Highland Promise (32 page)

        Bidding his friends and men good night, he lifted Faith into his arms and carried her toward the keep. Clan Ranald saw that as a cause to shout bawdy cheers. She stirred against him.

        "Brendan, what is the ruckus for?" she asked in a drowsy voice without opening her eyes.

        "Us."

        "That's nice." She sighed and fell back asleep, completely trusting in his arms.

        He took her to their chamber and couched her on the bed. She didn't move as he stripped the clothes from her body. Moonlight kissed her flesh with a golden glow, and her hair fanned out on the bedding in raven ripples. She looked like a sleeping faerie princess. His lust flared at her beauty.

        Damn, he wanted her, but she was exhausted.

        Hell, he would wait.

        He wasn't holding her against him though. He would likely lose all control if he did. Brendan gritted his teeth as he doffed his plaid and slid into the bed beside his wife. It occurred to him that marriage might have prevented her from becoming a nun, but it was turning him into a damn monk.

~ * ~

        Her chattering teeth woke her. A chill racked through her body. Faith scooted over against Brendan. She adjusted her body to his, and a strong arm wrapped around her. Contentment flowed through her, and she purred.

        Husbands certainly had one good use when it came to warming a body. She liked lying with Brendan. His protective nature made her feel safe and almost cherished.

        She snuggled closer. His manly scent aroused more than a sense of safety. Those bird wings fluttered in her stomach again, and she was downright lustful. To top it off, he was asleep and couldn't do anything about it. She squirmed and rubbed her jaw against his fuzzy chest. He didn't take the hint. All he did was grunt and tighten his hold.

        Faith drummed her fingers on his chest. In her frustration, she remembered almost word for word all the things he had promised to do to her with honey. She groaned and rested her forehead against her palm. Now she ached with the force of her desire and wasn't sure what to do about it.

        Her curious nature sprang to life, too. She wondered if she would enjoy licking honey off of Brendan as much as he had sounded like he would enjoy licking it off of her.

        She eased away from him and found the honey crock on the side table. Scooping a finger-full from the crock, she smeared the sticky, thick liquid over his chin. Then she lapped it off and giggled as the stubble of unshaven whiskers tickled her tongue.

~ * ~

        Brendan eyes slitted open. His wife's face glowed in the soft moonlight like a faerie sprite who had found a delectable banquet and enjoyed it immensely. She dipped her finger into the honey, then settled the crock on his chest and smeared the goo on his lips. Then she leaned forward to lick up the treat.

        Reaching for the crock with one hand, Brendan slipped his other arm around Faith's neck and parted his lips. Her tongue delved into his mouth, and he sucked on her honeyed sweetness as he rolled her onto her back.

        He broke the kiss and a sultry chuckle glided through her lips. "I did not mean to wake you, but now I have you just where I want you."

        "Methinks I have you in just the right place, and you have been trying to wake me since you snuggled against me."

        "If you were awake, why did you not move?"

        "I thought you were too exhausted and needed more rest."

        She licked his chin. "Umm. I missed a spot. What think you now?"

        "I think you have brazenly enticed a Highlander, and he is ready for dessert." He poured honey in the valley between her breasts.

        She chuckled in her throat. "That tickles."

        "Not for long. Soon I'll have you feeling very hot." With one long, unhurried stroke, he licked the honey from her flesh.

        She held her finger to his lips. "My finger is covered with honey too."

        He sucked her finger into his mouth. Her pupils dilated to shimmering pools of desire. Then he poured a drop of honey on her neck and nibbled on her tender flesh. She purred and cocked her head to ease his access, then caught his head with her hands. Her fingers drove him wild as they massaged his scalp.

        He soon tired of the honey. His wife had a delicious sweetness all her own that he much preferred. She writhed under him. Her throaty moans and pleasured purrs fed his ardor as much as her magic fingers twined in his hair. Fires of desire sizzled though him. Suppressing his ardor, he vowed he would proceed slowly and take her gently this time. Aye, he would savor her like the succulent morsel she was.

