Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (15 page)

“There now." Leith appeared from nowhere, a chuckle issuing from deep within his throat as he bent to lift her. "This be na place to rest, lass," he chided.

"I fell," she grumbled irritably, and he chuckled again, pressing her soaked form closer to his chest and saying nothing.

Only a short distance farther on, the trees ended at a rough-hewn cliff of rock. The stone there rose sharply, bending toward them and creating below a miniature cave—a sheltered haven, hidden from the rain and driving wind.

Leith carried her there, several feet into the hollowed rock to a fat log that had been placed beside a black circle of ashes.

"It seems the MacGowans have left us a place by their camp," Leith said, eyeing the half-consumed, charred logs.

"The MacGowans?" Rose echoed shivering.

" 'Tis their land," explained Leith. "But mayhap it was the Lamonts that used this place, for they often raid the MacGowans' herds. Either way, it is good this place is na occupied for neither clan is friendly with the Forbes."

"Why?" she questioned, trembling as she looked up at him.

He shrugged. "Feuds in the Highlands go far back and are honored long after the memory of the original cause."

"So you fight for no reason," she said with some perplexity.

"Na," he objected briskly, still holding her against his soaked chest.

"Then why?"

" ‘Tis because..." He scowled. "Because..."

“They have no cause," she repeated with a fresh shudder. "And so it is silly to fight."

He watched her in silence, wanting to disagree, but wasn't it the feuds that tore the Highland people apart generation after generation? Wasn't it peace that he wished for above all else?

For a moment more he held her—until he could no longer find an excuse to do so. Stepping forward one more stride, he bent and set her on the aged log before drawing back, allowing her to regain her balance.

"How is it that you found this place?" she asked, talking to hide how conscious she was of his touch.

" 'Twas naught but luck, lass," he admitted. "Methinks ye bring a good portion with ye."

Through the open neck of his saffron shirt Rose could see the clinging gray bandage she had used to cover his chest wound. His hair was soaked and dripped in dark, heavy waves past his shoulders. His brow, broad and dark-skinned, bore a small, purplish circle where she feared she had kicked him in her frantic effort to escape his grasp.

Indeed, she thought with sarcastic misery, she had certainly brought him good luck.

"Get ye from those wet clothes. I will search for wood to make a fire," Leith said.

"I... " Her teeth chattered a bit, making it difficult to talk and reminding her of her brave words about not resenting a little rain. “I have no other clothes to w-wear."

"Aye." Leith placed his fists to his hips and nodded. "But I could only guess at yer size when ye wore the humble rags of the abbey, hence ye canna expect me to have purchased more than a few garments from the village. Indeed, ‘tis a pity, but ye will have to do without," he said, and left.

Rose stared after him, watching the spot where he had disappeared. He had not sounded overly sorry for her plight, she thought ruefully, making his comment somewhat suspect.

It was not the first time she had realized how dependent she was on this man, but it felt different now. In the two nights past, the only nights they had spent alone, he had seemed distant, never touching her and barely speaking. But now his mood seemed to have changed.

She shivered again, hugging her chest with shaking arms and thinking this was a poor way to die.

"Canna ye obey a simple order?" Leith was back already, his thick arms miraculously full of dry firewood and his expression rather amused.

Damn him for not shivering as she did.

"I told you," she said grumpily, "I have no other clothes."

Leith dropped the firewood with a muffled clatter, causing her to jump as he placed his hands on his hips again. "And I said it be a pity. Now get yerself naked afore ye catch yer death."

Rose's lips were numb. "I have nothing to wear," she insisted.

"The good Lord did give ye skin, did he na?"

"
I must quit kicking you in the head," Rose said irritably. "I fear it has addled your thinking. Of course He gave me skin."

"Then it shall dry quickly and keep ye warmer than what ye now wear."

"You," she declared, "are a raving lunatic."

He spread his legs, looking large and formidable with his arms akimbo and his expression dark. "I have traveled far from home and hearth to find ye, lass, and would be sorely disappointed if ye died on me now."

"As would I," she assured him. "C-cannot you built the f-fire before I am frozen in this position for all eternity?"

"Ye must disrobe."

