Highland Storms

by Christina Courtenay

  ‘He’d have to go to the nearest garrison for those. I doubt he’d waste the time.’

  Brice heard a small burn gurgling its way down the hillside and led the two ponies in the direction of this sound as soon as he’d dismounted. In the pale morning light, both he and the horses drank their fill of the cold water. Brice also washed his face and hands as best he could. He felt refreshed, but increasingly stiff and sore all over. He’d had plenty of time during the ride to assess his injuries and had come to the conclusion he had several bruised ribs and probably contusions everywhere else. It was nothing that wouldn’t heal with time though and he was thankful for this.

  ‘We’ll have to leave the garrons outside, they’ll never fit inside the huts,’ Marsaili told him when he returned to her side. She was speaking in a low voice, even though it was unlikely the Redcoats were on their trail.

  ‘No, they’re not exactly big, are they?’ Brice had to bend almost double to enter the nearest one and peer in. It contained only a small hearth on one side and a sleeping platform made of turf on the other, that was all. There was barely room to turn around, let alone bring in a horse.

  The ponies didn’t mind though. As long as they had grass to eat and the burn nearby, they were happy. Brice hobbled them, but knew the horses wouldn’t wander far in any case.

  ‘Liath will let us know if anyone approaches, won’t he?’ he asked, although he was sure this was the case.

  ‘Yes, I’ve told him to be on guard. He knows what that means.’ It was becoming lighter all the time now and she suddenly seemed to notice his face. ‘Brice! Dear God, what …?’

  He held up a hand. ‘It’s not as bad as it looks, honestly. Nothing’s broken, not even my nose, which is a minor miracle.’

  She shook her head and put up a hand to touch his temple. He tried not to wince and guessed he probably had a black eye since the merest brush of her fingers hurt. ‘How can you be so calm about it?’ she said, her eyes filled with what he assumed was pain on his behalf.

  He shrugged, even though it hurt his ribs to do so. ‘No point being angry now. I’ll make them pay later. First, we need to reach home safely, then I’ll seek retribution. We both know who to blame and as for the Redcoats, I have friends in Edinburgh who will help me clear my name. Or my father does, at any rate.’

  ‘Well, sit down while I find some bedding. You need to rest.’

  There was a large, flattish stone outside one of the huts, which had obviously been used as a stool. Brice sank down onto it, happy to obey her this time.

  Marsaili quickly gathered armfuls of heather and spread this over the sleeping platform, covered with a blanket. ‘Come, lie down,’ she urged and Brice made his way inside. He sank down onto the makeshift bed and groaned, leaning against the wall. ‘Ah, that’s better,’ he muttered. ‘At least it’s not muddy.’

  ‘Muddy?’ Marsaili followed him into the hut.

  ‘The bottom of the pit I was in. Very slimy.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ She grabbed a small pail someone had left behind. ‘Wait there, I’ll be right back.’

  ‘What?’ Brice stared after her, but she soon returned with the pail filled with water.

  ‘Let me wash your wounds,’ she said, kneeling on the sleeping platform next to him.

  ‘It’s not necessary. I’ll live.’

  ‘Don’t be stubborn. Take off your shirt, please.’

  Brice watched as she pulled up her skirt and ripped a piece of material off the hem of her long shift. ‘Now there’s a command I don’t hear often enough,’ he quipped. ‘Not from beautiful ladies anyway.’

  She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Liar. I’ll wager the ladies fight over you wherever you go.’ He watched her cheeks turn pink as she realised she’d just complimented him. ‘I mean … not that I …’ she stammered.

  Brice smiled and came to her rescue. Sort of. ‘You think I’m that good-looking, huh? You obviously haven’t met my brother.’ He pulled his shirt over his head with some difficulty, gritting his teeth against the pain.

  ‘If he’s anything like as contrary as you, I’m glad,’ she retorted with spirit.

