The Highlander's Triumph (7 page)

“Ye’ll have to hold on tighter than that. I fear ye’ll fall with the slightest breeze.”

A shift in the wind caused cool air to whip over her cheeks and stir her hair. But she didn’t wobble.

“Well, if not the wind, then a faster pace,” Brandon conceded. He gripped her right hand and tugged it around his middle, placing it palm-flat on his rock hard middle. Ridges of sinew met her fingertips and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making an appreciative noise. Most of the men she’d been made to entertain were soft about the middle, not gloriously built of muscle. He pulled her left hand about him, forcing her to pin her chest to his back, her already pebbled nipples scraping against yet more muscle.

Dear Lord, this was going to be a most sensually painful trip.

“There ye have it, lass. Better?”

“
Oui, monsieur
.”

’Twas much improved—if she wanted to melt into a trembling mass of desire. Immeasurably better if she wanted to make a fool of herself by appearing upon the steps of Eilean Donan thoroughly flushed and ready to strip herself bare just so she could beg Brandon to put an end to her quivering center. As if to torment her all the more, his buttocks flexed again
as he urged the horse into a faster gait, but this time, with her pressed even closer, she felt the movement of his rock solid form down
there
.

A whimper escaped her lips.

“Are ye all right, lass?”

Mariana coughed.
“Mmm-hmm.” Riding a horse had never been so sensual, and she was afraid she’d never be able to ride one again without her body bursting into flames.

Brandon gritted his teeth—
an action repeated so often since first laying eyes on Mariana, that his jaw muscles grew sore.

The
lass was plastered to his back, and no amount of layers kept him from feeling her breasts, pressed hotly on either side of his spine. He stiffened his back, urged Checkmate to go faster, but it didn’t help. If anything, he felt the plush globes more keenly. The more he tried to pretend she wasn’t riding with him, her legs spread wide around his body, the more he was conscious of her.

Mariana cleared her throat, t
he action vibrating her chest. Brandon suppressed another groan.

“How long until we reach Eilean Donan?”
Her voice was tight, as though she suffered and could not wait out the hours.

His thoughts exactly.

“Not long. Within the next two hours.”

“Why then, did we stop to camp?”

“It was nearing dark, and many were tired.”

Thinking back on it, they should have ridden the entire way
, exhaustion be damned. If they had, the attack would never have taken place, because they would have been safe behind the walls of the island castle. Archers could have taken out the Ross warriors one by one as they crossed the bridge in hopes of gaining access to the heavily fortified castle.

“I see. Is the ride dangerous…in the dark?”

“Aye, lass, but ye will be safe. Rest.”

Mariana seemed to take his command to heart, no longer speaking, her
cheek pressed against his back. The wind was harsh, whipping in gusts, and he suspected she was glad to have him as a shield. Thunder cracked overhead. Rain. The last thing they needed. ’Twould slow them down, but not make them stop. Even if the rain turned to snow, Wallace would push them. And with good reason.

A cold drop splashed onto his forehead. Brandon reached behind to pull his cloak over his head, but found nothing save the lasses hair.

Damn. He’d forgotten that he’d give her his cloak.

“Cover your head, lass.
Appears we will have a storm.”

She shifted behind him, one of her arms pulling free from his middle,
then returning as she did his bidding.

“What about you, Brandon?”

Lord, he loved hearing his name on her lips.

“I will be fine.” And he would. If anything, getting soaked by freezing rain gave him the opportunity to warm himself when they arrived at the castle, and what better way to be warmed
than by a woman?

Och, aye, he wanted that lass to be Mariana, but he knew better than to pull her between his sheets. He still had yet to figure out who she was and what her purpose in Scotland might be.
’Twas far wiser to bed down with one of the willing castle wenches. They seemed to have grown in number since the men had inhabited the castle. How sorely disappointed the lasses would be when they shifted camp in the next two weeks and were forced to return to their homes.

He’d found a few of them appealing before tonight, been as satisfied as a man could be with a woman he used
strictly for pleasure. Though, every time he rutted with a woman it left him feeling less than whole, but he suspected that had to do with his own tortuous past, not with the woman.

If he were to bed down with Mariana—which he wouldn’t—he’d
hate to walk away feeling empty. That scared him more than the possibility of being stabbed in the back by a hidden blade. But the thing of it was, when he’d nearly kissed her…when he’d fallen on top of her…there’d been an extreme, intense need. A desire so potent he’d forgotten where he was, who he was, only the yearning to claim her had been present.

’Haps that was most dangerous of all.

Chapter Seven

D
arkness consumed them as they descended the mountain through the trees. Mariana was impressed with the skill and silence with which the warriors and their mounts crept through the darkened woods. Clouds covered most of the light the moon and stars would have provided, and cold rain drenched them with no signs of ceasing.

