Highland Promise (38 page)

        Brendan and his men burst into laughter.

        "I guess the lass should thank the Almighty she wasn't born with them," Luthias said from behind Brendan.

        "Would you stop laughing," Faith demanded. They laughed harder. "She tried to talk me into wedding a Highlander rather than going to a convent. She was obviously wrong about the main benefit of a Highland husband though, because I've yet to experience it."

        Brendan finally stopped laughing and smiled his dazzling smile at her. "What does your sister say is the main benefit?"

        Faith settled her hands on her hips. "His absence."

        "Then you are about to be blessed," he said dryly.

        Faith grabbed the side of his plaid. "Do not dare leave until we are through."

        An exaggerated sigh blew from his lips. "Did you wish something else?"

        She was going to have to remind him. Flipping her hair behind her shoulder in a casual gesture, she shrugged. "I just did my duty by bidding you farewell, and I am waiting for you to do yours."

        "What are you talking about? I left you well protected." He looked so irritated that she almost imagined smoke blowing from his ears.

        He had never been married before, so mayhap he didn't know his duty. She would have to instruct him. He instructed her often enough after all. "'Tis your duty to kiss me before you depart."

        An arrogant brow shot up. "Is it now?"

        "Aye." She cleared her throat and tried to sound nonchalant. "Had you done this duty before you left our chamber, we would surely have enjoyed it more, but since your clansmen are about, you may kiss me right here." She stood on her toes and tapped her cheek.

        He grasped her waist and lifted her onto his lap. "I prefer to kiss you right here."

        His lips claimed hers in a kiss that scorched her down to her toes. His tongue dove into her mouth to fondle hers. She completely forgot their audience and clung to him as he all but devoured her. His heat and scent fed her hunger, and she kissed him back with enthusiastic zeal. She decided then and there that Heaven on Earth was surely being wrapped in his strong arms.

        After what seemed like a wondrous hour, though it could only have been moments, he released her and kissed her forehead. She leaned against him and purred. His heart slammed inside his chest beneath her ear, and she was glad to know he was affected by their kiss too.

        "Are you satisfied, so I may depart?" His hands moved over her back in caressing strokes, and his lips brushed over her hair.

        "I do not think I will ever get enough of you to satisfy me." She didn't realize she had spoken those wanton words aloud until she heard a rumble under her ear. Leaning back she cast him a rueful gaze. "I should be careful not to make you more arrogant, but despite what Alera and Marcail say, I am sure you are the best kisser, and I love you."

        Her boast of his capabilities obviously pleased him. He kissed her hard on her mouth one more time before he set her back on the ground. As soon as she left his body heat, she shivered from the nippy Highland morn. She reached for her plaid to snuggle deeper into the folds, but discovered the garment pooled around her feet.

        "Damn," she muttered, reaching for the blanket. As she stood upright, she realized what she had said, placed a hand over her mouth, and looked up at Brendan. She had so wanted him to be pleased and not angry with her when he left. What man wanted to come home to a vile-mouthed woman who constantly pricked his temper after all?

        The grin he flashed her caused her breath to catch and made him even more handsome to her way of thinking. "Go fix your pleats, sweet. I have no intentions of being away from you too long."

        Her heart sang, and she felt surrounded by sunshine despite the gray dreary morn. He hadn't said he would be away from the clan too long. He had specifically said he wouldn't stay away from her. And he didn't want to lose her either. He had told her that all night long while he stoked her passion over and over. Aye, her husband truly did care for her.

        After Brendan left, Heather dashed off to play with some of the other children. Faith found Gemma and secured her help in righting her plaid. She still thought this manner of wrapping the garment would be simpler if she stitched in a few pleats, and she had every intention of doing just that before she retired for the night.

        But first things first, she wanted to explore her new home. Accompanied by Michael, Dog, and the housekeeper, Faith visited the kitchens where she met Annis, the cook. She was a rotund woman with squinty eyes who had lost her husband four years past. Her manner was that of a military commander, and she ran her kitchen without waste. She had a four-year-old, brown-headed daughter named Sabina who shyly peeked through light green eyes at Faith from behind her mother's back.

