“Lass, ye scald me,” he groaned between their kisses.
“Doona stop,” she moaned. “This… it feels amazing!”
He didn’t respond. Not with words, anyhow. He ran his mouth down her chin, slipping to her throat and laying playful nips at the soft skin there. She moaned at the sensation, stretching her neck and exposing more of it to him as she held him closer, enjoying the feel of his body against hers. She ran her hands up his shoulders and then began to move them across his chest, enjoying the feel of his muscles and the scars; feeling as if she could read his stories through them. He groaned, pausing in his onslaught to shift beneath her, and she looked up at him, catching him panting from the intensity of the moment. Blushing, she realized she could hear her own labored breathing, as well.
“Ye okay?” she whispered.
“Aye,” he chuckled. “Just had to… readjust my kilt.”
She opened her mouth to speak and then realized the position they were in and felt a second wave of heat take her. She might not have been experienced, but she knew enough to know what he was adjusting… and why.
“S-sorry…” she stammered.
Broden chuckled at that. “No’ something ye need to be sorry fer,” he said. “I wasn’t helping matters, either.”
Abigail giggled and looked up at him with all the want she was feeling at that moment. “I’d say ye were helping matters just fine,” she purred, nipping at his own lip and trailing her hand along his torso again, pausing along her path and smiling at the sight. “Where did ye get these?” she asked, tracing one of his tattoos.
He shrugged the opposite shoulder. “Me da mostly,” he said. “Rites of passage and such. He gave all of us—me an’ me brothers—our first tattoos: a rune of his choosing to grant us strength,” he pointed to the most faded of the tattoos, a still-bold symbol that seemed to depict a trident jutting upward with three points. Though she wasn’t sure why, Abigail felt it was appropriate for him.
She traced her hand over this for a moment, appreciating it all the more, before glancing over the rest. “And the others?” she asked.
“Lachlan,” he said, smirking. “One of me brothers. Da’s tattooing interested him enough to try some of his own, but the others were too afraid to let him try out on them, so I volunteered to be his pin cushion.”
“So all of these…?” she asked, trailing her hand over a cluster of smaller designs.
Broden nodded.
“His work is amazing,” she smiled. “Do ye think I could meet him?”
He pulled away slightly at that. “Ye want to meet them? My brothers?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’d like that,” she admitted, then, seeing him look away, bit her lip. “I mean, unless you’d rather I didn’t.”
“It…” he sighed, “It’s no’ like that. I just…” he shrugged. “I’ve been taking care of my brothers most of my life. I’ve… I’ve let myself get hurt and forced myself to go hungry so that they wouldn’t.” He sighed and looked down. “Because of that, they’re all… well, Le’s just say I’m no’ the prettiest of my brothers.”
Abigail frowned at this, looking down. “And ye’re afraid that, if I meet yer brothers, I’ll think less of ye?”
He nodded.
“Why would ye think that?”
He sighed and said, “Because it’s how it’s always happened. Whenever me brother Grant an’ I went to the village to get supplies, girls would always look at him an’, if they ever laid an eye on me in the first place, avoided me altogether.”
Abigail startled both of them then by giggling.
Broden stared at her, shocked.
Stifling the giggles, she gave him a warm look and asked, “Did ye ever smile when ye were in the village?”
“I… uh, well, no. I suppose no’,” he admitted.
Abigail nodded. “An’ yer brother… Grant, was it?”—Broden nodded—“did he ever smile?”
Broden rolled his eyes and looked away. “Grant’s never no’ smiling,” he growled.
Abigail nodded again and laid her hands on his chest. “Ye say that ye’ve let yerself be hurt and starved fer the sake of yer brothers, an’ I can see the ye’ve let yerself believe that the scars or complexion might make ye less to look at, but…” she kissed him and smiled, “A smile makes all the difference sometimes.” Then, grinning, she climbed on top of him, “An’ that means that I’m the first girl that’s gotten to enjoy yer smile.”
He smiled at that, running his hand over her cheek and tilted his head. “I like that yer that first,” he admitted, nodding then and letting out a deep sigh. “I think, with all that said, I’d like ye to meet them.”
