Highlander's Redemption: The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy, Book Two (14 page)

Just as he was
about to come undone at the thought, he felt her hand brush against the front
of his kilt, where his cock was pressed against her. He jerked his head up and
locked eyes with her. She was panting through parted lips, her eyes half-lidded
and hazy with pleasure as his finger continued to caress her.

“Do you feel it
too?” she said breathily, gliding her hand gently over the swell in his kilt.

“Aye, lass,” he
managed through gritted teeth. If he had been about to come undone just at the
feel of her wetness and the thought of sinking into her, he surely wasn’t going
to last under her tentative but curious touch.

He brought his
hand out from under her skirts and took her wrist, gently guiding it underneath
his kilt. He let her take her time brushing her fingers over his upper legs,
but he jerked uncontrollably when she came in contact with his bollocks. Then
her fingertips were exploring his shaft, and he nearly cursed.

When he couldn’t
take any more of her feathery touches, he took her hand in his and wrapped it
around his length, moving both their hands up and down. In a moment, she caught
on to the motion and he let go of her hand, seeking her warm wetness once
again.

They groaned in
unison as they each stroked and teased the other. He lowered his head to her
breast once more, capturing a nipple in his mouth and laving it before
switching to the other to give it the same treatment. He could hear her breath
coming even faster now, and he hitched up the rhythm of his stroke against her
clitoris. She seemed to unconsciously do the same, pumping her hand faster
around his cock. He was ready to explode, but he wanted her to join him.

He let one finger
slip inside her opening while his thumb resumed the caress of that pleasurable
spot just above. This must have sent her into another plane of sensation, for
she called out his name and arched against his mouth.

Suddenly she
shuddered and cried out again, and he could feel her convulsing against his
hand. It only took one more pulse of her hand around his cock to send him over
the edge after her. He groaned and thrust into her hand, making the contact
deeper as he spilled his seed.

He forced his eyes
open despite the fact that he was spiraling down from his own ecstasy, wanting
to drink in the sight of her. Her skin and hair were luminous in the moonlight,
her breasts and cheeks faintly flushed from his kisses and her release. He
could feel her bent leg quivering as he eased his hand from her and out from
under her skirts.

Her eyes fluttered
open and met his gaze. “That was…” She gave up searching for words and instead
withdrew her hand from under his kilt, but quickly threw both arms around his
neck, dragging him down to lie next to her on his plaid. She tossed a leg over
one of his languidly, all traces of tension and shyness gone.

For some reason,
though, her relaxation sent a thread of apprehension through him. He tried to
push away the voice that shouted admonishments inside his head, but he couldn’t
quite silence it. What was the harm in them sharing some pleasure while they
could, he told himself. It wasn’t as if he had taken her virginity. They had
merely scratched the itch that they clearly both had. But the voice wouldn’t be
silenced, for even though they hadn’t done anything physically irreversible or
permanent, he couldn’t say the same for his growing and undeniable feelings for
her.

Yes, he had come
to care for the lass. It had started innocently enough when he thought her a
simple but suspiciously evasive healer back at Dunbraes. But now that he saw
her true character—her strength in the face of the hell she must have endured
with a brother like Raef Warren, her genuine kindheartedness, and the ocean of
passion within her just below the surface—he was becoming too attached.

Nothing could come
of this, he told himself as she nestled her head against his shoulder, her hair
smelling of sunshine and wildflowers.

Nothing.

Jossalyn felt the
pull of sleep, but resisted for a few seconds. She wanted to savor this
moment—it might be the only one like it with Garrick. She still needed to tell
him that she wanted not only to stay in Scotland, but also to become directly
involved in their fight for freedom. She hoped that after everything they had
shared, he would understand and be willing to help her. But even if he wasn’t,
she wouldn’t be deterred.

She would have to
cross that bridge when she came to it, but for now, she wanted to soak in this
moment, her head nestled against his shoulder, her body still humming from his
touch. She had had no idea that what she had just experienced was possible—the
aching need, the building pressure, and the flood of ecstasy that left her weak
and limp like a milk-drunk kitten.

She let a smile
creep to her lips at the thought that she had given the same experience to Garrick,
both of them striving for and finding that tidal wave of pleasure with each
other. She had always been told by her nursemaids and instructors on a lady’s
behavior that being intimate with a man—with her husband, only ever her
husband—was her duty. They had always made it seem like it was something to be
endured, that men would want it from her, but that she herself would never
desire or enjoy it.

How wrong they
were.

Was it always like
this? She doubted very much that whichever old widower her brother would have
selected for her could make her feel the way she did in Garrick’s embrace. And
she didn’t want to find out. She would never again let someone else make
decisions for her, especially when it came to finding a mate for life. She knew
she shouldn’t let herself indulge in girlish fantasies, but after all that she
and Garrick had shared, she suddenly saw the dim promise of a new path ahead of
her. Though hazy, she could imagine a future that was filled with the kind of
passion that she had just discovered in herself—and maybe more.

Was it foolish of
her to think that she could share a love with someone who accepted her for who
she was? Perhaps, but she had also once believed that the kind of sensual fire
she had just experienced didn’t exist.

