The Highlander's Outlaw Bride (7 page)

“I dinnae suppose ye would give it another go? I usually have more care for a lass than that.”

Brianna shook her head, eyes narrowed as she noticed his aroused interest. “I dinnae want anything else from ye. I am leaving ye now.”

He shrugged, ignoring her pique, letting his eyes roam casually over every naked inch of her. Scowling, she backed away, stooping to her discarded clothing. She quickly dragged on the shirt and breeches, eyes boring into his, daring him to move. With a last look of warning, she turned and ran to the edge of the burn, tossing his sword to the side where it landed in the dark water.

* * *

Conn bounded to his feet the instant she turned, but checked when he heard the splash of his sword hitting the water, and his hesitation cost him the chase.

“
Shite
!” Frustrated, he watched her vanish into the darkness, the shimmer of her long silvery hair flickering one last time before she melted into the moonlight and shadows among the trees.

He spent several anxious moments searching for his sword amid the weeds and mud, careful not to step on the finely honed blade. Irritated with the loss of the lass and possibly his sword as well, he ripped a limb from a nearby sapling and used it to prod the marshy ground until it struck against the submerged weapon. He rinsed the sword clean in the burn, wiping it dry with his plaide. Pulling on his clothes, he stomped up the trail to his camp, wondering if he should exchange his short sword for a claymore that would lend itself less well to the delicate hands of a silver-haired lass.

Bray sat at the edge of the fire, idly pushing at the dark red embers with a long stick. He glanced up as Conn stalked past.

“I see
la
mademoiselle
is not with you.”

Conn shot him a dour look, but Bray merely shrugged. “It was not well done,
mon ami
.”

Conn eyed his friend, silently agreeing with him, but unwilling to admit his fault. He could not believe he had spent himself so quickly. But the exquisite pleasure had taken him by surprise. He was not unskilled in love-making, yet the one woman he craved had fled his arms, thinking him an insensitive dolt. His mood soured.

Bray sighed. “I do not understand, with my superior expertise with women, how they always seem to trip themselves over you.”

Conn showed his teeth in a smile more predatory than genial. “I dinnae try so hard as ye.”

Bray nodded, thoughtful. “No, you do not have to.
Bon
, I assume she is able to fend for herself now?”

“Leave it alone, Bray,” Conn growled. He flung a stick into the fire, muttering under his breath. Fortunately, Bray dropped the subject and said no more about the girl with the silver hair.

* * *

Brianna skirted the edge of a small loch, tripped and fell at the water’s edge. Within seconds, she was up and running again, not pausing to rest her throbbing ankle. She could not afford to stop, not while there was a chance of capture. Did he chase her? How long would it take to find his sword in the weeds? Unanswerable questions were shoved to the back of her mind as she concentrated on her breathing, running—escape.

And then, she had no more breath. Stumbling on weary legs, she threw her hands forward to break her fall. Her heartbeat pounding in her ears drowned out all other sound as she lay on the leaf-covered ground, too exhausted to rise. Her arms and legs shook with fatigue and she rolled to her side, suddenly overcome with nausea. Pulling up against the trunk of a nearby tree, she retched, shuddering with reaction. Gradually, her heart slowed and her gasping eased. The roaring sound in her head grew fainter and she became aware of the night sounds around her. Her skin felt damp and sticky with sweat in the early morning mist. At last she rose, gingerly testing her ankle. She winced at the dull pain, but decided it would do a bit longer.

Pink and yellow rays of morning lightened the horizon. As light filled the sky, she pushed through brush and bracken, swearing as the branches tore at her hair and clothing. She crested the low hill and faltered, startled to see horses and riders moving at a slow pace through the tall grass a short distance away.

She crouched low, watching as they wound their way across the side of the hill. There were six men, but she counted seven horses. The last horse was riderless and its dappled gray hide shimmered in the early morning sun. It was Maude! Six men meant Duncan and Ewan had returned from Troon! She shot to her feet and lurched headlong down the hill, shouting at them to stop.

