The Highlander's Triumph (11 page)

Brandon scrubbed a hand down his face, rubbed his temples. Aye, his reaction was indeed disturbing.

More disturbing was how his senses had been dulled and he’d not heard her. She’d dulled his senses, made him weak, vulnerable.

Anger surged within his chest. He hurried as
quick as he could to wrap his plaid around his hips, belted it, but didn’t bother with his boots. Barefoot, he rushed from the room in search of her, trying his best to remember the way to the guest quarters. Up a flight of stairs, down the hall. He stood before her door, quiet voices slipping through the wood.

Who was in her room?

Brandon didn’t bother knocking. Whether it was his injured pride at her having seduced him and then slipping away without a word, or anger at how she made him feel, he didn’t know. He burst into the room, surprised to see her standing with her back to him between two maids, their mouths forming surprised O’s.

“My laird,” Mariana gasped. He
r brow wrinkled in irritation as she turned around fully to face him.

Addressing the two maids he said, “Leave,” between clenched teeth.

The maids lowered their heads, curtsied and then scurried from the room, closing the door behind them.

“What t
he hell was that?” Brandon asked, swinging his arm behind him, hopefully in the direction of his chamber.

Mariana raised a brow at him. “I was unaware that a lady was not allowed to speak with her maids.” Her tone was haughty, her stance rigid.

Brandon let out a brusque laugh. “That is nay what I’m talking about and ye well know it.”

Slowly, she shook her head. “On the contrary, my laird, I’ve not
an inkling as to what you refer.”

Ah, so she would play games with him. “Mayhap this will jog your memory.”

He stalked toward her, slid his fingers over the curve of her cheeks and behind her head, then kissed her senseless.

Chapter Eleven

“I
knew it was ye.”

Mariana nodded, the gruff tone in Brandon’s voice sending a chill across her skin.
Her heart raced from him barging into her room. Their heated exchange. Moments later, her lips tingled from his kiss. She could still taste him on her tongue. With them pressed so closely together, his breath mingled with hers, his heartbeat pounded just as fiercely as her own. Candlelight flickered in his eyes, showing off the blue of his irises like a prism. Every angle and cut of him was magnificent, intoxicating. She could stare into the crystal of his eyes for hours on end and never grow bored. Let him kiss her, touch her.

She’d guessed while they made love,
that he knew it was her, and she had cause to hope he wouldn’t come after her. As they’d laid there entwined in each other’s arms, panic took hold. Lying with someone, stroking them as she had—her fingers making whirls over his chest hair—’twas too intimate. Certainly she’d pretended such intimacy before, but she’d never actually felt it. With Brandon she’d felt exposed—not physically, but emotionally. Open, and vulnerable.

Brandon had
climbed from the bed and she took her opportunity to escape. To run away. She was a coward. Afraid to go down a road she had no control over. A road that would most certainly end in doom. And she prayed he wouldn’t come after her.

But here he was, darkening her door just as he darkened every corner of her mind.
She wondered if the maids had told anyone and everyone who would listen that Laird Sinclair stormed into Lady Mariana’s room. Or would they show the shiny coins she’d paid them to allow her the pleasure of climbing into his bed?

“
Why did ye leave?” Brandon’s tone revealed nothing of his feelings. His eyelids were lowered as though to shield himself from her.

“I couldn’t stay,” she said quietly, making no effort to disengage
herself from his embrace and deny it was her in his chamber. His warmth surrounded her. However unrealistic it was, she couldn’t pull away. Whether he did so or not consciously, he rubbed a circle against her hip with his thumb.

“Why?”

Swallowing hard, she said, “We both know why, Brandon.”

She hated how condescending she sounded, how pessimistic, but before they fell into bed once more—which it appeared they were close to doing—Mariana had to bring them back to reality. Disappointing Brandon went against everything she’d ever been taught, a complete contrast to the way she’d lived for half a decade. It left a foul taste in her mouth. But even worse than that, it went against what her heart was screaming
, too.

Brandon let ou
t an expletive under his breath and pushed away from her. Mariana took a step back, relying on every ounce of training she’d ever had to keep from reacting to him. He was in a right state. She needed to be gentle and passive so as not to incite him further. ’Twas obvious he was agitated, and she could guess why. So, while he raked a hand through his hair and paced the room, she took a moment to breathe deeply, make her face serene and fold her hands in front of her. She couldn’t react based on emotion or she would be in trouble. More emotional turmoil than she could even imagine. But how was she supposed to turn off her feelings? This was new territory for her, and she didn’t like it one bit. Staying away from Brandon, avoiding his kiss, touch, and penetrating gaze was the only answer.  So why did it seem near impossible?

Brandon continued to pace
back and forth three times, before stopping, hands resting on his narrow hips. Mariana watched him closely. Shadows and light flickered over the angles of his face, but still he refused to look at her. His face was turned to the side as though he found something deep and meaningful in the way the wall met the floor. Mariana raked her gaze hungrily over him, partly because she liked the way he looked, as well as to count his weapons. None. He’d been in such a hurry to see her that he’d not even bothered to put on his shoes.

“Who are ye really?” Brandon asked
, turning back to gaze at her, his eyes narrowed.

“I am who I’ve said I was.”
She kept her tone low, even. Who she was and what she was, were two different things and she wasn’t about to sully the memory of what they’d experienced with her exceedingly inglorious background. Her past was her past. He didn’t need to know that she’d served as mistress to as many men as she had fingers on her hand. That the men she served, ordered her to bed down with their friends. That she’d been ill-used by many and loved by none. Mariana was a pawn, and well she knew it. But that didn’t mean she wanted him to know. The shame of it heated her cheeks.

