Highland Promise (13 page)

        Brendan stared at her with a worried frown and wiped his hands across his tunic, leaving bloody trails. Faith was suddenly so flustered, she couldn't think straight. If he hadn't followed her and kissed her, she would have already returned to the hall and Edrik wouldn't have caught her. And if he hadn't bellowed his rage like a crazed demon fresh out of Hell, no one would have come out to the garden and she wouldn't find herself in the middle of the biggest scandal King Henry's court had ever seen.

        She wanted to throttle Brendan, which was ridiculous, considering his size. She would have to use her cunning to best him. Every time he came near her, she ended up acting less than ladylike. He also had the ability to strip her of composure.

        Her gaze fell to his mouth. Her lips tingled at the memory of his firm lips pressed against hers. Lord, help her. She wanted to kiss him again. She didn't understand how he could bring out this sinful side to her nature, but she had to stay away from him for salvation's sake.

        Faith gathered the remnants of her tattered pride and squared her shoulders. "If Your Grace will excuse me, I wish to go to my chamber."

        "You are excused, Lady Faith." Concern furrowed King Henry's brow. "While I shall miss your company, I shall understand if I do not see you again tonight."

        "Oh I shall return shortly, Sire." She turned her glare on Brendan. "I am not such a sniveling mouse to allow myself to pine over an unwanted and inept kiss."

        She hoped Brendan got the message, since he was the only one to actually kiss her.

        He did.

        The arrogant man had the gall to wink.

Eight

        'Twas time for a hunt.

        The flowing blood roused his appetite. Aye, the taste filled his mouth like a heady wine, and the scent stirred his lust like the sweetest perfume.

        The urge gripped him. To stalk. To torture. To kill. To feast on the still-warm flesh of his quarry.

        London teemed with prey waiting to sate his appetite. He had planned well this time too. Blame would fall to the bastard who thought he had won. He suppressed a grin, lest the crowd learn of his thoughts. Aye, 'twas time for a hunt. And he was ready to prowl.

Nine

        The lass was as skittish as a filly in her first season. She knew she needed a stallion, but was both excited and frightened by her awakening desires. At least she had enough sense to know who her stallion was, because she hadn't looked at another man.

        Brendan grinned. Faith had probably never moved about a crowded hall so much in her life. Rather than seclude herself and allow him to join her, she flitted from one group to another.

        She hadn't taken part in a single conversation either. She was too busy giving him sidelong looks through those long sooty lashes. And if her curious gaze fell to his crotch one more time, he would prove himself the heathen these people accused him of being. Aye, he would forget decorum, throw the lass over his shoulder, and carry her off to teach her about more than kissing.

        Michael and Luthias flanked his sides. They crossed their arms over their chests and glared around the English court. Their scowls didn't fool Brendan. Mischief exuded from the pair.

        Michael finally sighed. "Have you noticed, Luthias?"

        "Aye, he's doing it again," Luthias replied gravely. "Our brother is afflicted. 'Tis almost too painful to watch."

        Brendan clenched his jaw. "What exactly am I doing?"

        "Smiling," Luthias answered.

        "At an English lass," Michael added as if that were his gravest worry.

        "He will be following her orders soon," Luthias predicted.

        "He will quit training to spend time with the lass." Michael shook his head sadly. "Then he will turn to flab and lose his reflexes."

        "Bound to die in his next battle if things run their course," Luthias said.

        "Aye, matters of the heart cast doom for good warriors," Michael lamented. "You are right, Luthias. 'Tis too painful to watch."

        "We could kill him now and shorten his misery," Luthias suggested.

        "Are you two jesters finished?" Brendan asked dryly. He would delight in banging their thick skulls together the next time they trained.

        "I have one more." Michael placed a hand over his heart and declared, "Love must be truly blind to miss that wart."

        "Michael, Luthias…go to hell." Brendan jutted his elbows into their ribs, eliciting grunts and chuckles.

