Highland Velvet

  “Stop! But—” She knew it was no use to go on. Only Morag felt as she did; the others needed their rest before they could continue. She took a deep breath and knew that being this close to home would help her sleep tonight. She dismounted her horse and unfastened her saddlebag. At least she could get out of the confining English clothes.

  “What’s this?” Stephen asked, touching the plaid over her arm. “Is this what you wore the first night I met you?” he asked, his eyes bright with memory.

  She snatched it from his grasp and walked into the darkness of the trees. It wasn’t easy to unfasten the English dress by herself, but she was determined to be rid of it. Once the heavy velvet dress was carefully placed on a rock, she stripped down to her skin. The Scots’ way of dress was simple and gave the people freedom. She slipped a soft cotton chemise over her head, then a saffron-colored, long-sleeved shirt. The sleeves were gathered at the shoulder, tight at the cuffs. The skirt was cut of wide gores, small at the hips but free-flowing enough to allow her to run or ride a horse. It was of a soft blue heather plaid. A wide belt with a big silver belt buckle went around her small waist. Another plaid, a six-yard cloak, she deftly threw about her shoulders, then pinned it with a big, hinged brooch. The heavy silver brooch had been handed from daughter to daughter for generations.

  “Here, let me see,” came a voice from behind her.

  She whirled about to face Stephen. “Were you spying on me again?” she asked coldly.

  “I prefer to think of it as protecting you. There’s no telling what could happen to a pretty lady alone in the woods.”

  She backed away from him. “I think the worst has already happened.” She didn’t want him near her, didn’t want a repeat of the power he’d had over her last night. She turned and ran back to camp.

  “Didn’t you forget these?” Stephen called after her, holding up her shoes. He laughed when she didn’t look back.

  Bronwyn limped into the tent that she’d been told was Stephen’s. His men were efficient at making a camp that resembled a small town. She winced even as her foot touched the edge of the carpet spread over the good Scots soil. She’d forgotten that it’d been months since she’d run barefoot across the open ground. Her feet had grown soft, and after her short run she’d cut and bruised them.

  She sat down on the edge of the wide cot and bent to inspect them. When the tent flap opened and Stephen entered, she stood up quickly even though her hurt feet brought tears of pain to her eyes.

  Stephen tossed her shoes into a corner. He sat down on the cot. “Let me see them.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said haughtily, walking away from him.

  “Bronwyn, why must you always be so stubborn? You hurt your feet, I know you did, so come over here and let me look at them.”

  She knew that sooner or later they’d have to be tended. Reluctantly she sat down on the cot beside him.

  With a sigh of exasperation, he bent and pulled her feet into his lap. Bronwyn fell back onto her arms. Stephen frowned as he inspected the cuts, one of them quite deep. He bellowed for his squire to bring him a basin of hot water and clean bandages.

  “Now put your feet in here,” he said when he’d set the water on the floor.

  She watched as he tenderly washed and rinsed her feet and then put them into his lap to dry and bandage them. “Why do you do this for me?” she asked quietly. “I am your enemy.”

  “No you’re not. You’re the one who fights me, not the other way around. I’d be only too willing to live in peace with you.”

  “How can there be peace when my father’s blood is a wall between us?”

  “Bronwyn—” he began, then stopped. It was no use arguing with her. Only his actions would be able to persuade her that he meant only good for her and her clan. He patted the bandage on her left foot. “That should hold you for a while.” When she started to move away, he held her feet in his lap. His eyes turned darker as he ran a hand up her calf. “You have beautiful legs,” he whispered.

  Bronwyn wanted to pull away from him because she recognized the look in his eyes, but he hypnotized her, kept her still even though he held her lightly. Both of his hands went under her long skirt, and she lay back against the pillows, still as he caressed her legs and buttocks.

  He lay beside her, pulled her into his arms, and began to kiss her face, her ears, her mouth. His hands expertly unfastened her brooch, her belt buckle. Her clothes slipped from her body before she knew they were even unfastened. Stephen moved away from her for only seconds while he discarded his own clothes. He laughed low in his throat as Bronwyn’s hands sought his body and pulled him back close to her.