Her fingers had long since gone numb, even with the heat of Brandon’s abdomen to warm her.
They’d gone from cold to painfully icy and finally no feeling at all. She kept her eyes closed, dreaming of the nice hot bath Brandon promised. Rain slid over her head, freezing onto her eye lashes. She feared opening them, but they functioned just fine.

“Not much longer, lass,” Brandon said. His voice was gruff, tired sounding.

He had to be freezing, though he didn’t shiver. They shared heat through his back, but without a cloak to cover him from the elements he’d surely catch his death. He refused to let her give him back his cloak earlier, swore it wasn’t because she’d damaged it. Perhaps now, she could offer it another way. Taking a moment to unclasp the loophole at her throat, she yanked open the cloak and wrapped her arms around him.

“I know you won’t take the cloak for yourself, but at least let us share it.”

Brandon grunted, but did not refuse. He took hold of the cloak so she could slide her arms back around his waist. Within minutes, her fingers started to tingle back to life, and Brandon’s rigid body began to relax.

“I would never have asked,” he said.

“I know, which is why I took the matter into my own hands.”

“A warrior can handle a harsh rain.” His tone had taken on a hard edge.

Mariana had no cause to wound his pride. She smiled against his back and used the wit and charm she’d been known for at court.

“Indeed, you are quite right, Lair
d Sinclair. Not only have you mastered a tempestuous storm, but you did so with a lady strapped to your back. Most men would regard you as some type of hero.”

Brandon chuckled.
“Master of the elements.”

“Has a nice ring to it.”

“Aye, a verra nice ring.”

“What will happen when we arrive at the castle?”

Brandon’s warm arm pressed against hers and for a moment as he adjusted his hold on the cloak, his hand brushed hers sending fiery tingles up her arm.

“
A room will be prepared for ye, along with a bath and a platter of food.”

“And wine?”

“If ye so desire.”

“I do.” She paused a moment, biting her lip.
Would he take a respite then once again be on his way? Her mind begged the question of whether she’d see him again. He was after all a warrior—and a laird far from his own home. Would he leave her in the care of Scotland’s future king and fare-thee-well? “Shall you be joining me?”

Brandon tensed a moment, before he chuckled. “I hardly think the Bruc
e would allow me to bathe with a noble born lady—might ruin my reputation.”

Mariana chuckled.
“Your reputation? Is it so sterling?”

“Och, aye, ye have no idea how pristine.”

“Somehow I think you find yourself rather amusing.”

“The question is
, do ye find me amusing?” His voice went low, deep and sensual.

Oh, indeed she did find him amusing.
Arousing. Tempting. But she couldn’t very well tell him all those things.

“Perhaps,” she said.

When he laughed, the soft rumble in his chest vibrated against her cheek. Mariana squeezed her eyes shut, savoring the moment, for once she felt safe, despite traveling through treacherous territory in the dead of night. The sense of calm that filled her since meeting Brandon was shocking, and wonderful, but it instilled in her a fear she didn’t care to explore.

“Look there, Mariana.” The way he said her name sent a chill of longing up her spine. Pulling her head from against his back, she looked on. “Ye see the torches through the trees?”

“
Oui.
”

Light twinkled all over, glowing in the darkness like stars falling from the skies.

“What is it?” she asked.

“’Tis the castle.”

A rush of relief filled her. Soon she’d be warm and behind thick walls without the threat of Ross at their backs. “’Tis beautiful.”

“Aye.”

“Is your own home like this?”

“Nay, lass.
Castle Girnigoe is on the east coast of Caithness, in the far north. Built on a cliff and surrounded by water on two sides. Not on an island like Eilean Donan.”

“Sounds mysterious.
Did you play in the water often as a child?”

“Aye.”
He flashed her a smile. “I still do sometimes.”

Mariana laughed.
“I would like to see you frolic in the sea.”

“Och, a warrior never frolics.”

Mariana tried to hide her smile at the images floating in her mind, but it was hard to do.

T
hey broke through the trees, a bridge loomed ahead, and she could see that the lights from the castle reflected in the water, making it sparkle all the more. “
C’est magnifique
!”

“I dinna speak French, my lady, but I take it from your enthusiasm, ye like what ye see.”

Mariana smiled, and with her best Scottish brogue whispered, “Och, aye, my laird. ’Tis verra pleasing to the eye.”

Brandon let out a hearty laugh that drew the attention of several others. “Mariana, ye give me pleasure with your Scots Frenchie words.”

Mariana joined his laughter, noticing with acute awareness that he’d gripped her hand, encompassing her in his massive grip.

“Know this, lass, if ye ever need anything, ye need only ask.”

Did he realize what he implied with his invitation? There
was
something she needed. Wanted. Longed for. Oh, how simple it would be to request his presence in her bedchamber, sans weapons and clothes, to let her worship him the whole night through. That she now knew that the years she’d spent pleasuring other men, only led to this moment where she could choose who she pleasured and dared hope for a bit of pleasure in return. Instead, she ceased chewing her tongue and said, “I thank you. ’Tis the truth, however, that you saved me, and so I am in your debt.”

