Highland Velvet

by Jude Deveraux

  “Damn her.”

  She held her breath; she’d recognize Davey’s voice anywhere.

  “She always did have seven lives! All of which I mean to take,” he added viciously. “And that English husband of hers! I’ll show King Henry the Scots rule Scotland.”

  “There goes her horse!” said another voice,

  “Let’s go!” Davey said. “She can’t have gone too far.”

  It was a long time before Bronwyn moved. She was too stunned, too upset at first, to move. When her brain cleared a bit, she turned cautious. She wanted to be sure that Davey left no one behind in the area. She hoped to hear the sound of approaching horses, her own men, but when they did not appear in an hour, she stopped hoping.

  It was full dark when Stephen groaned and made his first movement.

  “Quiet!” she said, running her fingers along his cheek. Her right arm was dead from his weight on it for so long.

  Slowly, listening for each sound of the forest around her, she moved the leaves away. Her eyes were keen in the dark, and she’d had some time to listen to her surroundings. There was a stream not far from them at the bottom of a steep ridge. She ran down to it, then knelt and tore away a large square of linen from her underskirt and wet it.

  She knelt by Stephen, placed a few drops of water on his lips, then wiped the gash on the back of his head. The gash was not bad on his forehead, but she knew that sometimes such wounds had more serious consequences. It was quite possible that his brain could be addled.

  He opened his eyes and stared up at her. The moonlight made his eyes silver. She leaned over him with concern. “Who am I?” she asked quietly.

  His face was very serious, as if he puzzled over her question. “A blue-eyed angel who makes my life heaven and hell at the same time.”

  She groaned in disgust, then dropped the bloody cloth in his face. “You are, unfortunately, the same.”

  Stephen made a sorry attempt at a grin, then tried to sit up. He raised one eyebrow when Bronwyn quite naturally slipped her arm around him and helped him. “Is the news that bad?” he asked, his fingers rubbing his temple.

  “What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously.

  “If you’re helping me, the news must be worse than I thought.”

  She stiffened. “I shouldn’t have covered you but left you exposed for them to find.”

  “My head is killing me, and I don’t feel like arguing. And what the hell did you do to my back? Drive steel pins into it?”

  “You fell off your horse,” she said with a certain amount of satisfaction. Even in the darkness she could see his look of warning. “I guess I should start at the beginning.”

  “It would please me greatly if you did,” he said, one hand on his head, the other rubbing his back.

  She told him as succinctly as possible about Davey’s plan to kidnap Stephen.

  “And no doubt you agreed,” he said flatly.

  “Of course not!”

  “But getting rid of me would have solved many of your problems. Why didn’t you agree to his plan?”

  “I don’t know,” she said quietly.

  “His arguments were quite logical, and it was a perfect way to get rid of me.”

  “I don’t know!” she repeated. “I guess that I really didn’t trust him. Here, while we were under the leaves, I heard him say…that he meant to kill both of us.”

  “I guessed as much.”

  “How could you?”

  He touched a curl of her black hair. “Just a guess based upon the number of arrows aimed directly at you. And the way they tried to separate us from the men. It’s upset you, hasn’t it?”

  Her head snapped up. “What if you heard one of your brothers say he’d just tried to kill you?”

  Even in the darkness she could see Stephen’s face turn white. He looked at her in horror. “It is an impossible idea,” he said flatly, finishing the subject. He looked around. “Where are we?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “What about the men? Are they around here?”

  “I’m only a woman, remember? How would I know about war strategy?”

  “Bronwyn!” he warned.

  “I don’t know where we are. If the men don’t find us soon, they’ll return to Larenston, where we must go as soon as possible.” She put her head to one side. “Quiet!” she whispered fiercely. “Someone’s coming. We must hide!”

  Stephen’s first impulse was to meet whoever it was head on, but he had no weapon besides the little dirk at his side, and he had no idea how many people there were.

  Bronwyn took his hand and pulled him forward. She led him to the crest of the steep ridge, then over the side. They quietly snuggled down into the thick bed of leaves and watched the two men who approached. They were obviously hunters, looking for game instead of the missing laird and her husband.