Gavin heard her first and wheeled his horse to the sound. His face reflected a mixture of relief and anger for the scare she’d given them as he leapt to the ground and rushed to meet her. Grabbing her shoulders, he looked her over from head to toe and back again.

“Are ye well, lass?” He cocked his head at her. “’Tis a relief to find ye hale and unattached to the sheriff’s noose.”

Brianna sobered at his scold, but could not contain her relief at being back among her clansmen. “Aye. I am well and happy to see the lot of ye.”

The others dismounted their horses and gathered eagerly around her.

“What happened to ye, lass?” Rabbie asked.

“I went to the burn to clean up and slipped on the rocks and fell. I swallowed too much water and would have drowned were it not for a man on the other side who saw me go under.” She glanced around the little group, wondering if any would challenge her story. Apart from a few narrowed eyes, they said nothing.

“I hurt my ankle when I fell, and needed help getting back to camp. I dinnae know if the men were in league with the sheriff or not, though they treated me well and did not ask too many questions. We searched for ye, but ye had broken camp. I rode with them all day looking for ye, and finally struck out on my own—and found ye!” She smiled happily, and one by one the Douglases nodded, satisfied she was back and apparently none the worse for her absence.

“We have good news for ye,” Geordie said. “The king will be in Troon in a day or two, and the steward has given ye leave to stay in the castle until ye present yer petition.”

With a cry of joy, Brianna launched herself at the young Douglas and hugged him fiercely, fairly dancing with glee. Geordie blushed furiously, ducking the good-natured swat Rabbie aimed at his head.

“Come, lass,” Gavin urged. “Climb up on Maude. We ride for Troon.”

Chapter 8

Dundonald Castle, Troon

Brianna absently drew the brush through her hair, her thoughts far from a mere act of grooming and even farther from her interview with King Robert in less than an hour’s time. With little to do for the past two days at Dundonald Castle, her mind betrayed her with heated memories of the laird’s touch.

Mystified with a longing she did not understand, she mused over her unprecedented behavior. What had come over her to make her act so wantonly? Was it because he dared hold her, kiss her? Mungo had done those things, though little else, and never stirred the passion she’d felt with the laird. She groaned in a mixture of embarrassment and desire, still unsettled with the way the act had ended.

Thank goodness there is little chance of ever seeing him again! Once back at Wyndham, I will have other things to occupy my mind and I will forget this folly
.

She eyed herself critically in the mirror, schooling her flushed face into a mask of calm serenity. Her priority was her petition to the king, not the coupling that had both awakened her passion and left her wanting.

Brianna jerked the brush through her hair with such force it slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. The serving girl straightening the room jumped at the noise and hurriedly bent to retrieve the object. Brianna frowned. “I am sorry. I seem to be out of sorts today.”

The maid carefully placed the hairbrush on the table. “Aye, milady. Ye have an appointment with the king this day. But dinnae be nervous. King Robert is a kind man, if ye dinnae mind me saying it. Those of us here at Dundonald know him well.”

Though facing the king was only one of the worrisome things on her mind at this moment, Brianna seized on the topic gratefully. “I thank ye. I know I shouldnae worry. My cause is just, and the king is known to my family. I will take yer words to heart.”

The maid smiled brightly and helped Brianna finish her preparations. Seeing Brianna in her stained boyish garb when she’d arrived two days earlier had sent the maid scurrying to the clothing chests determined to find her something more suitable for life in the castle and an audience with the king. She had done an admirable job with needle and thread adjusting the lovely gowns to fit Brianna’s figure.

“This velvet looks fine on ye, milady.” The maid fingered the lush dark blue-green cloth, a perfect foil for Brianna’s pale hair. “I have never seen hair the color of yers afore, neither. May I add some ribbon to it?”

Brianna considered her hair in the mirror. “Aye. I would like that. My ma’s people came from the far north. My coloring is from her.” She shrugged. “’Tis a bit different.”