  He fastened his mouth onto hers, tasting the sweetness of her tongue. “Who am I?” he whispered as he ran his teeth along her neck.

  She didn’t answer him but rubbed her thighs along his. Her heart was racing, and in spite of the cool night a slight sheen of sweat was beginning to form on her skin.

  He grabbed her hair, the thickness of it swallowing his hand. “Who am I? I want to hear you say my name.”

  “Stephen,” she whispered. “And I am the MacArran.”

  He laughed, his eyes brilliant. Even in her passion she didn’t lose any of that incredible pride of hers. “And I am the conqueror of the MacArran,” he laughed.

  “Never!” she said in a throaty whisper as she grabbed his hair and pulled back hard. His head jerked backward, and she put her teeth to his throat. “Who is the conqueror now?”

  Stephen pulled her on top of him, ran his hands up and down her firmly. “We English would lose all our wars ’twere such as you the enemy.” Suddenly he lifted her, then slowly lowered her so that she sat on his shaft.

  Bronwyn gasped in surprise, then gave a deep moan of pleasure as she bent over him and began to move up and down. Stephen stayed very still, allowing her to control their pleasure. When he felt her excitement begin to peak, he rolled her to her back, and she clasped at him with her strong arms and legs. They exploded together in a blinding flash.

  Exhausted, they fell asleep as they were, wrapped together, their skin glued together by sweat and passion.

  An owl woke Bronwyn. She awoke with her eyes wide and her senses alert. Stephen was sprawled half on top of her, pinning her beneath him. She frowned as she remembered their previous passion. It was gone now, and her head ruled her disobedient body.

  The sound of the owl was very familiar. She’d heard that signal all her life. “Tam!” she half whispered. Slowly and with more gentleness than she felt, she pushed Stephen’s sleep-heavy limbs off her body.

  She dressed quickly in the dark, making almost no noise. She found her shoes where Stephen had tossed them and made her way outside the tent. She stood still for a few moments and listened as Rab stood beside her. Stephen had planted guards, and they walked about the edge of the camp. Bronwyn gave them a look of disgust as she slipped past them and into the forest. The heathery blend of her plaid and her dark hair made her nearly invisible.

  She walked quickly and surely through the forest, her passage making little noise. Suddenly she stood very still. She sensed that someone was near.

  “Jamie taught ye well,” came a deep voice from behind her.

  She turned, a brilliant smile on her face. “Tam!” she gasped an instant before she flew into his arms.

  He held her very close, her feet off the ground as she gave over her whole weight to him. “Did they treat ye well? Are ye unhurt?”

  She moved away from him. “Let me look at ye.” The moonlight made Tam’s hair even more silver than it actually was. He was a man of average height, no taller than Bronwyn, but he was powerfully built with arms and a chest an oak would envy. Tam was her father’s cousin, and he’d been her friend all her life. One of Tam’s sons had been one of the three men she would have chosen to be her husband.

  Tam gave a deep laugh. “Yer eyes are better than my old ones. I can’t tell if ye’re well or not. We wanted to come for ye
, but we were afraid for yer safety.”

  “Let’s sit down.”

  “Ye have time? I hear ye have a husband now.”

  She could see the concern in his face, could even see that there were more lines about his eyes. “Aye, I have a husband,” she said when they were seated side by side on a boulder. “He’s an Englishman.”

  “What is he like? Does he plan to stay in Scotland with ye or go back to his England?”

  “What do I know? He’s an arrogant man. I’ve tried to speak to him of my clan, but he never listens. He is sure that there is no way of anything except the English way.”

  Tam touched her cheek. For so many years he’d thought of this girl as his daughter. “Has he hurt ye?” he asked quietly.

  Bronwyn was glad for the darkness and the cover of her blushes. Stephen hurt her pride by making her writhe under him and above him. She could keep her head as long as he did not touch her. But that wasn’t something you could say to a man who was like a second father. “No, he hasn’t hurt me. Tell me, how is my clan? Have you had much trouble with the MacGregors?”

  “Nay. It’s been quiet while ye were gone. We’ve all been greatly worried. The English king promised ye wouldna’ be harmed.” He put out his hand as Rab came to his side. He patted the big head absently. “There are things ye aren’t telling me. What of this husband of yers?”

