Her One Desire (25 page)

Their gazes locked. Hers diverted first to the third pail.

They reached for it in unison and banged heads.

“Ow,” she complained.

Broc kicked the pail over and rubbed his forehead.

“Enough.”

She swayed side to side trying to regain her footing until the spots cleared from her vision. “Grandmum is not going to be pleased. Our behavior is wasteful.”

“We cannae be wasteful, now can we.” He pulled her to him and bent to suckle the milk from her neck. His tongue lapped her upper breasts and sent a jolt of pleasure up her core.

“Cease.” She pushed out of his arms and fought to regain her anger. “I’m not some maiden you keep hidden in the timber to ease your needs when the temptation strikes you.” He leaned into her. “Had I wanted to ease my needs, I would have done so with the two maids Mam sent to my solar this morn.”

Those were not words Lizzy expected to hear or images she cared to have painted in her head. What kind of mother sends women to her son’s bed? She flung the milk from her hands and started toward the barn door. “I’m leaving.”

He chuckled, infuriating her further. “And where, pray tell, are ye going?”

“You have no reign over me. I will not be a prisoner here whilst my nephews wither away in London. I’m going back to the Tower.”

“Nay,” he bellowed behind her, his tone sharp and jagged. He wrenched her off her feet by her kirtle and pinned her inside his arms. “I will not allow it.”

Shaken by his fierceness, she stiffened. He’d never given her reason to fear him. He’d been gentle, caring, controlled. Until now.

His hold on the back of her garment tightened the material around her waist. Her fists balled beneath her chin against his chest. Her rapid breathing came in short draws through her nose.
One, two, three
…

Not him.

He released her and took a step backward, staring at his shaking hands. “Forgive me. I lost my senses.” Long moments passed in silence before his hand slowly extended toward her. His movement steady, cautious, like she was a frightened animal shaking in the bushes, which is exactly how she felt.

His hand remained between them, waiting for her acceptance.

“Please, Lizbeth. I would never hurt ye.”

She combed her dirty hair over her cheek and kept her eyes downcast. She was not a stranger to abuse. While Father never raised a hand to her, Lord Hollister had flaunted his power with the back of his hand more than once.
He is not Lord Hollister. Do not cower
before him.
She needed to be strong now and in the days to come. “Never raise your voice to me again.”

“I will not. Never. I vow it upon my soul.”

Her eyes moved into the corners.

He still waited for her.

Trust him.
Without turning her body, she extended her arm and placed her fingertips in his palm. He curled his fingers over hers and one step closed the gap between them. Why did it hurt so much to touch him?

“We need to talk.” Calm returned to his countenance. He guided her out the back of the barn, where a peach-colored moon seeped through the timberline to alight their footsteps. Her fingers now stuck to his, her hair clung to her cheek, and the underside of her breasts felt glued to her ribs. “I need to wash.”

“I suspect ye would not agTee to a dip in the loch.”

“Nay.” She doubted he would ever make her that strong.

“I can heat water in the apothecary and fetch a tub.” His offer sounded divine, and she might have accepted had she not recalled what happened in York. She wouldn’t lay with him again. She couldn’t be that person. Fortunate for her, she had an excuse. “There is a cracked brick in the kiln. ‘Twill not hold a flame.”

“I fixed it.”

“When?” She studied him and his wry smile. What was he about?

“Before I came to the barn.”

“You leave me here for two days, then when you finally return, you fix the kiln before coming to see me?” She peeled her hand away from his and stomped off. “The well will do fine.”

“It needed to be done. Grandmum has been after someone to fix it for ages,” he said behind her, his tone far too merry. If he was jesting, his humor was not welcomed. He followed her to the well, leaned over the round stone wall, and drew up a bucket of cool water. “I’ll fetch ye some toiletries.” He slipped away and disappeared into the apothecary. There were no toiletries in the apothecary. She’d cleaned the building the day before and had there been soap, she would have found it. She stared at the door, waiting for him to come back. He was up to mischief. He acted like a man with a secret. She splashed water over her face, hoping to cool her temper. Broc stood beside her with a towel when her eyes opened. She stepped back, startled by the stealth with which he’d returned. Her gaze shifted from him to the apothecary and then back. In his hands was a small square pile—a cake of soap and a comb sat atop a white silk robe and a wool blanket. He set them atop the well wall and looked down at her. “I’m going to wash inside and see that Grandmum is content for the eve with Uncle Ogilvy’s whisky. Meet me in the apothecary when ye are finished. We need to settle a few things before the morrow.” He cupped her jaw and brushed his thumb over her cheekbone. “Then I’m going to make love to ye.” He spun on his heel and left her with his words. Words that made her want to run for the border and protect her heart, but also words she didn’t deny she wanted to hear.