“Ye will never be in my debt, Mariana. I could never in good conscience have seen ye harmed.”

Was it only his conscience that drove him? Was it possible, in her desperate need for an emotional connection, she’d conjured up the attraction she’d felt simmering between them?

“Let your conscience be clear then, my laird.
You owe me nothing.” Why did her words have to come out sounding so bitter? They left a sour taste upon her tongue, when what she wished for was the sweet spice of his kiss. She hastened to add, “Apologies, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“Mariana, there is no need to apologize.
I dinna blame ye for your ire, nor do I think ye’re ungrateful.” He squeezed her hands gently. “Ye are tired. Ye’ve been through hell. Let your mind rest.”

Brandon’s edict was easier said than done. Her mind was anything but restful.
She imagined a life that was impossible. Was well aware that the two of them would never be more than they were at this very moment, no matter how much she wished otherwise. Even if they acted on their desires, in the end it could amount to nothing. She had a place and it was not at Brandon’s side. Yet, all she could think of was him, and how she was going to save all of the Highlands from King Edward’s wrath.

They approached the main gate before the bridge. A whistle
pattern blown and returned in kind was the only signal between the men and the gatekeepers. The portcullis was drawn up and the men urged their mounts forward. The horses clopped over the bridge, an eerie sound that broke the silence of the night. The wind picked up, seeming to come from the black water’s depths. This time Brandon’s back did not protect her. The fierce gusts blew water into her face, whipped the cloak from her head and swirled her hair up into the air. She sank deeper against him and closed her eyes to keep the rain from pecking them out.

“We’re back!” Mariana recognized the booming voice of William Wallace.

“As well ye should be,” came a response from someone she didn’t recognize.

She opened her eyes and peer
ed around Brandon’s back to see a large warrior passing through another gate leading into the courtyard. He clapped arms with Wallace and Ronan, pressed a kiss to Julianna’s hand and then came around to Brandon.

“Wh
o is this?” he asked, peering toward Mariana. The man was handsome, even looked a bit like Brandon.

Brandon sat taller, his spine stiffening. “Lady Mariana.”

“Welcome, my lady. I trust your journey was not overly rough.”

“Laird Sinclair did his best to make me comfortable.”

The man sent Brandon a roguish smile. “I bet he did.”

Brandon
punched the man’s shoulder. “Enough, Cousin. Lady Mariana, might I introduce ye to my cousin, Daniel Murray.”

“A pleasure.”

“Indeed the pleasure is all mine.” The man pressed his lips to her knuckles and winked at her. “If the rascal offends ye, there are plenty of other more civilized men who’d be happy to—”

“Och, away with
ye!” Brandon bellowed, and gave his cousin another solid punch to the arm. Daniel backed away laughing and went to rib another warrior.

Brandon turned in the saddle and eyed her warily.
“Apologies, lass. My cousins and I tend to have a fondness for jesting with one another—especially if a beautiful lady is present.”

He’d called her beautiful. Her face heated, and she was glad that in the torchlight, he wouldn’t be able to see such a reaction. She smiled and lifted a brow.

“I found the interaction to be rather…tender.” Her lips quivered with the need to laugh.

“I see ye are in good company then since ye have a tendency to tease as well.”

With a tilt to her lips, she said, “The company will do.”

“I hate to ask whether ye mean
for now
, or until someone better comes along.”

“Oh,
monsieur
, you wound me. A lady would never explain her meaning.”

Brandon’s lips curved into a delicious smile. He opened his mouth to reply, but Wallace approached them, interrupting whatever he was
about to say.

“Will ye stay in the rain all night?”

Brandon faced his leader. “Nay, of course not. ’Twas just telling the lady she’d have a nice bath and a hot meal.”

Wallace nodded, his fierce eyes studying Mariana, making her want to sink into the mount
’s coat.

“Come then, we’ll need to brief the Bruce.” Wallace nodded toward her.
“My lady.”

When Wallace left, Brandon dismounted, and lifted Mariana
, his strong hands sliding around her waist, sending a shiver of awareness through her. “Let us get ye warm.”

How she wished
he was indeed the one who’d be warming her. Disappointment threatened, but she held it at bay. It was unrealistic to think Brandon might come to her room. She was, after all, a lady, and ladies didn’t entertain bachelors in their rooms, by themselves. ’Twas an odd revelation that—no one here knew what type of lady she
truly
was. If they knew the truth, they would look at her differently, treat her with disdain.

That was how many of the nobles in France and England treated her. Each of them whispering behind their jeweled fingers about how she entertained their sovereign, and wondering if she also entertained other men. Ladies gripped their husbands’ arms tight when she strolled by, afraid she might ravish
their men on the great hall floor. Ninnies, all of them. Not one had tried to befriend her. Not one ever sought to see into her past, her plight.

Mariana was a fallen woman. The only reason the king’s servants treated her with any respect was because the threat of angering the king weighed heavily on their minds. Not because she held any true power.