Highland Belle Page 3

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  “Well?” Spring said, staring at Brigette, who was sitting on one of the cots. At the sound of her cousin's voice, Brigette looked up but made no reply.

  “Brie, what are you going to do?"

  “Nothing, at the moment,” she answered. “I've a need to be alone. Why don't you sup with Jamie?"

  Spring studied Brigette a moment longer, then left. Alone again, Brigette's expression froze in a grimace, her thoughts returning to her husband's devastating insults.

  Suddenly, Brigette's lips turned up in a winsome smile, the product of an outrageous idea taking root in her mind. Iain MacArthur needs a lesson in humility, she decided. That he needs his legal wife to beget a legitimate heir is a fact he has forgotten, and reminding him will be my pleasure. I am going home and will not return until that heathen begs on bended knee for my forgiveness!

  Brigette leaped from the cot, rummaged through Spring's baggage, and pulled out one of her cousin's older traveling outfits. She couldn't wear her own clothing on the way home; no one must guess that she was an earl's daughter.

  Brigette hid the garments beneath her cot, then sat down to plot her escape. Because of the sentries, she could not take her horse. With a sigh, Brigette resigned herself to a very long walk back to Basildon Castle. She gave no thought to food or even where she would sleep, assuming she'd find accommodations along the way.

  * * * *

  Awakening with a start, Brigette realized she'd fallen asleep and almost lost her one chance to escape. Her eyes darted to Spring's cot. The other girl slept.

  Rising, Brigette reached under the cot and pulled out the borrowed clothes. Quickly and quietly, she stripped and donned the threadbare garments.

  On tiptoes, Brigette scurried to the tent's flap and listened. Should she venture out or not? All was silent, but she knew the MacArthur guards were lurking somewhere near.

  Indecision gripped Brigette. She turned around, deciding to sneak out the back. Spring moaned in her sleep, and Brigette froze, only her eyes moving to where the other girl lay.

  Several long moments passed. Reaching the back of the tent, Brigette knelt and lifted the bottom, then peered out at the night. No one was about. On hands and knees, she crawled toward the safety of the forest. When she reached the trees, Brigette stopped and listened for the sounds of alarm. All remained quiet. Slowly, Brigette got to her feet and stepped deeper into the woods.

  The sky had cleared, and the moon was brilliantly full, but as the firelight faded, so, too, did Brigette's courage. In her haste to escape, she'd forgotten her fear of the dark and being alone. Now the night's sounds closed in upon her. An owl hooted nearby and Brigette jumped, her heart pounding frantically. She heard a wolf's lonely lament and froze, too frightened to take another step.

  With tears streaming down her face, Brigette leaned against a tree. I cannot escape and then return, she moaned. How humiliating that would be! How foolish to place myself in jeopardy because of a man's insults! Brushing her tears away, Brigette sat down and nestled against the tree, then closed her eyes and waited for the dawn.

  * * * *

  The night was black when Brigette, having dozed, opened her eyes. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, sending a shiver racing down the length of her spine. Brigette looked around, forcing herself to search for danger, then gasped. A pair of shining eyes watched her. She bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming.

  The moon peeked out from behind a passing cloud, and Brigette giggled nervously. The shining eyes belonged to a baby fox. “You're a sly one,” she whispered, and held out her hand.

  Curious, the fox advanced, then stopped and sniffed the air. Deciding Brigette was no danger, it stepped closer.

  “Have you lost your mother?” Brigette murmured, and noticed that its copper hair resembled her own. Feeling not quite so alone, Brigette patted the fox. Responding to the gentle touch, it snuggled against her, and together they settled down for the night.

  * * * *

  Dawn was washing the sky a pale shade of gray. All but a few of the MacArthur warriors were still sleeping when a solitary man rode, unchallenged, into their midst. He nodded to the guards and dismounted, then sauntered toward the cooking fire.

  Iain MacArthur cut an imposing figure. Six feet tall and muscularly built, there was not an ounce of extra meat upon his frame. He appeared lean, but locked in mortal combat, his enemies soon realized their folly in underestimating his superior strength. His hair and eyes were as black as a moonless midnight. A long, straight nose and full lips blended harmoniously, and his face was made even more handsome by his complexion, tanned and ruddy from exposure to all kinds of weather. Women were fatally attracted to Iain's dark face and form, his image of raw masculinity rendering him irresistible.

