Highland Jewel (Highland Brides) (17 page)

"Nay." The young man shook his head weakly. "I dunna believe any lass so bonny and slight could have saved me from old Bertram's blow and pulled me from yon burn—unless she be of the magical folk."

"Just rest," said Rose, swiftly pulling open his shirt to check for further wounds. "Do not talk."

The lad stared at her as if he had glimpsed an angel. "It matters na what ye be," he said finally, reaching up to grasp Rose's hand in his own. "I would have ye whether ye be mortal or na."

"Dunna talk!" growled Leith, and curling his hand into a fist, thumped the lad on the head.

The boy looked only momentarily stunned, then slid without a word into unconsciousness.

"What—" gasped Rose.

"Ye said ye didna want him to speak." Leith grunted darkly. "I only aided yer cause," he explained, and rising stiffly to his feet, strode quickly away.

The man he had hit with the hilt of Cothrom was gone. Leith studied the place where he had fallen, then rose to follow the faint, erratic trail that headed north into the darkness. Whoever the warrior had been he would nurse a headache for a time. That realization lightened Leith's mood a bit, but brought his thoughts back to the lad by the stream. Too bad he could not thump that one with the same force he'd hit the seasoned warrior. But Rose would likely take exception after going to the trouble of fishing the lad from the burn.

God's wrath, he had no time for such things. At this moment the MacAulay might be breathing his last. There was no time to waste, and yet the lass was being ... rather difficult to persuade about the rightness of their joining.

First things first, however, and just now he had the bedazzled lad by the stream to be rid of. Turning, Leith strode quickly back to the pair.

Rose was still bent over the boy as if he were her long-lost friend, her bosom only inches from his hand as she patted his fingers.

"Wake up. Wake up, I say."

"Anything to please ye," murmured the lad, gripping her hand in his.

"We must get you dry," said Rose soberly. "Can you gain your feet?"

"I dunna know," said the lad. "Mayhap I will need yer help."

She did not hesitate a moment, Leith noticed, but wrapped her arm about the other's back as if he were an innocent babe.

'There now, lean on me. That’s it," she encouraged as the lad stumbled weakly to his feet, draped cozily against her side. She staggered a bit against his weight and the boy grinned, slipping his arm about her waist as if to gain support.

"Ye liked the water, lad?" Leith asked, close enough to grip the other's arm.

"Nay," he responded, turning toward Leith with a cautious expression.

"Then I suggest ye walk alone," Leith rumbled.

His meaning was not lost on the boy, despite his woozy mind. His arm fell away from Rose and he struggled to stand alone. His legs were not quite ready for independence, however, and his knees buckled, spilling him toward the ground.

Leith caught him by the collar just before his face hit the dirt.

"For the sake of Jesu!" Leith cursed, his teeth gritted and gleaming dully in the light of the besieged moon. "Get yer mare,
wee nun,
and if ye dunna want the lad to swim again, bind up yer garment."

He strode off then, dragging the lad along as if he were a sack of grain.

She could leave them both, Rose thought with a scowl. But she supposed it was her duty to see to the boy. And too, she was shaking uncontrollably again, and the thought of the fire was too much for her to resist.

Back under the ledge, the blaze was still strong and warm. Leith dropped the boy beside the flames, making no effort to cushion his fall.

"I will secure the horses," he said, stepping toward the darkness, then stopping before retreating beyond the ledge. "But if ye remove so much as a thread of cloth from his body, wee Rose, I will tack his carcass to a tree as a feast for the crows."

Rose scowled at Leith's back. He was an arrogant lout, and she hated him with all her strength.

"Ye are wed to him?" asked the boy.

Rose lowered her gaze to him. His eyes were pale-blue, his hair lighter than it had seemed earlier. "I would prefer to be boiled in pitch," she said evenly.

The boy smiled. He had a good face. Not at all like Leith's, but young and merry, with a straight nose and ready smile. "It is glad I am to hear it." He nodded once, watching her as she studied his head wound more carefully. "I am Gregor, the son of the laird of the MacGowans. I—"

“Then I would think ye would have more pride than to be fussed over by a lass," said Leith from the edge of the firelight.

Rose raised her eyes to glare at him. The man moved as quietly as a cat. And what had happened to the idea of securing the horses? she wondered.