        With Michael acting as translator, Faith learned Gemma and Annis were both efficient workers who would require little guidance from her in the oversight of their respective domains, lifting yet another burden from her shoulders.

        Her morning was spent in exploration. She discovered a solar blanketed in dust. Michael explained that no one had used the room since the laird's mother had passed shortly after Heather's birth. In the solar, Faith found a treasure that made her heart leap—a loom in working order. She loved to weave tapestries and cloth. She remembered many peaceful days at Noreen's side, separating the threads to help with the designs. The beginning of a length of Sutherland plaid was threaded in the large upright contraption. Faith decided to learn how to weave the intricate pattern herself. Michael informed her that the clan would be delighted if she did, because no one in the clan had taken on the task and cloth was becoming scarce.

        They descended to the hall, which Faith had saved for last. Pallets lined the one wall for the young men sent to her husband for training in the art of warfare. All the walls held every kind of weapon from swords and maces to spears and axes. The buttery at the far end held a good store of ale, mead, and whisky and also boasted of a large work counter for food brought from the kitchen to be prepared for serving. Trestle tables and benches stood stacked along one wall and could be easily placed about for large meals. Faith was glad to see the large modern hearth. She would welcome its warmth as the chilly Highland fall gave way to winter.

        As she and Michael passed the high table, her gaze fell upon a feared object from her past. Her limbs chilled and her belly knotted.

        "Are you all right, milady?" Michael asked urgently. "Your flesh has lost all color."

        "He followed us," she whispered. "'Tis where Brendan went...to find him."

        "To find who?"

        "Edrik." She fisted her hands. At the first sting of her palms, she released her grips and jerked her fingers through her hair. "That is his ferula. The crack by the fifth braid is from the time he beat his mount and the poor creature bit down on it. He killed the horse for that act."

        "There is a hunt for the owner of that ferula," Michael said evenly. "The laird suspects Edrik, but was not certain."

        She rubbed her temple in agitation. "Why did Brendan not tell me so I would know to be on my guard?"

        Michael crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "He did not want you to fash, and he left you well guarded. Do you doubt your laird's ability to protect you?"

        "Nay, and I trust your abilities too, but I still should be cautious." Michael grunted, and Faith knew the warrior was insulted by her worry. She wasn't going to stop though. She decided to change the subject and had him ask Gemma to bring their nooning meal.

        Her belly twisted with dread. She could barely hold down the few bites she managed to swallow. She offered a prayer that all might be well and began planning the words she would put to her husband. He needed to learn that he could better protect her if he gave her the knowledge to protect herself.

~ * ~

        There had to be a cure for the affliction that beset him. Brendan was obsessed with his wife. Since he had left her the previous morning, she was rarely off his mind. Time away hadn't diminished his desire one bit. He could feel her fingers stroking his head, and her taste lingered on his palate. Her iridescent eyes teased his waking moments, and at night he would wake with desire for her burning his loins. The need to return home to her consumed him.

        He urged his mount over a fallen tree on the overgrown forest trail. A smile played about his lips as he remembered her farewell. She had wanted to please him and she did. He might even restrain his tongue and quit cursing around her in the future.

        The idea of her loving him settled right in his heart. He conceded he loved her too, but he didn't feel the need to tell her. What warrior wanted to boast of his weaknesses?

        At the sound of approaching horses, Brendan reined in his mount and held up a fist, signaling his men to halt. They were on the outskirts of MacInnes land, and he was sure the old laird knew they were coming.

        Roland halted beside him. "I think he is expecting us."

        "Aye," Tormey agreed, stopping on Brendan's other side. He shook his head and sighed. "'Tis a shame."

        "I know," Brendan replied. "'Tis the end of a perfectly enjoyable feud."

        "Does it have to end?" Douglas asked from behind them where he remained with Cleit. "I did give The MacInnes back his cows."

