Highland Promise (4 page)

        "The Spey is a river, Lady Faith," Rothley said with a suspicious frown. "Are you sure—"

        "Well I must have…ah...mixed up the names. He spoke of so many. What lake was it you said was the most beautiful in the world, Laird Sutherland?" Her elbow jabbed his side again.

        Brendan wanted to laugh at the hole she was digging for herself and was tempted to let her climb out on her own. He grabbed her arm before her elbow could get in another thrust. With an exaggerated sigh, he said, "It is a loch. Loch Shein."

        She beamed at the baron. "There you see, milord. It was Loch Shein."

        Rothley wasn't convinced. "And your brother does not mind you riding out with them alone?"

        "Leland's own words were, 'Only a journey across Rothley's land will allow the Highlanders to reach Henry's court as happy men.' If you truly think Laird Sutherland and his fine warriors cannot protect me, you are welcome to walk with us to the lake, though I hope they will not be insulted."

        "You are still a minx." Baron Rothley grinned. "I wish my son had enough sense to see beyond your handiwork." He tipped his head toward Brendan. "You are welcome on my land, Laird Sutherland. Guard the lass well. She is a treasure."

        As Rothley rode off with his men, the treasure turned a scowl upon Brendan that should have set the surrounding brush ablaze. Her fist then slammed into his belly. "Ouch! You were a big help," she said sarcastically while shaking her hand. Then she leaned forward and deliberately added, "Brendan."

        After favoring him with a haughty lift of her chin, she stomped up the trail.

        "The lass seems a wee bit miffed with you, laird," Roland commented as amusement lurked in his eyes.

        "Aye, she has a temper," Brendan agreed. He watched her traipse ahead, her gait too graceful for one of her supposed proportions.

        "You cannot still mean to wed the lass?" Michael gasped.

        "Of course I will. A promise is a promise, and a Sutherland never breaks his word."

        Michael shuddered. "But she is so ugly."

        Brendan whistled to his mount, then strode forward to catch up with Faith. He and Duncan Ranald had mentored Michael MacArthur and Luthias MacMathan during their training under Brendan's father. The four boys had performed an ancient blood ritual making them brothers, and Brendan tolerated more than he should from the pair on most occasions. However, he had no doubt about what the Baron meant and knew they were all going to be in for a surprise whenever Faith's disguise came off.

        "Michael," Brendan called over his shoulder. "You have me worried, for 'twould appear you have no more sense than the English baron's son."

Two

        The man was an arrogant, overbearing lout with too many flaws to list. She might just have to rethink her plan and seek assistance from someone else. Aye, she would wash her hands of Brendan Sutherland just as soon as they reached the other side of Rothley's holding.

        "Well, rats," Faith grumbled. "Unless another bunch of Highlanders comes through, there is no one else to whom I may appeal."

        Faith exhaled a weary sigh and exited the woods into a clearing at the top of the rise. Pear trees graced the land to her left and a cliff dropped off to her right. She halted and shielded the afternoon sun from her eyes with a bandaged hand. Light flashed and bounced across the valley below as sunlight reflected from the swords and shields of her brother's soldiers.

        Footsteps approached behind her. She was glad the Highlanders could see evidence of her truthfulness. She hated their suspicion. And that irked her. Why should she care what a passel of contrary strangers thought of her?

        "Mayhap we should holler and wave, so they'll know not to waste any more time," one of the men jested.

        Faith whirled about and shoved at the chest of the big black-haired warrior who had made the remark. Her surprise attack caught him off guard and he landed hard on his rump, astonishment visible in his dark-brown eyes.

        "Faith, Luthias, how could you let the lass ground you?" Michael chided over the other warriors' chuckles.

        "Do not any of you dare attract their notice," she hissed. "We may be safe from attack up here, but if they see me with you, I am the one my brother will punish. Now back away out of view."

