Highlander's Return: The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy, Bonus Novella (Book 2.5) (3 page)

She scooted a bit so that he could pull the dress across
her seated bottom and down her slim legs. He nearly sighed with—was it relief
or disappointment?—when the task was complete. But then he made the mistake of
bringing his eyes back to her, and he inhaled sharply.

The wet chemise left almost nothing to his
imagination. He could see the delicate curve of her breasts where the material
plastered to her skin. Each one was tipped with a rosy, hard bead, which stood
out clearly.

He jerked and spun on his heels, giving her his
back. “Do you think you can…ahem…manage to remove your chemise on your own?”

“Aye,” she said in a strained voice behind him. Had
he embarrassed her with his hands and roaming eyes? He felt like a lout, but his
blood fired hotter than ever.

“And thank you,” she said after a brief pause. Did
he mistake a note of breathiness in her voice?

He heard rustling as she removed her chemise, and if
he had felt hot before, now he was incinerated. The lass was naked behind him. He
tried to rein in his thoughts, but failed when she tugged one of the Sinclair
plaids from his shoulders. She would be wrapped in nothing but his plaid. That was
more intimate than anything he had experienced.

He kept his back to her until she spoke. “All right.
You can turn around now.”

Her dark, damp hair spilled all around the red of
the Sinclair plaid, which was wound tight around her shoulders. Her snow-white
skin stood in stark contrast to the plaid and her hair. Burke nearly gasped at
her beauty.

Luckily, the plaid was both long and wide. It
covered her past the knees. She still wore boots, and despite the fact that
they, too, were soaking wet, Burke thought it best to avoid direct contact with
the snow underfoot.

He took up her discarded dress and chemise, then removed
another one of the extra plaids his clansmen had placed on his shoulders and
draped it around her. When she was snugly wrapped up, he scooped her up from
the fallen log and strode back to the others. Some of the men had already
mounted in preparation to ride back toward Brora Tower.

When Burke reached his horse, he set the lass down
long enough to quickly snatch up the plaids he had initially tossed from his
shoulders. He offered them to his clansmen, who had given him their own plaids,
but none would take them, insisting that he give them to the lass instead. She
watched him silently as she leaned against his horse for balance, her eyes
penetrating him.

Laird Sinclair approached, forcing Burke to tear his
thoughts from the lass. The Laird took the dress and chemise from Burke and
draped them over his saddle with the cloak, then turned to her.

“What is your name, lass?”

“Meredith. Meredith Sutherland.”

“And you live at Brora Tower?”

“Aye. My father will be most grateful to you for
saving me.” Her eyes flitted to Burke, then back to the Laird.

“And who is your father?”

“Murray Sutherland.”

The Laird rubbed his beard. “Laird Sutherland’s
brother?”

“Aye.”

Laird Sinclair’s face darkened slightly. Though he
was still young and not privy to all the goings-on behind the Laird’s solar
door, Burke knew that Laird Sinclair had a particularly black opinion of both
Laird Sutherland and his brother Murray. Those two men seemed determined to
keep relations sour and tense between the Sutherlands and the Sinclairs. It was
a miracle that the Sinclairs had even been granted permission to travel through
Sutherland land. Likely, the Sutherlands hoped the Sinclair retinue would
succumb to the frigid conditions and never make it to their destination.

Schooling his features, the Laird gave the lass an
encouraging nod, then turned to Burke. “Keep her warm, lad. We still have several
miles to go before we make it back to Brora Tower.”

Burke nodded solemnly, but his stomach did a little
flip again. He would have to share his body heat with her, rub her to get the
circulation going again…. Burke certainly wasn’t having any problems with
circulation at the moment—at least in one particular area.

He mounted his horse, and, with the help of Robert
and the Laird, he hoisted the lass up onto his lap. She still shivered, and he
reminded himself that this was no time to let his mind—or any other body
part—get distracted.

