Highland Promise (10 page)

        "Do you honestly expect me to believe you are Lady Faith's sister?"

        "Lady Faith of Hawkhurst is my sister by choice, much as you are brothers with Duncan Ranald, Luthias MacMathan, and The Imbecile."

        He had trouble keeping his chin from dropping. "You are Mi—"

        "Do not say his name in my presence," she said in an irate tone. "Until he rights the wrong he has done by ignoring me, he is dead to me. His name may not be spoken in my presence. I also prefer you not tell him I was here. You are still my brother, so you may still call me Chris or Christina."

        Brendan wanted to laugh. This was no docile English woman. Michael was actually wed to a warrior queen. "I'll not tell him, but I'd love to be there when you meet."

        "That is up to The Imbecile." Her intense dark eyes pierced him as if she would read his soul. "The last epistle I received from Faith told me of Leland's pending holy union and her plan to run away to a convent. I wish to know why you are interested in her."

        He shrugged. "Truthfully, I promised Lady Ranald I would wed Faith if I could find her."

        "Deo gratias, you speak true. Alera told me as much. At least she came to her senses and wed Duncan. She was irritated that I would not come to her aid."

        "How did you meet Faith and Alera?"

        "After Alera's mother died, her father came down with the same ailment and was sent to a healer in Arturia. Faith had recently lost her father, and King Henry sent her along as Alera's companion. I will let Faith tell you the whole story on one of your long, cold nights, but suffice it to say that after you pull someone from a cesspit and remove her disguise, you either make her family or banish her."

        She placed her right hand on Brendan's chest. "Close your eyes and picture Faith's eyes in your mind, si placit."

        "You are not my queen to give me orders," he said evenly.

        "Si placit means please in Latin. Sometimes I think I know too many languages."

        "Your request is ridiculous," he said, though he couldn't help visualizing those dynamic and changeable aquamarine orbs in his mind.

        The woman removed her hand and smiled at him. "You may wed Faith with my blessing. Do not tell her I am here though. She would seek my assistance to flee, and I cannot help her for the same reason I could not help Alera."

        "And why is that?"

        "You will know soon enough." She removed a tubular leather scroll case from her belt and held it toward him. "Give this to her on the Feast of the Epiphany."

        "What is it?" he asked, reaching for the scroll.

        "A gift from one sister to another." As one of her fingers brushed his, she frowned and grasped his opposite hand. Her intense gaze met his. "Beware, Bren. A minion of the Beast shadows you in one you trust. Clan Sutherland will face a dark day before this year ends. For Faith to survive, you must not accept death or call upon Sancte Michaelo to guide her to Paradise. Instead, call upon Sancte Raphaelo with all your heart. As surely as he once healed Tobias, he will blow the breath of the Holy Ghost into Faith."

        "Are you also an oracle?" he asked sardonically as she released her hand.

        "Nay," she said, her dark gaze serious. "I am the Treasured Sophiafilumina—The Keeper of Wisdom and Light. You are already my brother, and Faith is dear to me. I entrust her to your care. Heed my warning."

        "I can take care of my own," he said, though he was unable to mask

the irritated edge in his tone.

        She shook her head and sighed. "I see you do not believe me. When the moment comes that you must call on the archangel, I will know and I will remind you."

        With a crack of her whip, the lass disappeared into the limbs above. Brendan was left to ponder her words.

        "Ridiculous," he finally muttered and resumed his way along the path. If his future wife needed saving, he would do it himself.

        A small throb erupted at the base of his skull.

Six

        That Highlander was torturing her sensibilities. He had Faith so disturbed she hadn't left her chamber for a day and a half. Aye, Laird Sutherland evoked sensations in her and one word summed them up.

        Lust.

        It had taken her a long sleepless night to figure it out. And worse, she liked the way he made her feel. But lust was one of the seven deadly sins that condemned a soul to perpetual damnation. Surely a convent-bound maiden shouldn't possess such a blemish on her soul. She doubted Saint Peter was likely to overlook the flaw when she stood before him for her particular judgment.