  Stephen made a gesture as if he meant to say something to the men, but Bronwyn stopped him. He looked at her in surprise, but he didn’t make a sound.

  When the men were out of hearing distance, he turned to her. “They weren’t David’s men.”

  “Worse,” she said. “They were MacGregors.”

  “Don’t tell me you know each of the MacGregors personally.”

  She shook her head at his stupidity. “The cockades on their hats bore the MacGregor colors and insignia.”

  He gave her a brief look of admiration for her extraordinary night vision.

  “I think I know where we are now.”

  He turned over, leaned back against the bank, and sighed. “Don’t tell me,” he said sarcastically. “Let me guess. We’re in the middle of the MacGregor’s land. We’re weaponless, horseless, no food or gold. We’re hunted by your brother, and the MacGregor would just love our heads on a platter.”

  Bronwyn turned to look at his profile, and suddenly a little giggle escaped her.

  Stephen looked at her in astonishment, then he too smiled. “Hopeless, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, her eyes dancing.

  “Of course, this is no time to laugh.”

  “None whatever.”

  “But it is almost funny, isn’t it?” he laughed.

  She joined his laughter. “We’ll probably be dead tomorrow, one way or another.”

  “So what do you want to do on your last night on earth?” he asked, his blue eyes picking up rays of moonlight.

  “Someone could stumble on us at any moment,” she said quite seriously.

  “Hmmm. Shall we give them something to see?”

  “Such as?”

  “A couple of sublimely happy, totally nude wood-spirits.”

  She pulled her plaid close about her. “It’s awfully cold, don’t you think?” she said coyly.

  “I’ll wager we can find a way to get warm. In fact, it makes a great deal of sense to combine our warmth.”

  “In that case—” She launched herself from the ground and jumped on him.

  Stephen gave a gasp of surprise, then laughed. “I think I should have brought you to the MacGregor’s land before.”

  “Quiet, Englishman!” she commanded as she lowered her head and began to kiss him.

  Neither of them seemed to remember that they were perched on the side of a very steep ridge. Their passion, intensified by the danger of their predicament, made them oblivious to even more immediate dangers.

  Bronwyn was the first one to lose her footing. She’d just moved to Stephen’s side, slipped her skirt off while he removed his clothing, when the next instant she was rolling down the side of the hill.

  Stephen made a grab for her, but his senses were dulled by his passion and he missed her. But he’d extended himself too far and tumbled down just after her.

  They landed together in a tangle of nude, moonlit skin and a flurry of leaves.

  “Are you all right?” Stephen asked.

  “I will be as soon as you get off me. You’re breaking my leg.”

  Instead of moving off her, he moved his body m
ore fully onto her. “You never complained before that I was too heavy for you,” he said as he began to nibble her ear.

  She smiled as she closed her eyes. “There are times when you don’t weigh much at all.”

  He moved his lips to her throat.

  Suddenly something enormous and heavy landed smack on Stephen’s back. He collapsed onto Bronwyn for a moment, then quickly lifted himself with his arms, protecting her. “What the hell!”

  “Rab!” Bronwyn said, then squirmed out from under Stephen. “Oh, Rab,” she said with great, deep joy. “Rab, sweet Rab.” She buried her face in the dog’s coarse fur.

  Stephen sat back on his heels. “That’s all I needed,” he said sarcastically. “As if my back weren’t sore enough already.”

  Rab moved away from Bronwyn to leap at Stephen. In spite of his words Stephen hugged the big dog while it licked his face and tried to smother him with affection.

  “Now, aren’t you ashamed,” Bronwyn laughed. “He loves you and is quite glad to see you.”

  “I wish he’d paid more attention to my loving. Down, Rab! You’re going to drown me. Here, boy, fetch.” Stephen threw an imaginary stick, and the dog happily ran after it.

  “That was terrible! You know he’ll spend hours looking for it. He so wants to please.”

  Stephen reached out and grabbed her wrist. “I hope he spends the rest of the night. Do you know how delicious you look in the moonlight?”