She smiled at that and leaned into his hand, enjoying the feel. She realized there was no fighting what she felt with him. When she was away from him, everything felt wrong, and, apparently, it was the same for him. And while this fact haunted her and demanded all sorts of answers, she didn’t want to worry about any of them at that moment.
That moment was…
Broden tensed suddenly and shifted to stand in front of her, his lip peeling back. Before she could ask him what was wrong, she heard what had him agitated: footsteps—chaotic and approaching fast—and eager, loud breaths. Standing from the log but staying behind Broden, she peeked around him and in the direction of the noise. Broden, seeming to grow hotter and broader with each resounding step, started to growl. It was a strange response, but somehow, like the rune tattoo, seemed appropriate.
And then Tarah crashed through the brush. Her hair, normally tied in a neat and tidy bun, had come undone and the long, wavy red locks fell all the way to her lower back. Abby frowned as she realized she had never seen her friend’s hair down, or, for that matter, this frazzled. Spotting the two of them, Tarah adjusted her spectacles, which had twisted on her face.
“Tarah!” Abigail was already slipping by Broden and starting towards her friend. “Tarah, what’s wrong?”
Realizing that she wasn’t a threat, Broden’s defensive stance shifted and he followed after, mirroring Abigail’s concern.
Tarah stopped as she reached Abigail and, shooting an uncertain look at Broden, worked to catch her breath.
“W-we… we need… to go! Now!” she said between pants.
“Go?” Abigail blinked at the worry in her friend’s voice. “Go where? Why?”
“Yer parents, Abby! Yer parents are crazed! They’ve been scouring the entire village fer… well, fer hours! When they realized ye weren’t there, they started askin’ ‘round, demanding who knew where ye might’ve gone, an’… an’…”
“An’ what?” Abigail demanded.
Tarah shook her head. “Ross! He told ‘em ‘bout yer fixation with the beasts, an’ yer parents came to the conclusion that, in yer delirium—thanks fer being honest about that with me, by the way—ye must’ve come out here on yer own! They’re certain that ye’re gonna stumble off a cliff or… or worse.”
Abigail and Broden shared an awkward glance at one another.
“An’ who in the blazes is this?” Tarah demanded, finally looking at Broden. “Does he realize what sort of trouble yer out here getting yerself into?”
“I’m sure he cares as much as I do,” Abigail said, stepping between Tarah and Broden. “An, quite frankly, I doona care much about what my parents think right now.”
Tarah scowled and moved to grab her wrist and pull her away.
Abigail, refusing to let anything or anyone separate her and Broden again, yanked free and returned to his side.
Tarah stared, confused. “Are ye daft? They’re sending a search party! Abby, they’re coming out here to find ye!”
“I’m sorry,” Abby looked down. “But I’m no’ going with ye. I’m staying here… with Broden.”
Tarah took a moment to process this before looking up at Broden in this new light. Though Abigail could see that she was excited to see that her friend had finally found someone—and, knowing Tarah’s secret fantasy for highlanders, likel
y a bit jealous, too—but this, with everything else, was buried in concern. Nodding, she said, “I’m sure he’s a fine man, Abby, an’ I hope ye two find happiness,” she sighed and shook her head, “but if yer parents’ search party finds ye out here with him…”
Abby froze at that and looked up at Broden, who was looking down at her, concern and confusion in his eyes. “She’s right,” he said, sighing. “I canna say I wouldn’t be able to defend myself, but that would only make things worse. If ye go back now—” he glanced up at Tarah, hope in his eyes as he said, “tell yer parents that yer friend here found ye asleep out here—then they’ll have no reason to scour these hills.”
“But I doona want to leave ye again!” Abigail fought to keep a wave of tears at bay.
Broden nodded. “I know. I doona want to see ye leave, either,” he cupped a palm against her cheek. “But if ye do this then we can meet again tomorrow—first thing in the morning—an’ I’ll introduce ye to my brothers.”