        Before Brendan could answer that his sister was worth more than any damn cow, The MacInnes and eight of his warriors broke through the trees. The old laird jerked his mount to a halt, his features a mask of surprise as he beheld Brendan. The man appeared distracted and haggard. "Sutherland, have you seen my daughter? My Catriona?"

        "Nay." Brendan frowned. It wasn't like The MacInnes to be caught so unawares or preoccupied. "I was on my way to speak with you about my sister."

        "Is the lass missing too?" The old laird glanced about again.

        "Heather is safe and well at Mathandruim due to your intervention. But tell me of Catriona. We will join your search." Brendan knew his offer sealed their truce.

        Raking his fingers through his long silver mane, The MacInnes nodded in acknowledgement of the pact. "She is a spirited lass of fourteen summers with hair that flames like fire and eyes that burn like fiery emeralds. She tends toward mischief and went missing yester eve. I worry she has fallen to harm."

        Brendan instructed his men to fan out and look for the lass. The search continued for two days. Late in the afternoon of his third day away from Faith, an anguished cry shook the limbs of the mountain trees. All the warriors converged on the heart-wrenching sound.

        The MacInnes had found his daughter. Her naked body had been ill used and left in a hillside cave to rot. A dagger with a hilt of English design pierced her chest. The old laird proved inconsolable and openly wept. Brendan ignored such a show of weakness. He had no daughters yet, but he damn well didn't want the ones he planned to have to undergo such brutality, and he couldn't say how he would react if one did, though he vowed he wouldn't cry like a bairn. He searched for clues while Cleit removed the plaid from The MacInnes's mount and gently lifted the young girl's body onto the makeshift shroud.

        "Did you notice the bite marks, laird?" Roland whispered to Brendan. "She appears to have received the same torture as the others."

        The MacInnes overheard the remark and demanded, "What others?"

        "A woman in England and a Ranald woman have both been killed in a similar manner." Brendan filled in The MacInnes on what he knew of the savage plaguing the hills.

        "We should go see The Ranald to learn what he has discovered," Douglas suggested.

        "Aye," Tormey agreed, anger burning in his gaze. "Mayhap he has found the English bastard who did this."

        "It was not the Englishman we thought," Roland declared.

        "I agree," Brendan said, not surprised his first commander had figured out the ruse.

        "But the dagger and ferula—what do you make of them?" Douglas asked.

        "Distractions to confuse us," Cleit suggested.

        "Aye," Brendan affirmed. "Remember my dagger was used the same way in England. I suspect Roland is right. The dagger and ferula were also stolen, and Edrik is not the killer."

        "Then the fiend has followed us from England," Roland said.

        "I believe that is the case." Brendan gazed about the dying forest and felt the hairs rise at his nape. Aye, evil had descended on the Highlands. "I want the bastard found before he kills again."

~ * ~

        Faith's days fell into a routine. Each morning began with her ordering Dog off the bed. She tried barring him from the chamber, but he would whimper and gaze at her through sad doggy eyes until she relented. The wolfhound lent her a sense of security. Edrik wouldn't possible try to harm her with Dog nearby.

        After settling the beast atop the sheepskin rug by the bed, she would slip beneath the pelts for a lonely night and shiver herself to sleep. The wolfhound always joined her. She never scolded him for invading the bed. Truthfully, she was thankful for his warmth.

        After dressing each morning in her perfectly pre-pleated plaid, she would settle in a chair by the hearth and comb Dog's furry coat. Though skeptical of the ritual, Dog sat through the ministrations. By the fourth day, he grabbed the comb from the chest top and brought it to her.

        Leaving her chamber, she would greet Jamie, Luthias, or Michael, whichever warrior had taken on the duty of following her around for the day. Anything she wished to say to anyone, she would whisper to her companion who would translate the words into Gaelic. She would then repeat the words and was proud that she remembered many of the phrases, though her accent caused many clansmen to grimace.