Highland Promise (18 page)

        "Am I?" Her voice quivered, but she couldn't force aside the impact of her vulnerability.

        "Aye. Pray forgive my rage. I should never have disowned you. I should have trusted you." Leland took her into a brotherly embrace. "Believe me when I say I shall miss you. Hawkhurst will not be the same without your managing ways."

        She blinked back tears of happiness that mingled with tears of sorrow and caressed back a lock of sable hair that had fallen over his forehead. "I shall miss you, Leland. I hope your life will be filled with joy."

        He kissed her cheek. "I wish the same for you."

        "What a touching scene," Brendan said from the doorway, his tone as icy as a mid-winter freeze.

        Faith and Leland pulled apart and faced him.

        Her cheeks scorched. Faith wondered how Brendan managed to make her feel guilty and what exactly she felt guilty over. "My brother came to bid me farewell."

        "And to give you a warning," Leland added with a heavy frown. "Edrik is missing. He desires revenge, Laird Sutherland, for the humiliation you caused him. I have men out searching, but suspect he has already made good his escape. Take care. He will go after Faith to get even with you."

        A tremor gripped Faith. She sought strength from Brendan's gaze. "He said he would hunt me down and kill me to keep me from you."

        "Your sister will be protected, Hawkhurst," Brendan stated curtly. "Come, wife."

        "One moment more," Leland requested. "I have gifts for my sister."

        "'Tis not necessary, Leland," Faith said. She wanted to separate the men. Leland wanted peace between them, but Brendan wasn't ready to release his animosity.

        "One is from King Henry and is in the wooden box beside your bundle on the bed." Leland flashed her the lopsided grin she always loved. "I believe it is his favorite chess set, and he will be insulted if you do not accept it."

        Faith was stunned. The king truly valued that chess set, and she felt humbled that he would give her something of such value.

        "She will accept it," Brendan replied. "What is this other gift you mentioned?"

        Leland turned a worried gaze on Faith and shifted his stance. "A fine dapple-gray palfrey. 'Tis in the courtyard. She has enough spirit and stamina to make the journey into the Highlands, yet she is gentle enough—"

        "Nay," Faith exclaimed, shaking her head. "I cannot—"

        "She appreciates your gift, Hawkhurst, and is pleased to accept it. Faith, complete your farewells and come to my chamber."

        She watched Brendan stride out the door, wishing she held her bow so she could send a flaming arrow through his high-handed hide.

        Leland cleared his throat. "You should tend to your hands before they fester."

        "I shall." She clasped his hands as he held them out to her. "Farewell, Leland. I shall keep you in my prayers always."

        He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "Always remember, Faith, no matter the distance that separates us, you will always be my sister."

        After kissing her cheek, he departed.

        Loneliness settled on Faith like a gray, dreary day. She would never see Hawkhurst again. She had known this would happen when she left for the convent, but that had been only a plan. The difference between knowing it in her head and knowing it in her heart were two different things.

        She glanced down. Bloodstains on the ivory linen caught her notice. She looked at her palms and winced. She hadn't cut them up this badly since she was twelve and Father Abernathy had flogged her.

        Turning toward the bed, she stared for a moment at the wooden box beside the bundle and remembered the other gift. "Sweet Jesu, help me. Leland has given me a horse, and that overbearing lout who is my husband accepted the cursed creature."

        Somehow, she doubted Brendan would agree to hike all the way to the Highlands.

        That was that. She would have to offer up a special penance to the Almighty for courage and endurance to survive this trip. A once-a-day bread fast would be just the thing. Mayhap she should try to control her temper too, though the man had a knack for provoking her ire unlike anyone else she had ever met. Aye, his domineering orders made her... Oh lord, the man had the right to order her.

        Faith gritted her teeth. Through sheer determination, she kept her fingers from curling into her abused palms.

~ * ~

        He was obsessed. Aye, and by a slip of a woman who hid her face and form beneath a damn disguise.

