Highlander's Redemption: The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy, Book Two (22 page)

“Marry me,
Jossalyn.”

If she had thought
she would explode with excitement and happiness before, then now she was
bursting into a thousand pieces of pure elation.

“Yes.” Her voice
sounded distant and garbled to her ears, and she realized that tears of joy had
formed in her eyes and were blurring her vision of his handsome face. It didn’t
matter, though, because the next moment he had closed the distance between them
and was capturing her mouth in a searing kiss.

Before she
registered how or when they had moved, they were lying next to each other on
the narrow cot, mouths locked together. One of her legs rose up to wrap around
his hip, and she used it to pull their bodies even closer, pressing their hips
together. His hands skimmed over her hips and bottom, her waist, her breasts,
her hair. She had already undone the tie holding his hair in its dark queue,
and her fingers tangled in it, holding his mouth to hers as their tongues
teased each other.

A distant thought
tugged at the back of her mind, and she pulled her lips back a little. “What
about your men? They are waiting for you.”

“Let them wait,”
he breathed, rejoining their lips. One of his hands was working on the ties at
the back of her dress, and she arched to give him more access.

In short order,
they had stripped each other of their clothes, except for Jossalyn’s new boots.
Jossalyn didn’t think she would ever grow tired of the intoxicating feel of
their bare skin pressed together. Just as Garrick was rolling on top of her,
the cot screeched loudly. They froze, staring at each other, then
simultaneously burst into laughter.

“Perhaps my next
gift to you will be a new bed,” Garrick said play-sourly. Then his eyes lit
with an idea, and before she knew what was happening, he had scooped her up,
wrapping her legs around his hips and hoisting her into the air. She shrieked
and giggled.

“You’re louder
than the cot, lass,” he said as he carried her from the bed to the wooden table
with the pitcher and basin for water. “Hold on.”

She entwined her
arms around his neck, squeezed her legs against his hips, and locked her booted
ankles behind his back. He kept one arm under her but used his free hand to
move the pitcher and basin off of the table. Then he set her down on the table
so that her bottom rested on the wooden surface but her legs were still wrapped
around his hips. He pulled back a little, then guided his swollen, hard manhood
inside her.

She shivered and
gasped at the feeling of his cock filling her. He took hold of her hips and began
moving in and out, building the slow, achingly torturous pleasure for both of
them. Her breathing increased despite his steady pace, which was driving her
mad as the pressure grew.

She released her
arms from his neck and leaned back, placing her hands on the table. His eyes
followed her, devouring her hungrily. She watched him drink in the sight of her
breasts, bobbing in rhythm with his thrusts, and noticed that a muscle in his
jaw was clenched and twitching. The sight of him straining so hard to maintain
control sent her hitching even higher.

She moaned and
moved her hips, wordlessly begging him to go faster. He obliged, thrusting into
her harder and more rapidly. With just a few more strokes, she was sent
careening over the edge into pure ecstasy. She tried to muffle her cries of
pleasure, but didn’t care if she succeeded or not. He followed her almost
immediately, groaning out his release and grinding into her.

As they both came
back down to earth, he leaned forward and claimed her mouth in another heated
kiss. They disentangled themselves slowly, and his eyes lingered on her as she
went about picking up her clothes, which were strewn all over the inside of the
tent. Reluctantly, he reached for his shirt and kilt, donning both.

“I had better go
see about that training session,” he said grudgingly.

“They might just
tease you to death if you don’t return soon,” she replied, her merriment barely
contained.

He raised an
eyebrow at her. “Are you mocking me, my bonnie bride?”

She wished she
could come up with some clever retort, but the way he called her his bride
overwhelmed her. Instead, she threw her arms around him again and buried her
face in his shoulder.

“I’ll be back this
evening, lass. I’ll talk to the Bruce tonight, and then we will be able to
truly celebrate.” His words held a promise, not only of their pleasure to come,
but of everything that awaited them in the future—together, just as she had
dreamed.

Garrick strode out
of the tent toward the practice field, but he might as well have been walking
on air.

