Highland Velvet

  “I don’t think I can get enough of you,” Stephen whispered as he nibbled on her earlobe.

  “It’s not for lack of trying,” she said impudently, but she closed her eyes and moved her head so he had access to her neck. “Stephen!” she said suddenly and sat upright because several people were staring at them from the roadside.

  “Mornin’,” Stephen said, then returned to Bronwyn’s neck.

  She pulled away from him. “Have you no modesty? We should at least—” She stopped as she saw the light in his eyes. “There’re a few trees over there,” she whispered.

  Rab kept guard as Stephen and Bronwyn lay side by side in the little copse of trees. It seemed to Bronwyn that the more often they made love, the more Stephen’s body fascinated her. The dappled light through the trees played on the dark skin over his muscles. She was fascinated by the strength and power of him, his ability to move her body with one hand. She teased him, rolled away from him, yet he had only to put one hand to her waist and pull her back to him.

  They made love in every position imaginable. They had been away from her clan long enough to remove her sense of heavy responsibility, and she felt free and happy. She sought Stephen as eagerly as he sought her. She experimented, her body taking over her mind. She lay on her back, her legs thrown over Stephen as he lay on his side. She clutched at him, pulled him closer, groaned as his hands caressed her legs. Her whole body shuddered when they exploded together.

  They lay still for a long while, wrapped about each other, neither of them noticing the cold winter air or the damp, nearly frozen ground.

  “What’s your family like?” Bronwyn asked huskily.

  Stephen smiled and looked at her body, perpendicular to his. He was pleased that she looked weak and exhausted, exactly how he felt. He gave a little shiver as a gust of wind sent little needles through his body. “Get dressed and we’ll make some oatcakes.”

  After they were dressed, Stephen went to his horse, took a broad metal plate from under the saddle flap, and got a bag of oatmeal. The disk had been their only purchase. Bronwyn had a fire going by the time he returned. They mixed the meal with water while the plate heated, then spread the paste thinly over the hot griddle. Stephen turned the cake with his fingers.

  “You haven’t answered me,” Bronwyn said as she ate the first oatcake.

  Stephen knew what she meant, but he didn’t want her to see how pleased he was that she asked him about his family. He had a sudden feeling that he didn’t ever want to reach the Montgomery estates, that he always wanted her to himself. The firelight flickered on her hair and flashed off the brooch at her shoulder. He didn’t want to share her with anyone.

  “Stephen? You’re looking at me strangely.”

  He smiled and looked back at the oatcake on the griddle. “Just thinking. Let’s see. You wanted to know about my family.” He rolled a hotcake and began to eat it. “Gavin is the oldest, then me, then Raine and Miles.”

  “What are they like? Are they like you?”

  “It’s difficult to judge one’s self. Gavin is tall and extremely stubborn. He’s dedicated to the Montgomery lands and spends most of his time there.”

  “And he’s the only one who’s married.”

  “Are you forgetting me?” he laughed. “Gavin and Judith were married nearly a year ago.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Beautiful! Kind, sweet, forgiving.” He chuckled. “She’d have to be to live with Gavin. He doesn’t know much about women, and as a result he gets in a lot of trouble with them.”

  “I’m glad he’s the only one of you four who knows little about women.”

  Stephen missed the sarcasm in her words. He was beginning to remember his family with longing. “Then there’s Raine. He’s the one who’s like Tam, heavy and thick, like our father. Raine is the…I don’t know how to explain him. He is good, deep-down good inside. He can’t stand any injustice. He’ll put his own life in danger before he’d ever harm a serf or let anyone else harm one.”

  “And Miles?”

  “Miles,” Stephen said and smiled. “Miles is quiet and no one knows much about him. He keeps to himself, but every once in a while he explodes with the most horrible temper imaginable. Once when we were children he got angry at one of my father’s squires, and it took all three of us to hold him back.”

  “What was the squire doing?” she asked curiously, accepting another oatcake.

  Stephen’s eyes danced with memory. “The boy was teasing a little girl. Miles loves women.”

