The Highlander's Triumph (20 page)

The king plucked at the sword at his hip.
“I’ve not heard of you before, Sir Whitely. Why do you suppose that is?”

Brandon shrugged. “’Tis a shame we’ve not met before. I do apologize. I’ve not had the chance to come to court yet.”

The king grunted. “And under whom do you serve?”

Mariana bit the inside of her cheek, sure that Brandon would unravel soon with the barrage of questions the king had. He couldn’t keep the charade going for long. She stepped forward, intent on begging the king to let them go, but Edward held his arm out, stopping her from moving closer
to Brandon.

He glared at Mariana. A lethal look that said he knew Brandon was lying and that he’d find out the truth of it soon. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

“Baron Berkeley.”

Again the king grunted. Mariana couldn’t be sure if he was displeased or not.

“Then you won’t mind waiting for confirmation on that.”

Brandon shook his head, his face turning solemn. “Unfortunately all of my men were killed in the attack.
Berkeley sent us on our own to raid the next village over when we encountered the fire.”

Brandon spoke with a straight face, as though he actually believed each word he spoke. Mariana wondered if he had not encountered a group of Berkeley’s men and used one of the
soldiers identities now. If he were to be found out…

“That is unfortunate.”
The king faced the trestle table to the right. He glanced back at Brandon, a menacing, smug smile on his lips, then returned his gaze to the table. “Baron Berkeley, can you confirm what this man has said?”

Mariana’s blood ran cold. They would die here today, at the hands of a man who’d
held her life in his grasp for years. There was no escaping him. She should have known that all along.

She stared imploringly at Brandon, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. Instead, he stared intently at the man who pushed back from the table behind her. Her throat itched with the need to scream.

King Edward whirled around. “Well, dammit, Berkeley, speak. A man and woman’s lives are at stake here.” The glee in his voice made Mariana’s already roiling stomach lurch. His eyes were lit up like a devil staring at the next batch of loathsome souls he was going to consume.

She grew dizzy.
Head pounding, legs weak.
Be strong
, she chanted to herself.

Brandon did glance at her then, his eyes filled with hope, promise. His lips moved into a small smile sending a rush of fresh emotion through her. She couldn’t lose him. Not now.

He’d come back for her. Even if they died in the next few minutes, at least she knew there had been a chance at a future together, that all her feelings, her love for him, were returned.

Heart soaring, she smiled back.

Chapter Twenty

S
weat trickled an uncomfortable path down Brandon’s spine. Their future lay in the very words the fumbling, drunken lord could not seem to muster.

Worst of all,
Brandon was wearing breeches.
Breeches
for bloody sake. His meat and two veg were so jam-packed within the confines of the malicious garment he was ready to rip them off, forget the audience, and battle the entire great hall stark naked.

The wanton lass upon the dais, lounging in her chair as though drugged, gazed at him with a look he’d seen many times. She was a practiced whore, one who obviously got what she wanted—the king. How could he have ever thought she was Mariana? The woman lacked a distinct luster to her hair that made Mariana’s glisten and shine in the light like the moon glinting off a darkened loch. The king’s new woman was thinner, bonier,
not as luscious. He recoiled at how wrong he’d gotten it.

Looking at Mariana only made
his guilt and need to be out of this place worse. Her arm hung in a sling and slight bruises and scrapes marred her face. She looked battered, vulnerable. The lass tried to hide her fright, but the way her eyes widened and her lips were thin and white when they were normally plush and pink, gave her away. Still, her spine was stiff and she held her ground. Strength filled her. The lass had more bravery than she was probably even aware of. He tried to smile at her, hoped that it would make her feel slightly better, and it seemed to as she beamed a smile his way.

Mo creach
, he hadn’t had a clue what to do, how he was going to get her out of here until he’d crossed paths with the English maggot he’d stolen the clothes from. Lucky for him, the fellow had been nearly his size. Hence the extra tightness with the breeches. Brandon’s cousin, Ronan Sutherland, oft dressed as an Englishman in order to pass over the border or come close to it without being bothered by the king’s men. As children, they’d played Sassenach Whoreson—at least that’s what he called it—and Brandon had gotten pretty damn good at it.

