Always Mine (17 page)

“I see our benefactor has made himself known. I thank ye, my good man. As ye can see, we still feel its results. Do ye have sons of yer own?”

ALWAYS MINE

135

“Aye, my lord, I have. Four strapping boys and a fine daughter, all less than seven summers old.” After Damron tossed him a bag heavy with coins, the man’s chest puffed out and he strutted about like a pleased bantam rooster.

While they said their good-byes, Damron kept his arm around Brianna’s shoulders. Finally, after a frown and nudge from Connor, he released her and allowed Galan to come say his farewells.

Galan took her hands in his and brought them to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “Take care, Brianna. If ever you have need of me, I will come.”

From the earnest look in his eyes, she knew he would move heaven and earth for her.

“Don’t worry about me, Galan. Nathaniel will see that I come to no harm.” Before she could say more, Damron urged her down the remaining stairs to Angel.

She dug in her heels.

“Wait. You said I could ride Sweetpea.”

“I said I would think on it.” He gained his saddle and placed a folded blanket between his thighs. When Connor lifted her up to him, Damron settled her on the blanket. “Are ye comfortable, wife? I wouldna have ye suffer more tenderness.”

Brianna rolled her eyes and poked him in the ribs with her elbow. As everyone called their farewells and waved, Damron urged Angel into a trot. He kept a firm grasp on her waist while she leaned far out and waved until they were all out of sight. In so short a time, she had grown fond of the people at Ridley.

Her stomach fluttered with nervous excitement. What would she find at Blackthorn? In the twenty-first century, she had felt such a strong empathy for the ruins. How would she react to the intact castle? And to the man she must resist, else she would lose her very heart and soul to him?

After a while, she squirmed and again stuck her elbows in

136

Sophia Johnson

his ribs. He didn’t seem to mind. Her elbows did, for his chain mail was unforgiving. Disgruntled, she continued to make a nuisance of herself in hopes he’d let her ride Sweetpea, who was being led behind a young squire.

“Settle yerself, lady. If ye think to gain my attention, ye have. Wrigglin’ yer sweet arse against my manhood has aroused my interest.” He waggled his brows at her. “Ah! I understand. Ye wish to stop so we may seek our privacy in the woods?”

“Ha, you wish!” He smelled too good for her peace of mind. She was increasingly aware of the juncture of his thighs and the bulge that grew by the minute. “Can I ride Sweetpea?”

“Nay.” Damron let Angel prance and misbehave until she grabbed his arms to keep her balance.

Driving an old jalopy without springs for ten hours would be more comfortable than riding a horse for five. And quieter, too. Damron and Connor’s shouts over the clamor of mounted men made her ears ring. It must be this habit that caused him to yell so often. After they continued for what seemed the better part of the day, she squirmed in earnest. Grabbing both sides of his jaw, she forced his head down to look at her.

“You insufferable demon. Stop this damn horse.”

“Dinna shout. If ye need privacy, ye have but to ask. We meet Bleddyn just around the next bend.”

He spoke true, for Bleddyn awaited them at the border into Scotland. He smiled when he saw the expression on Brianna’s face.

Damron lifted her to the ground. She shoved his hands away, but had to grab hold of Angel’s mane to keep from falling in the dirt. The huge horse looked down at her, jerked his head and all but sent her flying into the bushes. Damron steadied her.

“You nasty-tempered, evil bag of bones.” Brianna fisted

ALWAYS MINE

137

her hand and whopped Angel below his left ear. She grabbed that same ear and tugged, shoving off Damron’s restraining arm.

“If ever you dare do something like that again,” she shouted into Angel’s ear, “I’ll take that part of you that you love the most and feed it to the wolves. Do we understand each other?” She gave his ear another yank, then let go.

Trudging into the woods to take care of her needs, she muttered about uppity men and their ornery horses. When she adjusted her clothing to return, the jars of salve in her pockets clacked together. She recalled the concern on the ladies’

faces when they gave them to her, and Elise’s frightened expression. Heat rushed from her head to her toes.

No longer wobbly, she charged out of the woods. Her arms swatted bushes as she flew past, yelling for Damron. Connor ran toward her, as though expecting to find a wild boar chased her. She flew past him and headed for the man she wanted to bash.