  “All women?”

  “All!” Stephen said. “And they follow him around as if he had the key to all happiness. I never met a female who didn’t like Miles.”

  “He sounds quite interesting,” she said, licking her fingers.

  “If you ever!” he began, then stopped because Bronwyn was looking at him with such interest. He turned his attention to the oatcakes. “And then there’s Mary.”

  “Mary?”

  “Our sister.”

  Something about the way he said the words made her stare at him. “I’ve never heard you mention a sister. What’s she like? Will she be there at Christmas?”

  “Mary is like the Madonna,” he said reverently. “Even as children we knew she was different. She’s the oldest child, and she always knew how to keep her younger brothers out of trouble. Sometimes Gavin and Raine were at each other’s throats. Gavin was always aware that the land would be his someday, and he was always angry when Raine forgave a serf for causing any destruction to the land, even when it was clearly caused by an accident. Mary would come between them and in her soft voice soothe them.”

  “How?” Bronwyn asked, thinking of her own responsibilities with her clan.

  “I never understood how she did it. That time when Miles tried to kill the squire, it was Mary who was able to calm him.”

  “And what of her now? Is her husband kind to her?”

  “She has no husband. She asked to be allowed never to marry, and since we’d never met a man who we thought would ever be kind enough to her, we granted her wish. She lives in a convent not far from the Montgomery estates.”

  “It was kind of you to grant her wish. I’ve heard that Englishwomen usually have little choice about their futures.”

  Stephen didn’t take offense at her words. “I think you’re right. Perhaps they should learn from the Scots.”

  “They?” she said smoothly.

  He laughed at her meaning. “Do you know, I am almost beginning to feel that I am a Scot.” He stood up, stuck his bare leg out. “Do you think my own brothers will recognize me?”

  “Probably,” she said. “But I doubt if anyone else would.” There was pride in her voice.

  “I’d like to see if you were right.”

  “Are you planning something?” she asked suspiciously, because at that moment he looked like a mischievous little boy. “Stephen, we already have the MacGregors searching for us, my brother and his men, and no doubt some Englishmen since you did kill three of them. I would like to get to your brother’s in one piece.”

  “We will,” Stephen said, a faraway look in his eyes. “We might just pay a visit on the way though.”

  Bronwyn sighed, then stood and dusted her skirt. As she walked back to her horse, her mind was full of thoughts about little boys who never grew up.

  Chapter Twelve

  AS THEY ENTERED ENGLAND, STEPHEN COULD FEEL A difference in the air. Even on the border of Scotland, the people were not used to seeing the Highlanders. Some people stared openly at their dress; some shouted angry words because their land and property had been attacked by the Scots. Bronwyn rode with her back rigid and her head held high. She refused to answer anything the Englishmen said. Only once did she show any emotion. Stephen stopped at a farmer’s well to replenish their water jugs, and the farmer ran after them with a haying fork. Stephen, the blood flushing his body, started after the little man who was cursing the Scots so vividly. Bronwyn grabbed her hus
band’s arm and pulled him back to the horses. For hours afterward Stephen muttered about the stupidity of the English. Bronwyn only smiled at his words; there wasn’t one she hadn’t already thought or said.

  Now they were arguing about something else. Two nights ago Stephen had told Bronwyn of a plan he had to fool a boyhood friend.

  “No, I do not understand!” Bronwyn said for, she was sure, the hundredth time.

  “It’s a feud,” Stephen said patiently. “You, above anyone else, should understand what a feud is.”

  “What is between the MacGregors and the MacArrans is real, based upon many years of anger and hostility. They’ve killed my men as well as stolen my cattle. Some of my women care for MacGregor bastards.” She gave him a pleading look. “Please, Stephen, this is a child’s game, and it will only cause trouble. What does it matter whether this man recognizes you or not?”

  Stephen refused to answer her, especially since she’d already asked the question several times. He couldn’t explain to her about Hugh. He couldn’t even remember the time with Hugh without embarrassment and no little pain.

