Highland Jewel (Highland Heroes #1)

Chapter 5

“Canna ye press yerself a wee bit closer to the Forbes, Widow Millet?" asked Colin.

Leith chuckled, as much at Colin's tone as from Devona's wit. He did not know what disagreement had transpired between the widow and Colin, but he could guess.

His young brother was not known for his patience. Possessing the good looks and charm of their mother, he neither expected nor appreciated rejection. And the widow Devona, it would seem, felt the same about being propositioned.

Leith chuckled again, leaning low to whisper something in the buxom widow's ear.

Her laughter was husky and sensual, but her gaze slipped momentarily to Colin.

So he was right, Leith thought. Devona flirted with him only to cause Colin some discomfort, perhaps to prove she could attract even the somber laird of the clan while rejecting the advances of the younger brother.

Normally Leith was not one for playing games. And yet... For a moment he lifted his gaze to the firelight's edge. The wee nun still knelt there in prayer, her pale, narrow hands folded in silent reverence, her head bowed. But what of her thoughts? Not so pure as she would wish him to believe, he would wager. No. Not nearly so pure, for he had seen the amethyst light in her eyes as she had perused him.

She was an apprentice to the holy order, true. But she was a woman first. And a woman of fire.

What if he stoked that fire? What if he ignited her sensuality, nurtured her imagination, opened her eyes to the possibilities of a fuller life? Would she not then admit she had no calling to be a nun?

Again he remembered how she had studied him in the near-darkness only minutes before, how her eyes had lingered on his hosed legs. How much more she would see once he again donned the garments of his ancestors. But until then it would not hurt to flirt with the bonny Devona, for she was eager to do the same, and at the firelight's edge Rose Gunther heard their laughter. He was certain of it.

The widow was giggling again.

Rose clasped her hands until her knuckles went white then cursed in silence. After which she cursed herself for cursing and added another dozen Ave Marias to her penance.

Her knees ached, her head throbbed, and her stomach rumbled. But she would not leave her prayers. She would show that godless barbarian her true mettle. The rutting boar! So he thought he could tempt her with his blatant masculinity. Hah! She hadn't even noticed that he was built like a Herculean destrier. She hadn't noticed that his hands were broad and calloused and could handle the giant white stallion without conscious thought.

So he believed her lips said one thing and her eyes another! Hah again! Keeping herself from him was no hardship. Hardly that! Never had she been tempted by a man and he was far from the type to make her start now. It didn't bother her in the least that he sat by the fire with the fat-chested widow with the sultry eyes. Not in the least.

Leith's dark, deep-throated laughter rumbled forth and Rose just barely stopped the awful word that threatened to spill from her lips.

It was merely the thought of impending sin that bothered her, she reasoned sensibly, for it was obvious what course the two by the fire were following. It wasn't as though she cared if the Scottish pig laid with a dozen women at once. Why should she? But it was her Christian duty to care for the bastard's immortal soul.

Was "bastard" considered a curse? Rose winced. There were so many curse words. And her father had been rather free with his tongue. Still, she'd managed quite well to staunch her own colorful language—until she'd met the Scotsman.

She had slipped abominably. God's toenails, she'd hit the man! Not that he hadn't deserved it, but she'd never hit another living creature in her life. She hadn't been prepared for his devilish nature. Her temper had been stoked and the temptation to strike had been too difficult to resist. Circumstances were different now, however. She knew he was the devil's own spawn and from this point on she would refuse to allow him to rile her. She would simply hold her tongue, fast, and pray, and before long she would be safely back at the abbey.

Yes, this was her penance—God's means of teaching her discipline, and she would not fail. She would live staunchly by her new watchwords.

Hold! Fast! And pray!

The widow giggled again. Rose clenched her teeth. Hold, fast, and pray, she vowed to the darkness.

They must be nearing the border of Scotland, Rose deduced. The countryside was splendid, with hills draped in varied shades of lush green. Overhead, the sky was blue as a robin's egg, with just a smattering of clouds to accent the broad expanse.

Off to the west Rose caught a quick flash of tawny color. Silken. He still followed then. Memories of the wildcat made her wistful, bringing back the warmth of days past. Exploration of the hills with the wildcat cub at her side. The sound of her mother's sweet voice singing. Long, wild rides beside her father on a fleet, spirited animal.

Beneath her the mousy-colored mare trotted at a backbreaking gait. Ahead the Widow Millet rode the fiery black beside Forbes' snowy-white stallion.