Shivering like she’d been plucked from a frozen loch, Lizzy held the wool tightly around her and opened the door to the apothecary. Warmth touched her face the moment she entered, along with a sharp smell she knew to be daffodils. Each table lining the walls was covered with a white tablecloth and dusted with yellow petals. Candleboxes filled the room with a soft light, and fire lapped from the belly of the open kiln, casting golden shadows over Broc’s face. No smile touched his lips, nor frown. His mood hid behind the mask of indifference he wore, but the lay of the room and his attire shouted his intentions in decibels.

A wool plaid of red and green spread over a work table in the middle of the apothecary was sprinkled with the same yellow petals. In the middle sat a circular coronet of yellow flowers. Broc stood opposite her, garbed in a scarlet robe with a gold crucifix hanging around his neck. He looked like a god awaiting her offering behind his alter. His hair, still damp from bathing, shimmered like waves of black oil. No weapons graced his hip or back. He held no threat to her person, yet she felt vulnerable to even pull the door closed behind her.

“Come, Lizbeth.” He gestured across the table. “Stand before me.”

As if he controlled her feet, she stepped up to the table. His intense gaze made her pulse beat out of control. Breathing became a challenge. She looked away, not wanting him to see her apprehensions … but he would. He knew her inside and out. He knew her desires, her wants. Her emotions lay raw on her sleeve, unguarded and exposed for him to crush.

“My hands have killed men in battle, but never have I raised a fist to a woman. Brother Mel taught me to respect life, to honor and embrace it. But mostly he trained me to be in control of my emotions and responsible for my actions. I ask ye to look at me, hear my words without judgment, and dinnae fear me.”

Her head rose, along with her eyes. The power between their gazes was an unbreakable force that gave her courage. “I am listening.”

“My da passed while I was in London.”

She felt the frown on her face before the pull on her heart.

“I’m sorry.”

His hand raised, palm up, to cease any further condolences. “Magnus Maxwell lived a full life, and he lived it well. He died peacefully and will be known as a fierce warrior and honorable man.”

She nodded, accepting that Broc dealt with death on his own terms, in his own way.

“As his oldest living son, I am privileged to accept his fortunes and bear his title. I am the laird of my clan now. as well as Warden of the West Marches. My responsibilities are to protect the borders of Scotland and maintain peace with my neighbors.” He closed his eyes, giving her a moment of calm. “Ye will make your clan a proud leader.”

“My mam might not agree with ye. She and the elders wish for me to honor an agreement Da made with Laird Scott, the chieftain of our neighboring clan, but I intend to decline their wishes.”

Broc was honorable and dedicated to his clan. She knew this better than anyone.

“Alliances are important during times of warfare. Even I know this. What prevents ye from honoring this agreement?”

His gaze found hers. His chest rose and fell twice before his answer came. “Ye.”

“I do not understand.”

“Aiden was betrothed to Laird Scott’s daughter for more than two years before we left for London. He felt enslaved by the agreement and chose to live out Da’s days by tasting every maiden who walked beneath his nose.” Was she just a maiden Broc wanted to taste? Or was he trying to tell her more, and she wouldn’t let her heart see it? She toyed with a yellow petal atop the plaid. “And with your father’s title, you also inherit everything bequeathed to Aiden?” “Aye. His entitlements included the hand of Lady Juliana Geddies Scott.”

Juliana Scott.
His words revealed answers she didn’t want to accept. “Is it a coincidence that the name you chose as your English identity matches your betrothed—Sir Julian Ascott?”

“Tis nay coincidence. I once desired her and all her entitlements.”