        He left the pair and their warped humor behind him. He might like Faith, but he wasn't acting like some love-struck youth. He was trying to woo the obstinate lass, because her king wanted her happy for some reason he couldn't fathom. He had never thought to find himself in such a ridiculous situation.

        He walked toward Faith to intercept her before she could dash across the hall and make another round.

        The lass spotted him, and her eyes grew huge. She glanced around, then blurted out, "King Henry, I challenge you to a chess match."

        The king stopped in the middle of recounting a hunting tale and stared at Faith. Her hands balled into fists. Brendan had no doubt she drew blood from her palms. He would have to do something about her hands before they left for Scotland.

        The monarch's gaze shifted to Brendan, then back to her, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I accept your challenge, Lady Faith."

        The chess set was procured and arranged on the head table along with goblets of wine for the opponents. Faith took her seat opposite the king. It only took three moves for Brendan to determine her strategy. The lass had more gall than a sheep had bleats if she thought to tell the King of England he had lost to a wart.

        Brendan decided it might be fun to use her own distraction strategy against her. The opportunity was just too good to pass up.

        He waited until King Henry had made his move. Faith raised her goblet to her lips as she studied the board.

        "Your Grace never did finish the tale of the hunt," Brendan commented with an air of complete innocence. "'Tis cruel to leave us all...just dangling."

        Ruby wine spewed from Faith's mouth. She turned bright red, and a coughing fit seized her. Brendan moved to her side and gave her back a few good whacks until her coughs turned into wheezes.

        She cast him a disconcerted glance, then caught her breath and mopped her face and chest with a linen square she pulled from her sleeve. "Pray forgive me, Sire. I swallowed wrong."

        The king patted her hand with fatherly concern. "Do not fret. But I worry about you. This has been a difficult evening after your illness. Why do you not retire?"

        Faith gratefully withdrew. Her parting glance promised Brendan retaliation for his prank. Damn, but he liked her spirit. She had just enough of a defiant streak to make him look forward to her taming. She had never held an attraction for another man either. Aye, she would be completely his. As she retreated across the hall, he nodded to Michael, who left Luthias to follow her.

        "What wickedness are you up to, Sutherland?" King Henry asked. "I have never before seen her lose composure."

        Brendan shook his head. "That lass has all the composure of a frisky lioness."

        "She pleases you?" the king asked.

        "She does."

        "You must please her too. I have never seen her speak so long to any man as she did you the night she arrived. I spoke to the Archbishop. He will bless your vows on the morrow."

        It was about damn time, Brendan decided. "By your leave, I wish to depart directly after the wedding. The lass has a wee aversion to hor—"

        He broke off as Leland stormed into the hall and intercepted Faith near the entrance. Brendan couldn't make out the baron's words, but the young man's rage was apparent from his irate countenance and flailing arm gestures.

        Charging across the hall, Brendan discovered the reason for Leland's wrath as Baron Rothley entered. A worried frown marred the elder's brow. Rothley had obviously told Leland that Faith had been with Brendan on the day of the failed ambush.

        Brendan arrived at Faith's side as Michael's hand shot out and clamped upon Leland's raised arm.

        "If you wish to keep that arm, man, you will keep it at your side," Michael gritted out. "For if it comes within an arm's length of the lady again, I shall enjoy ripping it from your body and beating you to death with it."

        Brendan decided Leland had the Devil's own luck. After Michael's sire beat his mother to death, Michael had never restrained himself from gutting a man attempting to strike a woman or a child.

        "Michael, please release him," Faith requested in a tremulous tone. "Leland is my brother. He would never harm me."

        "Your brother…" Leland spat out as he jerked back his arm. His gaze raked her with disgust. "You have no brother, for one lies dead at the hands of this barbarian you cavort with. The other you have lost through your betrayal. Nay, you are no sister to me."

        Faith blanched. Then she clenched her fists at her side, drew herself to her full height, and looked Leland in the eyes. Hearing a gasp escape the young baron, Brendan wondered if it was the first time Leland had truly seen his sister's eyes.