And was it foolish
of her to think that Garrick could be part of that future? She had tried before
to push down her feelings for him, to not let herself grow too attached to him,
and that was before she knew that he was a Scottish freedom fighter and a
deadly shot with a bow. She shouldn’t let herself indulge in such sentimental
wishing when she now knew that he was a warrior, not likely to be tied down to
one place—or one woman, for that matter.

But the truth was,
she
did
wish, in her heart of hearts, that she would never have to say
goodbye to Garrick again, that they could talk and touch and perhaps even laugh
together—forever.

He would say that
it was too dangerous, that he was a warrior and she was a healer, a masochistic
match if there ever was one.

He would say that
he had his missions, that she would be at risk if she knew anything more.

But his words and
his reasons rang hollow to her, and she had seen the look in his eyes as they
brought each other pleasure. He was possessive of her, and protective. He
hungered for her just as much as she hungered for him, but it was more than
that.

The memory of his
rage at the sight of the bruises her brother had inflicted, his words that her
healing gift was valuable and special, his trust in her to heal Burke—he cared
for her. And she couldn’t deny that she cared for him too. Now she would just
have to come up with a plan so that she could not only offer her healing skills
to the Scottish rebellion, but also stay near Garrick—at least long enough for
them to explore whatever was growing between them.

With this thought
swirling through her mind, she finally succumbed to the pull of sleep within
the warm embrace of Garrick’s strong arms.

The cool morning
air was tickling her neck, so she hunkered down deeper into the warmth of the
plaid covering her, and the heat of Garrick’s skin. She jerked a little as she
realized that she was plastered against the wickedly handsome man with whom she
had shared her body and her passion last night. One of her legs was thrown over
his, and her head and arm rested on his chest. A powerful arm was wrapped
around her, his hand absently stroking the curve of her waist.

“You’re awake,” he
said into her hair.

She craned her
neck so that she could catch a glimpse of his face, but it was unreadable. “Have
you been up long?”

“I didn’t sleep
much,” he responded, more flatly than she had hoped after their night together.

“We have much to
discuss,” he went on.

“Yes, I have some
things I wish to say,” she said, trying to steel herself against both his
apparent distance and the task of telling him her plan.

“We’d better get
back to camp in case Burke needs you,” he said, sitting up a little and forcing
her to move her head. She watched him closely as he stood, straightening his
kilt. His mouth was in a firm line, the edges slightly downturned. He also
seemed to be focusing on anything but her.

She sat up and
reached behind her, trying to refasten the ties at the back of her dress. Sometime
in the night, she must have pulled the fabric back over her shoulders for
warmth, but the ties were now tangled and loose.

He must have
noticed her struggling, for he knelt down behind her and silently helped her
retie the ties. Once the task was done, he turned to the creek and splashed
water over his hands and face, his back to her.

She stood and
straightened out her dress as best as she could, trying not to let his distance
get to her. Just as she had let her mind tumble through her thoughts and had come
up with a plan that suited her, he had likely been chewing on what their
intimate encounter meant and what to do about their uncertain future. She would
just have to convince him that her plan would work—assuming that he, too,
wanted to stay in her presence for at least a little while longer.

When he turned
back to her, she opened her mouth, about to let all of her jumbled thoughts
spill out, but he avoided making eye contact, and instead snatched up the
plaid, which they had used both to lie on and cover themselves. He shook it out
without a word and turned to walk back toward their makeshift camp. She was
left standing there for a moment, mouth still open, before hurrying after him.

He may be confused
and worried, she thought, her temper flaring, but he didn’t have to be rude. Just
as she was about to cut into him with an accusation of ignoring her and their
shared intimacy, he halted, and she nearly bumped into his back. She peered
around his shoulder to see what had caused him to stop so abruptly.

Burke was standing
in the middle of their camp, and looking right at them with a quizzical
expression on his face.

“Burke! You’re up!
I mean, you’re awake, and standing!” Even as she rushed to his side, she felt a
flush of heat in her cheeks. Could he somehow tell what they had been doing
last night? She felt so different in her own skin now that surely it was
written plainly on her face.

“How long was I
asleep?” he asked, letting her guide him to a nearby rock to sit.

“Two days,”
Garrick said flatly.

Burke’s eyes
widened at that. “What happened?”

“You passed out on
your horse, so we had to stop here for a while. That wound was infected, and
you had a fever. You shouldn’t be up and about!” She placed a hand on his
forehead, but his skin was a normal, healthy warmth.

She turned her
attention to his leg and began unwrapping the bandage that covered the wound.

“Warren and his
men came through the area while you were out,” Garrick said grimly.

Suddenly Burke was
alert and focused on Garrick despite her handling of his bandages.

“They were looking
for us, but they moved on without spotting us,” Garrick went on. “They are
cutting an arc back and forth across this entire area, moving northward.”

Burke nodded, then
winced as the last covering of bandage fell away and fresh air hit his leg.

Jossalyn gasped at
the sight of the wound.