  Bronwyn stood. “I hate him! He will cause more problems than I need. He laughed at me when I told him he must try to be accepted by my clan. He travels with an army of men and baggage.”

  “We heard ye days ago.”

  “I worry that his ignorance and his stupidity will harm my men. He will no doubt try to force my men to conform to his ways. Someone will slip a dirk between his ribs, and the English king will bring his soldiers down upon my clan’s heads.”

  Tam stood and put his hands on Bronwyn’s shoulders. They were small shoulders to bear the weight of the responsibility she carried. “Perhaps not. Perhaps some small pieces of his skin can be removed, and that will help him to learn our ways.”

  Bronwyn turned and smiled up at him. “You are good for me. The English say we are a savage, crude lot. They’d believe so for sure if they could hear you.”

  “Savage, are we?” Tam asked, teasing her.

  “Aye, and they say the women are as bad as the men.”

  “Hmph!” Tam grunted. “Here, let’s see if ye remember any of what I taught you.”

  Before she could blink, he’d drawn his dirk and had it aimed at her throat. He’d spent years teaching her ways to protect herself from strong men. She moved to one side in a quick, fluid movement, but it wasn’t quick enough. The knife pressed against her throat.

  Suddenly, from out of the trees, a man flew, literally off his feet, as he sailed through the air and slammed against the side of Tam. Bronwyn leaped to one side, and Tam struggled to keep his balance. He was a massive, thick man, and his strength was in his ability to stand firm against all comers. Bronwyn had seen four strong, grown men leap at him, and Tam had remained standing.

  Tam shrugged, and the man fell off him as Tam blinked at him in curiosity.

  Bronwyn smiled when she saw Stephen lying on his back. It would be a pleasure to see him laid low. He’d beaten Roger Chatworth, but Roger was an Englishman, trained in rules of chivalry and sportsmanship. Tam was a real fighter.

  Stephen lost no time contemplating his assailant. All he knew was that he’d seen this man hold a knife to his wife’s throat. To him, it was their lives to Tam’s. He grabbed a piece of a log from the ground, and as Tam turned in puzzlement to Bronwyn, Stephen slammed the wood into the back of the big man’s knee.

  Tam gave a deep grunt and fell forward. Stephen, on his knees, plowed his fist into Tam’s face and felt the man’s nose crunch.

  Tam knew that Stephen was not an unknown or Rab would have given warning, but when he felt his nose break, he no longer cared who his attacker was. He opened his big hands and went for Stephen’s throat. Stephen knew he had no chance against the man’s strength, but his youth and agility were more than a match. He sidestepped Tam’s hands, then ducked and pummeled both fists into the rock-hard stomach. Tam didn’t seem to notice Stephen’s blows. He grabbed Stephen by the shoulders, picked him up, and bashed him against a tree—once, twice. Stephen was dazed as his body hit the tree, but he lifted his legs and used all his strength to push against Tam’s chest. The strength in Stephen’s legs was enough to make Tam pause in his squashing of Stephen.

  Stephen brought his arms up under Tam’s wrists, and the suddenness of his action made Tam release him. Instantly Tam was after Stephen again, his giant hands going after the younger man’s throat. Stephen had only seconds to escape. He threw his legs into the air and did a perfect backward flip.

  Tam stood in a crouch for a moment. One second his enemy was there and the next he was gone. Before he could blink he felt a cold, steel blade at his throat.

  “Don’t move,” Stephen said, panting, “or I’ll cut your throat.”

  “Stop it!” Bronwyn screamed. “Stephen! Release him this instant!”

  “Release him?” Stephen asked. “He tried to kill you.” He frowned when he felt Tam’s deep laughter.

  “Kill me!” Bronwyn said. “You are the stupidest man I ever met. Rab would have been after him if there’d been any danger. Now put down that knife before you hurt someone.”

  Slowly Stephen resheathed his knife. “The damn dog was so still he could have been dead for all I knew.” He rubbed the back of his head. His spine felt like it’d been broken.

