough hands ripped
open, exposing his shoulder. “Lass, if ye could get Laird Sinclair a new shirt, ’twould be most kind of ye.” The old goat’s voice softened when he spoke to Mariana.

Brandon glanced up, seeing her ey
es riveted to his bared skin. ’Haps he affected her just as much as she did him. That thought only made him smile even wider. Mariana rolled her eyes.

“There’s an extra in my bag on
Checkmate,” Brandon told her. “Thank ye kindly, lass.”

“I’d not have you
thank me any other way,” she said, a bit of feisty bite in her tone.

Brandon grinned wickedly, loving the way her blush
flowed down her neck, and dammit that cloak once again hid her breasts, which he was sure had also colored a pretty pink. “A matter I’d be most happy to discuss with ye.”

“I doubt you will get the chance.” She raised her chin a notch and went in search of his horse, her hips swaying a mite more than
usual.

Brandon ground his teeth to keep from pushing Hamish away and running after her to kiss her senseless.

“Best be careful with that lass, lad,” Hamish said.

He grunted. “Why?”

“Drink this.” Hamish handed him a skin of whisky—stronger than his own stuff and with a nasty aftertaste. Brandon winced, his throat burning, and then howled when Hamish poured it onto his shoulder. “Never seen ye so keen on one.”

“Keen on what?”
Brandon hissed through his teeth as the needle pierced his skin and Hamish went to work sewing.

“A lass.
Ye seem taken.”

“I’m not taken.” Dammit, had everyone noticed how much he wanted her?

The feel of the thread snaking through his skin made Brandon’s flesh crawl. He hated the sensation, and though he’d felt the initial prick, the wound was quickly growing numb, as was his tongue.

“Whisky’s strong,” he mumbled, taking another swig when Hamish offered.

“Aye, ’tis a special blend.”

“Shpeshal?”
Why the hell was he slurring his words?

Hamish chuckled and took the skin of whisky back.
“Aye. No more or ye willna be able to sit your horse when we leave afore long.”

Brandon
nodded, his head heavy. Just a few sips of whisky… He felt like he’d drunk an entire jug.

“All done, and just in time.”
Hamish slapped his back. Brandon jerked forward, his bearings all off, but Hamish hastily righted him.

Mariana approached, a clean shirt folded in her arms. Brandon tried to stand,
and stumbled, only coming to his feet with Hamish’s help.

“I think the lad’s going to need your help, lass.
Gave him a nip of my special brew.”

Mariana raised a brow, but nodded. Brandon glanced down at his torn and bloody shirt, trying to figure out how he could take it off.
Before he could remember how to remove his pin that held his plaid over his uninjured shoulder, Mariana grasped it and yanked it free.

“Mind if I help you to undress?” she asked.

“I thought ye’d never ask,” Brandon said, trying for seductive, but
ask
came out like
ashk.
He frowned, hating to be so loose with his tongue. Mariana giggled.
Damn.

She ran her hands over his chest, untying the laces and then tugging
the shirt over his head. He didn’t even feel the sting in his arm when he moved it. A wisp of her hair tickled his skin, as did her breath, she was so close. His flesh prickled—and his cock rose on end. Damn… There he stood, bare-chested, ready to crush her to him, but unable to work his fingers properly in order to grasp her. Mariana gazed at his chest, a finger tracing slowly and gently over a jagged scar that went from his left shoulder clear down to his ribs on the opposite side.

“Does it hurt?”

He shook his head. “From long ago.” A wound he’d never forget. A horrendous wound that had physically healed, but remained open and weeping on the inside.

“I mean your shoulder.”

He shook his head again. “I hardly remember it with ye touching my chest.”

She wrenched her hand
away like she’d been burned. But Brandon somehow regained his motor skills and pulled her hand back, flattening it over his heart. “I like it when ye touch me.”

Her gaze lifted, connecting with his. “I fear ’tis a pleasure we can never have.”

The word
pleasure
, said in her breathy French accent made his blood run hot. Brandon loved a challenge. Reveled in a triumph. “Never say never, lass.”

Chapter Six

H
e was going to kiss her.

Mariana was sure of it, wetted her li
ps in anticipation, even tilted her chin. ’Twould be completely inappropriate for him to do so, the entire camp laying witness to such a display, but for some reason, she didn’t care. She desperately wanted him to. Her fingers burned where she splayed them on his chest, the crisp hair tickling her fingertips and the muscles beneath sending frissons of longing deep into her center. Her nipples hardened, and she thanked God for the thick set of cloaks covering her.

Mon dieu
, what on earth was happening?

These illicit feelings were not something she was allowed to have. And if she did, they were supposed to be for the man whose company she was ordered to keep—not a Highland laird who took her breath away and made h
er shiver all with a glance from his clear blue eyes.