        "You do not understand, Leland," Faith said. "There are things you do not know and that I—"

        "Keep your lies," Leland hissed. "I shall not listen."

        Leland spun about and left Faith staring after his unforgiving back. Her eyes brimmed and bright red oozed on her palms. It was all Brendan could do to keep himself from going after the youth and pounding some sense into his thick skull. That would only upset Faith more, so he restrained the urge.

        And damn, it aggravated him that her feelings mattered at all. He actually cared. If he wasn't careful, he could lose his heart. She was becoming a complication to his well-ordered life.

        "Lady Faith," King Henry said kindly, taking her hand in his. "Since you no longer have a brother, you may consider yourself my daughter."

        A fragile smile trembled on her lips then crumbled, and she bowed her head.

        King Henry spoke in hushed tones to a servant then returned to Faith. "Alvin will see you settled anon in new quarters in my west wing."

        Brendan was proud of her. She gathered her dignity and followed the servant without another word. Michael fell in behind the pair. Brendan signaled to Luthias to follow and report back to him.

        Luthias returned a short time later grinning ear to ear. After hearing his words, Brendan chuckled and raised a goblet in thanks to the English king who accepted the salute and drank from his own wine. King Henry had turned out to be one wily matchmaking rogue.

        Brendan would enjoy his dreams this night. Aye, his bride would rest her silken head in the chamber across from his.

Ten

        Immediate flight was imperative.

        Faith paced her room. King Henry had made it clear that he would never allow her to enter a convent. He would marry her to some man who would never consider her reasons for what she had done.

        She was basically an honest person, despite her disguise, and she refused to enter into a marriage without trust. Besides, she must become a nun. If she didn't serve her penance on earth, then she would be forced to spend her eternity in Hell. She had no choice.

        If she didn't hasten to Salisbury, Brendan might take it into his hard head to steal her so he could fulfill his promise to take her to Saint Bride. She would never survive the emotional strain of the journey.

        The sight of him set her insides aquiver. She wanted more than kissing from the man. Some notions had taken on perilous appeal—like waking with him, having his children, sharing his joys and pains, growing old beside him. She even wished Noreen was right, that Brendan would claim her as his wife.

        Faith chided herself. She had never been a dreamer, and it was dangerous to start now, especially when the dream was for something she could never have. She was bound by her past and must perform her penance.

        Leland had done her one favor. He had kept Noreen from her out of spite, so she needn't worry about interference. She longed to bid adieu to her faithful servant, but couldn't chance being discovered. Noreen would understand.

        Faith pulled the jar of flour and phial of flesh stain from her chest along with an extra kirtle and undershift. She rolled them into a bundle and grabbed her bow and quiver of arrows. With her stash tucked under her arm, she pressed open the door and peeked into the dim hall.

        Rats! She had forgotten Brendan's men. Michael stood sentry outside like a stubborn bear that wanted to claw someone's heart.

        She closed the door and plowed her fingers through her hair, tearing out half her braid. She needed a cunning plan. She might have to lie, so she must be doubly prepared. 'Twas too bad the man didn't sleep at night like a normal person.

        That was it! She needed him to sleep.

        Tossing her bundle to the floor, she returned to the chest and rummaged through the contents. Thank the Almighty, Noreen's herbals were inside. How could she get Michael to drink enough potion to make him slumber the night away?

        Faith glanced around the chamber then grinned. The wine. Hadn't she heard that no Scotsman could resist spirits?

        She walked over to a side table where a servant had placed a tray bearing a flask of wine earlier. After half-filling two goblets, she poured a dollop of Noreen's sleeping brew into one. She tugged at her lower lip with her teeth and frowned. Michael was such a big man. He would probably need more. She emptied the phial into his goblet.

        Carrying the tray, Faith crossed the chamber and opened the door to the corridor. A torch in a sconce on the opposite wall lent eeriness to the atmosphere as the light tapered to darkness in both directions. Apprehension tingled down her spine.