He hadn’t planned
on proclaiming his love for Jossalyn or asking her to marry him. Yet the way
she had almost let her words of love slip out, then tried to cover them up, had
made him realize that he was being a damn fool for not speaking his mind. What
a rare gift and treasure the love of such a woman was. He didn’t want to wait a
second longer to let his feelings for her be known, else he lose the
opportunity, as Burke had warned him.

And now he was to
be a married man. The thought was strange, but pleasantly so. He thought back
to his last visit with his older brother Robert. He had always assumed that
Robert would marry, since he was the Laird of the Sinclair clan and it was his
responsibility to produce legitimate heirs. But he had known his brother for so
long as a single man, a warrior and leader, that it had been strange to
suddenly see him completely entwining his life with a woman.

Garrick had
thought that Robert was daft at first, given the way his eyes followed Lady
Alwin, and how aware he seemed to be of her. But now Garrick realized that he,
too, had become like that with Jossalyn. Like his brother, he had fallen in
love. And now he would marry—against all odds—the woman who both humbled him
and filled him with pride to have her at his side.

A married man! He
had thought of himself as a lone wolf for so long, and had devoted his life to
his work so completely, that he had begun to discard the question of marriage
and a family out of hand, assuming that such joys would never be his to know. He
had thought this way for so long that he had nearly convinced himself that he
didn’t
want
any of those things.

But Jossalyn had
changed all that. She had cared for him, and reminded him that he wasn’t an
irredeemable man who was nothing but a killer. She had believed in him even
when he hadn’t believed in himself. Damn, but he was the luckiest man on earth.

Lost in his joy,
he made his way to the practice field. When he reached its edge, the men had
already finished their laps, and Angus had taken charge, which was fitting given
the fact that he was one of the most senior and seasoned warriors in the camp. He
was leading the men through a bladework drill in pairs.

“Thank you,
Angus,” Garrick said when he reached the giant warrior’s side.

“Aye, of course,
laddie. We couldn’t
all
wile the afternoon away with a bonnie lass.” The
man’s bushy red eyebrows wriggled with merriment. He spoke loud enough for
several of the men nearby to hear, including Colin, who doubled over laughing.

Garrick only
smiled in response. He was a lucky bastard indeed.

By the time he had
wrapped up the final training session for the day, Garrick was sweaty and
tired. Even still, he felt like a giddy lad at the thought of seeing Jossalyn
again—and speaking with the Bruce.

He forced himself
to take a quick dunk in the nearby loch so as not to smell like a boar, then
hustled back to the camp. As had become their routine, they would dine with the
Bruce and several others in the King’s inner circle shortly. Garrick hoped to
have a private word with the Bruce during the meal, then, assuming he could get
his blessing, he and Jossalyn could share a quick toast with those present
before retiring to their tent once more.

Despite the cold
loch waters in which he had just dunked, his cock stirred at the mere thought. He
guessed that because of his delay, Jossalyn would already be at the King’s
dining table, which was kept out in the open near his tent during the fine
summer months, so he went straight there.

When he reached
the open area on the other side of the Bruce’s tent, where the dining table was
set up, he spotted her instantly. She was talking to Angus and Colin on the
other side of the table, waiting for the Bruce to indicate when to sit. There
were a few other men gathered around the table between them, so she hadn’t
caught sight of him yet. After scanning the remaining men, he spotted Finn a
few paces away, and noticed that the man kept glancing at Jossalyn out of the
corner of his eye.

Garrick frowned at
that. He had never been close to Finn, despite the fact that they had worked
together with the Bruce for several years now. Like him, Finn was someone whom
the Bruce trusted more than the others. Though Garrick found the man to be
overly suspicious, and didn’t entirely trust him, the Bruce seemed to enjoy
having disagreements and different points of view among his circle of advisors,
so as to balance each other.

He could live with
the man, but twice now he had noticed that Finn seemed overly interested in
watching Jossalyn, and it wasn’t to appreciate her appearance. He looked at her
like she was the enemy, and despite the fact that nearly everyone else in the
camp had already come to trust and respect her, Finn remained guarded—and
watchful of her.