  ‘Oh, no, he’s charm personified,’ Brice told her. ‘No lady can ever resist him.’ He waited for the familiar stab of anger to shoot through him at the thought of Jamie taking what wasn’t his, but nothing happened. This surprised him, but then he realised he didn’t care any longer what Jamie had done. His father had been right – Elisabet wasn’t worth fighting over. At the end of the day, Brice and Jamie were still brothers, their bond unbreakable. Whereas Elisabet was a fickle creature, not really part of the equation.

  A great sense of relief swept through Brice at this epiphany. He really had put the past behind him. Now it was time to move forward, live his life on his terms. And time to enjoy what he had. Carpe diem.

  Marsaili dipped her makeshift cloth in the cold spring water and began to bathe his battered face and torso. He saw her hesitate a couple of times, as if she was afraid to hurt him further, but her touch was so light there was no risk of that. The cool liquid soothed his bruises and she washed away any traces of blood until he felt clean and almost whole again. As she worked, he regarded her from under his eyelids, but she refused to meet his gaze. He gathered she was shy about touching him like this and he wondered again why none of the men at Rosyth had managed to capture her fancy yet. It seemed incredible that someone so lovely should not have been loved.

  ‘There, better?’ she asked when she’d finished.

  He nodded and pulled his shirt back on. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  She still wouldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, she put the pail away and rooted around in the saddle bag she’d brought inside. She handed him a bannock and some goat’s cheese. ‘Here, you must be starving.’

  ‘Ravenous.’ Brice devoured his food, making appreciative noises, while she nibbled at a small piece of oatcake herself. ‘Thank you for that. I’m not sure I approve of your rash actions in trying to free me from the Redcoats singlehandedly since it was extremely dangerous and foolhardy, but you have your uses, I must say.’

  Marsaili turned towards him and as the morning light spilled in through the open doorway, he could see her clearly. Her expressive face showed him she was unsure how to take his banter, but she retorted with some spirit, ‘Is that so?’

  He grinned. ‘Mm-hmm. Although I’m sure providing food isn’t the only thing you’re good at,’ he added, grabbing her round the waist to pull her back against him.

  ‘Brice!’

  ‘What? I only want to thank you for coming to my rescue.’ He pushed her heavy plait to one side and kissed his way up her neck. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you. I might even owe you my life.’ Marsaili squirmed in his grip, but he noticed she wasn’t straining away from him. Quite the opposite.

  ‘Your bruises,’ she protested feebly.

  He smiled against her soft skin and allowed his mouth to travel round to the underside of her chin and up her cheek, dotting more kisses along the way. ‘I told you, I’ll live. And my gratitude makes me forget all about them.’

  ‘There’s no need to thank me,’ she murmured. ‘Anyone would have done the same for …’

  ‘For whom? The man they can’t resist?’ he teased.

  She turned to give him an outraged reply, but he took advantage of her open mouth and kissed her instead, properly, deeply. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. It wasn’t gentlemanly. They were alone, far from home and he ought to be protecting her, not threatening her virtue.

  But he couldn’t resist.

  And if she allowed it, then where was the harm? If she told him to stop, he would. If not, he’d take whatever she offered.

  Pushing her down onto the soft, woollen blanket, he ignored the little voice inside him that told him to stop now, before it was too late.

  As far as he was concerned, it was already too late.

  Marsaili had no idea how she’d ended up in this situation.

  Sh
e’d been determined to tell Brice she was going to sleep in the other hut, for the sake of propriety, and that he had to keep his distance. But she had to feed him first and see to his hurts. He’d seemed so exhausted and obviously in severe pain, she didn’t have the heart to read him the riot act straight away. And look where that landed me!

  It was hard to string together any coherent thoughts at all when he kissed her like this. She couldn’t concentrate on anything other than what he was doing, how good it felt. Before she knew it, they were both lying down in the cramped space, with him leaning over her, his mouth working its magic on her lips. She’d never known sparring with someone else’s tongue could be so pleasurable, nor that it would make little streaks of fire shoot down the rest of her body and gather in the pit of her stomach. Or perhaps slightly lower down. The thought made her face heat up.

