The Highlander's Triumph (3 page)

Indeed
, he wanted a woman in his life when the chaos calmed. But the thought of her being in danger like this, of showing such displays as the ones he’d witnessed his cousins doing, hand holding, pain when their hearts were crushed, fear… That was not something Brandon thought he’d be able to endure. He couldn’t judge his cousins, he accepted them and their right to love, and in fact respected them all for it. In his heart though, his gut, he knew it wasn’t the right thing for him. Not yet, anyway.

Och!
Why did looking at Mariana make him start questioning himself and his ideals?

“Come, let me find ye a place to sit afore the fire.”

Mariana slid her arm through his—he ignored how right that felt—and he led her toward the fire the men had started. Two warriors lounged on a fallen, moss covered tree. One jerk of Brandon’s head and they both scurried to find another spot.

“Oh, I couldn’t take their place,” Mariana said with a shake of her head.

“Nonsense,” Brandon said gruffly. “They were happy to vacate for such a lovely lass.”

Mariana’s lip twitched, and she smiled at him. “You think
me lovely, my laird?”

Brandon’s chest seized. He had no skill with talking prettily to women. Never took an interest in flirting. Och, he could kiss the hell out of one, and he usually did let his prowess in the bedchamber speak for him.
He gave her a curt nod, took hold of her shoulders and nudged her to sit.

“Stay here.” He walked back toward his horse, feeling on edge and nervous. Lord, he hated being out of control. He took off his pack filled with food and drink, nodded to one of the grooms to take care of his mount,
then returned to the fallen log.

Mariana
pulled the plaid blanket from beneath her cloak and settled it on her lap. She looked down at her hands, picking at her manicured nails. Not too long, not too short. He could practically feel them scraping down his back. As he got closer, she jerked and looked up, relief filling her features at seeing it was him. Was she that terrified of speaking to Wallace? Brandon’s senses went on alert. Something was not entirely right with that. Aye, could simply be fear, but what did she have to be afraid of?

Brandon sa
t beside Mariana, his thigh brushing hers. He ignored the spark that rushed from his leg to his groin, and instead rummaged through his satchel until he found the wineskin. He pulled out the cork and held the skin out to her. “Wine?”

Mariana nodded and took the skin. She’d guzzled the water he previously gave her, but with the wine she sipped daintily, though somehow he could tell she wished to gulp.

“Very good,” she murmured.

“Have some more.”

“I’d not want to drink all of your wine, my laird.”

Brandon shrugged. “I’d simply get more from one of my men.”

“I’d not want to take their drink.”

“Any of them would offer it to
ye.”

She gazed up at him coyly, her lips poised to smile. “You’ll not allow me to win, will you?”

Brandon chuckled, charmed by her intuitiveness. “Nay.”

“Then I shall have some more.” She took a longer pull this time, closed her eyes as she savored
each drop.

“Which wine is better—mine or Barclay’s?”

Mariana gave him the skin back and playfully batted his arm. “A lady never kisses and tells.”

Jealousy reared its head, making his skin prickle. He leaned closer, whispering into her ear, “Did ye kiss Barclay?”

Mariana gasped and touched her hand to her chest. Brandon wished to peel back the many layers of fabric she wore to see the suppleness of her figure. He’d felt it. Knew she was curvy in all the right places, but as of yet, he’d only seen her in her overlarge cloak—not even a hint of what lay beneath from the well placed dip in her gown. Hell, he couldn’t tell if she was wearing a gown.

And that had his heart pounding and blood surging to his cock. In his wildest imaginings, Ma
riana wore nothing beneath her cloak.

Ballocks!
There his mind went again…

Brandon shoved his hand into his pack again and came out with two bannock cakes, offering Mariana one. She took it
with a whispered thanks, biting into the food like a nervous mouse.

Brandon bit into his cake, the dry oat flour quickly siphoning the moisture from his mouth. He took a long draw from the wine, gazed at Mariana and asked, “Do ye like nuts, lass?”

Chapter Three

M
ariana bit the inside of her cheek to keep her mouth from dropping open—and to keep in th
e burst of unladylike laughter threatening to spill.

“Nuts?” she asked, her lips quiver
ing with the need to laugh. “
Oui
, I adore nuts.”

Laird Sinclair, having no idea about her position within the French and English court, would not expect a lady to take his reference to an actual food item as sexual. But, indeed, Mariana was no usual lady
—had laid witness on more than enough occasions of men’s bawdy banter. And she enjoyed playing with Laird Sinclair’s mind tremendously.