        Brendan mesmerized her. She obsessed over how his mouth would feel pressed against hers. The very thought sent a tingle sizzling through the pit of her stomach. She longed to be kissed at least once before she entered her life of penance. Not just any man would do either. No one but her brother's worst enemy, Brendan Sutherland, stirred her desire for such a sinful experience.

        She must continue avoiding him as she had these past two days. The Church taught to avoid sin and the near occasion of sin after all. Brendan was about as near to an occasion of sin as she was likely to get. Besides, Father Abernathy had said any man who associated with her would suffer eternal hellfire. She didn't want Brendan damned for all eternity. Aye, she was guarding his soul, as well as hers, by staying away from him.

        Faith sighed. Avoiding him for the sake of her immortal soul might be for the best, but it certainly bored her.

        She flopped onto her back and groaned as she stared at the dreary ceiling. Confining herself to her chamber left her restless and didn't diminish her errant passions. How could she avoid Brendan if he refused to leave her waking and sleeping mind?

        When she awoke to her monthly curse the day before, she used the excuse of cramps to stay away from court. Because she wasn't normally given to such an indisposition, Noreen tucked her into bed with a warming stone and a worried frown. Faith felt guilty for causing her loyal maid such a fret. She had always confided her secrets to Noreen, but couldn't bring herself to speak of her wanton desires.

        "Can I get you anything, lass?" Noreen asked, placing the back of her hand to Faith's brow.

        "Nay, Noreen." Faith averted her face from the shrewd woman's scrutiny. "I am not used to so much lying about and just feel a mite jittery."

        The furrows deepened in the maid's brow. "You need to eat. I cannot like that you have taken naught but a wee bit of broth in two days."

        Faith had no answer. She didn't feel ill, but couldn't explain her lack of appetite. Unless her intense desire for Brendan had stolen it. What was wrong with her! She barely knew the man, and she was going to be a nun, for heaven's sake. Why she had to keep reminding herself, she didn't know.

        After answering a knock, Noreen closed the door and returned to her mistress. "'Tis the king's page. If you are still too ill to join the court, His Grace has ordered that his royal physician tend you. I'm thinking 'tis a good thing too. I'm that worried about you, lass."

        "Rats!" Faith tossed aside the covers and sat up on the side of the bed.

        "Here now. What are you about?" Noreen placed a restraining hand on Faith's shoulder.

        "What does it look like I am about?" Faith shook off the hand, then stood and stretched. "I am getting out of bed so I can dress for an evening of being plagued by spiteful mothers and Highlanders."

        "Have you been feigning your illness?" Noreen demanded.

        "Not entirely." Faith raked her fingers through her hair as contrition flamed her cheeks. "My curse did start yesterday. I was uncomfortable."

        The maid scowled. "Why would you do such a thing?"

        "I do not have time for this discussion if I am to dress and go to court." Faith waved a hand, dismissing the subject. She grabbed a pear from a tray Noreen had brought in earlier and took a bite. She spoke while she chewed. "I shall wear the black. It will add to my pallor so no one will question my absence."

        "Except for your disguise, you have never been given to deception, and I do not like it." Noreen walked to Faith's chest and pulled out the black kirtle, a tan undershift, and layers of padding.

        "It was necessary, and I shall say no more on the matter." Faith took another bite and set aside the pear. She snatched the padding from Noreen and tied the layers in place.

        "Harrumph!" Noreen snapped her mouth shut. Her jerky movements proclaimed her ire as she helped Faith don her disguise.

        "Is it The Sutherland you're avoiding, lass?" Noreen asked as she pulled the flour-dusted drape from Faith's chest and brushed a few errant white specs from the black gown.

        "I avoid no one." Faith stood and smoothed the folds of her kirtle. "But now that you bring him up, I have decided not to accompany him to Scotland. I am going to the priory near Salisbury instead. I shall find an Englishman to escort me."

        "Sounds like you are avoiding him to me," Noreen retorted. "And your planning will land you in trouble. Always does."

        "I did not ask for your opinion." Faith walked toward the door.