        With hands clasped behind his back, Brendan paced his chamber and tried to understand what the hell had just happened. He had wanted to kill. The fury seized him at the sight of his bride in her brother's embrace— innocent as it had been. He should have been satisfied with her joy over the reunion, but nay.

        What was wrong with him? He couldn't be jealous. Such a flaw was beneath him. He was a Highland chieftain. A warrior. A leader of strength and ingenuity. Controlling his emotions was second nature. As for Faith, she was only a woman. Her duty was to serve him and provide him heirs.

        Yet the sight of Faith's bloody hands, torn by fear, caused his gut to clench. Her scent or the sound of her sultry voice excited his loins. The thought of losing her, be it to another man or death, made him feel as if his heart had been ripped from his chest.

        He shouldn't possess such feelings for any woman. It was appropriate for a man to like his wife, but caring too much could make him lose his edge. Hell, he already had enough headaches from worries over his sister. He wouldn't allow Faith to beset his mind as well.

        He would keep the lass at a distance. Aye, he would instruct her as to her place, and she would damn well stay there. She had a defiant streak and would test him to be sure. 'Twas one of the things about her that pleased him. Of course, it exasperated him too. He would tame her soon enough, and without breaking her spirit.

        At a faint rap on the door, he ceased his pacing. "Enter."

        The portal creaked open. Faith inched into the room and closed the door. Her guarded gaze darted about the chamber then landed on him. She pressed her back to the portal. She had changed into a tan kirtle with an ivory undergown that peeked out at the end of her cuffs and at the edges of a scalloped neckline. Her arms clutched her belongings to her chest like a protective shield.

        She bowed her head and cleared her throat. "I am ready to depart, milord."

        More like she was ready to flee his presence. "Faith, come here."

        "I would rather not if you do not mind," she replied without glancing up.

        "Ah, but I do mind," he said firmly. "When I give my wife an order, I expect her to obey me."

        Her jaw clenched. He could practically hear her teeth gnashing, but she crossed the chamber and stood before him. "You do not have to keep me," she said softly. "You can still take me to the convent like you promised."

        He nudged up her chin and took in her stormy eyes. She was angry, but trying to hide it. 'Twas as well. A wife should keep her ire to herself and not pester her husband with it. "I never promised to take you to a convent. I promised to take you home with me, and that is what I intend to do."

        She compressed her lips and looked away. He knew she wanted to retort, but was fighting the urge.

        He grasped the items in her arms, and she tightened her hold. "Let go of your armor, Faith."

        She gulped, then cleared her throat. "I am ready to leave."

        "You will be ready to leave when your husband says you are. Now give me your bundles, sit at the table, and eat."

        She reluctantly relinquished her things. Brendan placed them on his bed and turned back to find her rigidly seated at the small table near the window, picking at the crust on a loaf of dark-brown bread.

        He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the foot of the bed. "Faith, is there anything you wish to tell me now that we are wed?"

        She shook her head and put a small piece of bread in her mouth.

        "Are you sure?" he asked.

        A long, pent-up sigh escaped her. "I would like to walk on our journey...please."

        "Do you honestly expect me to agree to walk all the way to the Highlands?"

        She shrugged. "I had to try."

        He went to her side and tipped up her chin. Her eyes were cloudy blue, and the pulse in her neck throbbed wildly. Damn, but her fears insulted him. She shouldn't be afraid of anything. 'Twas his duty to protect her. "Faith, why do you have such a great fear of horses?"

        "They do not like me." She pulled her chin back and returned to her meal.

        "What makes you think this?"

        "I have scars from bites and kicks." Her hands shook as she placed her chunk of bread on the platter. Then she clasped her tremulous hands in her lap. "Rawlins trapped me in a stall when I was young, and a horse tried to kill me."

        "How young?"

        "Five summers. My father tried to teach me to ride a few years later. The horse kept biting me then finally tossed me off her back. My father wanted me to try again, but I hid until he got over the notion." She raised a defiant gaze, though her voice quivered. "I am trying to get along with you for the time we are together. But if you try to make me learn to ride, I shall hide from you too. The Almighty gave me two good legs. They carry me everywhere I need to go."

