The Highlander's Triumph (21 page)

Brandon chuckled. “Och, I but tease
ye. In truth, ye are yet to be my wife, but that doesna mean I lied. Ye will be my wife, Mariana. My destiny.”

She sagged against him, a heavy breath pushing past her lips. “I want you for a husband
...”

“
Why do I sense a but, there? ’Tis the truth I think ye could do better,” he teased. Brandon tugged the reins, the mount coming to a stop.

“I have something to tell you.
A matter which may change your mind about me.” Her voice was whisper soft and her stomach churned. How could she confess to a man with a position like Brandon’s that if he were to marry her, they would not be able to have a child? No heir to his clan.

He pressed a finger to her chin and turned her so that she had to face him.
A soft, coaxing smile on his lips. “Tell me, lass. I swear, even if your plan is to kill me once we’ve wed, it will have been worth it, though I will put up one hell of a fight.”

Mariana shook her head. “Murdering you is the last thing on my mind, I promise you.”

“Then dinna fash. I would never harm ye.”

Mariana took a deep cleansing breath,
then blurt out the most horrifying words a prospective husband ever wanted to hear. “I am barren.”

Brandon stilled for a moment, studied her closely, his eyes searching hers.

His fingers fell from her chin. “Barren? How do ye know this?”

Mariana glanced toward the ground, feeling tears burn behind her lashes. She breathed out again, hoping not to lose her voice to a sob. “You know my past… I’ve never been with child, even given that.”

Brandon shrugged. “Maybe the men ye were with took precaution. Or ’haps they were barren themselves. ’Tis not always the woman’s fault.”

Mariana flashed her gaze up at him. “You don’t understand. If you take me to wife, I will not be able to give you a child.” She couldn’t look at him, not now that she’d ruined everything. But keeping that truth was not an option. He had to know.

Brandon pressed a finger to her chin again and forced her to look at him once more. She moved her head, but kept her eyes lowered, not wanting to see the truth in his eyes. He would retract his offer of marriage.

“Look at me, Mariana,” he said softly.

After several moments, she did indeed raise her eyes to his.

“I want to marry
ye. I want to be with ye for the rest of my days. If that means we canna have a bairn together, then so be it. There are enough children within the clan, and I’ve enough cousins to give us heirs. Ye are what I want. Not your womb.”

Mariana’s mouth fell open, and though she tried to speak, no words came out.

“Aye. Ye.” Brandon brushed his lips over hers. “Now, we’ve reached my things,” he murmured.

He jumped down,
her back instantly cold and Mariana mourned the loss of his touch and heat. Brandon lifted aside some brush and pulled out his plaid and weapons.

“You went into the castle unarmed?”

Brandon glanced up at her, and she lost her breath. He was ruggedly handsome, and oozed sensuality, even when rummaging in the bushes. “We’d not be here had I not. Kept these though.” He slid up his sleeves to show the knives strapped to his forearms.

“How did you come by those clothes? And how did you know about Sir Whitely and Baron Berkeley?” In the confusion and urgency of escaping, she’d not asked.

Brandon explained quickly about coming across Whitely near Kinterloch, and the lone guard he’d stolen the garments from.

“We’d best hu
rry. The man will no doubt be wandering naked toward the gate of Ion Dubh any moment.”

“Naked? You stripped him to the skin?”

Brandon laughed. “Had to. Couldna risk him chasing me in his braies.”

Mariana smiled. “While the view is much more…revealing, I like you better with your plaid.”

Brandon stood proud, his thighs and…other parts…outlined by the tight-fitting breeches. His gaze turned dark, hungry. “I like it that ye were looking.”

Heart kicking up a notch, Mariana nodded. “I can’t help myself. When I’m around you…”

Brandon took two large steps toward her, reached up and grasped her face between his coarse hands. He brushed his thumbs tenderly over her cheek bones, and they both searched each other’s eyes for answers, for confirmation.

“Me too, lass, me too.”
His lips crushed to hers, claiming, taking, demanding.

Mariana grabbed onto his
thick upper arm, leaning down into his fiery kiss. His lips were soft but firm, his tongue sweet and velvety hot as he slid it between her willing lips. She met each stroke of his tongue with one of her own. It seemed the last time they’d kissed had been so long ago. Too long.

Brandon wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her from the horse, making sure to be gentle with her broken arm. Her breasts crushed to his chest, nipples instantly hard,
the crux of her thighs tingling. Love soared deep inside, and she wanted desperately to shout it out.

“Oh, Brandon… I dreamed of this. Prayed you’d come for me.”

“Lass, I felt like someone had taken a piece of me when Ross carried ye off.”

They spoke between fervent kisses, as though each one could be their last.

“I thought you might return, ye Scots swine.” Mariana jumped at the sound of the voice behind them. “Give me back my clothes, then get down on your knees so I can kill you.”