The woman rode like a sack of moldy grain, thought Rose uncharitably. But despite the widow's lack of equestrian finesse, she managed to keep herself ever so close to the Forbes.

It made Rose's teeth ache to watch.

Hold, fast, and pray. She closed her eyes. But the movement without sight increased her dizziness. How long could she go without food?

There was a quick-flowing stream near where they camped. It bubbled over its bed of smooth stones, murmuring quietly as it went.

Leith had picked this spot for many reasons. There would be water for drinking and cooking. Abundant game was scattered in the woods, and here the wee nun could watch him bathe.

He almost smiled as he eyed her small, robed back. She was praying again, or at least she was kneeling. And, bless her temptestuous soul, she was facing the water.

" 'Tis a bonny place, is it na, wee nun?" he asked now, stopping a short distance from her to gaze across the stream toward the north.

She didn’t answer. He was not surprised.

"A fine evening for a bath."

Utter silence enveloped the woman beside him, but when he turned his head, her eyes were wide open and her lips slightly parted.

"Dunna ye agree, wee one?"

She did not speak, but clasped her hands together until her knuckles shone white and her fingers bright pink.

He chuckled low in his throat, amused by her expression of terror. "There is na need to look so dismayed, wee one, for surely even ye must wash yerself from time to time. Do ye na?"

Still no answer.

"Ah, but of course. Ye had planned to bathe in the lochan by the moonlight not many nights back. I do apologize for disturbing yer time alone." He smiled, noting her pale features and round eyes. "But mayhap ye would care to test the waters here?"

Her lips moved, but no words came and he chuckled again. "Nay? Then suit yerself, wee Rose, but I will be putting the stream to good use." With that he reached for the buttons of his doublet. They fell quickly open, revealing the white of the voluminous shirt beneath. In a moment he had loosed the laces that held up his trunk hose, and then, pulling the jacket from his arms, he glanced once at the girl on her knees.

Her eyes, if possible, were even wider and he turned away, hiding his smile as he set his fingers to the buttons of the ruffled shirt. It was open in a moment, allowing him to feel the light breeze against his chest. It caressed his flesh like gentle fingertips, and he pulled the edges of his garment down his arms.

'Twas indeed a bonny spot. A dove called from the woods. The warm air kissed his bare chest, and the wee nun watched.

He could feel her gaze on his back as he drew the sleeves from his arms and tossed the shirt atop the doublet near his feet.

Perhaps, Leith mused, she had been right and he truly was the spawn of the devil. He squatted, flexing the stiffness from his back. But she was surely no saint herself, for there was nothing keeping her there, forcing her to watch him.

Scooping water into his hands, Leith grinned. He was not charming like his brothers, nor fair, he knew. But he was a man, broader than most, taller than all in his clan, battle-scarred, and tightly muscled. Splashing water over his arms and chest, he did not deny or belittle his allure for women. Always he had fascinated them, but rarely had he had the time to entertain their interest, for he was laird, with much to occupy his time.

Now, however, circumstances had changed. Now he must pique the interest of a woman, and not for his own pleasure, but for the well-being of his tribe. 'Twas an onerous task, he thought, remembering the moon-gilded fairy form by the lo-chan. But the job needed doing.

Still in a squatted position, Leith turned slightly. The muscles of his chest and abdomen were bunched above the laces of his trunk hose, which gaped casually away from his hard waist while gripping his lower regions in an intimate fashion.

"Ye dunna wish to bathe, wee nun?" he murmured. They were but a few paces apart. Water beaded on his chest and belly, slipping lower to be absorbed by his taut English garb." Tis enough water for two."

"Hold. Fast." Her tone was stilted, her words nonsensical. "And pray," she finished, though her lips failed to close completely.

Leith watched her. "Shall I take that to mean ye do not wish to share me bath?"

"God save me."

" I am certain He will, wee lass," he said with a chuckle, and straightened, letting every hard muscle flex and shift as he stood. "For He has sent me to do the job." With that he bent, retrieved his discarded garments, and strode languidly back toward camp.

"We will reach the border tomorrow." Leith stood no nearer the wee nun than need be. A full night and day had passed since their time near the stream, giving the girl plenty of time to ponder her fate. Surely it was enough time for her to realize her mistake, to admit she was not meant to be a nun. But still she had not eaten or spoken. Her face was drawn, her eyes as bright as rare jewels and larger than ever in her gaunt face.

Sweet Jesu, she was as stubborn as any Scotsman—and more beautiful than any Scotswoman. The thought caused anger to swell within him. "Ye need to eat," he said in rumbling disapproval.