  They’d been together, patrolling the Lowlands borders for King Henry, when word reached them that King Henry had chosen Stephen as a husband for the laird of Clan MacArran. Hugh had exploded with laughter. For days he did little else but conjure hideous pictures of Stephen’s new bride. Before long the entire camp was talking of the ugly creature Lord Stephen would have to marry.

  The decree was especially unpleasant because at the time Stephen thought he was in love. Her name was Margaret, Meg for short. She was a plump, pink-and-white blonde, the daughter of a Lowlands merchant. She had great blue eyes and a tiny little mouth that always seemed to be puckered for kissing. She was shy and quiet and she adored Stephen—or so he thought. At night Stephen would hold her in his arms, feel her soft white body, and imagine the hideous life ahead of him with a woman who was chief of a clan.

  After several nights with no sleep, he began to think of refusing the king’s offer. He thought of marrying the merchant’s daughter. She wasn’t rich but her father was comfortable, and Stephen had an income from a small estate of his own. The more he thought of the idea, the more he liked it. He tried to forget the wrath of the king when Stephen refused him.

  But it was Hugh who shattered Stephen’s dreams. Hugh told Meg of Stephen’s forthcoming marriage, and the poor girl, distraught and helpless, had flung herself into Hugh’s willing arms. Hugh didn’t think twice about helping her into his bed, or so Meg had told Stephen.

  Stephen was bewildered when he found his friend and the woman he loved together in bed. But oddly enough his bewilderment never turned to anger, and because of this he realized he hadn’t really loved Meg or she him if she could so easily turn to another. His only thought had been how to repay Hugh with some of his own medicine. Before he could make a plan, a messenger arrived saying Gavin needed help, and Stephen went to his brother without another thought of Hugh.

  Now Stephen saw a way to repay his friend, and Hugh was still his friend. If he, Stephen, could get inside Hugh’s estate and out again, undetected, yet leave a message that he’d been there, then he felt he’d have accomplished something. Hugh didn’t like to feel there were strangers around him; he rarely went anywhere without a full guard. Yes, Stephen smiled, there were ways to repay Hugh Lasco.

  They arrived at the Lasco estate just before sundown. It was a tall, stone house, the windows covered with ironwork shutters. The entrance courtyard was filled with people who walked about in an orderly manner, as if they had a task and were hurrying to do it. There were no groups of servants standing about and gossiping.

  Stephen and Bronwyn were challenged by guards as soon as they were within sight of the house. Stephen, in a heavy Scots burr, asked if he could sing for his supper. They waited patiently while one of the guards returned to the house and got permission from Sir Hugh.

  Stephen knew Hugh considered himself an exceptional lute player and wouldn’t miss an opportunity to judge someone else’s playing. He smiled when the guard told them to take their horses to the stable, then go to the kitchen.

  It was later, when they sat before a hearty meal at the enormous oak table in the kitchen, that Bronwyn began to resign herself to Stephen’s plans. Not that he’d even told her much about them! All she’d been able to find out was that Stephen planned some boyish prank on his friend.

  “What is Sir Hugh like?” she asked, her mouth full of freshly baked bread.

  Stephen snorted in derision. “He’s handsome enough, I guess, if that’s what you mean, but he’s short and thick, very dark. And he is damned infuriating to be around. He moves slower than anyone else alive. In the Lowlands I was always worried that we’d be attacked and Hugh would be killed before he could even open his eyes, much less put his armor on.”

  “Married?”

  He gave her a sharp look. He studied her for a moment in speculation. He could never see it himself, but for some reason women found Hugh quite attractive. To Stephen, Hugh’s plodding, overly cautious ways were infuriating. But the women…

  “I want you to keep your head down at all times,” he said firmly. “Just this once I want you to try and act like an obedient, respectful wife.”

  She raised one eyebrow at him. “When have I ever been anything else?”

  “Bronwyn, I’m warning you! This is between Hugh and me, and I don’t want you involved.”

  “You sound almost as if you were afraid of him,” she teased. “Is there something about him that makes women throw themselves at his feet?”