        "My wife may not challenge me," he informed her in an adamant tone.

        She sighed as if all the mortal strength was draining from her body. "I did not mean to challenge you. I sought only to explain."

        "How did you journey from Hawkhurst to London in such a short time?"

        "In a cart. I was able to stay well away from hooves and horse teeth." She lifted a pleading visage. "Have you a cart for our journey?"

        Brendan rubbed the back of his neck. This conversation was pointless. She would lose her fears only though exposure. Damn, this journey promised all the pleasure of a toothache. "Do you wish to tell me anything else?"

        She shook her head, then turned her attention back to her crust of bread and nibbled.

        If it weren't for the fact that she would have enough problems seating a horse without additional soreness, he would bed her now and be done with her deception. He watched her lay down her bread, take a sip of wine, and dab at her mouth with a linen square.

        "I am finished." She pushed back from the table. "Did you wish to eat?"

        He placed a hand on her shoulder, forcing her to remain seated. "You have not eaten much, and 'twill be eventide before we stop to eat again."

        "I am not very hungry."

        He peered at her. She had no cause to lie, yet for some reason he couldn't identify, he didn't believe her words. "You claimed the need to break your fast and wanted a feast as I recall."

        "Well, ah...'tis best if I do not eat much before I go near a horse, else my fear may make me toss up."

        Her excuse was plausible, but he had no doubt she had been searching for a lie when she came up with it. "Give me your hands."

        She held out her hands, and he gently clasped her wrists, studying her palms. Blood oozed from fresh gouges in her work-worn flesh.

        "You should keep your fingernails trimmed, so you cannot hurt yourself."

        "My skin will heal. This does not happen often—only when I am agitated, which I usually am not. Circumstances of late have been unusual and...upsetting."

        Brendan tended her hands and wrapped them in clean linen bandages. Then he slipped fingerless, soft-leather gauntlets on her hands and tied them in place at her wrists, pleased that they fit as well as he had hoped. The tanner had thought him daft when he had explained what he wanted for a woman's hands. "You will wear these until circumstances are less upsetting to you."

        "My thanks for your kindness." Her tone held a wondrous quality as she stared at the contraptions shielding her palms from further harm.

        "'Twas not kindness," he replied gruffly, trying to ignore the pleasure her guileless appreciation gave him. "'Tis my duty to protect you, and that includes your hands. Let us get our things and depart."

        She softly held her hand on his arm. "Have I done something to displease you?"

        Her fingertips shot fire through his tunic and sizzled up his arm. "Nay," he snapped, irritated by his reaction to such a simple touch.

        Her brow furrowed. "Then why are you so surly? I am trying to get along, but you—"

        "I wish to depart." He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. She was trying to get along and didn't deserve his surly mood. "We have a far distance to cover before the sun sets."

        "Brendan." She cleared her throat and clasped her hands tightly before her. "You never answered my question."

        He knew exactly what she meant. "There is no cart."

        She exhaled a shaky breath.

        "My wife is not afraid of horses," he ordered. "The Sutherland motto is without fear and you will live it."

        Her head snapped up, and anger glittered in her gaze. "Do you have another wife then? Because this one is more terrified of the beasts than anything in the world whether your motto likes it or not."

        "You are not permitted to speak to me in that tone, nor will you contradict me. Do you consider me a man of honor able to protect his own?"

        "Aye, but—"

        "Do you believe I would allow any harm to befall my bride?"

        "Nay." She opened her hands in appeal. "But I truly do not know how to ride and—"

        "I will teach you later. For now you will ride with me." He took hold of her hands and felt her tremble. "You have said you trust me. Now prove it by walking out of here and calmly mounting my horse, so we may depart with some dignity." He raised a brow, deciding she might need goading. "Or would you prefer I tossed you over my shoulder and carried you?"