  Iain looked down at Percy, who still slept. Squatting beside his brother, he thought how much Percy resembled their deceased mother. Leaning close to Percy's ear, he said loudly, “Good mornin’ to ye, brother."

  Percy bolted up. His face contorted in a grimace, then split into a grin. “Iain!"

  “I knew I shouldna’ have sent ye to do a mon's job,” Iain said. “Yer still a lazy lug-a-bed, like when we were lads."

  Percy stood and wrapped himself in his plaid, then turned on Iain. “Congratulations on yer marriage, brother.” Percy grinned. “Did ye enjoy the weddin’ night?"

  “Didna’ I instruct ye to do it by proxy?” Iain returned, a smile flirting with the corners of his lips. “It musta’ slipped my mind.” Percy chortled with laughter. “By the way,” he added, “where is the bride I've ridden all night to meet?"

  “Sleepin', I suppose,” Percy answered, his eyes drifting to the silent tent. “Lady Brigette—Brie, her friends call her—is a bonnie lass."

  “Shall we wake her so I can see for myself?"

  “I must have a word or two wi’ ye first."

  “I'm listenin'."

  “Patience isna’ one of yer finer points, brother,” Percy began, “but ye must be patient wi’ yer bride. However bonnie she may be, Brie has a fine temper to match yer own."

  “However spicy the wench may be,” Iain returned, “I'm capable of handlin’ her. Let's go."

  “No’ so fast, brother.” Percy placed a hand on Iain's arm. “She's no common wench to be handled, as ye so delicately put it. Weddin’ by proxy was an insult to her pride, and the lady is furious. Dinna forget she's an earl's daughter."

  “So?"

  Percy frowned. “She wore a black gown of mournin’ to the ceremony. I'd say she isna’ harborin’ any fondness for ye. And last night—"

  An uproar near the tent silenced Percy and the brothers turned in that direction. Jamie approached with a near-hysterical Spring in tow.

  “The Sassenach is gone,” Jamie said, and weeping, the tirewoman nodded.

  “W-when I w-woke,” Spring sobbed, “B-Brie was g-gone!"

  “Damn the chit!” Iain swore. “When I find her, I'll beat her black and blue.” He raced for his horse.

  “He doesna’ even know what she looks like,” Percy said before following his brother. “Take Spring to Dunridge. We'll meet ye there."

  * * * *

  Brigette awakened early and found the fox cuddled upon her lap. She smiled at the sleeping ball of copper fur, then set it aside and rose slowly, each muscle protesting the tense night just passed. When her stomach growled loudly, she realized she was hungry. I must find a stream, she thought. The water will fill me until I find help.

  Ignorant of where she was going, Brigette walked. Glancing back, she saw the fox following, and when she turned around, it stopped.

  “Come along, if you wish.” Brigette held out her arms in invitation, and the fox accepted. “You'll be known as Sly,” she added, lifting it. “Understand?” With doleful eyes, Sly looked up at her, and Brigette felt strangely pleased that the beast had adopted her for its mother.

  Attempting to quell her stomach's protests, she picked unripened berries along the way. Sly a
nd she shared the fare, but were dissatisfied with its lightness. Brigette thought longingly of beef and pork and mutton; Sly yearned for a plump and juicy rabbit or chicken.

  After meandering along for what seemed like endless hours, the hapless duo stopped. Brigette listened carefully. Then she heard it again, the babbling of a stream. She set Sly down and hurried after him in the direction of the water.

  When the stream was in sight, Brigette and Sly raced to its rocky edge. Sly delicately dipped his tongue and drank. Brigette knelt and ducked her face and came up laughing. I've found a stream, she thought happily. Next I'll find someone to help me, and then I'll find my own way home!

  Brigette glanced at Sly. The fur on his neck and back was raised in hackles. Danger! her senses screamed, and she turned. A dark rider, astride an even darker horse, watched her from the edge of the trees. The devil! Brigette thought wildly, her mouth dropping in surprise.

  "Madame!" Iain called, but she continued to stare dumbly at him.

  Iain dismounted and Brigette sprang to life. She leaped to her feet and raced away. Iain gave chase. When she looked back to see him gaining on her, Brigette slammed into a tree and fell unconscious to the ground.