However, knowing all of that,
it didn’t matter. Brandon was so close the heat of him washed over her, making her skin prickle. She stepped closer, decreasing the gap between them. Her fingers itched to tug him closer. Brandon lowered his head inch by torturous inch. His breath fanned warm over her face, the spicy scent of whisky and desire with it. Mariana sucked in her breath, closing her eyes, every inch of her on fire, waiting, reaching out for his lips to touch hers.

“We ride!” Wallace bellowed the order, breaking the
sensual spell.

Mariana jumped, as much from being startled as from what she was about to do. Brandon, too, looked disturbed. His eyes were narrowed, mouth in a firm line. Well, could she blame the man?

He hardly knew her at all and yet they’d been about to kiss right out in the open, it was all but branding her his—and oh, how she wanted to be branded.

“Best get that shirt on,” she mumbled. Mariana bent to pick up the fabric she’d absently dropped when her thoughts, mind, had been abducted by Brandon’s powerful aura.

The laird bent at the same time, and their heads clunked together. Not hard, but enough to unsettle her balance and Mariana went tumbling backward. In his haste to grasp her, Brandon put his weight on his injured arm and he, too, fell forward—on top of her. His weight—a heavenly burden—pressed her into the ground. The rock hard length of his shaft pressed against her thigh. Mariana moaned and Brandon grunted.

“Get off me,” she said through her teeth. Well, if a kiss was going to brand her, what in blazes would everyone think of him lying on top of her?

“Sinclair, I hardly think now is the time to bed down with the lass, do ye?” Wallace’s jovial barb set Mariana’s face to burning hotter than the flames at Kinterloch.

Brandon grumbled something under his breath, which she suspected was an expletive used to describe Wallace’s keen sense of humor.
She swallowed hard, forced herself not to cover her heated face with her palms, and willed her cheeks to cease their flaming. There was nothing she should be embarrassed about. They’d tripped. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Except it was so much more.

As if to prove that point, Brandon winked at her. She bit her lip, not allowing herself to smile at him, or drag him down for the kiss she’d so wanted him to bestow on her.

Oh, for saint’s sake, why couldn’t she get the thought of kissing him from her mind?

Because he stirs things inside me I’d long thought dormant.

U
sing the strength in his uninjured arm, Brandon pushed himself up, followed by a very graceful leap to his feet. Mariana didn’t know what made her hotter, his body pressed full force onto hers, or the delicious display of his power. She suspected it was a good mix of both.

“Lass.”
He held his hand out, and while she’d rather lie upon the moss and pine needle covered ground, she lifted her arm and took his grasp. His overlarge hand was warm and firm as he effortlessly pulled her to her feet.

Mariana cleared her throat and swiped at the debris clinging to the fabric of Brandon’s borrowed cloak. “My thanks,
monsieur
,” she said quietly. When she looked up, he was intently staring at her. She couldn’t guess what he was thinking, didn’t want to either, as the hunger in his eyes had yet to dissipate.

“Shall we get on with it, my lady?”
His voice came out in a husky whisper, skimming deliciously along her insides.

Mariana was half tempted to ask him if he was talking about the kiss, but knew he couldn’t be. Still, her gaze lingered on his lips—quirked into a seductive, roguish smile. His hair was disheveled making him look all the more wicked and
appealing. A foray into the forbidden. That would be what it was like to be with Brandon. Endless, glorious, sinful splendor.

“
Oui
.” Heaving a sigh, she made a move to walk around him toward his mount, but he stilled her with a tug on her hand.

“Wait, lass.” Again his voice was soft, made her think of how gentle he could be, even still possessing the power to make her fall to her knees.

When she glanced back at him, he smiled and put a hand to her hair. What was he about? Surely, he wouldn’t try to kiss her here.

But oh, what
sweet sin it would be if he did.

Brandon
pulled a large leaf from her hair and held it before her eyes, a smile curving his lips. “I know this has been a day filled with wonder, but I dinna think ye need to take souvenirs with ye.”

Mariana laughed. “Indeed, my laird, I’d no intention of a keepsake.” Save maybe the memory of his body pressed to hers, the heat of his chest beneath her fingertips.

Brandon seemed to read her thoughts, his eyes traveling to her mouth. ’Twould seem she was right and he was wrong—
never
was the case with them. There was no doubt in her mind, ’twas better this way. She’d not entangle herself in something she wasn’t sure she could handle. Nor would she risk a broken heart. For men sought only one thing from a woman—and they’d use her to get it. A cunny was worth a lot in this world, especially hers.

With that dark thought in mind, Mariana frowned and turned away. She didn’t want to look at
Brandon, knowing that all the wondrous feelings she’d experienced since meeting him, could only ever be one sided.

Night was coming, and complete dark would blacken the skies within the hour.
The air had cooled and puffs of it breezed through her parted lips. Within the forest, it was hard to decipher if the sky was filled with stars or clouds. The men finished packing up the camp and at least half of them were already mounted. Mariana searched for a horse with an unclaimed rider, but there seemed to be none.

“Ye’ll ride with me,” Brandon stated.