But the lad was not concerned with such matters. "It seems
ye
were na too proud to suffer her ministrations," he said, pointing to Leith's crossed bandages with a good deal of foolhardy arrogance.

"The lass is me—" began Leith darkly, taking a warning step nearer.

"I only journey with Leith Forbes to—"

"Laird
Forbes?" Gregor asked, turning his wide gaze quickly to the tall Scot.

Rose scowled, resenting the respect that shone momentarily in the younger man's eyes. "As I was saying," she continued. "I only journey with Laird Forbes to tend an ailing old man. I am a postulate of St. Mary's and will return henceforth to England to renew my vows to my Lord."

"A nun?" The lad's eyes widened even more but as his gaze shifted slowly from Rose's face, down over the well-molded fabric of the oversized shirt to her bare legs, he smiled. "I think na, sweet lass."

Rose frowned. Damn these Scotsmen for their contrary ways. "I think it wise not to argue with a woman of the Lord," she suggested, jerking free the filthy bandage that bound one of his hands.

The boy grimaced with pain and Rose sucked in her breath.

"How old is this wound?"

"I received it from a Lamont blade a fortnight ago," he said, his tone proud.

"And here you are fighting again?" Rose shook her head disapprovingly. "'Twould seem you Scotsmen are slow to learn. Who has been seeing to this injury?"

The lad shrugged, his pallor decreasing a bit. "We have none skilled in healing. But 'tis nothing."

Rose settled back on her heels, only taking a moment to push the tail of her borrowed shirt more closely to a half-bare thigh. "'Tis nothing if you care naught for your hand," she chastised. "But it is deadly serious if you wish to keep it."

The boy paled again. "Is there sommat ye can do?"

"There is much." She rose swiftly and the lad watched, sighing aloud as the shirt fell back past her knees. 'The first of which would be to warn you to cease your foolish battles."

The lad actually laughed. "Cease raiding and warring against the Lamonts? I think na, lass. Especially now that I owe auld Bertram a swim in the burn."

"You enjoy it, don't you?" Rose asked.

Gregor grinned. "A man needs his diversions."

"Diversions!" Rose gasped, but Gregor still grinned and Leith stood silently by, seeming to be in agreement. Men! She shook her head in irritated bemusement. They were a stupid lot, she deemed, and turned, hurrying into the darkness in search of black mud with which to pack the wound.

It was just past the midnight hour when Gregor MacGowan rose from the fire to reach for Rose's hand. His own was freshly bound and his complexion already looked healthier.

"I willna forget yer kindness, lass," said Gregor, raising Rose's fingers to his lips. "Nor yer beauty."

His kiss was gentle and his pale-blue gaze was warm as it touched her face. "Be warned, lady of St. Mary's—I dunna think our Maker would waste such as ye, for ye would look magnificent with a MacGowan bairn at yer breast,"

From across the fire, Leith ran a thumb along Cothrom's razor-sharp edge and wondered if it would be seemly to decapitate the lad for tarrying too long over Rose's hand. He'd wrapped his own plaid about her shoulders, hoping to hide the most luscious of her personal parts from the lad's prying eyes, but MacGowan's interest seemed little deterred.

With a slight scowl Rose pulled her fingers from Gregor’s grasp. "I will be returning to England," she said firmly. "Make no mistake."

"Lad," said Leith, making his tone low and dark as he held Cothrom in both hands before him, "I suggest ye leave now, for me own aim is bound to be more deadly than a Lamont’s."

Gregor grinned, nodding briefly at Rose before turning. "We will meet again, Laird Forbes," he said smoothly. "Rest assured."

Chapter 13

“Why did ye encourage MacGowan?" Leith asked, his face illumined by the flickering of the nearby flame.

Rose was genuinely taken aback. "Encourage him?"

"Ye didna have to tarry so long over his wounds," said Leith. "Indeed, ye didna have to see to him atall."

"You brainless son of an ass," said Rose in a deadly even tone. "How dare you accuse me of a dalliance when I only wished to mend your own countryman."

"Methinks ye concerned yerself over much with him," countered Leith darkly.

"Well, methinks you're a fool. An insulting, overbearing bas—"

He was around the fire before the words were finished.