He adjusted the plaid he had wrapped around his own
shoulders so that it encased both of them. Then he took the reins in one hand,
keeping the other firmly tucked around her. She leaned into him, trying to soak
up some of his warmth, so he rubbed her arm and back vigorously as the party
turned back to the northeast and headed toward Brora Tower.

Despite the icy wind and the flurries of snow,
Burke’s blood ran hot in his veins. He and this Sutherland lass were creating a
little cocoon of heat between them. As the warmth started to seep back into her
limbs, she sighed and grew increasingly limp in his arms.

He prayed she couldn’t feel his swelling length
under her bottom. He had to find a way to distract himself.

“What made you decide to take a bath in the loch on
such a fine and balmy evening, Meredith Sutherland?” he said as lightly as he
could manage.

She tilted her head up so that she could meet his
gaze. At first, her dark brown eyes were wide with surprise, but when she
picked up on his teasing tone, she smiled faintly, and a pretty blush pinkened
her pale skin.

“I was chasing a fox.”

He raised his eyebrows at her. “A fox? What could a
fox do to compel you to cross thin ice? Did he steal a kiss from you?”

This brought on a giggle from the lass, and he
noticed the faint smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose as it
wrinkled in merriment.

Bloody hell. So much for distracting himself. He had
only meant to lighten the mood and jest a bit with the lass, but now he was
talking about stolen kisses.

“Nay, nothing so dastardly as that!” she said,
snuggling into him. “I just thought he was…beautiful.” The last word was spoken
guardedly, as if she expected him to laugh at her, or chastise her.

Instead, he grew serious. “A fox is indeed a
beautiful sight, lass. Was it your first time spotting one?”

“Nay, but I’ve never seen one so close before. He
had a white tip on his tail. Have you seen such a thing before?”

Burke considered. “Nay, I can’t say that I have.”
Then he went on gently. “So you chased after him and fell through the ice?”

“Aye, I wasn’t paying attention. He kept going a
little farther, and then so would I, and then…” She shook her head a little,
likely to chase away the terrifying events. But then she turned her dark stare
on him again. “I am very…moved by animals. I love to watch them, draw
them—anything. They seem so much more…pure than people.”

There was a note of pleading in her voice, like she
wanted to be understood. But Burke wasn’t sure what to say, so he simply
squeezed her a little tighter with his arm. That seemed to communicate more to
her than words could have, for she nestled her head under his chin.

“What is the name of the man who saved my life?” she
said into his chest.

“Burke Sinclair,” he said, feeling a swell of pride.

“Burke Sinclair. I’ll not forget you,” she said
softly.

All too soon, Dougall pointed up ahead to a stone
structure rising from the top of a snow-covered hill. The tower house was
several stories tall like a tower inside a castle, but unlike a castle, no
curtain wall surrounded it. A barn and a few other outbuildings stood nearby,
but the house itself was mostly isolated.

If Burke’s sense of direction was right, they were
several miles inland and to the northwest of Dunrobin, the Sutherland clan
seat. This tower house could have been used as a lookout for Dunrobin Castle. If
someone lit a fire on the rooftop of the tower, the flames and smoke could be
seen for miles away, warning Dunrobin of an attack.

Plus, though it was not as fortified as a castle,
the tower house could withstand a small attack. From Burke’s view on his
saddle, the stone walls rose imposingly, and a large family and their household
staff could likely hole up there for weeks at a time.

Burke and the others reined in their horses when
they reached the base of the tower.

“Hello, Brora Tower! We come in peace!” Laird
Sinclair said in a loud, clear voice.

The furs covering one of the narrow windows on the
top floor rustled and a head appeared.

“What is your business here?” a voice called down.

“We have Meredith Sutherland with us. She fell
through some ice, but my nephew rescued her.”

The head disappeared and the furs settled back over
the window. The men waited, and after a long stretch, the heavy door at the
base of the tower creaked open. There stood an imposing, barrel-chested man
with a dark beard and a Sutherland plaid wrapped around his shoulders.