She stood as straight as an unbowed oak, her chin slightly lifted, her face a study of serene obstinance. " I will not."

He felt the muscle jump in his jaw. Perhaps washing in front of her had been a poor idea, for while it had ignited his own sexual imaginings, it seemed to have done little to further her interest in him. "Ye will," he countered. "We will be riding faster come morn. The border country is dangerous and ye will need yer strength."

"The Lord is my strength," Rose answered.

"Yer own damned stubbornness is yer strength," Leith growled in return. "And ye will eat."

"I will not!" She had each of her hands placed inside the sleeve of the other arm and gazed up at him with violet fire sparkling in her eyes.

Strangling her was not out of the question, Leith reasoned. She was intentionally baiting him. But to murder a woman of the holy order... It would probably be frowned upon in heaven, though God would certainly agree there was provocation. He unclenched his fists with a conscious effort. "As ye wish then," he said, and, turning away, strode into the dark woods.

"Leith." Colin was there, not far into the trees and stopped him with his voice. "All is well with the nun?"

Leith stiffened. "She willna eat," he answered through gritted teeth. "She is being difficult."

Colin shrugged. "She is a woman," he said, glancing toward camp and considering his own troubles with the female gender.

"Aye," Leith grumbled in return. "That she is."

There was definite emotion to Leith's response, Colin noted, and turned back toward his brother with some interest. "She is a bonny mite, though."

No answer was forthcoming from the laird of the Forbes, piquing Colin's interest even more.

"Eyes like Highland jewels," prodded the younger brother.

In the darkness Colin thought he saw Leith's fists clench. "She is a woman of God," Leith said, his tone flat.

"Aye," agreed Colin gently. "But she strikes a blow like the devil's own, does she na?"

"I dunna care to discuss her."

"Then why do ye drag her along?"

“ 'Tis na yer concern," stated Leith. "Keep yer mind on yer watch. Ye have seen na signs of trouble?"

Nothing as obvious as Leith's strange temper and actions, Colin thought. Why did he wish to take the wee nun back to Scotland? "Na trouble," he said finally then corrected himself with a frown, “There is a cat. He follows us by day. Beds down nearby at night."

Leith remained silent for a moment then said, "I have noticed the cat."

"Shall I kill him? 'Twould make a fine hide for—"

"No!" Leith ordered quickly then drew a breath and shook his head. "He does us na harm. We shall do him none."

Colin was quiet, watching his brother's face in the darkness. He had fought beside Leith, had buried loved ones with him, and would, perhaps, die with him. No one knew his liege better than he. "Ye ken sommat of the cat?" he questioned softly.

The brothers' eyes met, Leith's dark and solemn, Colin's bright and questioning.

" 'Tis na yer concern," Leith said again, but the younger man scowled.

"We take a young postulate from a holy abbey and ye say 'tis na me concern?" he asked, his ire rising for the first time.

"Do ye challenge me right to her?" asked Leith, his voice low.

"Right to her?" Colin countered, narrow-eyed. "I didna ken we were speaking of a leg o'mutton."

Leith took a single step forward, looming large in the darkness. "She is me responsibility, brother," he warned. "Dunna interfere."

The scene by the fire that night was much the same as the night before. The Widow Millet was adhered to Leith's side while the little nun was propped on her knees at the firelight's edge.

Tonight, however, Colin watched with a more discerning eye. What were Leith's intentions? "Dunna interfere," he'd said. But interfere with what?

Leith chuckled at the Widow's comment, but his gaze, Colin noted, had slipped to the spot where the wee nun knelt.

What did he want from the lass? Why did he bring her along?

"More bread, my lord?" Devona leaned closer, the food held between her fingers.

"Na. I've had me fill."

"More venison, mayhap?" she asked softly, her wide brown eyes lifting to Leith's.

"Na." He failed to look into her appealing gaze and Colin chuckled aloud.

"Isna there sommat else ye might offer the Forbes?" he asked cynically from the far side of the fire. "Sommat more personal, mayhap?"

For a moment Devona glared at him. "I will take food to the postulate," she said, and rose stiffly to move toward the fire, but Colin caught her arm.

"He is laird of the Forbes," Colin said, "and not for the likes of ye."

"Indeed. But you cannot blame a girl for dreaming," she murmured, and jerking her arm from his grasp, lifted a filled plate to stride toward Rose.

"Damn her stubborn hide," swore Colin.

"Aye," said Leith in low agreement, but his gaze had not shifted from the kneeling figure.