She opened her eyes and turned slowly. The man held a thin sword an inch or two away from her back.

“Don’t hesitate you barbarian, else I gore your woman and you watch her guts spill at your feet.”

Chapter Twenty-One

B
randon wished that this was the first time a situation like this had arisen. He wasn’t proud to admit on the last occasion, the man on the other end of the sword was an angry husband intent on cutting his cock off. The woman he’d been kissing at the time was married—a fact he wasn’t aware of, else he wouldn’t have stolen her away for a rut in a hidden alcove.

In this case, Brandon
actually felt lucky that the woman he was holding was supposed to be there, and the man on the other end of the sword was simply irked because he stole his clothes.

Brandon held up his hands, showing he was unarmed. Mariana did not move from his embrace, but did stare behind her at their threat.

“Apologies for leaving ye less than dressed, good sir. ’Twas an emergency.”

A line of dried b
lood was on the man’s forehead, from where Brandon hit him earlier with the hilt of his sword to subdue him. The bastard no doubt had one hell of a headache, which probably only made him more ornery.

“I don’t give two shits about your emergency, Scots garbage. I care about you dying.”

Well, it would appear reasoning wasn’t going to work with this Sassenach.

“I shall willingly die, if ye but let the lass go.”

Mariana gasped but made no comment, no move.

The man did exactly what Brandon expected him to do—he eyed Mariana like a piece of meat. Meat he could take a bite out of and savor slowly.
Brandon was ready to knock the  bastard senseless once more. His muscles tightened, ready to pounce.

As if sensing the man’s interest, Mariana pushed out her chest, cocked her hip. What in heavens was she doing? Did she
want
the English prick?

“Oh, please have mercy. Don’t hurt the Scotsman. He can’t help it
that he’s Scottish,” she pouted, her silky voice working its magic on them both.

Before he could grab her back she’d taken a step closer to the man, his sword blade sliding an inch into the air above her should
er, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. “Take pity on me, that I married him. Let me at least know he didn’t die for my sake.”

English licked his lips
, having eyes only for the lass weaving him into her spell.

“A lady such as
yourself shouldn’t be shackled to that bastard,” English said, anger in his tone. His eyes were filled with want.

Desire that
left Brandon feeling physically ill.

His hands itched to reach out and grab her back. Force her away from the smelly, dirty, louse-infested arse.

Mariana did not appear to feel the same way. She reached out, traced a three inch line on the man’s blasted chest. Brandon ground his teeth so hard he was afraid they might chip.

He’d clenched his hands into fists and was very close to sending one heavily into his opponent’s eye.
Give him another trickle of dried blood to match the other.

“Oh, I know…but King
Edward insisted. I was his mistress until a few weeks ago.”

The man
’s mouth gaped. “Lady Mariana?”

She nodded, the hair on the back of her head rustling with the wind.
Brandon wanted to touch it. To reach out and twirl a glossy lock around his finger. Thought about doing so—until he realized where they were and what the significance of such a move might mean to the man who threatened their lives.

He was torn.
At an impasse as to what to do. The Englishman was distracted enough that he could pull one of the knives from his sleeves. He could throw it, but worried that Mariana would move at the last minute and end up with a knife embedded in her face, rather than the blade hitting its intended target.

That was a risk he couldn’t take.

So, he watched like a fool as she touched the man again. The bastard was mesmerized. Brandon could only imagine the captivating smile curling her lips, the way her eyes were probably a little wider than usual, not making her look surprised but rather intrigued.

Mariana was an expert with men.
Taking beasts in hand. He was completely disgusted. Not with her, but how the tip of the man’s sword fell toward the ground, as though he’d not just been holding it with the intent to kill. Brandon might as well put him out of his misery.

Too stupid to live.
Any man could kill the bastard now, and do it with full warning given. English was so taken with Mariana, Brandon was pretty sure the man wouldn’t have minded if a hundred armed Scots surrounded him right then and there.

Brandon had no fun taking a man’s life when he didn’t at least put up a fight. Slipping both knives from
their sheathes in his sleeves, he then took one giant step forward. With Brandon’s chest to Mariana’s back, the bastard finally flicked his gaze away from her. Uninterested was the only way to describe the man’s flat eyes when he set them on Brandon—well and irritated.

Flashing the man a satisfied grin, Brandon shifted his arms in quick fashion and pressed the blades against either side of the man’s neck.

“Lass, I thank ye for distracting the fellow, but if ye would nay mind, could ye duck beneath my arms and take a step back?”

Mariana nodded slowly and bent at the knees, slipping from between Brandon and English.

“Ye might close your eyes,” Brandon warned her.

He couldn’t see her face, nor did he hear a response. The Englishman finally realized the threat he faced when Mariana no
longer cast his spell over him.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” he begged. Actual tears glistened in his eyes.