“I am Murray Sutherland, the lass’s father. Give her
to me,” he said, eyeing them suspiciously.

Burke dismounted and reached for Meredith, bringing
her down to his side. Murray Sutherland’s eyes widened as he took in the sight
of his daughter, her hair damp and bedraggled and clothed only in a Sinclair
plaid. He stepped forward and took her by the arm, jerking her behind him as if
to shield her from the very men who rescued her.

“Get inside, Meredith,” he said in a clipped tone
over his shoulder. She hurried through the tower door as fast as her stiff legs
could take her.

“Perhaps we might warm ourselves at your hearth for
a few moments, Sutherland,” Laird Sinclair said carefully.

Murray spat into the snow, but after a moment, he
reluctantly nodded. The men dismounted and slowly filed into the tower. Several
of them exchanged looks, unsure whether they were grateful for the warmth of a
fire or uneasy at accepting Sutherland’s grudging hospitality.

They wouldn’t turn down a fire in these conditions,
though. Warm air blasted Burke as he entered the Tower’s main floor, which was
an open hall used for dining and entertaining. In the far wall, a fire roared
in an enormous hearth, and Burke followed the others like moths to the flame.

Laird Sinclair introduced himself and his men,
though Murray seemed to already know a few of them. Likely, they had met at
some tense Highland clan caucus to try to keep relations functioning. Or worse,
Burke suddenly realized, perhaps they had encountered each other in some
skirmish or raid.

The Laird handed Sutherland Meredith’s soggy cloak
and dress, then explained how they had found the lass, and how Burke had saved
her from an almost certain death. Sutherland grunted and shifted his gaze to
Burke, assessing him.

“My thanks, lad,” he said simply, though it looked
like it pained him.

Just then, Meredith emerged from the stairwell in
the back corner of the hall. She had donned a dry wool dress of dark blue, and
her hair looked substantially drier, but she still wore Burke’s Sinclair plaid
around her shoulders. Her eyes immediately sought him, and a faint smile and
tinge of pink touched her face.

“Father, these men saved my life,” she said as she
approached, though she never took her eyes from Burke.

“Aye, so they have said,” Sutherland replied sourly.
“I thank you again. Now I think it is time for you to leave.”

Laird Sinclair’s face turned stony, but he nodded.
“Aye. Thank you for your hospitality,” he said curtly.

Just as Burke turned reluctantly to go, he felt a
small hand on his forearm. He turned to find Meredith’s beautiful, dark eyes
holding him. “Thank you. I’ll never forget you,” she said in a near-whisper
that felt private and intimate.

Just then, Murray snatched the Sinclair plaid from
around her shoulders and tossed it toward Burke.

“She’ll not be needing that anymore,” he said
coldly.

Burke caught the plaid and exchanged a hard look
with Sutherland, but before his hotheaded youth could take over, his Laird
called him from the door of the tower.

“It’s best we keep moving, Burke,” the Laird said
pointedly.

With one last glance at Meredith’s upturned face,
which was now clouded with hurt and confusion at her father’s brusqueness,
Burke turned and exited the tower. Without ado, the tower door was closed
firmly behind him. He mounted his horse along with the others and headed back
through their own tracks in the snow.

He couldn’t resist one last look, though. Glancing
over his shoulder, he caught sight of a dark head peeking behind the furs of a
high window. Even from the ever-stretching distance between them, he could feel
Meredith’s eyes on him. He shivered despite the heat that coursed through his
veins.

Late November, 1297

Two weeks after Meredith’s eyes had first seared
into him, Burke rode toward Brora Tower, but alone this time. His pulse hitched
in anticipation. He had vowed never to forget those dark, depthless eyes and
the way they seemed to penetrate him to his soul. And soon he would be held in
Meredith’s deep gaze once more.