Damron placed his hands on his hips and waited. She tried to grab his chest, but couldn’t get a handhold because of his hauberk. Frustrated, she grasped the braids at his temples.

Seizing her wrist, he stared into furious eyes.

“Control yeself, Brianna.” Damron hauled her to the side of the stream, out of his men’s sight. “Ne’er, if ye value yer hide, come at me in such a way again. I willna tolerate it.”

“Did you lop off a chicken’s head on the bedsheets?”

“And dinna yell at me,” he bellowed. “I nicked myself with my sword. It bled too freely afore I could stop it.” He grinned.

“Mayhap it looked like I tupped ye in haste.”

Before her gaping mouth closed, he turned and left.

He entered the woods with his men, and she supposed they would take care of personal business. So she wouldn’t see anyone wetting the forest floor, she kept her gaze downcast.

Tearing a hunk out of the bread someone had placed on a

138

Sophia Johnson

blanket, she started nibbling on it. When she glanced up, she saw Bleddyn studied her face. He grinned.

“You’re doing it again, sir. I’m glad you think it’s funny, because I don’t. Men are all alike.” The humor of the situation finally got to her, and she giggled. No wonder the women had been so worried about her!

Before she could say more, the warriors returned. They had crossed into Scotland and now wore either tartans gathered at their waists or breeches. She didn’t know which she liked best—the bare legs of the plaid wearers or the snug-fitting breeches that left nothing to her imagination.

Atop Angel, Damron scowled and beckoned her to him.

She ignored him and hurried to Sweetpea. Before a dozen steps, she found herself lifted to the blanket on Angel’s back, Damron’s arm securely around her.

“Do you always snatch women off the ground when they’re not looking? We’re far from Ridley, so why can’t I . . .?” Her voice trailed off as his arm tightened and air whooshed from her lungs. She jerked her head around to protest.

“Dinna vex me!”

One look at his face was enough to keep her silent. She huffed and turned to study the scenery. This mode of transportation might be slow, but you saw much more of the countryside atop a horse than you did in a speeding car. Scotland in the eleventh century was so very beautiful. What a world of difference between this early time and the future.

The dense forests now covering much of the land were no longer there in the future. She took deep breaths of clean, fragrant air and mourned the beauty that would be lost.

She was anxious to speak to Nathaniel. Did he know about her? Would he think her a witch if he learned she had lived in both centuries? She gulped. If he did, he wouldn’t treat her so kindly. Would he?

Nathaniel’s voice answered in her mind. She was barely

ALWAYS MINE

139

able to restrain herself from twisting around to see him.

Would she ever grow accustomed to his uncanny ability?

You need not fear me, little one. I came to ease your way in
this life. You have known many things that interest me. I have
seen your memory pictures of a time far ahead.

The Scots are great lovers of tales. Perhaps you would
weave one to tell us? No one else will know ’tis truth. We
Welsh have always believed Druids could travel between
time, and the Scots have their own legends.

Brianna relaxed against Damron. Did Nathaniel know how her soul had transferred back to this former life? When they reached Blackthorn, would he tell her?

She felt and heard no answer from him. He had broken the connection between them.

For the better part of an hour, she tried to ignore Damron’s hard body behind her. Finally, she pushed back against him, gathered her tunic between her legs and grabbed her right knee. She twisted around and threw her leg over Angel’s neck so she sat astride.

“If I have to ride with you, I’m going to be comfortable,” she grumbled. She squirmed and rearranged herself, ignoring Damron.

He soon drew her notice.

A sound rumbled from his chest that was felt more than heard. Glancing down, she spied bronzed, muscular thighs feathered with dark hair pressed against her legs.

She went as still as Lot’s wife.

Modern Scotsmen wore briefs under their kilts. Did medieval men wear some cloth contraption? Surely they did. She stole a hand up his leg, looking for the edge of his tartan to pull it down. Instead, she encountered the hot, bare flesh of his inner thigh. Her hand jerked like he’d scalded her. When she tried to inch forward, his arm tightened around her.

That part of him, ever growing of late, pressed against her spine. Every hot, steely inch of him. Wasn’t he ever flaccid?

140

Sophia Johnson

She tried to look for his clothing without lowering her head.