~ * ~

        The man was making her daft. There wasn't a single place on her body left un-tasted. One notion fixed firmly in her mind. Brendan was feasting on her. Her entire body catapulted into a mass of throbbing fiery yearning. Fluid seeped within the flesh at the junction between her legs. Every touch left her craving more. She wanted to have him inside her, making her body burn with passion and pleasure as he had before.

        When his head moved between her legs and his tongue flicked over the center of her desire, she gripped the bedding and bucked against him, sure she would shatter at any moment.

        "Brendan!"

        He positioned himself above her, entering her feminine core the tiniest bit. She groaned and tried to thrust upward. He pinioned her hips to the bed and grinned at her impatience.

        "Slow down, Faith. Enjoy the moment." His husky burr sizzled all the way to her womb.

        "I need you in me now," she demanded between pants, thinking she would die if he didn't hurry up.

        "First taste your own honey." He captured her lips in a kiss of pure carnality, delving into the recesses of her mouth. The taste of her mixed with his spicy flavor drove her wild. She grabbed his head, gliding her fingers through his slick mane, demanding more.

~ * ~

        Brendan sank into her, relishing the feel of her slick sheath stretching around his engorged flesh. His wife didn't realize how fragile she was, and her throaty pleas and squirms stirred a savage passion within him. Sweat broke on his brow as he bridled his passion. Saint Andrew, he needed to move. He wanted to pull out and ram into her over and over, but he was going to be gentle this time, damn it.

        His delicate wife bucked beneath him with unexpected force and scored his shoulders. "Brendan, move!"

        Hell, he was lost. He surged into her over and over. She met his ardor full measure, giving as much as she received.

        They reached the pinnacle of their pleasure together in a rush of ecstasy that shook Brendan to his very core. Realization struck him a physical blow. He sucked in a deep breath, feeling as if a punch to his gut had driven all the air from his chest.

        He hovered over his wife, leaning on his elbows to relieve her of his weight. In the dim moonlight, he could make out her dreamy smile.

        Her eyes slowly opened, iridescent pools of welcome to his very soul. Heaven help him, he wanted to accept the invitation, give her his heart and soul for all eternity.

        She released a purr as a stretch undulated through her entire body beneath him. Then she caressed his jaw. "I love you, Brendan."

        He clenched his jaw and rolled off of her onto his back. Saint

Andrew, how had she done it? How had she cracked the stone around his heart—penetrated his soul?

        "You do not have to say anything," she said softly, making no move to join him. "You have told me your reasons for not loving me, but I still intend to be a good wife to you. I wish you could love me, but even if you never can, please do not cast my gift aside. I have never given my heart before, and loving you terrifies me as much as it fills me with joy."

        He slipped an arm around her and pulled her against him. She molded her body to his and clutched him as if her life depended on his acceptance.

        He wanted to comfort her and let her know that he cherished the gift of her heart. He couldn't speak though. Too many raw emotions battled within him, and he had enough of a struggle getting them under control. He thought he was prepared for anything. Could take on any challenge. Master his fate. He had been wrong, for there was one thing all his training as a Highland warrior couldn't help him guard against.

        Damn it all, he loved the lass.

Twenty One

        What a brilliant plan!

        Brendan slept, and Faith lay snuggled against his side, her mind at work. She would gain his love by becoming just the kind of woman he wanted. She would act docile and submissive—even if it killed her. She wouldn't question his orders, no matter how highhanded or ridiculous. And she would make him proud of her by conquering her greatest fear.

        Aye, when they arrived on Sutherland land, she intended to be riding her own horse.

        Early dawn's light trickled into the chamber. Faith set her plan into motion. She slipped from the bed and quietly donned her pale-blue kirtle over her ivory undergown. After pulling her hair back at the nape of her neck, she secured it in place with a matching blue ribbon. Then she grabbed her boots and plaid and silently left the room.