  “He’s right, Bronwyn,” Tam said. “He did what he should have done. My name’s Tam MacArran,” he said as he held out his hand to Stephen. “Where did ye learn to fight like that?”

  Stephen hesitated for a moment before he took the man’s hand. What he really wanted to do was turn Bronwyn over his knee for calling him stupid when he’d been trying to protect her. “Stephen Montgomery,” he said, shaking Tam’s hand. “I have a brother built like you. I found the only way to beat him was to be faster. An acrobat taught me a few tricks, and they’ve come in handy.”

  “I should say so!” Tam said, rubbing his nose. “I think it may be broken.”

  “Oh, Tam!” Bronwyn cried, giving Stephen a look of hate. “Come back to camp and let me look at it.”

  Tam didn’t move. “I think ye should ask yer husband’s permission. I take it ye are her husband?”

  Stephen felt himself warming to the man. “I already have scars to prove it.”

  Tam chuckled.

  “Let’s go and see if we can find some beer. And I’d like to talk to those guards of mine. How in the world they didn’t hear Bronwyn leaving camp I’ll never know. A man in full armor could have made less noise.”

  “Less noise!” Bronwyn said. “You Englishmen are—”

  Tam put his hand on her shoulder and stopped her. “Even if the others didn’t hear you, your husband did. Now go ahead and get me some warm water for washing. I think there’s dried blood all over me.” He looked at Stephen fondly. “You have some strength in your fists.”

  Stephen grinned. “Another blow on that tree and my back would have broken.”

  “Aye,” Tam said. “Ye have no meat on ye for padding.”

  “Ha!” Stephen snorted. “If I got as heavy as you I wouldn’t be able to move.”

  The men grinned at each other and followed Bronwyn and Rab back to camp.

  “Stephen!” Chris said when they reached camp. “We heard the noise, but it took us a while to see that you were gone. God’s teeth! What happened to you, and who’s this?”

  Torches were being lit as the men began to wake, disturbed by the commotion. “Go back to sleep, Chris,” Stephen said. “Just get someone to send us some hot water and open a keg of beer, will you? Come inside, Tam.”

  Tam looked about the inside of the tent. The walls were lined with pale blue silk, the ground covered with carpets from the Orient. He sat down
in a carved oak chair. “Fine place ye have here,” he said.

  “It’s a waste of money!” Bronwyn snapped. “There are people going hungry and—”

  “I paid people to make this tent, and I assume they bought food with the money,” Stephen retorted.

  Tam looked from one to the other. He saw anger and hostility coming from Bronwyn, but from Stephen he saw tolerance and maybe even affection. And Stephen had attacked him when he thought Tam was threatening Bronwyn.

  The hot water was brought, and the two men stripped to the waist and began to wash. Bronwyn felt Tam’s nose and assured him it wasn’t broken. Stephen’s back was a mass of bloody places where the tree bark had pierced his skin.

  “I think your husband’s back needs attention,” Tam said quietly.

  Bronwyn gave Stephen a look of disdain and left the tent, Rab behind her.

  Tam picked up a cloth. “Sit down, boy, and I’ll see to yer back.”

  Stephen was obedient. As Tam gently washed the young man’s back, Stephen began to speak. “Perhaps I should apologize for my wife’s manners.”

  “No need to. I think I should apologize to ye, since I was one of the ones who helped make her the way she is.”

  Stephen laughed. “I had more reason to fight you than I knew. Tell me, do you think she’ll ever get over being angry at me?”

  Tam wrung out the bloody cloth. “It’s hard to say. She and Davey have a lot of reasons to hate the English.”

  “Davey?”

  “Bronwyn’s older brother.”

  Stephen whirled about. “Brother! Bronwyn has a brother, yet her father named her his successor?”

  Tam chuckled and pushed Stephen back around so he could finish cleaning his back. “The Scots’ ways must seem strange to ye.”

  Stephen snorted. “Strange is a mild word for your actions. What kind of man was Bronwyn’s father?”

  “It’s better that ye ask about her brother. Davey was a wild boy, never quite right from the day of his birth. He’s a handsome lad and has some winning ways about him, and he could always get people to do what he wanted. The problem was that he never seemed to do what was best for the clan.”