She saw the edge of the material but couldn’t reach it.

It was a dilemma, one best dealt with by falling asleep.

When Brianna awoke, she was no longer astride Angel but again resting across Damron’s thighs, her face snuggled to his throat. It was damp. “Aw, crud.” She’d drooled all over the man’s neck.

They pulled off into a clearing, and Damron lifted her from Angel. He held her upright, his arm supporting her waist. His somber eyes stared down, questioning her.

Assuming he wanted to know if she could stand, she put her weight on her legs and groaned when they protested.

While grasping his arm, she lifted each leg in turn until sure they would hold her before she let go.

He nodded, released her and went about the business of ordering the camp for the night.

Jeremy led her to a stream where trees offered shelter from the men’s sight. He’d stand guard at an appropriate distance. She looked around and grinned. She and her parents had camped frequently, so bathing in the stream wasn’t a hardship.

The cold water was. Bathing quickly, she dried herself and pulled on her clothing. When she started to return to the camp, she didn’t go far before she knew she’d gone in the wrong direction. Doubling back didn’t help. She’d lost the stream.

Oh, bother, everything had disappeared. The only familiar thing was the sound of the birds as they welcomed the evening. Taking a great gasp of air, she shouted. “Jeremy? Where are you?”

Moments later, he came crashing through the bushes.

When they reached the camp, Damron’s eyebrows raised when told she was lost no more than fifty paces from where the squire had left her.

“Do ye have a poor sense of direction, wife?”

ALWAYS MINE

141

“I wasn’t really lost. I was looking for wild berries.”

One glance told her he didn’t believe her, but he kept silent as he helped her sit. Jeremy and Spencer spread the evening meal on a large cloth. They would eat grandly tonight as Lady Maud had Cook provide them with roasted chicken, lamb and grouse, along with boiled carrots and baked bread.

After they had eaten most of their meal, Bleddyn spoke.

“Brianna is a fine weaver of tales. She has agreed to spin one for us this eve.”

She smiled, hearing the men’s pleased shouts. Not knowing how they liked their stories to unfold, she decided to use the same opening parents have throughout the ages.

“Once upon a time, in a land far away, the people had many tribes, much like you have in Scotland,” she began. “They called these people the Indian nations.” Skillfully she spun her story, describing their skills at horsemanship, how they painted themselves and their trophy taking. Concentrating, she sent Nathaniel the sound of an Indian war cry.

“In earlier days,” he spoke up, “my ancestors took the heads of brave enemies, for it gave the man’s wisdom and strength to the captor. Sometimes they coated the skull with gold. ’Twas always given an honored place in the keep.”

At that point, Damron suggested they end the story and seek their rest.

“After today’s hard ride, you will sleep soundly, Brianna,”

Bleddyn soothed.

“Hah. No one will sleep, sir. Damron snores like rumbling thunder. He’ll keep everyone awake.”

“Me snore, wife? Ye are mistaken.” Damron looked down his nose at her with the dignity of a king. “I ne’er snore. Ask anyone.”

“I have known Damron all my life and he hasna e’er kept me awake. Mayhap you did hear thunder last eve,” Connor added.

“No, it wasn’t, Connor. Believe me. He snores.”

When they entered the tent, Brianna saw a pallet with a

142

Sophia Johnson

wool blanket covering half the tent floor. Damron excused himself and left. She undressed down to her shift and stretched out on the bedding, then covered herself with the blanket. This small tent was much more intimate than their room at Ridley had been.

She pretended she slept when he returned. Hearing clothing rustle, she peeked. His body was beautiful. Her mouth went dry. Seeing his sex, she squirmed.

Oh, yes, Damron had it right. He was more than ample.

He stretched out beside her, then pulled her close to study her flushed face.

“Brianna, ye are my wife. ’Tis yer right to view my body as

’tis mine that I see yers.” He lowered his head, and his lips closed over hers. He kissed her like he would linger at it all night.

Her heart hammered against his chest. Did he feel it?

When she didn’t open to him, the light pressure of his thumb on her chin urged her to let him enter. He explored her mouth, running his tongue over hers in greeting. He thrust deep, then slowly withdrew to repeat the intimacy again and again.