  She looked at him, his broad chest, his shoulders. “You’re not exactly an unpleasant sight yourself.”

  He pulled her to him. “You keep this up and I may never return you to Larenston. Now where were we?”

  “Your back was killing you and—”

  His mouth on hers made her stop talking.

  “Come here, wench,” he whispered as he pulled her down into the leaves.

  It was quite cold, but neither of them felt it. The leaves came up around them and sheltered them, hid them, warmed them. Bronwyn felt Stephen’s thighs against hers, and she pulled him closer and closer to her.

  They wrestled together, laughing. There were sticks and rocks poking their skin, but neither of them minded. Once Stephen began tickling Bronwyn, and the sound of her laughter, so unusual a sound to him, fired his passion to white-hot.

  “Bronwyn,” he whispered before pulling her under him and becoming serious.

  When they came together, it was somehow different from the other times. In spite of their differences, their impossible situation, they made love as if they were free for the first time. There was not only passion but a sense of joy and fun too.

  “I had no idea you were ticklish,” Stephen whispered sleepily as he held Bronwyn close to him.

  Rab snuggled on her other side. “Neither did I. Shouldn’t we get our clothes?”

  “In a minute,” Stephen whispered. “In a min—”

  They were awakened very early by Rab’s growling. Stephen’s reflexes were instant. He sat up and pushed Bronwyn behind him. He stared at a man who was some twenty feet away. He was a short, wiry man with brown hair and eyes. And he wore the MacGregor cockade.

  “Good mornin’,” he called heartily. “I didna’ mean to disturb you. I came to get some water, but your dog wouldn’t let me pass.”

  Stephen heard Bronwyn take in breath to speak. He turned and gave her a look of warning. She was half buried in the leaves, only her head and bare shoulders visible.

  “Mornin’,” Stephen called just as heartily, his voice heavy with the Scots burr. “Rab, come away, let the fine gentleman pass.”

  “I thank ye, sir,” the man said as he walked the few feet to the stream.

  “Rab, fetch our clothes,” Stephen said, then watched as the dog obeyed. He looked back at the man at the edge of the stream, who was looking at the nude pair with curiosity. “A bit of Adam and Eve, aren’t we?” Stephen laughed.

  The man laughed also. “Just what I was thinkin’.” He stood. “I didn’t see your wagon or horses, so I had no idea anyone was here.”

  Stephen put on his shirt, then deftly threw his plaid about him and buckled his wide belt. Both men discreetly turned away as Bronwyn dressed. She didn’t speak but was fascinated by Stephen’s newly acquired accent.

  “To tell the truth,” Stephen said, “we have only what we have on our backs.”

  Bronwyn watched as he put his cap behind his back and tore the MacArran cockade from it.

  “We were set upon by thieves.”

  “Thieves!” the man said. “In the MacGregor’s land? He won’t like that.”

  “Aye, that he won’t,” Stephen agreed. “Especially since it was some of those thievin’ MacArrans. Oh! I’m sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to pull your hair,” he said when Bronwyn gave a little gasp of horror.

  “Ah, the MacArrans,” the man said. “There’s never been a more dishonest, treacherous, cowardly lot ever put on the face of the earth. Did you know that not long ago they nearly killed the MacGregor, merely because the man was riding across the woman’s land? The hag took her knife to him and nearly mutilated him. I heard she tried to cut his manhood off. Probably jealous.”

  Stephen whirled Bronwyn to face him so the man couldn’t see her face. “Let me help you with the brooch,” he said pleasantly in his heavy burr.

  “I barely scratched him,” she said in disgust.

  “What?” the man asked.

  Stephen smiled. “My wife is warning me that I scratched her last time I fastened her brooch.”

  The man chuckled. “I’m Donald Farquhar of Clan MacGregor.”

  Stephen smiled happily. “I’m Stephen Graham, and this is my wife, Bronwyn.” He smiled at the face she pulled at him.

  “Bronwyn!” Donald said. “ ’Tis an ill-favored name that one. Did ye know it was that witch the MacArran’s name?”