After stealing the guard’s clothes, figuring out his identity was simple. Sir Whitely
—a man who still actually lived. Brandon and his men had taken the fellow prisoner when the lout and his following had gone raiding near Eilean Donan about a month before. The man had spilled about Baron Berkeley. Fortunately, Whitely looked enough like Brandon for him to pass off.

Brandon’
s story would hold—if the inebriated lord could remember it.

Longshanks smiled, sly, just like a cat
that’d cornered a mouse. The scoundrel wanted them to fail. Desired desperately to act out some vile punishment he cooked up in his mind. Brandon could feel it, sense it. King Edward wanted to hurt Mariana. But why?

“As I recall, there was a cavalry sent out in the Highlands several months ago,” Baron Berkeley said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger along his long pointy beard. The man’s face was covered in dark spots, and a mole the size of a rat
turd stood prominently in the middle of his forehead.

“Oh, dear me,” King Edward said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He placed his hands to his face as though alarmed. “The Highlands you say? Dear God in Heaven save us all.”

The room erupted into shouts of laughter, men elbowing each other. From the corner of his eye, he noted Mariana still stared straight at him and no other. She played the part of a wife very well, holding steadfast to her husband—or so he’d told everyone. With every ounce of his being he wanted her to be his.

Someone finally put the confused Berkeley out of his misery, elbowing the sot and informing him loudly that they
, too, were in the Highlands.

Baron Berkeley cleared his throat and gave a nervous laugh. “Apologies,
my king, I seem to have forgotten myself for a moment. Indeed, a few months back I did send out cavalry to scout out the Highlands for the major castles near waterways. Sir Whitely was among the men.”

“Ah, I see.” The king turned to face Brandon, his eyes narrowed. “’Twould appear your story holds up, Sir Whitely. I have an idea that it might have been different if our good Baron here was not so intoxicated.”

Brandon bowed to the king, hoping to show that he was a loyal subject—and not that he wanted to slice him into a thousand jagged pieces. “I assure you, Your Highness, I am your most loyal subject.”

That last part might not have been entirely a lie. It seemed from what Brandon had heard, that everyone was always climbing over top of each other, and not a one truly care
d who their liege lord was, as long as they got a piece from his coffer of gold.

“As for you, Lady
Mariana,
” the king drawled, refusing to call her Lady Whitley. “I do hope we see each other again sooner rather than later.”

Brandon refused to read into the king’s veiled threat. Their story had passed muster and he wanted to get Mariana the hell out of there.
However, it wasn’t over yet, and he wasn’t going to risk losing it now because he didn’t follow some courtly rule. He waited for the king to dismiss them, a move that seemed unlikely to happen as the seconds ticked by.

When the crowd began to grow antsy, and Brandon was about to begin a brawl that ended with him stealing one of the nearby guards’ sword, the king waved his hand in the air.

“Sir Whitely, take this woman, your
wife
, and leave my castle. Get back to your post and kill as many savages as you can along the way.”

Rage burned in Brandon’s chest, but along with it was the acute sense of relief. They weren’t completely out of danger, but it was a start. He held out his hand
for Mariana who rushed forward, limping slightly. Guilt at not protecting her made his stomach burn. He had to make it up to her.

Mariana’s
warm fingers slid against his, squeezing tight and a lightning current jolted up his arm.
Mo creach
, she felt good.

“My king,” Brandon said with a bow.

Beside him, Mariana curtsied and murmured the same.

Kind Edward glowered at them. “We will meet again,” he said.

“I shall look forward to it,” Brandon replied.

The next time they met, he hoped it was in a dark forest where no one could watch as he cut the heart out of the English king.

“Let’s go,” he whispered to Mariana, tugging her hand.

There was no resistance from her. They hurried from the great hall, all the while, keen to hear if the king sent someone after them. No footsteps pounded toward them. No shouts of reprisal. Leaving Ion Dubh with Mariana was easier than he thought.
Too easy.