“Garrick!” His
thoughts were pulled away from Finn at the sound of the Bruce calling him. When
the Bruce reached his side, they exchanged a shake.

“How goes the
training?”

“Very well. The
men are taking to it, and they relish the idea of not having to act like the
English, standing in rows to do battle,” Garrick replied.

“I imagine so. I
brought together a few of the advisors, as well as some newer members, to
discuss this change in strategy,” the Bruce said, motioning with his head
toward the men gathering around the table.

The Bruce had
indeed gathered a well-balanced group. Angus was respected for the fact that he
was a seasoned warrior, though he was slower to adopt innovative approaches
when it came to battle. He would be a more cautious voice. Colin had only just
started to be groomed to join the Bruce’s inner circle. He was newer to the
rebellion and a few years younger than Garrick, but he had proven himself both
on the battlefield and in training, and seemed to take to the stealth strategy
quickly and eagerly. Most likely, the Bruce wanted his energy and fervor in
discussing their new approach. And Finn would be the critical one, always
thinking about how things might go wrong so that they could plan around their
weaknesses.

It was a sign of
trust that the Bruce had allowed Jossalyn to stay for such a meal. Though they
likely wouldn’t delve too deeply into strategy at the present, it was an
indication that he had confidence in her loyalty even to be in the presence of a
handful of inner-circle advisors.

Several servers
began putting platters of food on the large wooden dining table, so the Bruce
broke off further discussion of tactics and moved to take his seat at the head
of the table. Garrick was honored with the seat directly to the King’s right,
and Jossalyn moved next to him, sitting on his other side. To his displeasure,
though, Finn silently took the seat to her left.

As the others took
their seats, one of the servers brought out a special platter and placed it in
front of the Bruce. While all the other dishes were filled with simple but
hearty fare, the King’s steaming platter contained what appeared to be a
mincemeat pie.

The server leaned
in. “’Tis a pheasant pie, sire, your favorite.”

The Bruce’s eyes
lit up. “And what is the occasion?”

“The new cook,
sire. He as just arrived from the Lowlands and would like to please you
especially,” the wench replied.

“My compliments to
him,” the Bruce said, then raised his fork with a nod to those around the
table.

As the others
began to dish and eat their food, Garrick leaned in toward the Bruce.

“Robert, there is
something very particular I wish to discuss with you.”

The Bruce closed
his eyes for a moment as he savored a bite of the pheasant pie. Then he turned
to Garrick and raised an eyebrow, that knowing look in his dark eyes again.

“Is there?”

“Aye. It involves
what we discussed a few weeks ago upon Jossalyn and my arrival—the matter on
which you advised me to…gather information?” For some reason it was proving
harder than he had anticipated to speak with the Bruce about his desire to wed
Jossalyn. The King wasn’t helping him out any, either, of course. He merely
stared back at him, a half-smile on his face.

Garrick pressed
on. “I am certain now that I have all the information that I need. I hope that
you will give us your blessing to…”

The Bruce frowned
and cleared his throat. He took a sip of his ale, but that only caused him to
cough more.

“Are you all right,
Robert?” Garrick said quietly.

The Bruce tried to
take a gasp of air, but it sounded thin and reedy. Garrick pulled him to his
feet and pounded on his back several times, but it didn’t seem to help. By this
time, the rest of those seated at the table had stopped eating or talking and
were looking at them with growing concern.

The Bruce’s chest
jerked again as he tried to suck in a breath, but this time, Garrick didn’t
even hear a thin wheeze to indicate that he was getting any air.

“Is he choking?”
Jossalyn said anxiously at Garrick’s side. The Bruce’s eyes darted between
them, and he grabbed his throat, but then reached for his face. Jossalyn pushed
past Garrick to stand next to the Bruce. She touched his face where he had
indicated, but didn’t find anything. Then her eyes widened and she pried his
jaw open.

Inside the Bruce’s
mouth, his tongue had swollen to more than three times its normal size. It
looked to be blocking his entire throat and pushing against the back and roof
of his mouth. The Bruce’s eyes began to droop, and his lips were starting to
turn bluish.

“Poison!” Jossalyn
said with frantic horror. The entire table erupted.