Sniffling, she nodded, accepting that it was for the best, and lifted her head to press a kiss to his cheek before turning and beginning to follow her friend down the mountain. Tarah was quiet for a time, and Abigail noticed a few glimmers of sadness as they walked; her shoulders were tensed. Abigail bit her lip at that, wondering if Tarah was jealous of her new relationship.
“Tarah, I’m—”
“Doona, Abby,” Tarah let out a soft breath. “I am happy for ye, I really am. I just…” she sighed and rolled her eyes, “Ye already know that I’ve always wanted something like that. Well, maybe no’ with that man—he’s yers now, after all—but…” she shrugged. Abby watched as Tarah chuckled lightly, nervously.
Abigail set a hand on her shoulder. “Tarah, it’ll happen for ye. I’m sure of it!”
“Oh, aye? Yer sure, are ye? Well that’s grand! Because I’m no’ even sure I’m going to survive the night, li’l miss! Look at me! I’m a mess because of ye!” she grinned and shook her head, trying to hide it as she quickly wiped at her eye. “Runnin’ ‘round the damn highlands—hair’s all a mess and my spectacles… I dropped these!” she adjusted them again and Abigail saw that they still hung crooked on her friend’s nose. “Ye owe me, Abby! Ye owe me big. Like, if one of those brothers yer highlander mentioned is looking for a workaholic with crazy, tangled hair then—”
“I think yer hair looks good down! I never knew it was that long,” Abigail offered, smiling and nodding. “And if ye keep it lookin’ that good I’m even more sure ye’ll find someone!”
“Uh-huh,” Tarah rolled her eyes. “Assuming yer parents doona kill me when I get ye to ‘em.”
Chapter Seven
Abigail couldn’t get to Broden the next day. Though her parents had believed the story she and Tarah had worked out—falling asleep a short way’s out from the village, just like Broden had said; “the fresh air must have been all I needed,” she’d told them, “put me right to sleep, an’ when I awoke I felt all better”—the scare had made them overly attentive since. This, Abigail realized, was the first time she could ever remember her parents paying too much attention to her. She wasn’t so much condemned to stay home as much as she wasn’t offered a single moment to slip away. Her mother bored her with incessant gossip and her father awkwardly forced brief-yet-invasive conversations about work and other such nonsense. The sheer tedium of it all was overwhelming enough without the added burden of being away from Broden, which, Abigail realized, began a slow return of the sickness. By the end of the second day, she was already feeling worse than she had on the third day of her last “fasting” from the highlander.
Whatever is causing this, she thought, it’s getting worse.
And if she was getting sick, then it was very likely that Broden was, too. It was bizarre and, in any other circumstance, impossible, but he had been afflicted in the same way she had been. And, like her, their reunion had reversed it for him; instantly reversed it.
After that last encounter, even if it she wasn’t getting sick, it was torture to be away from him. Surrounded in the dull, mundane cycle that they called life, which only seemed to be comprised of repeated, self-inflicted misery coupled with an ongoing effort to shelter themselves from exactly the sort of excitement that made her feel that life was worth living in the first place.
They live in fear of dying without ever really living!
As the sun set on the second day, Abigail decided that she couldn’t wait to see Broden any longer. Tarah, who’d kept her secret (but not happily), had warned her not to go back. Though she agreed that Broden was handsome—though Abigail felt that was too weak a word for him—Tarah insisted that fantasy was fantasy and, eventually, it had to be left where fantasy belonged. When Abigail had asked her if she’d be willing to let fantasy stay fantasy if she had her own highlander waiting for her in those mountains, however, Tarah had only managed to scowl and look away, breaking the otherwise constant eye contact.
“Ye’d be better off moving on, Abby,” she’d finally said. “An’ that’s all there is to it.”
“‘All there is to it’ my arse!” Abigail hissed as she dragged herself out of her bed, fighting through the pain and beginning to dress.
She knew—once again without truly knowing how she knew—that as soon as she was out of the village and near Broden, it would all pass again. As though it was never even there. Remembering how abrupt her wellness had returned to her that last time was enough to spur her on. Never before had a sickness passed with such swiftness and without any lingering effects. It was like the difference between night and day—more like dying and living, she corrected herself—and all in an instant.