  Brice’s hand cupped her cheek, then made its way down to skim her left breast. She felt her nipple harden even though he was touching her through the layers of her bodice and shift. She had that strange urge to rub herself against him again. Of its own accord, her body strained upwards, wanting more. He seemed to be of a like mind and with an impatient noise, he tugged at the fastenings of her bodice until they came loose and his hand could gain access to her skin through the thin linen of the shift.

  ‘You’re so beautiful, Marsaili,’ he breathed, feathering kisses along her jaw line and continuing down inside her shift. ‘Absolute perfection.’ His tongue found her nipple and she gasped, shocked at the intensity of feeling. More streaks of lightning shot down inside her, but she discovered she wasn’t content to just let him do this to her. She wanted to explore as well.

  ‘Can I?’ she whispered, while pulling his shirt out of his breeches.

  He gave a low chuckle, which sounded as if it was mixed with pain. ‘No need to ask. Do what you will, I’m all yours.’ There was lazy amusement in his voice, but also something else, something she responded to instinctively. A challenge, daring her to go on.

  She did.

  He’s mine, all mine. At least for now. But did she want all of him? Could she forget her principles and just enjoy the moment? For she had no doubt that when it was over, he’d no longer be hers exclusively.

  It was a depressing thought, but by now her fingers had found the smooth contours of his chest and hard stomach and she forgot everything except how good it felt to touch him. She caressed each of his nipples in turn and was astonished to find they reacted the same way hers had. Enthralled, she came across the trail of golden hair she’d seen by the lake and followed it downwards, making him groan as her fingers ended up dangerously close to his waistband. There, he gripped her hand and slowly placed it further down as if he was testing her resolve.

  ‘Can you feel how much I want you?’ he whispered. ‘Does it scare you?’

  ‘No.’ And that was the truth, she realised. Perhaps she was a wanton after all, just like her mother, but she didn’t care. She wanted him as much as he desired her and she wasn’t afraid. Not at all. She knew it would be glorious, being with him, and this may be her only chance to experience it. She shivered as anticipation shimmered through her.

  ‘And is it what you want too?’ he asked, his hand now pushing her skirts up, his fingers trailing softly along the inside of her leg, up to where she knew he wished to go. She didn’t stop him, moved instead to accommodate him.

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Yes, Brice, I want you. All of you.’

  Another shaky laugh. ‘Then how can I refuse? Your wish is my command.’

  His fingers had found their way further up and she moaned as they reached their goal. He touched her, teasing, drawing a response from her that she was only too willing to give, and then suddenly she plunged over the edge, crying out. ‘Ah, Brice, I … dear Lord!’

  ‘Wait, my love, that was only the beginning,’ he told her, his voice husky with promise and desire. And as his fingers began their teasing again, she was amazed to find the waves build up inside her once more. ‘This time, I’m going with you,’ he whispered, kissing her deeply as he came inside her.

  The momentary pain was soon forgotten and Marsaili followed her instincts, moving to his rhythm. She wasn’t disappointed. It was glorious, mind-bogglingly so. When the exquisite sensations washed over her again, it was with a much greater intensity and she heard Brice cry out too, before he stilled and leaned his forehead on hers. At that moment, she felt complete, at one with him.

  ‘You, my love, are amazing.’ He nuzzled her cheek, still breathing heavily.

  Her own breathing was just as erratic and Marsaili felt as though her heart might burst out of her ribcage any minute, but when he gathered her close and pulled her against him, she closed her eyes feeling utterly content.

  She knew she’d probably regret this later, but for now, everything was perfect.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Since no one enquired about Marsaili’s whereabouts, Seton decided to let her and the brat stew overnight. They’d gone quiet fairly quickly and as long as they didn’t attract anyone’s attention, they weren’t going anywhere.

  He was quite pleased with his quick thinking in locking them in. It had been a spur of the moment decision when he’d seen Archie run off to the master bedroom to blurt out his tale to Marsaili. Two birds with one stone, an inspired idea.

  He smiled to himself as he entered the great hall the following morning and made his way up the staircase to the laird’s chamber. They must still be in there because he was sure Marsaili would have marched straight over to his house to give him a piece of her mind otherwise. That was one of the things he liked about her, her spirit, although naturally he would have to curb it once they were married. He was looking forward to it immensely.

