Highland Promise (11 page)

        "I hear they run about naked at home," Lady Garwick proclaimed in a gruff whisper as she arrived with Lady Wilford.

        Lady Ashton patted Faith's hand. "They sleep with sheep in their chambers."

        "The bearded one is not so bad." Lady Wilford primped her flaming

hair and sent a sultry smile toward Tormey.

        Faith glanced toward the Highlanders, who showed no reaction, though they had no doubt heard every spiteful word. Embarrassment for her countrywomen's behavior burned her face.

        "Aye, but he is Irish," Lady Garwick said. "The Highlanders are reluctant to..." She trailed off and glanced at Faith. "...socialize."

        "The big one talking to the king is their leader. He is looking for a wife." Lady Sudeley cast a wary glace toward Brendan.

        Faith clenched her jaw as embarrassment flowed into stormy fury. King Henry was livid if his red face was any indication. And she could discern the spasm in Brendan's cheek from across the hall. Surely these matrons should be chastised and their husbands would put a stop to this outrage.

        "Rumor says he does not care what she looks like, so he might even pick you." Lady Ashton's tone made it clear that Faith's looks should drive away any sane man. That might be the effect she strove for, but only an insensitive crone would say it to her face.

        Lady Wilford shuddered as she gazed toward Brendan. "He is only marrying because his king ordered him too. 'Tis hard to fathom why King Henry is so taken with the savage."

        "He will probably beat his wife," Lady Garwick predicted.

        "Aye, the heathens are heartless and cruel," Lady Sudeley agreed. "They treat their sheep better than they treat their women."

        "Enough!" Faith shouted, unable to take anymore. She glared at the women and took a deep breath, trying to calm her wrath.

        She changed her mind. She had never abided such wickedness, and she wasn't about to start now, even if she should respect her elders.

        "You are petty vicious creatures to voice such ill gossip." Her voice rang in the suddenly quiet hall, but she was too angry to notice. "Anyone with an iota of wit would look at the Highlanders, mark their scars, and know they are brave warriors able to protect their own. They could not be too cruel, for I am certain they heard all your insults and they have not retaliated." She crinkled her nose in disdain. "I, for one, would like to pull out your tongues and chop the cursed things off as a favor to them."

        She turned her glower on Lady Garwick, forcing the lady to cower. "You call them unsociable because they do not jump into your beds. I call them honorable to abstain from adultery. They guard your souls better than you do. As for their leader, he is a powerful man of honor, possessing great wealth and bountiful lands. I am astounded greedy women like you are not throwing your daughters at him." She didn't know if Brendan was truly wealthy, but took great satisfaction in the pale despair that crossed their faces.

        "Now I believe I shall go seek sweeter climes with the heathens. At the very least, I am sure they will not subject me to such contemptible calumny." Faith whirled around and saw every eye on her.

        Oh Lord, how could she have drawn such attention to herself when she had spent every waking moment since the age of twelve trying to stay hidden?

        Clenching her fists, she stomped over to the Highlanders. She stood between Michael and Roland, then folded her arms over her chest.

        Michael grunted, though she detected approval in his gaze. "You need to know, lass, you'll not find sweeter climes outside of the Highlands."

        "You do not have to defend us, milady," Roland said, laughter dancing in his tone. "I'll not speak for other clans, but we Sutherlands treat our women every bit as well as we treat our sheep."

        "Someone has to defend you, you pompous man," she gritted out. "I shall not apologize for them though. 'Tis your own fault for being so belligerent and frowning all the time."

        "You think we should smile while we are in England?" Michael asked incredulously.

        "It would not hurt. Your perpetual glares make everyone think you are mean and unapproachable."

        "Should we offer to bed the wenches too?" Tormey asked as if eager to volunteer.

        Faith swept a scathing gaze over him. "From what they said, it sounds like you already have. And why did you not tell me you were Irish? At least now I know why you speak stranger than they do."

        "You never asked." Tormey winked at her.

