Highland Brides 04 - Lion Heart

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Seana’s voice was toneless when she responded, “Did she?”

  Elizabet’s brows knit with confusion. “Aye.”

  Sweet Jesu, she hadn’t the first clue to what she had said to invoke the woman’s sudden ire. Seana’s tone had shifted from one of concern to petulance, and she decided the woman was moody.

  Well, she could be petulant all she wished. All that mattered to Elizabet was that she keep her confidence. “You won’t tell anyone where we are, will you?”

  Seana didn’t reply for a moment, and then she shook her head. “I won’t tell.”

  Elizabet breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you!”

  Seana’s brow remained furrowed. “Dinna mention it,” she said snappishly, and her tone of voice was disconcerting.

  Was there more to their friendship than Broc had declared? She was obviously displeased with Elizabet, and Elizabet hadn’t a single notion what she had done.

  She was on the verge of asking, but the door burst opened, and Broc entered. Elizabet was so glad to see him that she leaped up from the table and ran to him, throwing her arms about his neck.

  He hugged her, then pushed her gently away before turning his gaze toward Seana.

  Elizabet felt her gut chum at the look they shared.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  The sand had run out of his glass.

  Seana rose from the table, her chin lifting in challenge. She gave Broc a look unlike any she’d ever given him before—as though she suddenly thought him no better than a worm.

  Broc said nothing in his defense.

  What could he say?

  “I would like to speak to you alone,” Seana requested, her tone filled with outrage.

  Elizabet tilted him a look. He took a deep breath and begged her to excuse them and then motioned for Seana to join him outside the hovel. Elizabet released him, obviously confused by the request, stepping away. He turned to the door, opening it for Seana, and then cast a single backward glance at Elizabet before closing it behind him.

  Her face was filled with turmoil.

  “What are you doing?” Seana said, when they were alone and far enough away from the door that Elizabet could not hear them.

  Broc frowned, his chest heavy with torment. “I take it you know everything.”

  “Aye!” Seana shrieked. “She told me everything! And you lied to that poor lass!”

  He nodded, without excuse.

  “Why?” she demanded of him. “That is hardly the Broc I know and love! I have never known you to lie to anyone in all our acquaintance!”

  Broc shrugged, peering down at the ground.

  “Why did you lie to her?”

  He knew precisely what it was she was talking about. He shook his head, looking up into her eyes, his own eyes stinging with tears he refused to shed. “I dunno,” he confessed. “At first it wasn’t a lie. I didn’t kill him, Seana.”

  Her eyes told him she wanted to believe him, but she didn’t know what to believe.

  “I didn’t kill him,” Broc repeated more firmly. “I didn’t kill him, and if you dinna believe me, then who the hell will?” It was as close to begging as Broc could come.

  “I believe you,” she conceded. “But you still lied to her, Broc, and she deserves to know her brother is dead. She deserves to attend his burial.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t let her go.”

  Seana narrowed her eyes at him. “Do ye love her, Broc?”

  There was no doubt in his mind. “I do.”

  “Then ye listen to me well, Broc Ceannfhionn. If ye dinna tell her the truth, you will surely lose her!” She pointed irately at the hovel. “If it were me in there and you couldna be honest with me and speak the truth, I swear to God above I would leave you and never look back!”

  He knew she was advising him well, but he couldn’t place Elizabet in danger—no matter what it meant for him. He couldn’t allow Tomas to harm her. “If I let her go,” he reasoned, trying to make her understand, “then I will place her at risk!”

  “Trust in your friends,” she said.

  She wasn’t being reasonable. “And if I had told Colin about this, what do ye think he would have done?”

  She glared at him, straightening her shoulders, refusing to give in to him. “I’ve no idea, in truth,” she admitted, “but I know he would never betray you. You saved his life, Broc. He would never let harm come to you—and certainly not at the word of some conniving Englishman!”

  “Nay,” he relented, “but he would feel as torn by the knowledge as you feel right now, and I could not do that to him.”

  “You already did it to him, you bloody oaf!” Broc knew she spoke in anger. Her hands flew to her hips. “Do ye think he is so stupid he hasna already figured it out?”

  Broc nearly choked on his guilt. Already the conflict had begun, and he hadn’t even revealed himself to Piers. But he damned well didn’t regret helping Elizabet. Had he to do it all over again, he would do the same.

  “Trust in your friends,” Seana begged him. She reached out to touch him upon the arm, appealing to him.

  “Do ye comprehend all that is at risk, Seana?”

  She nodded.

  “If I confess to Piers, it will be the word of three Sassenach liars against my own. Who do you think he will believe?”

  “I will stand up for you, Broc! Colin will stand up for you, as well! I know that without any doubt. And do ye think Iain will simply allow them to hand you over to be punished for something you did not do?”

  “There will be bad blood between the clans,” he said stubbornly, shrugging free of her touch. “Iain suggested I take Elizabet and leave until all is settled, and I think mayhap ’tis the right thing to do!”

  Seana shook her head adamantly. “I dinna agree!”

  “This isna your concern!” he told her, anger clouding his thoughts. “You should have bluidy well stayed out of this, Seana! I didna ask ye to interfere, and your husband wouldna appreciate your meddling!” He tried to temper his anger, but he felt trapped, without choices. “What do ye think he would say if he knew you were here?”