Mariana nodded. With little choice but to ride with him or be left behind—which she knew wouldn’t truly be an option—she followed Brandon to his intimidating warhorse. The animal looked at her with wide, maniacal, black eyes that seemed to take in her very soul. Eyes that indeed earned him his name—Checkmate. If she made one wrong move, she was certain the animal would snuff the life from her with one hoof. A most welcome fact for Brandon in battle, that his horse could be used for defense, but with her…it was only frightening.

Mariana suppressed a shiver. Propping his foot in the s
tirrup, Brandon hoisted himself into the saddle—showing off a wicked display of male muscle—then held out his hand for her. She gritted her teeth, anticipating the spark that jolted her when their skin touched. He lifted her up, but rather than settling her in his lap, he swung her behind so she straddled his back. He tucked a plaid blanket behind his saddle for a cushion, but she wished he’d put it between them. If anything, the heat of his body between her thighs was more of a torment than before.

Taking a moment to shift about the cloaks she wore, she also
sucked in a few calming breaths, hoping to ease her heightened awareness of the fierce Highlander who’d rescued her.

The ride to Eilean Donan
Castle was proving more treacherous than she’d ever foreseen. And it wasn’t because they were in constant danger from Ross and his crew. Indeed, ’twas her own soul that was under attack, and from one very charming warrior.

A yawn caught her unawares, and she tried to stifle it, but even still
, her breath puffed out as did a little noise.

“I promise
ye, as soon as we arrive at the castle, I’ll personally see to it that ye’re given a bedchamber, a bath, and whatever else ye desire to keep ye rested.” Brandon spoke the words over his shoulder, and she was touched by his concern.

“There will be no need to pamper me, Laird Sinclair.” As much as his concern moved her, she had to put some distance between them. Had to concentrate on how she would get away from these warriors and return to the man she’d been pledged to—King Edward. The thought was thoroughly abhorrent, but what else could she do? She
’d been disgraced in France, and had prayed that when the king tired of her, he’d make her a match that was at least somewhat agreeable. But beyond that, she couldn’t stay with these people. Couldn’t witness the slaying of more innocents, for surely Ross and the king would come after her.

But wasn’t it true that they were coming after Wallace and his comrades anyway? Indeed it was.
Precisely why she had to return—to mislead them. She’d give them false direction. There was no consequence in that. The king and Ross had been on Wallace’s trail for so long, constantly being evaded, so they wouldn’t second guess her. At least, she prayed they wouldn’t.

The rest of the group mounted up, Julianna and Ronan seemed particularly close. Julianna appeared weak, yet relieved, but Ronan looked as though he’d seen a ghost. Mayhap she’d had a close call during the battle. There had been no signs of her at camp when Mariana returned from hiding in the woods.

Brandon issued a command to his horse, his thighs squeezed around the animal’s middle—his buttocks tightening between her legs.
Mon dieu
, how was she going to survive such sweet torture? Checkmate followed his master’s command, following the line of warriors as they made their way out of the camp. Mariana grasped the blanket beneath her with both hands. She dared not put her arms around him, even though she’d moved to clutch him several times already. Riding behind him without holding on was a tricky business. But one she’d best get used too. Touching him was too dangerous. Made her feel things she shouldn’t. She wanted more than anything to wrap her arms around his waist, and breathe in his woodsy male scent. That, however, wouldn’t do. Already, she tread on a thin line.

She gasped again
and stopped herself from grabbing onto Brandon’s back. Her thighs were tightly clamped to the horse’s middle, and she could tell by the way he stomped his feet and made irritating snorts that the animal was annoyed with her and Brandon’s differing commands.

“I know for propriety’s sake, ye may be trying hard not to put your hands on me, or maybe ye simply find me repulsive, but for the love of all that’s holy, grab hold, lass, else Checkmate tosses us both.” Brandon’s tone was filled with humor.

If the situation had been different, and Mariana in a humorous mood, she may have teased him back, but the simple fact was, she was ready to toss herself from the horse into the nearest loch. They’d only been riding nigh on a quarter hour and her body was steaming hot. There wasn’t a sensible thought in her head, and every nerve ending bristled. Had she caught a fever? Because surely, Brandon couldn’t be the only reason her body was reacting this way. Men didn’t have this effect on her. She had this effect
on
them
. It must be a fever. There was no other reasonable answer for how she was feeling. She was completely at a loss as to how to react. She knew the consequences of becoming embroiled with Brandon. Knew them to the core of her being. And yet, she was willing to risk much in order to have just one taste.

O
ne delicious memory forever engrained in the recesses of her mind. A recollection she could pull out whenever another man touched her. A fantasy to dream about when she lay awake at night wondering what might have been.

An herbal tisane.
That was what she needed. Something to soothe her nerves and calm her feverish state.

Groaning in frustration, she slowly touched her fingertips to his waist, ignoring the spark that shot up her arms to tingle in her breasts. Never had a man spurred such a reaction from her.