        "Well you got it." Noreen grabbed a shawl and dogged Faith's heels. "And I'll be telling you one more thing. You—"

        "You may stay here tonight, Noreen. I shall not require you for chaperone in that overcrowded hall."

        Snatching the shawl from the maid, Faith stepped into the corridor and slammed the door. A figure moved in the shadows, and she tensed. "Edrik?"

        "Nay." Michael stepped into view. "That ferret-faced weasel took his leave yester morn when he heard you were ill."

        "Why are you here?"

        "The laird ordered you guarded and 'tis my watch." Michael cocked his head and peered at her. "You still look puggled."

        Faith frowned. "What does puggled mean?"

        "Sickly. Worn out."

        "Thank you so much for the compliment," she replied sarcastically and watched him shrug. "I am much better and on my way to court."

        She lifted her chin and swept past him. After a few steps, she stopped and turned back to find Michael close behind her. "Please tell your laird I appreciate his kindness, but I do not need a guard. You are dismissed."

        Michael shook his head. "Nay, milady. The Sutherland is not kind, and he would be insulted that you sent such a message. 'Tis his duty to protect you, and only he can dismiss me."

        "Kindness is not an insult."

        "It is in the Highlands," he declared adamantly.

        Faith rolled her eyes. The Highlands must have a strange code of virtues. "Well, you can also tell him I shall not need his escort to Scotland after all. I am making other plans."

        "I'll not give him that message either." He looked at her as if she had grown a second head. "And you would be wise not to change your plans."

        "Why not?" She pulled her shawl about her. "Surely he will be glad to know he is free of the burden I presented."

        "He has plans of his own, and you'll be spoiling them."

        "What plans?"

        "You will have to ask him."

        Faith decided to drop the subject. She had already determined Michael had an extra portion of stubborn bred into him. "Well, as long as you are here, you may act as my escort."

        She placed her hand on his arm, and they walked to the hall. She noticed Brendan the moment she entered. He stood a full head above the other men, and his presence demanded attention. Brown trews clung to his sinewy legs, revealing bulging iron muscles, and a black tunic with his plaid draped sash-style clung to his massive chest. She pressed a fist against her fluttering belly to still the confusing sensation, but it didn't help much.

        He was in conversation with King Henry and several barons, but paused and glanced her way. Shivers shimmied from her hair to her toes as his hot cobalt eyes perused her from across the hall. Then he cocked a sardonic brow, as if he knew she had been avoiding him.

        She bowed her head as a flush warmed her cheeks. Leland and Edrik were nowhere about, so she had Michael lead her to a secluded corner where she hoped to be left alone. Once she removed her hand, Michael crossed his arms over his chest, braced his stance, and glared at anyone unfortunate enough to look her way.

        She had to suppress an unladylike snort. She noticed the other Highlanders occupied their usual place, holding up the adjacent wall. "Michael, go stand with your friends and guard me from there."

        He shook his head.

        "Nothing will happen to me here. We are in King Henry's court surrounded by his loyal guards, for heaven's sake."

        "All the more reason to be cautious."

        The man was a mule, but even mules could be made to move with a pointy prod. She narrowed her eyes and added a measure of menace to her tone. "If you do not go stand with your friends, I shall tell King Henry you are married to an Englishwoman. I shall say I wish to meet her and request that he send for her without delay, so you may take her home with you."

        A muscle flexed in his jaw. "Aye, and I'll wager you are mean enough to do just that."

        She curled her lips into a mock smile. "You would win that wager."

        Michael gave her one last glower then joined the other Highlanders. Brendan shot Michael a fierce frown, but several matrons quickly rushed to her side and seized her attention.

        Lady Sudeley, a tall, thin matron, moved close and spoke in a pseudo-whisper that carried throughout the hall. "Lady Faith, you must not associate with the Highlanders."

        "Aye." Lady Ashton placed a pudgy hand to her buxom chest as if relating a dire warning. "'Tis our duty to counsel you since your own dear mother is passed. They are heathens and not acceptable company for a maiden."