        Brendan stood with his fists on his hips and his legs braced apart. He watched the ambushers through hooded eyes. His face was set like chiseled stone. Was his countenance perpetually mean or just plain stubborn? The other warriors wouldn't move until he did. She couldn't think of a single thing that would make the obstinate man budge until he was good and ready. That didn't mean she had to remain and tempt her brother's wrath.

        "Stay here if you must. I am of a mind to be rid of the lot of you." She headed for the forest on the opposite side of the clearing. "Lord knows I must have been out of my mind to seek your assistance in the first place." Her stomach rumbled, so she changed directions and walked toward the pear trees.

        Brendan caught her by her forearm and brought her around to face him. He crossed his arms over his chest and braced his feet apart. His men circled about her, assuming similar poses. They made a formidable prison, and Faith didn't like the entrapped feeling. The notion struck her that they might kill her for revenge over her brother's insult. She scolded herself for not having thought of that before. She took a step back from Brendan and dug her fingernails into her bandaged palms.

        "You will not walk away from our protection again."

        Brendan's order calmed her. These men possessed a strong sense of honor. Having forced her to accompany them, they would protect her with their lives.

        He stared at her as if he expected some type of response, so she calmly folded her hands before her. "All right."

        "If your brother learns you are with us, what will he do?"

        "He will probably wish to kill me." The words left her mouth before she thought.

        Brendan's scar turned white and his cheek twitched.

        "But he will not. Leland will most likely scold and humiliate me in front of his men and my staff."

        "Would he beat you?" Michael asked from behind her, and she was surprised to hear a measure of menace in his tone.

        "Nay, he would never raise his hand to me." She was relieved when the wild pulsation in Brendan's cheek disappeared.

        "Why would you warn your brother's enemies of his plans?" Roland asked.

        "To gain your assistance to reach the convent—"

        "For your own gain you betrayed your brother?" Roland demanded.

        She shook her head. "There is no honor in attacking someone unawares. Had he planned a fair fight, mayhap I would not have said anything about it. I still would have tried to somehow contact you for escort when you left England on your way home. My options for aid are limited."

        "Why did your brother stage the ambush?" Michael asked.

        Faith wanted to look away from Brendan, but found her gaze locked to his by some magical force. "I was not sure about the why until your laird told me his name. Now I believe Leland wishes to kill him for revenge."

        "Why would your brother wish revenge against our laird?" Luthias asked.

        "For the same reason that your laird will take my undying gratitude to his grave," she replied, stalling as she summoned her nerve.

        "And why is that?" Tormey asked when she didn't go on.

        "He killed Rawlins."

         Brendan cocked a brow.

        "It happened in battle, but I believe Leland hates your laird for the deed."

        "Who was Rawlins?" Michael demanded.

        She hesitated, wishing she could look away from Brendan's hard gaze. "Our eldest brother."

        Brendan's expression didn't change. Fire crept under her flesh. He must think her disloyal. Mayhap she was, but she still believed God had worked His justice through Brendan's blade on that battlefield.

        "You are grateful that I killed your brother?" Brendan asked quietly, and it occurred to her that she had never heard him raise his voice.

        "Aye, and I thank God for you every single day." She yanked her gaze from his and bowed her head. She wasn't about to tell these men of the humiliation she had suffered at Rawlins's whim. If not for him, she wouldn't be guilty of the Sin of Eve and wouldn't have to spend the rest of her life in a convent doing penance. "Please excuse me. I need a moment of privacy. Then we must hurry. If I do not return to the keep before darkness, I shall be shut out for the night. I do not like to sleep on the ground."

        Faith turned, but Michael and another warrior blocked her flight. Tears pricked her eyes, but she squared her shoulders, balled her fists, then locked gazes with Michael. "I was reared to behave as a proper lady, but if you do not let me pass, I shall forget every lesson I ever learned and you will never sire a child."

        Michael grinned. She shifted her weight, preparing to kick the lout and prove her boast. Unfortunately, she was hauled backward against a hard familiar chest. Strong hands settled about her waist, holding her in place.

        Jabbing her elbow at his waist, she struggled to get free. "Let me go so I can knock the asinine grin off his face."