        "Would you like to borrow my dagger, milady?" Luthias held the hilt of his blade toward her.

        "Why in the name of heaven would I wish to do that?"

        "So you can cut their tongues out," Jamie answered. "We all heard you say you wanted to."

        She raised her gaze, seeking divine intervention to save her from fools. "You—are—trying—my—patience," she warned.

        "What say you, Cleit?" Michael asked, his lips quirking.

        "The lass will do honor to the Highlands," Cleit replied.

        "I shall not," Faith snapped. "I am not going to the convent at Saint Bride after all."

        "We already knew that," Luthias said.

        "You did?" she asked surprised.

        They all nodded and grinned.

        "Did Noreen tell you I was going to Salisbury instead?" Faith compressed her lips. They hadn't had time to speak to Noreen since she had informed the maid of her change in plans, which meant she had just informed them of her intentions. "How did you know I was not going to Saint Bride?"

        The ornery men crossed their arms over their chests and clenched their jaws tighter than clams.

        "I am going outside...alone. If you follow me, or do not tell me what I want to know when I come back in..." She couldn't think of a single threat that would scare giants, so she mustered every ounce of bravado she possessed and waved a small-balled fist at them. "I shall ground every one of you like I did Luthias."

        She headed toward the exit leading to King Henry's formal garden. Lord, the Highlanders were making her daft.

~ * ~

        'Twas high time the lass understood he meant his words. She knew he wanted her guarded, yet she had left unescorted. For his men to cater to her ludicrous threat didn't bear thinking upon. His head ached enough as it was.

        Entering the terrace to the garden that graced the rear of the keep, Brendan glanced about. Not seeing her there, he followed the winding path through rows of fall blossoms and foliage. Near the back wall he found Faith seated on a secluded stone bench near some late-blooming roses with her head bowed into her palms.

        Gravel crunched under his boots. Her body jerked as she gasped then twisted around. She jumped to her feet and backed away, holding her arms protectively in front of her. "Stay away from me."

        Her eyes turned cloudy blue, and her complexion paled beyond her artistry. Brendan didn't know what inspired her fear of him, but he didn't like it. He reached out a hand and approached her as he would a skittish filly.

        "I mean it. Get back." She continued backward while glancing about as if hoping to find help among the shrubs.

        He caught her by her shoulders just as she slipped off the path and nearly tumbled into the thorny bushes. "Damn it, Faith, what ails you?"

        "Let go of me!" She struggled against his hold.

        "I'll let go of you when you're well away from those bushes and not likely to cut yourself." He steered her to the bench and forced her down on the seat. "Now you and I are going to come to an understanding."

        As soon as he released his hold, she jumped from the seat and tried to dart past him. He caught her by her upper arms.

        "Let go of me." She tried to jerk free. "I cannot be near you."

        He frowned at the quiver in her voice. Hell, he had thought her smart enough not to believe the gossip of blathering women. "Faith, hold still."

        She rammed her knee into his hip, making it clear that she had no intention of following his order.

        He sat down and pulled her onto his lap. She went rigid and trembled. Her terror reminded him of the time he had placed her on his horse. It was an insult too. He would forgive her though. She had never been to the Highlands, so she couldn't know the Sutherlands were honorable and would never harm a woman. "I have no notion what caused your fear, but if you believe those scandalmongers from court—"

        "I do not believe them. Now let me go." She thrust her elbow into his ribs.

        He pinioned her arms to her sides with one arm, then tilted her jaw until her gaze met his. The panic in her eyes unsettled him.

        He would have to relieve her fear, which was frustrating. No wonder Highlanders preferred to steal wives. Wooing was a damn nuisance. Brendan released a harried sigh. "Have I ever hurt you?"

        She shook her head, but maintained the guarded poise of a cornered fox.

        "Do you believe I intend to hurt you now?"

        She cast her gaze downward. "Nay."

        "Look at me when you answer." Her gaze met his, and he noticed her fear hadn't diminished. "Why did you tell me to stay away from you?"

