Highland Promise (21 page)

        "Do you have any other orders for me, husband?" she ground out.

        "Aye." He raked a disgusted gaze over her. "Your stench is an annoyance. If you do not wash it away by this evening, I will strip you down and bathe you myself."

~ * ~

        One more bite and her belly would burst.

        After Brendan led her back to his men, they fed her with partridge, pears, and nuts. They filled her so full, she was sure she would toss up the minute Brendan put her back on his horse. Her food stayed down as they continued the journey, but her belly churned and rumbled until she thought she might feel better if everything came out.

        They rode through an opening over a mound of earth topped with old broken down piles of stone. The warriors let out whoops and cheers. Brendan explained they had just passed through Hadrian's Wall and entered Scotland.

        She was in a contrary mood and told him England wasn't past yet, because she was English and proud of it. If he wanted England in his past, then he had best make haste for Saint Bride and drop her off. He increased his mount's pace, and she spent the next few hours clutching her belly and gritting her teeth.

        Late in the afternoon, Brendan's men all disappeared to hunt. They returned with the most incriminating fare Faith had ever seen. She didn't know what kind of hunting they thought they did, but she doubted a sheep could conveniently make itself into a pie after being slaughtered, or wheat would obligingly grind itself into flour and bake itself into bread. She mentioned to Brendan that she feared his men had stolen the fare. He found that bit of insight humorous and refused to reprimand his men.

        They camped near a lake, which Brendan insisted she call a loch. Michael roasted several hares he and Luthias had killed. She was glad to see that two of the men appeared to have some scruples. Brendan spread a plaid on the ground and ordered her to sit and eat. His men placed enough fare before her to provide a three-day feast for everyone at Hawkhurst from lord to serf. After devouring most of the food, the men gathered about to watch her eat.

        After tossing aside a stripped rabbit leg, Faith closed her eyes and leaned against Brendan who sat behind her. She placed her hands over her stomach and groaned.

        "You have not finished," Brendan said.

        "Aye," Jamie concurred. "She has not even touched her cheese."

        "Or her pears," Luthias said.

        "I shall die if I eat another bite." She draped her forearm across her brow.

        "You need more," Brendan insisted.

        "I do not," she grumbled.

        "My wife may not disagree with me."

        Her eyes opened to slits. His cheek jumped. She was too miserable to care if he was angry. "She may disagree if you are behaving like an obstinate mule."

        His jaw tightened, and his neck corded.

        Ignoring her husband's growing ire, she pushed on. "In fact, there are about ten more things I wanted to pique you over, beginning with our sleeping arrangements, grueling pace, and lack of rest."

        "She didn't mean it," Michael said, rushing to her defense.

        "Aye, the lady is overwrought," Luthias agreed.

        "I did too mean it, for heaven's sake." she scoffed. "'Tis the first day I have eaten in a week, and my stomach will hold no more. Besides, Brendan would never hurt me, so I do not need your defense."

        "Your thinking is faulty, wife," he gritted out. "There are ways to punish you without harming your body. And so you will know, if I decide I want a martyr for a wife, I will get a hammer and nails and crucify you myself."

          "Is it your fondest desire to see my belly split open?" she demanded.

        His cheek pulsated wildly, and she could feel the tension in his body. He was infuriated with her, but she didn't care. The scoundrel had made her life a living hell, and it was time for a little retribution. "Do you wish to bathe now or wait until we have finished?"

        Ready to continue fighting him, his question nonplussed her. She wished he hadn't given up so easily. Of course, he was plaguing her about a bath. She sighed. "I shall bathe when you have finished. Right now I need to talk to the Almighty and offer up my belly pain as penance."

        Brendan rolled his eyes. "And what do you wish in exchange for this suffering?"

        "Less time in Purgatory," she muttered. "'Tis the truth, I may not be in Hell, but living with you is as bad as Purgatory. I must have been a terrible child."