Brandon shook his head
, disappointment flickering briefly over his features. “All right, ye’ll not tell me all. I’ve not gained your trust, I understand that. But I’m not some shallow arse who’d let ye rut him and then walk out without a word. Ye have to give me more credit than that.”

Mariana’s eyes widened only slightly. She
struggled to keep her emotions in check. Never in her wildest imaginings would she have guessed walking out would cause so much trouble. Most men were glad when she quietly slipped away. No awkward moments. No trying to explain when they’d see each other again. No need for her to pretend she’d enjoyed it—however this latter notion held no ground with Brandon. She’d thoroughly relished their lovemaking. Her gaze fell to her bed and then back to him. How very much she would enjoy making love with him again. She swallowed, hoping her voice wouldn’t come out a croak.

Mariana locked eyes on Brandon. “I don’t think you are shallow. And I didn’t do what I did for any reason other than…”  But her voice trailed off.
She couldn’t tell him the truth. How would she explain why she sought a moment that would forever be ingrained in her memory?

Brandon stiffened. His jaw muscles tightening to the point she could see them flex
again and again. “Dinna tell me.” His voice was filled with anger and he turned abruptly toward the door.

Regret made her belly twist sharply.
He’d taken her silence to mean something different. She turned around, forcing herself to stare into the small fire in the hearth. This was for the better. She curled her toes into the carpet. If he left now in anger, there’d be no heartache. Like a splinter, the quicker it was torn out, the faster it healed. Brandon wasn’t a splinter—but the feelings she was starting to have were like a thousand thistles embedded beneath her skin. Uncomfortable. Maddening.

The door closed, and yet she still faced the hearth.
Watched the tiny orange flames lick half-heartedly at the burning embers. When her eyes started to sting from lack of blinking, she rubbed at them, half hoping to see Brandon still standing beside the closed door.

“
You’re a fool,” she muttered to herself.

She’d wounded him in more ways than one. He wouldn’t stick around for more
. Wouldn’t allow her to add insult to injury. Brandon had pride, she could tell that much. Even if he did harbor strong feelings for her—which she was certain he did not—his pride would have bade him to leave her standing there.

Mariana ambl
ed to the bed. The maids had already pulled the coverlet aside for her. She slipped between the soft sheets, grateful for them. Her sheets were not always of the finest fabrics. Heated rocks were nestled at the base of the bed, warming her toes. Had they known she’d be freezing upon her return from Brandon’s chamber?

One of them had admitted to bedding him before.
She’d probably known firsthand how cold it was leaving the warmth of his embrace. A spark of jealousy singed her blood. To think he’d shared such intimacy with another woman. The envy of anyone who’d had the pleasure made her crazy.

So much for escaping the
castle tonight. Not only was she exhausted, but Mariana felt more trapped now than ever. The walls being erected didn’t necessarily trap her inside the building as they did inside her own mind.

On the morrow, she’d wake and
observe the comings and goings of the people. ’Haps her two maids would be willing to make extra coin and help her get across the bridge unseen.

Mariana flopped onto her back, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes.

Why of all the Highland warriors, did Brandon have to catch her from falling outside Kinterloch?

Before the break of dawn, Brandon gathered with William Wallace and the Bruce within their future king’s chambers.
Only a single candle lit the room. The shutters were closed tight and a plaid rolled against the bottom of the chamber door kept any light from filtering out. They didn’t want anyone to know they met in secrecy.

“And ye know this for sure?” Wallace asked.
His dark hair was mussed, clothes wrinkled, from having hastily risen from his own chamber to join them. Even still, Wallace looked every bit the Guardian of Scotland. Weapons were strapped to every available inch of his body. Fierce brows slashed his forehead and yet wrinkles creased around his eyes and mouth proved that he did in fact laugh.

The Bruce stood beside Wallace, his skin pale
, having just recovered from another bout of ague. A wrap made of red squirrel fur was placed around his shoulders and despite having been ill, the man was in a robust spirit, and looked well-rested.

Brandon nodded.
Damn him to hell for what he was about to do. He’d taken the time to go back to his chamber after leaving Mariana, to put on his boots and weapons, even though he’d wanted to rush back to her, grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.

A dirk dug into each forearm as he flexed his hands
, a reminder of all that was at stake. At home, he wore weapons only if they were under threat of attack or for training. Here, he was armed at all times. An enemy could attack at any moment—even from within.

Ballocks, his ego was bruised
after the night he’d had, but he dared not think about it more than that. Mariana was nobody to him. At least that was what he was trying to convince himself. He’d been caught up in a fantasy. One that had no place in his life. She’d made that clear in her chamber when she turned her on him.

He’d given his life to the Scottish cause, and he would never allow a woman to come between that dedication and himself.

Brandon cleared his throat. “She told me herself that Ross and King Edward expected her return. That she was to report back to them all she’d seen—including who. She alluded to the fact that they would come looking for her.”

“Do ye think she’s a spy?” Wallace asked.

Brandon shrugged. “I canna say.” But he wouldn’t be surprised. ’Haps she’d hoped to gain his cooperation through intimacy and had been planning on pulling information from him when he was weakest. Not a bad move, but not one he’d fall for. And though he had his suspicions, something held him back from telling his leaders what they were.

“Though ye may not know for certain, what does your gut say?” Wallace pressed.

Normally one to act on instinct, not giving a clear answer was at odds with Brandon’s usual input. Hell… His gut was telling him to keep her safe. “Nay. I dinna believe she is.”

Wallace nodded, but the Bruce narrowed his eyes.
“Why the sudden change of heart?”

Brandon shrugge
d, brushing aside the question. He pointed at the map spread upon the table. “We’ll head out at first light. The journey should take us two, possibly three days at most. We’re guessing that we’ll meet Ross upon the road here, or at the point where Lady Mariana was to rendezvous.”