"No." She shook her head emphatically, giving his statement not a moment's consideration. “I must not."

His gaze caught hers which was lifted stubbornly to his face, and he shrugged. "As ye wish then."

To her surprise he turned away without another word. In a moment he had the firewood arranged to his satisfaction. It took him a bit longer to strike a blaze with his flint and steel, but finally the tinder caught a spark and was blown into a flame.

Rose stretched her hands toward the minute yellow fire, waiting breathlessly for the heat it would create.

"I would share me dry plaid with ye," Leith said from across the fire, "but it would do little good over yer soaked gown."

His tone sounded ever so casual, thought Rose, all her concentration directed toward the first faint flicker of yellow heat. One would think he were discussing the time of day rather than her continued survival—which was most uncertain if she did not warm soon.

"Do..." she began, but when she raised her gaze, her jaw dropped. "Wh-what the devil are you doing?"

Leith grinned before pulling the simple, voluminous shirt over his head. "I am a practical man, Rose," he said, still grinning as his head emerged, his wet hair slightly ruffled while his manner was not. “I am disrobing."

"God's toenails!" she gasped, jerking to her feet to scramble backward over the log on which she'd been sitting. "Not—not completely."

His grin broadened. "But I am completely wet, lass."

To her horror she realized he'd already removed his boots. Her gaze skimmed to the soggy mass of horsehide buskin, then hurried back to his bare feet.

They were broad and powerful, with taut sinews extending from instep to toes. His ankles were as wide as her upper arms, but it was his calves that arrested her attention. They were thick with bunched, rock-hard muscle that blended upward to his exposed knees and the lower regions of heavy thighs beneath his tartan.

She stared openly, not noticing his actions until the plaid shifted and dipped, dropping over one knee. Her gaze shot up to where his hands were just now tugging his wide leather belt free.

She stood transfixed, watching the wet, woolen slide with ridiculous slowness from his rippled abdomen to...

She jerked about at the last moment, covering her eyes as she faced the stone wall. "Good God," she gasped. "Have you no shame?"

His chuckle seemed to come from somewhere deep within his broad-muscled chest. "Nay, lass, I am na ashamed of what God has given me."

"W-well..." She was breathing hard and the hand before her eyes shook visibly. "You are indeed a barbarian. A..." Her free hand circled rather wildly as she searched for words. "A ..."

"A man, sweet lass?" he whispered, his breath suddenly brushing her ear.

She all but screamed, jumping from his startling nearness. "God's t-t-toenails," she rasped, rattled to the core of her being. "Are you n-n-naked?"

"Nay, lass." He chuckled again, the sound so close to her quivering ear that she felt the shivering effects of it course its way through her entire body. “Turn and see."

Her knees quaked as he prodded her stiff body toward him. She moved woodenly, feeling suddenly warmer and rather faint. He grinned as she looked at him, and she found she could not move, could not speak, and certainly could not force her gaze from his irritatingly mesmerizing face.

"Ye tremble, lass," he said softly.

She did not respond, for suddenly she was lost in the midnight-dark depths of his eyes.

"And I ask meself... do ye tremble from the cold ... or some other cause?" he murmured.

She was vaguely aware of the soft plaid that hung from his shoulders, for he gripped her upper arms, allowing her fingers to brush the soft, dry wool as it swept downward.

"It is not decent that you stand before me like ..." Her words, abruptly freed from her stiff lips, tumbled to an abbreviated halt as she flicked her eyes downward for the briefest of seconds. The quick, furtive gaze confirmed her worst suspicions. Beneath the gaping blanket he was naked. She was sure of it, though she had not spared enough time to actually
see
anything that might cause her to faint dead away. "Like... that!" she croaked breathlessly.

His mouth quirked. "How is it that ye are ashamed of God's handiwork?" he asked softly.

"God's..."

"Ye think that He wasna the One to craft our bodies?" Leith murmured. "Ye think He is shocked by the sight of me thus?"

Her eyes were as wide as the amethyst brooch the abbess had given him. And she looked for all the world as if she might drop to the earth in a dead faint.