  He paused outside the thick door to listen, but all was quiet. Perhaps they had exhausted themselves trying to find a way out? The thought widened his smile. Softly, he put the key in the lock and turned it, then pushed inwards. Nothing happened.

  His smile faded and he gave the door a shove, but it still didn’t move. ‘What the hell …?’ How could they possibly have secured it from the inside when he had the only key? There was no bar on this door.

  Seton began to smell a rat. Something wasn’t right here. ‘Marsaili?’ he shouted, but there was no reply. Not so much as a stirring from within the room. Seton swore most foully. How could she possibly have escaped? Damn the woman!

  He clattered down the stairs and outside again, peering up at the window, expecting to see a makeshift rope or something. There was nothing. Cursing again, he rushed along to the kitchen, where a tired-looking Mrs Murray stood by the range, stirring some porridge. She barely spared him a glance, but yawned hugely.

  ‘Where’s Marsaili?’ Seton didn’t see the point of beating around the bush. If anyone knew her whereabouts, it would be Mrs Murray.

  ‘How should I ken? I’ve enough to do with looking after things here in the kitchen without worrying about everyone else. By rights, she should be here helping me. If you see her, you can tell her from me.’

  Seton strode over and gripped the woman’s upper arm hard, turning her to face him. ‘She’s flown the coop, hasn’t she?’ he

  asked, but it wasn’t really a question, more a statement of fact.

  Mrs Murray frowned at him. ‘What coop? What are you blethering about Mr Seton? If you don’t mind, I’ve had a long night of it with a bad toothache and now I need to get on with my work.’ She stared pointedly at his hand.

  Seton let go of her and his gaze went to the corner where Marsaili’s stinking hound usually spent most of his time. The dog wasn’t there either. ‘A pox on it!’ he shouted, then swept an earthenware jug off the kitchen table onto the floor. It made a very satisfying noise as it crashed onto the stone flags, shattering into a thousand pieces, but it didn’t quell his anger much. He ignored Mrs Murray’s outraged protest and crunched his way across the shards to the back door.

  When he reached it, he turned and poi
nted at the woman. ‘You’ll regret this, I promise you.’ Then he stomped outside and headed for the stables.

  When he found two of the ponies gone as well, cold fury filled him to such an extent he wondered if he was going to be sick right then and there. He drew in a couple of deep breaths to steady himself and try to order his mind. He had to think. He couldn’t believe the stupid woman had actually gone after the Redcoats. What did she think she’d accomplish by that?

  This thought calmed him slightly. There was no way Sherringham would listen to a female, let alone a Scottish one, pleading for a man he thought of as a Jacobite. She’d get short shrift from him and might even be imprisoned herself. Seton’s temper cooled further.

  ‘That wouldn’t be so bad,’ he muttered. It might even play into his hands, if he handled his cards right. Yes, let Sherringham scare the living daylights out of her for a few days, then perhaps she’d be more than willing to let Seton rescue her. ‘Hah!’ he exclaimed. She might even be grateful!

  His mood improved yet again as he walked back towards his own house. He’d have to pack a few necessities and set off after them so he could have a word with Sherringham. No doubt the man would be amenable to an arrangement with the right incentive, as always.

  Just as he reached his front door, however, a rider came thundering through the township, skidding to a halt next to him. It was one of the Redcoats and he’d ridden his horse hard as the poor beast was lathered with sweat and grime.

  ‘Mr Seton,’ the man panted. ‘Have you seen the prisoner this morning?’

  ‘What?’ Seton goggled at the man as his pleasant daydreams came crashing down.

  ‘The prisoner, sir. He escaped last night and we assumed he’d head straight for home in order to obtain help. Have you seen him?’

  Seton shook his head. ‘No, he’s not come back and there’s no one here who would help him.’ At least he hoped there wasn’t. ‘He must have headed straight for Edinburgh. After him, man! There’s no time to lose.’