Whenever a serious situation appeared to transpire stress-free, Brandon waited for the backlash. In this instance, they had to outrun whatever the repercussion would be.

When still no one intercepted them at the great doors, they pushed out into the courtyard. Rain still fell, though in less violent waves. He glanced toward Mariana, rain soaking her gown.

“Your cloak,” he murmured.

“There is no time to retrieve it. I shall be fine.” Her face was set, showing a stubborn streak he’d seen before.

“Wear mine,” he said, tugging it from around himself.

“I couldn’t.”

“I’ve another.” He wrapped the cloak around her, taking a moment to touch her cold, wet cheek. “I couldna bear to see ye suffer more.”

Mariana leaned into his cheek, her blue eyes locking on his. “I’ve not suffered overmuch. Now that you are here, it is all fading away.”

He wanted to kiss her.
Wanted to look her in the eyes and know that what they were feeling was mutual, not a game played behind pretend names or in darkened rooms. He wanted to pull her into his arms and tell her that he loved her. He wanted to see her eyes when he pressed his mouth to hers, and see the emotion cross her face when he murmured her name against her cheek.

Mariana pressed her lips to his palm,
then said, “We have to go. Before he changes his mind.”

Brandon nodded. She spoke the truth. They’d only be tempting a bear if they didn’t disappear now.

“I know.”

A
rain-soaked mount waited in the courtyard, the groomsman he’d tossed a coin to still holding the reins. Brandon had taken the man’s horse when he took his clothes, stripping it of anything discriminating.

“
Our horse.”

She raised a brow. “You truly did think of everything.”

He winked at her, loving the shy smile she returned. “For ye, I would do anything.”

Brandon lifted her onto the horse and tossed a second coin at the groomsman whose eyes were as wide as
platters. “For your trouble. And your silence.”

“My thanks, my lord, heartily.”
The boy took off at a run toward the stables.

Brandon swung up behind Mariana, making sure she was fully covered by the cloak. He urged the horse into a trot.
They weren’t going to walk out of this. The guard atop the gate studied him, suspicious. He looked behind Brandon and Mariana, perhaps expecting the inhabitants of the castle to come storming out, but when no one did, he opened the gates and let down the drawbridge.

Feeling as though Satan nipped at their heels, he didn’t slow the horse, but galloped straight through the gate.

With Brandon’s arms wrapped around her, the heat of his body warmed Mariana from head to toe. His hard chest was pressed tight to her back. Muscled thighs straddling her behind, and going the length of her legs. They were racing for their lives, but her heart sprinted for an altogether different reason.

When he’d leaned close, lips poised to kiss her, Mariana had desperately wanted to take him up on his offering. But to do so would only stall their departure and King Edward wasn’t known to let people simply leave.

She feared his coming after them. Could imagine him in his great hall, turning to the guard and hissing, “After them!”

But now that they were gone, alone, and nearly safe, Mariana wanted to beg Brandon to stop the horse, to tilt her head back and claim a kiss that made her quake.

Obviously having no intention of slowing, Brandon pushed their horse hard. She recognized the path he took as the one she’d seen from her window. Over the road they flew until they disappeared into the trees. Brandon reduced the horse’s speed then, but not to a complete walk. They trotted through the dimly lit woods. Small droplets of rain sprinkled down through the branches and leaves to trickle over them.

“Did you mean what you said?” Mariana asked, her stomach doing a little flip.
If he said no…

Brandon gave her a quizzical look. “What did I say?”

“That I was your…wife?” She chewed her lip, suddenly very interested in how her mouth could take such abuse with all the chewing and biting she’d been doing lately.

“Well, lass, how could I? Y
e are nay my wife.”

Mariana couldn’t help the gasp of surprise. For certain, he was right, but she hadn’t expected him to be so blunt about it.
She tilted her head back to look at him. He glanced down at her, eyes glinting with humor, and in complete opposition to what he’d just said.

“I…I…” What could she say? Heat
suffused her cheeks. Lord, she wanted to sink far, far, far into the damp ground. The red of her cheeks had to rival that of a ripe apple. Did he jest with her or not?