  Kneeling beside her, Iain quickly inventoried his bride's beauty. Her skin was pale and silky to his touch. She had a tiny oval face that ended with a stubborn, pointed chin. Her nose was small and turned up slightly at the tip, giving her a puckish expression. Rosy and inviting, her lips were meant for kissing. A lump was already forming on her forehead above her right brow, and a smudge of blackness was rising beneath the same eye, now closed to him in unconsciousness.

  I wonder what color her eyes are, he thought. As big and dark as I am, my wife is petite and pale. Opposites! Iain chuckled. I perceive no real contest of wills from this tiny vixen! Hearing a sound, Iain turned.

  “I see ye've captured yer bride,” Percy said, dismounting. He peered down at Brigette's face. “My God, Iain! What did ye do to her?"

  “Nothin',” Iain growled. He turned back to Brigette and lifted her into his arms, a plan formulating in his mind. “I'm takin’ her to the huntin’ lodge. We'll become acquainted, away from the pryin’ eyes of others. Tell Black Jack where I've gone."

  “When she comes around,” Percy asked, smirking, “how will ye get her to stay? Ye canna keep her tied forever and the lady hates yer guts. Nae offense, Iain."

  “None taken, brother.” Iain smiled. “I willna’ tell her who I am. I'll say I'm Ross MacArthur, Black Jack's bastard and her rescuer. I'll help her stay well hidden from Iain."

  Percy threw back his head and shouted with laughter.

  “I beg a favor, brother,” Iain added, and Percy nodded. “Dinna tell Antonia our whereaboots."

  * * * *

  Unconscious, Brigette lay in the hunting lodge's only bed. Iain sat beside her and pressed a damp cloth to her forehead.

  She's lovely, he thought. I've done well in my bride. Brigette's eyes fluttered open; silently, husband and wife stared at each other. Green eyes!

  “How are ye feelin'?” Iain broke the silence.

  Brigette touched her forehead. “My—my head hurts."

  “Ye've a nasty bump,” he said. “I'm sorry I frightened ye and caused yer accident. Who are ye?"

  “Who are you?” she countered, alert to the danger couched in his question. Whoever he was, the man wore the black and green plaid of the MacArthurs and probably knew her husband.

  “Ross MacArthur, bastard son of the Earl of Dunridge, at yer service,” Iain smiled. “And ye are?"

  “MacArthur?"

  “Yes, Ross MacArthur. And ye?"

  “I—I cannot recall,” Brigette hedged, peeping at him from beneath her long, copper lashes. Would he digest the outrageous lie she was formulating? “A Gypsy! I'm a Gypsy! At least, I think I am."

  Swallowing his laughter, Iain's expression remained sympathetic, but his eyes sparkled with suppressed merriment. “It's the rattlin’ yer brains took today,” he said. “I'm certain ye'll shortly recall who ye are. Take a healthy swig of this medicine."

  Iain helped Brigette sit up, and she gulped a large mouthful. Her eyes widened in shock as the whiskey burned a path to her stomach. Brigette choked and then shivered, in the process suddenly noticing her state of undress.

  “I'm naked!” she cried, shocked and embarrassed.

  “Ye couldna’ be put to bed wearin’ yer clothes.” Iain grinned and patted her arm. “Dinna worry. I've seen many and many naked women before, and make nae mistake aboot it."

  Brigette's embarrassment mingled with anger, but Iain pressed her back to the pillow and gently brushed a few strands of copper hair from her forehead. “Close yer eyes and rest. I promise ye'll be feelin’ better when ye wake."

  When she awakened later, Brigette did feel better, the pounding in her head having subsided to a dull throb. She opened her eyes. Her host was nowhere in sight.

  Dizzy but determined to leave, Brigette tried to rise but fell back to the pillow. She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, then opened them again and looked around.

  The lodge was one large chamber. The bed was situated along a side wall. On the back wall was the hearth, where a fire was burning. Something that smelled delicious was simmering in a black pot, and Brigette's mouth watered.

  A rug, made from several animal pelts, lay on the middle of the floor. Beyond that was an oak table and two chairs, simple but finely crafted. The door was along the wall that faced the foot of the bed. As Brigette's eyes touched the door, it opened.