        "Now, lass, I cannot free you until you calm down," Brendan said in an overly patient tone. "Michael has yet to sire any bairns with his young bride and 'twould be an injustice to deprive her of the joys of motherhood."

        Michael wasn't smiling any longer. His expression was downright mulish.

        She stopped struggling. "You mean some poor woman is married to that ill-mannered brute?"

        "Aye, they wed when she was a lass of three summers and he but a lad of nine." A measure of censure entered Brendan's voice. "He has yet to claim his bride and take her home though."

        "Well, why not?" Faith demanded.

        "I don't want her," Michael said through clenched teeth.

        "You have a duty to her." She settled her hands on her hips.

        "I know my duty," Michael snapped.

        "Then you should do it. Why do you not want her?"

        Michael glared at her, and she wondered if he was imagining her skewered and roasting over a fire. "She's English."

        "Are you serious?" Faith demanded. "You do not want her because she is English?"

        Michael's glower grew mutinous.

        "That is the most prejudicial thing I have ever heard," Faith declared. "In case your mother failed to mention it, let me assure you that your barbarian hide is no prize."

        "Laird, have you noticed that for someone intending to be a nun, the lass is quick to lose her temper and issue insults?" Roland asked on a chuckle.

        "She is a wee bit violent too," Luthias added.

        Faith groaned and buried her face in her bandaged hands. "Laird Sutherland, I truly require a moment alone. Would you please tell your men to let me pass?"

        Brendan released his hold. The warriors parted. Before they could change their minds, she rushed through and hurried toward the trees.

        Halting at the forest's edge, she turned back. "Laird Sutherland, I want you to know that I am usually an even-tempered and mild-mannered maiden, but you and your men do try my patience."

        As she disappeared into the woods, Brendan's men closed in around him.

        "Are you sure she is the Lady Faith of whom Lady Ranald spoke, laird?" Jamie, Brendan's cousin, asked.

        "I cannot believe the lass would admit to such disloyalty," Cleit, a brown-haired and blue-eyed cousin who usually remained silent, said.

        "Aye." Tormey shook his head. "'Tis bad enough to be wedding an ugly lass, but one who is disloyal too."

        "Lady Faith is not disloyal," Michael declared.

        "Could have fooled me," Luthias muttered.

        Brendan cocked a brow at Michael, wondering at his sudden defense of the lass when he had been nothing but belligerent and insulting toward her.

        "The lady showed us her courage by warning us of the attack." A hard glint in Michael's eyes dared the others to contradict him.

        "Courage is not loyalty," Roland replied. "She was disloyal to her living brother by bringing us the warning."

        "She did so to help our laird, as she should since she is to wed him," Michael insisted. "And if she is glad her brother is dead, then I believe he deserved her disdain."

        "Wonders will never cease." Roland grinned ear to ear. "I never thought to see the day you would champion an English lass."

        Michael glared at the commander. "I did not say she was without flaws."

"Nay, she is not without flaws," Brendan agreed. "But she is mine."

        Those words silenced any further remarks about Faith's character. His men would not question her loyalty again. He, however, had every intention of discovering the reason why his bride would rejoice over her brother's death and thank God for the man who did the deed.

        He ambled over to the grove and picked a pear to eat while he awaited Faith. As he bit into the sweet ripe fruit, juices rolled down his chin. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.

        Faith returned and walked toward a tree at the end of the grove. The trees were well picked, and the remaining fruit exceeded her grasp. She grabbed a branch with bandaged hands and winced. Then she wrapped her arms around a lower branch and swung her body upward. Her legs became entangled in her skirts and she plummeted back to the earth. Brendan rolled his eyes. He had the feeling that if he and his men weren't around, she would hitch up her skirts and climb the tree as nimbly as any young boy.

        He strolled over and plucked a pear from an upper branch. Extending the offering, he couldn't keep the amusement from his voice. "It may have escaped your notice, Faith, but there are seven men here who are considerably taller than you. Any one of us is pleased to be of assistance if you but ask."