“What is it? Is it
bad?” Suddenly Garrick was kneeling at her side, a crease between his brows.

“No, no, it’s
fine. It’s better than fine,” she replied in a rush. “The infection is gone,
and the skin is healing nicely. All the stitches are intact, despite Burke
standing on it.” She shot a glare up at him, silently admonishing his behavior,
but he only smiled back widely.

“We Sinclair men
are harder to kill than that, lass.”

“Sinclair or no,
you still need to rest so that the wound doesn’t become infected again or you
reopen it,” she said sternly.

Burke and Garrick
exchanged a dark look that told her they had other plans.

“If we cut due
east, we should be able to get out of Warren’s search path,” Garrick said to
Burke.

“That will slow us
down,” Burke replied.

“Only by a day,
two at most. It’s better than running into Warren and more than a dozen of his
mounted, armored soldiers.”

Burke nodded, his
eyes focusing on the distance as he thought. “If we head due east, then cut
north, you and I will both be pointed toward our destinations.”

Both men seemed to
remember Jossalyn all of a sudden, who was kneeling between them, looking back
and forth as they spoke. They turned their eyes on her, both frowning in
thought, and she suddenly felt distinctly like a problem that needed fixing.

“Have you told her
about your brother or the Br—”

“Nay,” Garrick
interjected quickly.

“Actually,”
Jossalyn jumped in, shooting a look at Garrick before turning to Burke, “I know
that you two work for the Scottish rebellion, and that you are on some mission
that is likely connected to Robert the Bruce. Also, I know that you two are
working in secret against my brother.”

Burke raised and
eyebrow at Garrick. “And how do you know all that, lass?”

“Garrick told me
some of it, and it wasn’t hard after seeing you two don kilts and wield weapons
against the English that you must work for the Bruce. Garrick seems to be
holding something back, though, because he says it’s too dangerous for me to
know everything.”

Garrick gave a
slight shake of his head in response to Burke’s questioning look. They seemed
to understand their unspoken communication. Burke turned back to Jossalyn. “And
what do you make of all this, my lady healer?”

She chewed her lip
for a moment, unsure of how much of her plan she wanted to reveal now. She had
hoped to explain everything to Garrick in private, since it partially involved
their—whatever it was between them. She had also hoped to explain things when
he was receptive and open to what she had to say. At the moment, he was
alternating between shooting his scowl at Burke and her, his eyes hard and
sharp.

She took a breath
and dove in. “I know you two are working for Robert the Bruce, but you
apparently have different destinations. Based on what Garrick has told me, I’m
guessing that one of you is going back to the secret headquarters of the
rebellion.” She lifted her chin slightly. “And I’m going with you.”

Both men were
suddenly speaking at once, denying her claims and telling her there was no
way—“No way in hell,” she heard Garrick say forcefully—that she was going with
them. She let them carry on for another moment, then held up her hand and
waited for them to fall silent.

“I’m not asking,
I’m telling you what I’m going to do. I decided a long time ago”—it was only a
matter of days, but they didn’t need to know that—“that I would escape my
brother and live a life of my choosing in Scotland. At first I thought that I
could live anonymously in some quiet village, working as a healer and making
decisions for myself.”

She sighed,
forcing herself to let go of that path. “After overhearing Raef’s words
yesterday, though, I realize now that his hatred, his distain, both for me and
for all of Scotland and its people, goes deeper than I ever knew. I will never
go back to him, but I can’t be entirely sure that I would be safe from him or
someone who would report back to him, even in the most remote of villages.”

Garrick nodded
grudgingly at her words. Good, she thought. At least he agreed with her on this
last point. She went on.

“So, as I’m sure
you have both realized, I’m stuck. I can’t go back to the Borderlands or
England. I have no family other than my brother, and I doubt I would go
unnoticed for long among so many of my brother’s allies. And I can’t simply
plop myself down in the middle of Scotland, going about my life, as if a young
English healer wouldn’t eventually draw notice.”

“You’ll forgive
us, lass, but that pretty much sums up our problem with you,” Burke said
apologetically. “I believe you’ve saved my life, and we—along with all those
who are depending on us—are grateful to you for that. But we can’t very well
take you with us any farther. Garrick is right. You are in danger by being in
our presence. We are both needed elsewhere, in places that an English lass
shouldn’t know about, let alone go to.”

“But that’s just
it,” she said, her voice straining with excitement. “What better or safer place
is there for me than hidden away at the secret headquarters of the Scottish
rebellion?”

Both men quirked
an eyebrow at her, and she could suddenly see their blood relation in their
skeptical look.

“Hear me out,” she
began. “The rumors have been swirling around Dunbraes for years now about some
sort of moving camp out of which the Bruce and his rebels fight. But despite
the English army’s efforts—not to mention my brother’s searching and raiding,
in his quest for glory—it has never been found. I wouldn’t be surrounded by
curious and potentially talkative villagers, I’d be hidden among Scottish
rebels who would have no interest in spreading word of my presence, especially
not if it meant helping my brother in any way. I know that he is well-known and
reviled in many parts of Scotland.”