  She meant her words lightly, but the look on Stephen’s face told her she was closer to the mark than she realized. Suddenly she wanted to reassure him that it was highly unlikely that she’d ever throw herself at any man’s feet. Of course, there had been a few times, a few positions, where she’d found her head against Stephen’s feet. She smiled warmly in memory.

  “I see nothing to laugh about!” Stephen said stiffly. “If you don’t obey me, I’ll—” He stopped as one of Hugh’s guards approached and said Stephen was to come and entertain now.

  The trestle tables had already been set in the Great Hall and the meal begun. Stephen half pushed Bronwyn onto a low stool against a far wall. She smiled impishly at his behavior and even smothered a giggle when he gave her such a black look of warning. She hoped she made him regret this whole childish scheme.

  Stephen took the lute that was handed him, then sat several feet from the head table. He played quite well; his voice was rich and deep, and he carried the melody beautifully.

  For a while Bronwyn looked about the room. The dark man at the head of the table never looked up at the singer. She watched without interest as he ate, as Stephen had said, very slowly. Each movement seemed to be planned and thought out.

  She quickly lost interest in watching Hugh Lasco and leaned her head against the stone wall, closed her eyes, and gave her mind over to Stephen’s music. She felt as if he played for her alone; once she opened her eyes and saw that he was watching her, and his look was as startling as a touch. She felt chills race across her body as she saw the expression in his eyes. She smiled in answer, then closed her eyes again. He sang a Gaelic song, and she was pleased that he’d taken the time to learn the words, probably from Tam. The sweet music, the words of love sung in her own language, made her forget she was in England, surrounded by Englishmen, married to an Englishman. Instead she was at home in Larenston, and she was with the man she loved.

  She smiled dreamily at the thought, but even as she smiled she was aware of a change in Stephen’s song. She opened her eyes quickly. He wasn’t looking at her but across the room at Hugh. Slowly she turned her head. She knew before she looked that Hugh was watching her.

  He was quite handsome in an earthy sort of way. He was dark-haired, dark-eyed. His mouth had lips a little too large for a man, but they only drew Bronwyn’s attention. As she watched, Hugh blotted his lips in his slow manner, and it flashed ac
ross her mind to wonder if he moved that slowly and lingeringly in bed.

  She smiled at her own thoughts. So that was Hugh’s attraction! Of course, Stephen wouldn’t be able to see it, but as a woman, she found his ways quite interesting. She smiled again as she thought of telling Stephen of her discovery.

  She turned to her husband and saw him scowling at her, his brows drawn together, his blue eyes turned a dark sapphire. For a moment she wondered what she’d done to anger him, then she nearly laughed aloud. He’s jealous, she thought with a sense of wonder, and that thought gave her more of a thrill than any of Hugh’s hot looks.

  She looked down at her skirt, traced her finger along the plaid. She shouldn’t be, of course, but she was extraordinarily pleased that Stephen was jealous. She wouldn’t dare tell him that Hugh had no more interest for her than…than the gardener, because it made her feel warm all over to think Stephen cared enough to be jealous.

  Hugh said something to one of the two guards behind him, and the guard went to Stephen. Stephen listened to the man, handed him the lute, then strode angrily across the room, grabbed Bronwyn’s arm, and half dragged her with him.

  He spun her around once they were outside in the moonlit courtyard. “You certainly enjoyed yourself!” he hissed, his teeth clenched.

  “You are hurting me,” she said quite calmly, trying to pry his fingers from her upper arms.

  “I ought to beat you!”

  She glared at him. He was really going too far! “That is truly a man’s logic! You were the one who wanted to come here. You were the one who insisted upon acting like a child. And now, to cover your own stupidity and childishness, you wish to beat me!”

  He dug his fingers deeper into her arms. “I told you to sit quietly, out of sight, but there you were giving Hugh those enticing little smiles. You were telling him that anything he wanted from you he could have.”

  Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “That may be the most absurd thing I ever heard.”

  “You’re lying! I saw you!”