This was no fun at all, but completely pathetic.

“Really, man?”
Brandon whispered. “Ye’d cry about it?”

The man nodded emphatically. “I got me
mum, and me sister, and…” He burst into loud, awful tears. His shoulders shook, head bobbed with the force of all the racket he made.

Brandon scowled.
“Pull yourself together.” He shook his head. “I willna kill ye, but I’m nay going to let ye go either.”

The man was able to stop crying for a few minutes and glanced at Brandon with confusion. “You won’t kill me?”

“Nay, ye sorry waste of human flesh. Put your hands behind your back.”

The man willingly, and with eager quickness, put his hands behind his back.
The stench of his fear permeated the beauty of the forest coming alive. Nature’s own scent had a calming effect on Brandon. This maggot was messing with his equilibrium.

Brandon rolled his eyes. “On your knees,” he said with a forced growl. Lord, he was close to laughing. “Scuttle over to that tree.”

Brandon glanced toward Mariana, partly because he liked to look at her, but also because he wanted to gauge her feelings over the situation. A jolt of appreciation shocked its way through him. The woman was beautiful. Beyond beautiful, she was a vision. Her hair fell in waves around her face, dampened by the rain, and curled with the mist. Her eyes glowed in the light. Porcelain skin with arched brows and high cheekbones. She was a goddess, a seductress. No wonder she had the ability to charm men with a simply bat of her lashes or flash of her even pearly teeth.

With shocking clarity, he realized that he didn’t simply love
her, he was willing to give away his soul in order to spend the rest of eternity with her. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he was under her spell. Enchanted like the rest of the men by fantasies that wouldn’t come true. But his fantasy had already come to life. Damn, he wanted to kiss her.

“Ouch!” English cried out as his knee
banged on a sharp rock. With his hands tied behind his back, he wasn’t able to balance himself right, and he bounced on his good knee for a second before falling over on his side.

“Och, ye’re a ninny,” Brandon said under his breath.

Gripping him by his upper arm, Brandon hauled him up. The man shook beneath his fingertips.

“Come on now, at least try to save face before the lady,” Brandon urged.

Seeming to still hold out hope that there was a chance for him and Mariana, English bucked up, straightening his spine and scurrying forward on his knees. When he reached the tree, Brandon pressed the man’s chest against it.

“Normally, I’d put your back to the tree. But seeing as how ye stuck around to attack me the first time, I’ll not make it so easy.”

“But—“

“Dinna argue the point, English. I’ve already allowed
ye to live.”

The man whimpered and again Brandon rolled his eyes. Did the man have no pride?
Well, the man was English. The whole lot of them seemed to lack any pride, at least that he’d ever known.

Making quick work of tying the sorry lout to the tree, Brandon returned to Mariana whose mouth was curved down in a frown.

“Will he die there?”

Brandon shrugged.

“I wouldn’t want you to have his death on your hands.”

“Would ye have rather he killed us both?”

She frowned. “I don’t think he had killing me on his mind and he wouldn’t be the first man I’ve had to subdue.”

“Subdue?” He hated to think what that meant. The thought of her allowing any man to touch her threw him into a fit of jealous rage.

Mariana shook her head. “Toss him a weapon or something.”

Brandon picked up a stick and put it into the man’s hands. He leaned down close and spoke roughly to him. “Ye see now, I’ve let ye live and I’ve given ye a means to escape. Dinna come after me. Dinna tell anyone ye ever saw me.”

The man nodded emphatically.

“Your ride, my lady.”
Brandon lifted Mariana onto the horse, then stuffed his clothes into the satchel at the side and his weapons in the saddle scabbards. There wasn’t time to change his attire now. He’d have to bear with what was most certainly chafing.

After leaving the Englishman tied to a tree, Brandon rode his stolen horse ragged back to Eilean Donan Castle. Mariana rode in front of him, her back protected by the wall of his chest, but her mind left vulnerable and contemplative.

Brandon was not the savage she’d been led to believe all Scots were. She’d learned that when he found her outside Kinterloch. None of the men in his crew were barbarians, but men with passion, a fierce loyalty to their lands and people. They were good, wholeheartedly so. Guilt riddled a path throughout her for ever having believed such malicious rumors. If anything, her time with King Edward had proven that his lot were more vicious than any of the Scots she’d come across.

Sinking against his warmth and strength, she allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment. To breath
e in his heady masculine scent and dream about what a life with him would be like. Finally free. She didn’t have to worry over her future beyond what she and Brandon would do and where they would go.

Never would another man grace her bed, nor would she have to appease a stranger.
At last.

Brandon’s inta
ke of breath, and the sudden stopping of his mount, had her sitting up straight, eyes open. Instantly, she knew what had made him gasp—just beyond the road, a body hung from the gate gracing the beginning of a bridge. Eilean Donan’s bridge.