        Distress gathered across her brow as she glanced away. "I...ah..."

        "Look at me, Faith, and remember you do not lie well."

        She slowly raised her face. Now tears brimmed her eyes. He had never cared how women felt, but the notion that Faith was afraid of him tore at his gut. He tenderly traced his finger across her cheekbone and caught a tear. She jerked back as if she had been branded.

        "Please release me, Brendan." The pulse bounded in her neck, and her hands fisted. "I truly should not be near you, and I do not like feeling trapped."

        "Has your brother threatened you?" he asked, ready to find the recreant and pound him into oblivion if he had. Instead, he loosened his restraining arm.

        "Nay." She gulped. "You are not...good for me."

        "What in the name of all that's holy do you mean by that?"

        "I do not wish to discuss this. Let me go now." She glared and punched his shoulder.

        He grabbed both her wrists and held them with one hand in her lap. At least she wasn't afraid of him anymore. He spotted blood oozing from her palms. "Damn it, Faith, open your hands. You have no reason to cower. And before you see fit to remind me, I do not give a tinker's damn if I try your patience. I am not letting you go until you explain yourself. Why am I not good for you?"

        She opened both her hands while her eyes flashed fury. "The Church says so. And do not curse in my presence again."

        He released her wrists and tore a strip from her undergown. "Explain why the Church says I am not good for you."

        A scarlet hue streaked her cheeks as he wiped the blood from her palms. "You are a near occasion of sin, and the Church teaches to avoid near occasions of sin. Now do you understand?"

        "I understand you could make a sane man daft."

        Her nostrils flared slightly as she compressed her lips and tried to pull free.

        He slipped his arm back around her and held her in place. "Tell me how I am a near occasion of sin."

        She stopped struggling and drummed her fingers on her lap.

        He rolled his eyes. "Have you not learned, lass, that we are not through with a subject until I say so?"

        She shrugged. "You make me feel...things."

        He cocked an arrogant brow. So the lass finally knew she wanted him. "What kind of things?"

        "Lust."

        Thank Saint Andrew she had bowed her head with that admission. His grin probably wouldn't improve her temper. "Tell me about what you feel."

        "Why, so you can humiliate me?" she whispered.

        He wanted her to know her feelings were acceptable to him, and she could speak to him honestly about such matters. "Faith, have you ever felt lust before?"

        She snorted. "I am going to be a nun, for heaven's sake. I should not have such sinful feelings at all."

        He decided the time wasn't right to tell her that nuns did not use expressions like "for heaven's sake." A small grin escaped his lips. "How do you know what you feel is lust?"

        "Because 'tis sinful." She looked at him, her eyes a murky sea of shame. "I am obsessed with you, and my thoughts are not pure."

        "Tell me about these not pure thoughts."

        She bowed her head again and picked a speck of lint from her kirtle. "I want you to...kiss me, and I fear I shall ask you to. Then you will either laugh at me or kiss me, and I do not know which would be worse." She slapped a hand against her brow. "Oh Lord, I am guilty of a sin of contemplation whether you kiss me or not. I am damned for certain."

        She sounded so distressed. He couldn't help the chuckle that slipped out.

        Her scowl returned and she shoved at his chest. "Are you happy to know you provoke my wanton nature?"

        "Aye. I think I shall kiss you and test your wantonness."

        She splayed her hands against his chest and pushed. "You would not dare. 'Tis shameful for you to jest so when I am going to Hell because of you. Now will you release me?"

        "Nay."

        "Well why not?" she demanded with a punch.

        "Because we are going to come to an understanding. You are not to flee the protection of my—"

        She waved a hand in dismissal. "I release you from whatever obli—"

        "Do not interrupt when I am instructing you." He grabbed her hand

so she couldn't wave it in his face or jab him again.

        "But I am trying to tell you I have decided not to go to Scotland, and you do not have to protect me. 'Tis unwise to expose myself to a near occasion of sin, so I am making other arrangements."