  Stephen held Bronwyn’s shoulders firmly. “One can’t help the name one was born with.”

  “No, ye canna.” He looked at Bronwyn’s long thick hair falling down her back, a few leaves stuck in it. “Anyone can see your Bronwyn isn’t like that other one.”

  Bronwyn bent her head and acted as if she were kissing Stephen’s hand, but in truth she applied her teeth sharply to the back of it. He released her, and she turned to smile at Donald. “And of course you’ve seen the MacArran many times,” she said sweetly.

  “No, not close, but I’ve seen her from a distance.”

  “And ugly is she?”

  “Oh, aye. Great shoulders like a man and taller than most of her men. And a face so ugly she must keep it covered.”

  Stephen’s fingers bit into her shoulders in warning. She nodded. “That’s what I’ve always heard. It’s nice to meet someone who knows her, so to speak,” she said seriously.

  Stephen bent forward to kiss her ear. “Behave yourself or you’ll get us killed,” he whispered.

  Donald beamed at the two of them. “Ye must be newlyweds,” he said happily. “I can’t miss the way ye can’t keep from touchin’ one another.”

  “You miss little, do you, Donald?” Bronwyn said.

  “I like to think I’m an observant man. Our wagon is on the ridge above. Perhaps you’d like to take a meal with us and meet my wife, Kirsty.”

  “No—” Bronwyn began, but Stephen stepped in front of her.

  “We’d like that very much,” he said. “We haven’t eaten since yesterday noon. Perhaps you can give us directions. I’m afraid that after we were robbed, we wandered for quite some time and lost our way.”

  “But ye made good use of the time,” Donald laughed, looking at the leaves with meaning.

  “That we did!” Stephen said jovially, his arm firmly around Bronwyn’s shoulders.

  “Well, come on then. A MacGregor always welcomes a MacGregor.” He turned and started up the hill.

  “Don’t do anything to endanger us,” Stephen warned as they followed him.

  “A MacGregor!” she muttered angrily.

  “And an Englishman!” he add
ed in the same tone.

  “I don’t know which is the lesser evil.”

  Stephen grinned. “Hate me but not him. He has the food.”

  At the top of the ridge all three of the people stopped and stared at the little woman bending over the fire. She was a delicate thing, no larger than a child, and her profile showed a little nose, a fragile mouth. But what was so unusual was that she was heavily, heavily pregnant. Her big belly stuck out in front of her like some massive monument. It was against all forces to reason that she was able to stand up and not let the weight of her burden pull her forward.

  She did stand, quite easily, and turned to look at the three people watching her. For a moment she looked only at Donald, and a smile of pure adoration lit her face. When she turned and saw Bronwyn, her face changed. It seemed to go through several emotions: bewilderment, fear, disbelief, until finally she smiled.

  Stephen and Bronwyn stood still, not breathing, expecting any moment that she’d announce who they were.

  “Kirsty!” Donald said as he ran to his wife’s side. “Are you all right?”

  She put her hand on the side of her big belly and looked up in apology. “I’m sorry to greet ye like that, but I had a very strong kick.”

  Donald looked up and smiled. “He’s a strong lad,” he laughed. “Come and sit by the fire.”

  Stephen was the first to relax his muscles and walk toward the fire. Bronwyn followed him slowly. She still wasn’t sure there hadn’t been recognition on Kirsty’s face. Perhaps she planned to tell Donald later and the MacGregors would attack them at night.

  Donald introduced them to his wife, and even when the name Bronwyn was said, she only smiled. It wasn’t a Scots name but a Welsh one, and it should have caused comment.

  “Do you think we have enough food?” Donald asked.

  Kirsty smiled. She had dark blonde hair and innocent brown eyes. It was difficult for anyone to mistrust her, “We always have enough to share,” she said quietly.

  They sat down to a meal of oatcakes baked on a griddle, and a savory rabbit stew. A cold wind blew around them. Donald’s wagon stood at the edge of the road. It was small, with a wooden shelter built on top of it; a comfortable place but not meant for long-distance travel.