"Mayhap Englishmen are different than we Scots," he continued, gripping her arms a bit harder lest she plummet like a rock from sheer shock. "Mayhap English bairns are born fully dressed with tiny broadswords strapped to their wee hips. Aye?" he asked, dark brows raised.

Her expression had not changed in the least, Leith noticed, and he devilishly considered all the things he might do to shock her further still.

The thought broadened his grin and accelerated the already rapid beat of his heart.

"You're insane," she murmured, and he chuckled aloud.

"Nay, lass," he said with a slight shake of his head. "Me mind is quite sound, as is me body. I only ask ye to think and answer. What sin is there in being as our Maker crafted us?"

"You think it best that we all run about bare-naked?"

Their eyes were caught in an unbreakable hold— violet on brown.

"Only when there is a likely purpose, lass," he breathed, leaning closer. "And now is as likely a time as ever there be."

His lips met hers with such shocking heat that the touch of them stunned her senses, sending sparkling bits of reality scrambling into the nether regions of her mind. His right arm reached about her body, igniting flames where he touched her and making her senses reel.

Leith felt the slight dip of her body against his fingertips and knew that the hardships of the journey had been too much for her. Or was it his kiss? He grinned at the thought and bent to lift her into his arms.

"Come, lass." He cradled her against his chest. "I will see thee warmed."

Rose could not fight him, for... she didn't want to. He was too marvelously muscled, too magnetically formed, both in body and spirit.

He laid her down next to the fire. His plaid fell away, exposing the dark, muscled expanse of his chest, crossed by the gray, saturated bandages.

"I must get ye from these wet clothes, lass," he whispered gently. "For I have waited too long to lose ye now."

"Waited?" she breathed, her eyes not leaving his face.

"Aye, lass. I have waited." His fingers reached to the laces below her arm, tugging the wet fabric free. "As the laird of the Forbes, many have thought it me duty to wed, but I have not." He loosed the laces under her other arm. 'Though I knew na what I waited for."

Her chest felt tight with the breath she held and the flesh along her limbs stood in aching bumps that bristled as her sleeves were pulled away.

"But now, sweet, gentle babe," he breathed, pulling the gown down, over her hips and away, "before me lies the cause for me delay. Ye are the reason," he said.

Suddenly she was dressed in nothing but a linen chemise, and although it began low on her chest and fell to her ankles, she felt as if there was nothing between her flesh and his. She shivered, shocked as much by his words as his nearness.

He had waited—for her. This mesmerizing man, this bold, masculine warrior had waited for her. Never in her life had Rose felt such excitement, such exhilaration and breathlessness.

He tugged the chemise away. She was naked now, and even lovelier than he had remembered. Her breasts were proud, high, and full, capped with puckered pink nipples. Below, each rib was visible, slanting down toward the flat, smooth expanse of her belly.

Leith's nostrils flared as his gaze fell lower, over the tiny valley of her navel to where crisp, dark curls were caught in the apex between her slim, flawless legs.

"Sweet lass," he breathed, for a moment too dazzled to do more, "ye are surely God's finest creation."

" 'Tis not right." Rose's words came like a whimper as she drew herself into a self-conscious ball, pulling her legs to her chest. "You must not see me thus," she said, knowing with sudden, aching realization that in some secret, unspeakable way she wanted him to. Wanted to be seen and to see.

Leith did not mistake her fear or her desire. "Sweet Rose," he murmured, but did not reach to touch her. Instead he took the plaid from his shoulders, tugging it from his own body to wrap it gently about hers. "Me God is a practical God," he whispered, close to her ear. "He would na create such a marvelous form such as yers if He did not wish it to be seen—and appreciated." He drew her into his arms now, noticing how the high swell of her breasts was still visible above his woolen plaid. It was that sight that made him ache, that caused his hands to tremble slightly as he reached to pull her wet hair above the warmth of the tartan.

She felt the tremble and found his eyes with hers. He was a big man, a warrior. Wounded and scarred and unafraid. And yet when he touched her, he trembled. The thought stunned her and her lips parted as she searched for a question.

Leith watched her in silence. Her winterberry hair streamed across the plaid. Her high breasts peeked above the top, and her wide-eyed violet gaze was caught on his. Sweetly parted, luscious lips seemed to call to him and he could wait no longer.