  “I see ye've awakened.” Iain smiled pleasantly. “Feelin’ any better?"

  “Much better.” Brigette smiled faintly in return.

  Iain took a bowl from the table and filled it with soup from the black pot, then crossed the chamber and sat on the edge of the bed. “Sit up,” he ordered. “Ye must eat some of this."

  Brigette obeyed, but Iain neither gave her the bowl nor fed her. He appeared to be in a trance. Brigette followed his mesmerized gaze and gasped. The coverlet had slipped, exposing one plump breast. Blushing to the tips of her toes, she yanked the coverlet up.

  “As I said before, I've seen many and many—"

  “I heard you the first time!” Brigette snapped irritably. For some unknown reason, the thought of Ross MacArthur viewing parades of beautiful, naked women bothered her.

  Iain's dark eyes narrowed at his wife's waspishness, but then he smiled with patience, assuming the cause was the pain in her head. “Have ye recalled yer name yet?” he asked, filling her mouth with soup.

  She swallowed, then answered, “Bria, I think."

  “Bria?” Iain hid a smile. “It sounds like that French cheese. And what of yer family?"

  Brigette hesitated, wondering what she should say. “I remember now! I am a Gypsy!"

  “With yer red hair and green eyes,” he scoffed, “ye dinna look like a Gypsy to me."

  “I resemble my mother,” Brigette answered without thinking. “She's French."

  “So, yer mother's French?"

  “Father met Mother while he was traveling in France, and the rest is history.” A lie that contains some truth will be easier to remember, she thought.

  As if deep in thought, Iain rubbed the dark shadow of stubble on his chin. “I know of no Gypsies passin’ through the area. How came ye to be on these lands?"

  “We were on our way to Edinburgh when I became separated and lost."

  “Edinburgh, ye say?” Iain choked on a chuckle. “That's the other side of Scotland."

  “I just told you that I became lost!"

  He made no reply, but stared at Brigette, who had the uncanny feeling he could see into her soul and knew the truth. But how could that be? “If you give me directions to Edinburgh,” she said, “I'll be on my way in the morning."

  “Ye willna’ be goin’ anywhere in the mornin'."

  “But—"

  “I forbid it.” Iain's voice rose. “I'd be worried aboot yer welfare forever
and a day. Ye'll remain here a few more days, and then I'll see ye safely to yer family."

  “But—"

  “Nae more talk,” he insisted, not unkindly. “Ye need rest. I'll go huntin’ in the mornin’ and we'll sup on rabbit stew. Lie back now and close yer bonnie green eyes."

  Brigette closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep.

  A Gypsy! Iain grinned, thinking her story was most inventive. He rose, dragged a chair over to the hearth, and sat down with his whiskey.

  How verra bonnie my wife is, he thought. I've the urge to take her now. One look at that sweet flesh had stiffened his rod to full strength, and remembering it made him tingle. Yes, I've the right to take what I desire, though it's a sorry man who cannot control his urges. But I'll be damned if I sleep in a chair all night!

  Iain stood and stripped, then crawled into bed beside Brigette, who slept peacefully, oblivious to her bedmate. He fell asleep but awakened a short time later to the feel of his bride cuddled into him. Her face was buried against the side of his chest, and one of her legs was thrown over his muscular thighs.

  To touch yet not touch was the sweetest torture Iain had ever known. He stroked her back lightly, savoring the silken texture of her skin. A sigh escaped her lips, and he smiled in the dark, then closed his eyes and slept.

  * * * *

  Brigette awoke the next morning to the smell of something heavenly simmering in the pot. Her nose twitched and she rolled over.

  “Good mornin',” Iain greeted, standing in front of the hearth.

  “Good morning.” Uncomfortable with her nudity, Brigette glanced down. The coverlet was doing its job. “I'd like to get dressed,” she said.

  With his hands resting on his lean hips, Iain studied her thoughtfully. “Well, ye ought to be spendin’ the day where ye are, but if ye promise to rest...” With a shrug, he turned away to stir the oatmeal porridge.

  “My—my clothing?"

  “On the chair over there,” he answered, without bothering to look at her.

  Brigette's eyes moved from Iain to the chair on the far side of the room, then back to Iain. She stared at him in growing consternation. When there was no movement from the bed, he looked over.