"Dunna call me bastard, lass," he warned grimly, "for what I am, yer babe shall surely be also."

She stared at him in openmouthed, dumbfounded bemusement. "Babe? How like you to think yourself capable of fathering a child without even..." She waved her hand vaguely, feeling heat suffuse her cheeks.

"Without what, lass?"

She stared at him. He grinned, lifting his brows in question.

"You know damned well of what I speak."

"Methinks ye regret the fact that we didn't complete the act."

"You conceited—"

"Na bastard," he warned, lifting a finger. “For ye'll wish yer bairn to have a name."

"I will never bear your child, Scotsman," she said. "If I know nothing else, I know that."

"Then you know yerself to be barren?"

"I know myself to be sane," she explained, raising a brow. “Too sane to commit such a sin with the likes of you."

"'Twill na be a sin," he countered. "For we shall be wed."

"Not while I have breath in my body."

"Aye, lass. We shall be wed and ye shall bear me child."

"Never!"

"Because ye canna resist me," he said, and suddenly she was in his arms. "Because ye were made to be properly loved," he whispered against her ear.

"No." Her denial was no more than a whimper.

"Ye know 'tis true, lass. Ye want me just as I want ye. And 'twould be a poor nun who moans for me in her sleep each night," he murmured, kissing the scroll of her ear.

"I will not..." She drew a sharp breath in through her teeth. "... moan."

"Aye, ye will, lass. Ye will yearn for me touch." His fingers had reached beneath her hair, and skimmed along the sensitive length of her neck now. "Ye will crave me kisses," he predicted, and in that moment found her lips with his own.

She was trapped by his magnetism, by the feel of his hard body against hers, the heat of his searing kiss.

"Marry me, lass," he whispered seductively, but she shook her head, her eyes still closed.

"I cannot. I am promised to the Lord."

"The Lord?" Leith growled, shaking her slightly. "How can ye be so blind? Do ye na see what we could have?"

She shook her head, denying her own desire, for he had lied to her, time and again, and only hoped to use her now to gain his own ends. "And what could I have?" she asked. "The pain of bearing your children? The hardships of this country?" She raised her hand to indicate the harsh, rain-swept land about them, not admitting the exhilaration it made her feel.

She could have
him,
Leith thought grimly. She could fill that void in his life. That void that he had never known existed. His clan and their needs had been his only concern—until now.

Such weakness! It shocked him, for he was laird of the Forbes, promised to protect the clan. To forget his own needs, abandon his own desires to care for his people.

And yet—was that not what he wished to do? To bring peace to his people through this girl? That was it then. It was not any longing for the lass that prompted his actions, but his need to bring her back as Ian's daughter.

"Ye need na love me to marry me," he said grimly, not acknowledging the ache that reverberated near his heart. "For in truth, little nun, I dunna care for ye."

She drew herself from his grip, her back straight. "And I do not care for you," she lied.

He did not reach for her, though somewhere inside he ached to do so. "Then there is na reason why each of us canna profit from the other."

"Profit?" she asked blankly, lifting her chin a notch.

"If ye will but marry me and do as I command, I will see that ye are rewarded."

God's teeth! She should kill him and be done with it, she thought grimly, but there were no likely means of death close to hand, so she gripped him by his crossed bandages and growled low into his face. "Get this, Scotsman... you cannot buy me, not with a thousand gems. Not with the whole of the wealth of your country."

He looked down at her small face. “I dunna mean to buy ye." He scowled, feeling her fists tremble against his chest with the strength of her anger. "I only mean to make a favorable match for us both."

"Favorable!" She tried to shake him but found his weight was far too great, so that it was
her
body that swayed back and forth with her wrath. “Favorable? You think any marriage to you could be favorable?"

For a moment a small muscle twitched in his cheek but he relaxed his jaw and narrowed his eyes. "Then would ye consider handfasting?"

Rose loosened her grip slightly, seeing her temper was having little of the desired effect on him. "Handfasting?" she asked, canting her head slightly, eyes narrowed cautiously.

"'Tis a common and time-honored custom," Leith explained evenly, "for the daughter of a chief to live with the laird of another clan for a year and a day. If a child is created, then they are considered wed. If na..." He shrugged. "They are free to find other, more suitable partners."