        She paused on the stairs to pull on her shoes. Her plaid presented the usual challenge. She finally slipped it around her shoulders like a shawl and carried the extra length over one arm. That was more practical to her way of thinking, considering the nip in the air.

        The hall was empty, so Faith slipped out the rear portal. She shivered from the chill of the Highland dawn, but marveled at the magical mist blanketing the ground. She couldn't help but peek about for faeries and nymphs as she headed toward the stables. With a light heart she laughed at her own fancy.

        "Good morn, milady," a lilting voice called. "You are about early."

        Faith spotted the housekeeper making her way to the keep. She carried a covered basket with one hand and a pail in the other.

        "Good morn to you, Moreen." Faith smiled. "I am on my way to the stables."

        "I have fresh milk and hot bread if you would like to break your fast first," Moreen offered.

        Faith's stomach rumbled, begging to be filled after so many years of enforced penitential fasts. If she wasn't careful, she'd grow larger than her padding. Sustenance might just help her gain courage. Though eating before mounting might not be wise. Her fear might make her toss up. "I would appreciate a cup of milk, but I shall wait to eat with my laird."

        She accompanied the housekeeper back to the keep, then followed her behind the buttery screen at the far end of the hall. Moreen dipped out a cup of milk still warm from the cow. Faith sat on a stool near the counter with her drink as Moreen prepared her work area for the day. The young housekeeper kept up a steady stream of chatter—mostly about how superb Alera was. Faith was heartened her sister had found such a wonderful home among people who loved her.

        After finishing her milk, Faith thanked Moreen and went to the stables. The gray mare stood inside a paddock. Her ears perked forward at Faith's approach.

        She halted a good three-arm lengths away and cleared her throat, giving the horse a wary glance. "Good morn. You and I must come to an understanding."

        The mare nickered and approached the rail.

        Faith held her ground and resisted the urge to flee. She accomplished that feat without digging her fingernails into her palms, and that gave her the courage to persevere. "I must ride you to make my husband proud of me. You must not bite me or kick me."

        The mare stuck her head over the rail and blew air through her nose. Faith jumped about a foot back. At a throaty chuckle behind her, she whirled around, cheeks flaming. A grizzly-haired hulking Ranald, whom Faith judged to be in his late forties, shook his head and his hazel eyes twinkled at her.

        "That wee lady is as gentle as the morn's mist," the man said in a gruff burr. "No need for you to be afeared of her."

        Faith pulled her plaid more securely about her shoulders, hoping the man wouldn't think her spineless. "The mare was a gift from my brother. I am Lady Sutherland."

        "I ken who you are. I am Auggie, the Ranald stable master. Your brother has a fine eye for horseflesh." He reached out and stroked the mare's nose, then cocked his head and peered at Faith. "Would you like to get to know her? I will go into the paddock with you if you like."

        Faith swallowed her pride. She wasn't likely to mount the horse on her own, and she did want to impress her husband after all. "I would be grateful. I wish to ride her, but I am having trouble finding courage."

        "Come then." Auggie opened the paddock gate and held it for Faith to enter. She huddled close to the rail as he closed the gate behind them.

        "Here we are wee lady," Auggie crooned and he held out a hand.

        The gray approached and nuzzled the stable master's hand. He rubbed her nose and petted her neck. "There now. You are a gentle lady." He motioned Faith over with a jerk of his head. "Come, milady. Talk to her and stroke her face. You will find her docile enough."

        Faith trudged over to the pair as if she were grouped with the worst sinners bound for perdition on Judgment Day. She held out her hand, but couldn't quite bring herself to touch the beast. Auggie took her wrist and moved her hand to the mare's softly furred face. The gray snorted her enjoyment of the attention.

        Faith smiled and rubbed the mare between her big, brown eyes. "She is a sweet horse."

        "Has she a name?" Auggie asked.

        Faith couldn't remember her brother ever calling the horse a name. She reflected on Auggie's earlier description and decided to name the horse herself. "Misty."

        "'Tis a fitting name for her." He grinned, and Faith could tell he knew she had picked the name from his words and was pleased.