Then, sneaking through-and-then-out of the house like a shadow, she started for the village clinic, praying, for the first time ever, that Tarah and her self-destructive obsession to work hadn’t taken a day off.
* * *
Tarah had tried to talk Abigail out of her plans.
Tried!
It had been an admirable, albeit laughably brief, effort that had taken all but a few seconds. Enough time for Tarah to sigh, shake her head, and get the words ‘I,’ ‘doona’, and ‘think’ past her lips before Abigail’s prepared speech was unsheathed like a battle-ending saber:
“I doona give a damn what ye or anybody else thinks, Tarah! I canna begin to explain everything—doona even think I could if I tried—but all ye need to understand is that I need to do this. Alright? Ye… ye bury yerself in this office night after night, an’, even though I’ve tried to talk ye out of it so many times, ye doona! An’ why? Because ye need to, right? Because, whether or no’ anybody else understands, ye know this is right, an’ damned be the risks, right? Right? I need ye, Tarah, to understand this the way I’ve understood—even though I never understood ‘til now—that this was what ye needed. Well… now I need ye to understand—even if ye canna begin to understand—that I need to go out there. Broden and I need to be together, an’ I need ye to cover for me. This… this is no’ fantasy, Tarah. It’s… I think this may be my destiny…”
After that, it hadn’t taken much to convince Tarah to agree to lie to Abigail’s parents about her whereabouts if they discovered she was missing. The hardest part, as it turned out, was convincing her that the sickness would be cured once she was with Broden again. Tarah was willing to accept a great deal, but, being as committed to medicine as she was, that was more than she was willing to take on blind faith. Promising that she’d explain it (not sure if she truly could, though) when she got back, Abigail managed to earn another hesitant nod from her friend and, confident that she was covered, hurried out of the village. With the lights dimming with distance behind her and the mountain’s forests rising ahead of her, Abigail found herself already feeling healthier.
How in the hell could I possibly explain this to Tarah? she absently wondered before starting to run up the mountain.
Once again, she already knew he would be in their spot.
* * *
“Ye came back,” Brode
n’s deep burr, like his touch, sent an excited tremor through her body.
“I said I would,” she smiled warmly.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “Aye, but after ye didn’t yesterday I began to wonder. Yer friend—shite, yer parents from the sounds of it—doona seem to like the idea of ye being out here. I began to wonder if ye’d been convinced to stay away; maybe settle down with another. I canna imagine ye doona have better suiters than me.”
“Suiters?” she shook her head. “Forgetting entirely that, between the sickness we both seem to share when we’re apart an’ the mind-breaking boredom I feel whenever I’m down there too long, there’s the fact that there’s pigs—actual pigs, Broden—in that village that would make better suitors than any of the so-called men living there!”
Broden stared at her, blinking at the aggression in her voice.
Abigail rolled her eyes. “Enough with that! I doona have any patience left fer ye to try to be a gentleman or keep me away. I want ye—I need ye!—an’, dammit, I feel like ye need me, too!”
He looked up at that, his gaze growing heated, and, true to her words, she knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him. Summoning all the courage she could muster, she stepped forward and pressed her body against his. Instantly, his hands moved up and captured her waist. She smiled against his lips at the reaction and tilted her chin to face him.
“Ye play with fire, lass,” he said in a low growl.
“Then I won’t be surprised if ye burn me, highlander,” she purred back.
Lunging forward, he slammed his lips to hers in a ferocious kiss. True to his words, the impact was scorching. It sought to punish and claim her, and Abigail willingly succumbed to both. She moaned, wrapping her arms around his neck, submitting to his touch. She might not have been able to tell him the words to make him know how sincere her emotions were, but she could sure as hell show him.
“Och! Would ye look at that?” another, more light-hearted burr sounded a short way’s away, startling both of them to break the embrace. “Someone’s finally managed to melt me big brother’s cold shoulder!”
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