The blood rushed from her head, and she wavered on her feet. His words felt like a punishment. He belittled her. She possessed nothing superior to this Lady Juliana. She pulled the seams of her robe tighter, feeling like a fool for coming here. “Why are you telling me this? Why have you brought me here and gone to such efforts to bed me?” She gestured toward the table so eloquently strewn for seduction. “I will not be your mistress.”

‘i want nay mistress. I want a wife. And I want that wife to be you.”

The gush of air she blew ruffled his hair. Her hand flew to her chest. He’d asked her to take him to husband once, but he’d been driven by physical desires and mad with lust, but not now. They weren’t even touching. He possessed all his senses, and he wanted her to be his wife. Tears rushed over her cheeks. From happiness? Or from the weight of complications that surrounded them. “I cannot provide your clan with riches, or lands, or alliances.”

“Ye provide me with faith. Ye make me proud. Ye make me believe I can protect all of Scotland. I need a woman at my side who believes in me, who trusts me.”

He made it sound so simple. “And will it be enough for your kinsmen?”

“Nay. But ye have something that will protect them and earn their respect.” He reached inside his robe and pulled out the document. He flattened it on the table between them. “I wish to take your document to my king.”

Her heart fell. “Ye wish to marry me to get the document?” His head shook; his eyes rolled. “I dinnae have to marry ye to get the document. I have it. If I only wanted the damned document, I would have killed ye days ago and been done with it. You are not listening. I am giving ye the chance to earn the respect of my kin, your kin, should ye choose to accept me as your husband.”

“But ‘tis all I have. If I give it to you, my nephews will die. You cannot ask me to choose.”

“I am not asking ye to choose. I’m asking ye to trust me.

I told ye I would go back for them, and I have never broken a vow to ye. Become my wife, and I will save your nephews.” She couldn’t think. He was coercing her. She pulled the wool tighter. “And if I refuse?”

His dark brows dipped low in the middle. “I am a man of my word. I will go back for Eli and Martin either way.” His gaze fell to the coronet of yellow flowers. “But I could not allow ye to stay. I would take ye and your nephews to Dryburgh.” “We would not be welcome to live among your kin?” “Nay. I need a wife to bear me sons. If ye refuse me, then I will marry Lady Juliana. I will be faithful to only one woman. I admit that I would not possess the strength to honor my marriage vows if ye were living within my walls.”

His honesty, while forthright, was nonetheless painful.

Mayhap she was being selfish, but she wanted him for herself. “And if I accept you as my husband, what will become of Eli and Martin?”

“ Tis not complicated. I will raise them as my own. Teach them to be warriors, leaders in their own right.” He gave her a means to gain the respect of his people. He offered to raise Kamden’s sons as his own. It all sounded like a dream—a fool’s dream. “Lord Hollister will not wait. He will kill them.”

“He has kept them alive for six months. If he kills them, he loses all bargaining power with you.”

“I do not trust him.”

“Do ye trust me, Lizbeth?”

“I do.”

Broc picked up the document and ripped it in half.

She gasped. “You fool!” Her hands covered her mouth.

“I’m taking the half with Buckingham’s signature to my king, and the other half I will send with Smitt back to York to find Hollister. If he has already taken his men back to London, then Smitt will go there. I will inform Hollister of my da’s passing and ask for a twelve-day grieving period, after which I will go back to the Tower and supply him the other half in exchange for your nephews. I have already assembled men to accompany me to Edinburgh and Smitt back into England. We leave on the morrow.”

She searched for holes in his plan, but it was solid, well thought out, except for one flaw.

“Lord Hollister will want me as well.”

“He’s not getting ye. I am.” Broc put the document aside and then retrieved two gold rings from inside his robe. He crossed himself and bent to kiss the plaid covering the table, then bowed his head in prayer. When he looked up at her, his smile and his actions filled her with peace. He was every dream she’d lost as a child. He was more than her protector. He was the guardian of her soul, and she wanted him in her life. The pressure swelling in her heart was painfully beautiful, and she knew the feeling was love.

“Come to me, Lizbeth.”

She walked around the corners of the table and positioned herself in front of him. He removed the wool covering her shoulders, set it aside, and then kissed her forehead. The serious lines carved in his face made her knees weak. Odd though it was, she wished for his chatter. “You came prepared. I s’pose you were confident I would agree to a marriage with you?”