He and his clansmen had ridden to the Borderlands
with a sour taste in their mouths at Murray Sutherland’s rude treatment. Still,
it had been an honor to see William Wallace knighted, and to be part of the
retinue that would pledge the Sinclair clan’s loyalty to Wallace and the
rebellion.

Of course, Burke had barely registered the events of
their trip after that snowy evening with Meredith Sutherland. It was like he
was sleepwalking, and he couldn’t shake the dream of Meredith’s eyes or her
rosy lips, the slim curves that had been pressed against him under his plaid,
or her innocent but passionate words about her love of animals.

To earn this side trip to see her again, he had
begged his uncle on their return through Sutherland lands to let him peel off
from the others and pay a visit to Brora Tower. At first, Laird Sinclair had
outright refused Burke’s pleas, but it was obvious to all the men that Burke
was determined. Eventually, he managed to wear the Laird down, and Burke was
granted a few hours’ detour as they passed nearby.

As Burke neared the base of the tower, he jumped eagerly
from his horse’s back even before the animal had come to a complete halt.

But when he knocked on the tower’s door and asked
permission to speak with Meredith, he was told in no uncertain terms by Murray
Sutherland that he could not see her and that he had better make haste off of
Sutherland lands.

The tower door slammed with a thud in his face. Desperate
and frustrated, Burke circled around to the other side of the tower and gazed
up at the high windows. Meredith was so close, yet the unforgiving stone walls
of the tower separated them.

Just then, the furs covering one of the windows
rustled and there she was. Her chestnut hair spilled in wild waves out the
window, and when she spotted him below, a smile lit up her face.

“I thought I heard my father sending you away!” she
said in her loudest whisper.

“Aye, but I won’t give up. I must see you,
Meredith.”

She giggled a little, though she tried to cover it
with her hand. “And I must see you, Burke Sinclair. Wait here. I have an idea.”

Before he could respond, her head vanished back
through the window. But a moment later, a rope ladder unfurled almost to the
ground. She reappeared, and turning sideways through the window, she eased one
foot and then the other onto the ladder. The windows were too narrow for a
full-grown man—especially one wearing armor, as the English did—to pass
through, but Meredith had no trouble slipping out.

When she was on the bottom rung, she turned and
spontaneously launched herself the remaining few feet toward the ground. But
instead of landing in the snow, which still lingered after the intense storm two
weeks earlier, she ended up in Burke’s waiting arms.

Slowly, reluctantly, he eased her down the length of
his body until her feet touched the ground. Her breath caught in her throat and
her eyes sought his in a lingering look.

Suddenly glancing around nervously, she took his
hand and pulled him toward one of the outbuildings nearby. When she slid open
the wooden door, Burke realized it was the barn. The smell of warm animals and
fresh hay hit him as she guided him inside and closed the door.

“I like to come here to be alone,” she said over her
shoulder as she led him to the back of the barn. “But I don’t mind sharing my
thinking place with you.”

He followed her as she climbed the ladder into the
hay loft at the far end of the barn. As he sat next to her in the hay, he
noticed that the wooden boards at the back of the loft were—not marred, he
realized as he looked closer, but carved. He made out the shapes of deer,
hawks, rabbits, and even foxes and wolves. She had carved the animal figures
here in secret, but she was sharing that secret with him.

Her eyes followed his, and her cheeks flamed in
embarrassment. “Those are just—”

Before she could say more, he leaned in and brushed
his lips against hers.

He had thought of doing nothing else ever since he
had first laid eyes on her, yet it was sweeter and more enticing than anything
his mind could conjure. Her soft, dark pink lips yielded to him like warm
honey. He caught a whiff of roses coming from her chestnut tresses. When he
pulled back, her cheeks were pink and her lips were softly parted in surprise,
yet her dark eyes told him she felt the same desire he did.