        Her goading made him smile. "Cheer up, Faith. It can get worse." She glared her displeasure as he pushed her to a sitting position and rose.

        "Do not leave the camp," he ordered. "We shall return shortly." He turned and headed toward the lake with his men.

         "Do not hurry for my benefit," she called after his retreating back.

        Faith stretched out on the plaid and closed her eyes. She hadn't intended to nap, but she must have dozed.

She awoke to a nightmare.

Her horrible dream was filled with near-naked giants.

        Only one of them held her spellbound though. She couldn't help but gawk. A strange inner excitement sizzled through her, and her womb dipped.

        Brendan stood in front of her with his hands on his hips. The setting sun framed him with a fiery glow. He looked like one of the pagan gods Father Abernathy had warned her about, the gods who had brought about the downfall of the Roman Empire.

        He wore a cloth that covered him from his waist to just above his knees, and a wide strip of plaid draped carelessly over his chest and one shoulder, but it didn't cover him enough. Aye, the garment looked much like the decadent Roman togas her sister's warriors wore. Brendan displayed too much flesh for her peace of mind.

        Brawn bulges rippled everywhere. She couldn't breathe. Her mouth went dry. Heat swirled in her belly and spread to her loins. She was overcome with the desire to touch every muscle on his body to see if he was truly as hard as he appeared.

        Appealing blond hairs covered his chest and tapered off somewhere below the waistband of his immodest garment. Faith fisted her hands to keep from reaching out to trail her fingers through the curls.

        Her heart slammed inside her throat, and she swallowed hard. The urge to throw herself into his arms obsessed her. She longed to press against his length, to run her fingers through his long, blond hair, to inhale his male scent. She wanted to kiss him and taste his spicy flavor on her tongue. Her flesh tingled with yearning for him to do the same things to her. Michael's words ran through her mind. She decided a woman would need a lot of barley to have the stamina to keep up with Brendan.

        The things she wanted to do were lustful.

        Sinful!

        O Lord, she had to master these impure thoughts and feelings. Faith sucked in a breath and glanced away, trying to appear tranquil. It was a difficult task. He was so male, so bracing, so handsome. He could well cause her downfall.

        Aye, Brendan Sutherland could entice her all the way to Hell. And worse, at this moment she didn't mind going as long as she was with him.

Fourteen

        The lass blanched whiter than a new snowfall and leapt to her feet.

        Faith's gaze swept Brendan in a caress of curiosity that stroked his lust. She had no notion of how to control her emotions or how much her blatant desire affected him. As her perusal progressed, her eyes grew huge. Then she blushed and yanked her gaze away, refusing to look at him at all.

        He would have to be patient with her. She was English after all. Brendan crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to calm down.

        She cleared her throat and stared at his boots while twisting the folds of her kirtle. "Did you and your men forget part of your garments?"

        "This is what we wear every day." Her hands twisting her gown exposed slim ankles for his pleasure.

        "You shouldn't." She shook her head.

        He suppressed a grin. "Would you prefer we strip them off?"

        "Nay!" she bellowed. Then she took a deep breath and placed a hand to her chest. "I mean, you should not show so much of your...flesh." She choked out the last word.

        "Why not?" he asked, enjoying her discomfiture. Mayhap he could use this conversation to goad the lass out of her disguise.

        "'Tis not proper," she told the dirt at his feet.

        "Why is it not proper?"

        "You may entice someone," she hissed so quietly he had to strain to hear.

        Brendan kept his gaze focused on her bowed head. "Roland, am I enticing you?"

        "Nay, laird." The commander chuckled. "You have damned ugly legs in my opinion."

        "He does not!" Faith snapped, shooting Roland a scowl. At the sight of his bare flesh, she gasped and averted her gaze back to Brendan's boots.

        "You like our laird's legs then?" Michael asked with a mischievous grin.

        "I did not mean that." Faith released her gown and fisted her hands. Brendan was glad she wore her leather palm shields. She was agitated enough to tear her palms open again.