The man’s face
reddened a little, perhaps he realized what he’d said. He swiped a hand through his untamed hair and then reached into his bag, pulled out a little pouch.

“Sugared almonds,” he
said, his voice gruff. “I canna leave on a journey without them.”

“Truly?”
She stuck her hand into the little pouch and pulled out a few of the nuts, popping one in her mouth. They were covered with crunchy sweetness and spice. “Mmm.” It’d been a while since she’d had the sugared treat.

The laird’s eyes were riveted to her mouth as she chewed.
A spark of interest in his gaze. Mariana’s belly did a little flip, then tightened. She swallowed, feeling suddenly parched.

“Aye, lass.
I find I am quite addicted to sweet things.”

“Like pie?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Nay, I dinna enjoy pie or tarts too much, but marzipan and sugared nuts I canna live without.”

Mariana smiled. “I too like marzipan. The sweetness of it melts on my tongue.”

At the mention of her tongue, the laird returned his gaze to her mouth, but this time he flicked his tongue over his lower lip, and Mariana had to resist the urge to run her thumb over his moistened mouth.

“Aye, mine too,” he muttered, then glanced away.

Mariana studied the camp, pulling Laird Sinclair’s cloak tighter around her. Her lungs still burned and the heat of the fire had long since dissipated, leaving her chilled to the bone. But it was more than being physically cold. She was also frightened. What would happen now? How would she get back to King Edward? Not that she wanted to go back to him, but what other choice did she have? Whether or not she wanted to, she belonged with the English court and when they no longer had use for her, she would be sent back to France.

Scouts stood watch in a circle around the camp and a half-dozen more took rounds in the woods beyond.
Flashes of sun-glinted metal were the only indicators they were there. They might be a bit away from the village, but they were still in danger if Ross’ new following decided to pursue them.

Ronan and Julianna joined them at the fire, speaking in hushed tones as they ate.
Mariana dared not flinch when Julianna’s gaze met hers. Would the woman confront her now? Demand to know why she was at Kinterloch or issue her death warrant in the name of her powerful brother?

The chill that seeped into her bones deepened. Julianna was a formidable woman—but Mariana could be just as formidable. Couldn’t she?

She jutted her chin forward and returned Julianna’s gaze until the other woman glanced away, distracted by her lover. Good, at least Mariana wasn’t the one to turn away first. That would have been a sign of weakness, and she had a feeling that any signs of weakness would be dissected and taken advantage of by these Highlanders.

She jerked her gaze around the camp, looking for Wallace. He would surely be questioning her soon. Asking her the questions she did not want to answer.
Mon dieu
, what could she say? Not the truth. Not to him.

“Lass, what is it?” Laird Sinclair interrupted her frantic search.

Mariana turned her gaze back to him, wanting to melt into his arms, and stare into his eyes forever. She could trust him. He would keep her safe. And maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to speak with Wallace if she satisfied their curiosity now, by telling Laird Sinclair.

“May I call you Brandon?” she asked, using a low, soft, throaty voice that many a man had fallen over to hear.

Brandon was no different. He reached out, grasped her hand and nodded. An instant jab of guilt centered in her gut. She shouldn’t be using feminine wiles to win him over. He was a good man, one she could trust, and yet… She was going to do it anyway.

“Wallace frightens me,” she said meekly.

Brandon squeezed her hand, rubbing his thumb over her palm. She tried to resist the shivers his touch brought, but that was even harder than manipulating him.

“Dinna be afraid, lass. He is all bark.”

He didn’t add in no bite, as the saying went, and she knew that was because, Wallace was in fact a biter. The man truly did scare the stockings off her.

She shook her head, curled her toes inside her riding boots. “I don’t want to speak with him, Brandon. Could I not simply speak with you? My throat still hurts…”

Brandon was quick to hand her the wineskin, only letting go of her hand briefly to grasp the skin before taking hold again.

She sipped with her free hand, needing the extra boost the wine gave her. And, to be honest, her throat really did hurt.

“Ye can share with me, lass. I’ll speak with Wallace for ye.”

Relief flooded through her.
And with it, more guilt. She didn’t want to use Brandon. He was too sweet for that, and there was an edge to him that said if he were betrayed, there would be hell to pay. In the end, Mariana had to protect herself. Though Brandon had sworn to do so, the only one she could really count on was herself.

Mariana closed her eyes briefly, took another gulp of wine and then turned her gaze toward Brandon, taking in his chiseled features—square jaw, high cheekbones, arched brows. A day’s growth of dark stubble covered his cheeks and chin and she wanted so badly to scrape her palm over it. Blowing out a breath
, she flicked her gaze toward her cold-numbed toes.