They spend the entire afternoon talking, kissing,
and lying next to each other in the hay up in the loft. Time stretched, and
Burke knew he had long overstayed his Laird’s allowance of two hours.

Eventually, Meredith admitted that she would be
needed in the tower soon. If they noticed that she wasn’t in her room and that
the ladder was down, their little secret would be spoiled forever.

Burke promised to return as soon as he could manage
to get away from Roslin. As they shared one last goodbye kiss, tears shimmered
in Meredith’s eyes. She turned away before any of them slipped down her smooth
cheeks.

Burke walked her back to the ladder and helped her
get onto the first rung. He watched as she climbed up and through her window,
then pulled the ladder back inside. Even after she waved one last time to him
and let the furs settle back over the window, he stood staring up at where she
had been, longing to see more of her.

After another moment, though, the thought of his
waiting Laird worried him enough to hurry to his horse and back to his clansmen
a few miles away.

By the time he got back to them, the sun had set and
the sky was dark. Laird Sinclair bent Burke’s ear long and hard with
admonitions for his thoughtless, reckless behavior. All the while, though,
Burke couldn’t suppress a wide grin. This seemed to only anger the Laird
further, though it brought no end of amusement to his three cousins, who teased
him mercilessly on their ride back to Roslin.

Burke didn’t care. He was madly, hopelessly,
undeniably in love.

Burke managed to steal away from Roslin and meet
secretly with Meredith three more times over the course of that winter. Each
time, they kissed, embraced, and explored each other, both with their hands and
through conversations that would stretch for hours.

When the first hints of spring breathed new life
into the land, Burke finally got up the nerve to ask Murray Sutherland for
permission to marry his daughter.

He was refused.

He asked again.

Again, he was refused, less politely than the first
time. The tower’s door slammed in his face, muffling Sutherland’s curses and
threats to geld him if he came near his daughter again.

The third time he pounded on Brora Tower’s door
would be the last.

Burke again reasoned with Sutherland, begged him,
tried to bargain with him. He told Sutherland that although he was only
nineteen, he would provide for them. Burke reminded him that he had saved
Meredith, that a wedding between the clans might do everyone good, that he was
in love with her and would never do wrong by her.

This time, instead of yelling at him or cursing him,
Sutherland stood silently in the doorway. When Burke had exhausted himself with
reasons why he should be allowed to marry Meredith, Sutherland spoke.

“Meredith is to be married to another tomorrow,” he
said simply.

Sutherland might as well have run Burke through with
the large sword strapped to his hip.

“What?”

“All the arrangements have already been made. I would
never let her be wed to some…
Sinclair
. She will wed a clansman, someone
who will improve the clan and the family.”

Burke stood there, his jaw slack and his eyes wide,
refusing to believe what he was hearing.

“Now, I suggest you leave here and never return,”
Sutherland went on coldly.

When Burke continued to stand motionless and
open-mouthed, a crack finally appeared in Sutherland’s stony exterior.

“If you really care for her as much as you claim,
then you will leave her alone and forget about her. You can only make things
harder on her by lingering here, or worse, interfering with her marriage.”

Burke thought he heard muffled sobs coming from
higher up in the tower. He glanced up, but all he saw were the cold, uncaring
stones of the tower’s walls.

Burke was a man of honor. He had to put his own
feelings, and Meredith’s, aside if she was to be another’s wife. Perhaps one
day they could each be happy, even though they would never be together. His
insides twisted at the thought, rejecting it, but what else could he do besides
ride back to Sinclair lands and let Meredith go? Would he wage a war against
Murray Sutherland? Would he attack Brora Tower and try to rescue Meredith
again?

Nay. He would not put his entire clan and hers in
jeopardy. Nor would he steal her away—even if he could—and make her an outcast
from her own family.

As he turned to his horse without a word, if felt as
though a piece of his heart had fallen from his chest and lay bleeding at the
base of Brora Tower. Meredith Sutherland was not his to love, and she never
would be.