        "So do you think our laird has ugly legs?" Jamie asked, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

        "You are all trying my patience," she warned. "Go put some clothes on."

        "Nay." Brendan finally grinned. He hadn't had this much fun since he left his mountain on this journey. Faith was a joy to watch when she was flustered.

        "You must!" She hit her thigh with her fist.

        "Talk to me and not to my boots," he ordered.

        With her eyes closed, Faith tilted her head back. He was sure she had a good view of the dusky sky when she opened them. She lowered her gaze until she looked directly into his eyes.

        "This is how we dress every day. You will have to get used to it."

        "Can you wait until you leave me at the convent to wear it?" she implored, once again wringing her kirtle. "I do not believe the abbess will appreciate your...body parts."

        He might kill her if she mentioned that damn convent one more time. "Why not?"

        "They are," she gulped, "enticing."

        He cocked a smug brow. "Only to you."

        He heard her breath hitch as realization masked her features. Then fury rode across her brow. "You are doing it on purpose."

        She could be damned obtuse at times. "What am I doing?"

        Faith glowered. "Enticing me. Would you pay attention?"

        He really shouldn't let her get away with using that tone. He would have to instruct her later when his men weren't around. "'Tis good to know that I can."

        "Can what?" Her gaze fell to his chest. Her eyes took on an iridescent sparkle, and the pulse bounded in the hollow of her throat.

        "I can entice you. You should pay attention, wife."

        Her appalled gaze met his. "You are not going to change, are you?"

        He shook his head.

        Horror dawned on her face. "You are not taking me to the convent, are you? You truly intend to keep me."

        It took her long enough to figure that out. "I am glad to learn your mind works—even if it is slow. Do you need to sit down? You are a wee bit pale."

        "Nay!" She shook her head and took a step back. "I need to lie down. My bed should be a pine box from this shock you have given me. Do you truly mean to keep me even if it means you commit my soul to perdition?"

        "Do you think perdition will be worse than this Purgatory you claim to suffer now?" He stepped toward her.

        She placed her fists on her hips in a challenging pose. "I may just decide to entice you and see how you like it. What think you of that?"

        "I doubt if you could." He raked his gaze over her bedraggled form. "You are fat and dirty." He cocked a mocking brow and added, "And you stink."

        Her nostrils flared, and fury stormed her eyes until they turned turbulent sea green. "Give me my bundle."

        "My wife may not order me. She may make requests." He gave the dictate with a smile just to taunt her further.

        "Do you wish me to bathe or not?" Rage fairly crackled about her.

        Brendan decided to give in before she lost the rest of her composure and tried to unman him. He grabbed her bundle from the gray mare and stepped over to her. Grasping her jaw, he studied her filthy face. She had the most adorable smudge on her nose. "Scrub hard. If you have any dirt left, I shall scrub you again. And change your gown. That one reeks."

        "Humph." She snatched her bundle from him. "I am going to change all right. When I come back, we shall just see who entices whom." Stashing her bundle under her arm, she stomped toward the loch. "I mean it too. I am truly going to change."

        "You will wear my plaid now that we are in Scotland," he ordered. And he couldn't wait to see what his colors did to her eyes.

        She gasped and spun around. "You must be daft!"

        Damn her insolence. Brendan placed his fists on his hips. "Faith, you are my wife, and I am keeping you. You are never to insult me. You will wear my plaid, or I will burn every English garment you own, and you will go naked."

        Her eyes narrowed to slits. "You just keep one thing in mind, Brendan Sutherland. If I am going to perdition, I am taking you with me."

        "Since meeting you, lass, I thought I was already there." He lifted one side of his mouth in a mock smile. "Or did you forget you are English?"

        She opened her mouth to retort then snapped it shut. With a haughty lift of her chin, she presented her back to him and stalked to the lake.

        Brendan noticed a bit of swish to her angry gait and grinned in appreciation...and anticipation. So she was going to change, was she?

        'Twas about damn time.