The maid excitedly dug through a small chest. With a triumphant grin, she held up a length of ribbon the same color as Brianna’s gown and a length of silver ribbon as well.

“I will twine these together. ’Twill will give yer hair a wonderful sparkle.”

Taking the mass of Brianna’s hair in her hands, she worked quickly to pull the sides up and back, fastening it at the crown of her head and allowing it to fall past her shoulders. Weaving the ribbon through the resulting curls, the maid stepped back to admire her handiwork.

“There!” She handed Brianna a small hand mirror and bade her turn her back to the larger mirror at the table.

Brianna twisted her head this way and that, catching glimpses of silvery blonde hair woven with aquamarine ribbon and beset with silver strands sparkling in her hair like diamonds. She turned to the maid with frank appreciation for her efforts.

“’Tis wonderful! Ye have worked a miracle.”

“Ye should always wear such finery,” the girl avowed, a pert grin dimpling her cheeks.

Brianna’s face heated at the unaccustomed praise and she set the mirror on the table. “I thank ye. Ye are very kind.”

The young maid flushed and dropped a curtsy. Hurrying from the room, she left Brianna alone with her thoughts.

* * *

Flames from a hundred flickering candles lit the long room. Murmuring voices droned nearby. King Robert studied the young man before him. Connor MacLaurey, newly Laird of Morven, stood patiently before the throne. The king shook his head and sighed.

“I knew yer father, though not well. I am saddened to learn of yer troubles. I can promise ye, if what ye say is true and yer betrothed is innocent of the charges and comes before me, I will grant her pardon and restore her to ye fully.”

Conn bowed deeply. “’Tis all I ask, Sire. I had hoped she had reached ye by now, but I will tell yer man of her and leave the matter in yer hands. We arenae truly betrothed, as my father died before the arrangements were finalized, and I was unaware of them until only recently. Yet I feel an obligation to the poor thing.”

King Robert rubbed his chin. It was too much of a coincidence. The new laird of Morven petitioned him to pardon his betrothed, whom he could not find, and somewhere in Dundonald Castle a young woman awaited an audience with her king to clear her name as outlaw. They had to be the same person. He quelled the upward tilt of his lips as the absurdity of it struck.

“I am afraid I only arrived yesterday. ’Tis possible she will come to me soon.”

“Aye, ’tis my hope as well. She cannae be involved in reiving as the sheriff proclaims. Though I met her only once several years ago, she was a mousy thing, quiet and unassuming. Her short marriage was to a braggart of a fool and unlikely to have done anything to encourage boldness. I wish I could tell ye more about her, but if she resembles the maid she was then, she is scarcely more than a pale, thin woman today.”

The king eyed him. “She is plain?”

“Honestly, Sire, she was a skinny, knob-kneed girl of six with nearly colorless hair when I last saw her. I doubt her looks have much improved.”

King Robert hid a smile. He had watched his own daughters change from skinny, plain little girls into young women of stunning beauty. The young laird was in for quite a surprise if what the king’s advisor told him was true.

“Ye may leave it in my hands. But I ask ye to linger in the hall a bit. Ye will join me for dinner after I have spoken with a few others.”

Laird MacLaurey bowed deeply. “As ye wish, Sire.” He backed a couple of steps then turned and strode to the back of the room where his companions waited.

Conn motioned Bray and Gillis close, ushering them away from a group of gossiping courtiers. “The king is willing to do what he can about Lord Wyndham’s daughter. Though I hoped to be on the way to Morven now, he has invited us to stay and dine with him tonight. We are to await him here.”

Gillis gaped. “Eat with the king?”

“I am to assume even the King of Scotland eats oatcakes?” Bray needled Gillis with a lazy drawl and a toothy smile that did not reach his narrowed eyes.

Conn shot them both a crushing look. “See if ye can stay out of trouble for a while at least. I need to remain on good terms with the king if he is to pardon Brianna. The mares are a gift, not a bribe to get the two of ye out of the dungeon.”