She made a vow not to lie to Brandon. Half-truths and a few missing facts weren’t considered lying.
Oui,
it was omitting, but not blatantly changing the truth of things.

“The English king sent me to Ross with a message.” She
paused, uncertain of what she should say, how much was too much. “He knew where Ross was, and an escort brought me to Kinterloch.”

“Did he say how he and Ross communicated?” Brandon stared at her intensely and she guessed he was trying to see how much of what she said was the truth.

Mariana shook her head. “Nay, he didn’t tell me that.”

“What was your message?”

Chewing on her lip, she delayed having to say anything further. How could she tell him the English king sent orders for Wallace to be executed?

“King Edward sent word of his coming invasion. He also sent orders for…” She blinked away the dryness of her eyes from having stared unblinking at the ground.

“For Ross to put us down?”

Mariana’s head flew up, her eyes wide
with trepidation as she stared at Brandon. “How did you know?”

He laughed, but the merriment didn’t
quite reach his eyes. Why did she get the feeling he knew a lot more about Ross’ plans than she was led to believe? What all had occurred in the Highlands before she arrived?

“Ross has been hell bent on destroying us for months. Longshanks despises us.
’Tis not hard to put two and two together.”

Mariana offered a weak smile. Indeed, she should have known how
clever this man was. He would read between the lines of what she said, or fill in the blanks with the things she didn’t say. ’Twould appear Kinterloch was not the first casualty of this war for power.

A breeze rustled through the trees, making her already unkempt hair flutter into her face. Brandon brushed the errant waves from her forehead, his fingertips lingering on her cheek.
His hand was warm, branding a circle where each of his fingers touched. Mariana swallowed, the lump in her throat suddenly the size of a boulder.

She curled her hands into fists within the
soft fabric of her borrowed cloak to keep from reaching up and pressing his hand all the way to her face, if only to feel some connection. A linking on a human, emotional level that she’d never been allowed to explore. Her week with Ross, the months with King Edward, her marriage, none of it was about affection, love. Never did she feel cherished. Only used.

Te
ars stung the backs of her eyes, but she quickly willed them away. She would not cry or let what Fate had dealt her mar this moment, or Brandon’s opinion of her. So, instead, she turned her face away, shunning her needs as she so often did. What reward had she gained for such sacrifice? That was an answer she’d yet to come across. Perhaps life. She was a pawn in a dangerous game. Completely expendable. If she didn’t do their bidding, or betrayed them in any way, those with power over her would take away her breath. Snuff her out without a second thought. There was no reward. She did what she must to survive.

“
Ross has over two-hundred men with him. He bade me stay at Kinterloch so I could report back to him when you arrived and succumbed to his trap.”

“Trap?”

“The fire.”

Brandon raised a sardonic brow. “Did he not think we could see it?”

Mariana bit her lip, resisting the urge to laugh bitterly. “I’m not entirely sure he thinks much at all. Perhaps he thought that his armies might catch you by the burn where they waited, but upon seeing Ronan and Julianna, they may have assumed Wallace was not with you. Or they moved too slow to find out for sure. I suppose he assumed you would rush into the village to save the people, and perhaps hoped that your men would succumb as the innocent did.” Her voice quieted as she once again heard the numerous screams of the people trapped and burning within their homes. Many had fled when news of Ross’ plans were heard. Others were used as bait. One thing was certain, more died than needed. One life lost for King Edward’s cause was too many. Shame filled her, for she was essentially involved in his path of destruction.

“May I assume that Ross is no friend of yours?”

Mariana gazed deeply into Brandon’s eyes. There was strength there. A strength that resonated deep within her. Brandon was a man who could be trusted. A man she would love to fall asleep with and wake beside each morning. He had more character than all the men she’d had in her life put together—and this she knew from having only met him a few hours before. She also knew, for her, he was only a fantasy. “
Oui
, my laird, he is no friend of mine.”

Brandon studied Mariana as she struggled to answer him. Her eyes darted over his face, settling on hi
m with an intensity he felt deep within his bones. There was such pain in her eyes. He wanted to know all that had happened, and to take away the aches of injustice that must have been heaped upon her. How else would she have ended up in this predicament?

“Lady Mariana…” He raked a hand through his hair. Already he’d let her believe him to be soft-hearted. There was nothing more he could do.
Nothing more for him to say. Every word he wanted to utter would only make him seem weak. To tell her he wished to take away her pain, she’d think he only wished to bed her. Brandon swallowed hard. Truth was, he had no idea what she would think. He only knew what he would assume if he heard another man say such things.