  Her face fell at the veiled threat, and she was taken aback.

  “You should bluidy well have remained where ye belong—in Colin’s godamn bed—and ye should mind your own affairs, woman!”

  She blinked at his words, stepping back, looking wounded by his attack. Her eyes reddened and turned glassy, and her lip trembled when she spoke. “I came because of a boy I once knew. Do ye remember him? He came to me when others laughed and called me names because of my lame leg. He defended me to their faces, rebuking them all.”

  She was speaking of him, of their childhood, and his throat thickened with shame.

  A single tear rolled down her cheek, and she spoke with great affection and emotion. “He came to me and lifted me up and set me upon his lap and wiped away my tears. And he pledged me his friendship and swore he would be there for me whenever I needed him. Always.”

  Broc swallowed, his own eyes hazing.

  “Do ye remember him?” she asked again, choking on her tears. “That boy knew right from wrong, Broc, and I came for him verra much. Do you understand?”

  He couldn’t answer. His throat was too clotted to speak. His eyes burned.

  She turned away from him then and went to the horse she’d left tethered to a nearby tree. She untethered the horse without a word and mounted with some difficulty. He would have stepped forward to help her if he hadn’t known with certainty that she would have refused him.

  He knew Seana, knew her considerable pride.

  When she was mounted, she turned to him at last. She urged the mount closer to him and looked down at him, her expression pained. “If you love that woman in there, you will tell her the truth, Broc. And you will tell her before tonight so that she can attend her brother’s funeral.”

  Broc said nothing, merely looked away, his gut burning.

  “Tell her good-bye for me, please. I will not go back i
n there and face her with lies!”

  He peered up at her, stubbornly keeping his silence, but knowing deep down that she was telling him the truth. He knew she believed it with all her heart.

  “She’s bonny and sweet and seems to adore you. If you tell her the truth, she just might forgive ye.”

  He was afraid to hope for that.

  “But if ye dinna, Broc, I promise you will lose her.”

  And with that last admonition she left him to consider her words.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Seana was right.

  He was in danger of losing Elizabet, and God help him, she had become the most important thing in the world to him. Without her, nothing else mattered.

  His only chance to keep her was to go to Piers and reveal to him all that had happened. He had to count on Piers to protect her. He didn’t care what happened to himself afterward, as long as Elizabet forgave him. Pride be damned, he would throw himself on her mercy and pray she could find it within her heart to forgive him for his lies.

  He bloody well loved her.

  She hadn’t asked him, as yet, what it was he and Seana had spoken of, and he was glad, because he wasn’t quite ready to tell her. He could face men in battle, but he cowered at the thought of her enmity.

  He lifted up the tunic she had set upon the table and shook it out, examining her handiwork. It was beautiful, the stitches neat and precise. She’d used the gold ribbon from her hair to trim the arms, neckline and hem. It was far finer than anything he’d ever owned before.

  He only hoped it would fit him, because he loathed to disappoint her any more than he was going to already. He set the tunic down and turned to look at her. She stood by the door, peering out.

  Another hour to go before the sun set.

  Only one more hour before everything would change.

  She looked so lovely standing there, with her long, shiny hair streaming down her back, that it momentarily took his breath away.

  This could possibly be the last time he was ever alone with her. He prayed otherwise, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that once she discovered his deception, she might never forgive him for it.

  His heart wrenching with torment, he walked to where she stood and placed his arms about her waist. He laid his head upon hers, adoring the feel of her in his arms.

  She peered back at him, touching her face to his cheek.

  “You seem distressed,” she said, her expression full of concern—and mayhap a little hurt that he hadn’t confided in her. But she would know everything soon enough.

  “’Tis naught, lass,” he lied one last time.

  But it would be his last.

  And he was going to make love to her one last time and hope that she would see into his heart—that she would feel his heart beating against her own and know it beat for her.

  He pulled her into the hovel, letting the door close behind them. She turned in his embrace, and he bent to kiss her, desperate for the taste of her lips. He nibbled them hungrily. Thrusting his hand into her silky hair, he turned her face up to his.

  “Make love to me,” he pleaded.

  Elizabet peered up at him, her heart flipping painfully against her breast. She touched his face reverently, caressing him, loving him. “You never have to ask.”

  Didn’t he realize?

  Couldn’t he tell?

  Her body craved him every instant they were together. Her heart yearned for his every touch and caress.

  He had been distant and brooding since Seana’s appearance, and she had been afeared that he regretted their vows. There was something between the two of them, she suspected, but he had remained with her and that is all that mattered.

  Her breath quickened as he bent to kiss her lips, and her heart jolted excitedly as his arms enfolded her. His warm, big hands caressed her body, touching her everywhere, awakening her senses once more. He paused at her bottom, cupping his hand beneath it, and lifted it gently, his breath coming ragged in her ear.

  Elizabet closed her eyes in absolute joy as he bent further to lift the hem of her gown, and all she could do was cling to his neck for support as his hands slid beneath her dress. He kissed her mouth, thrusting and tasting as she knew he would do elsewhere… slick and hot. And then he moved to her neck, biting gently, kissing her, and God have mercy, but she never wanted him to stop!

  He dipped his face into her bosom, kissing and lapping the valley of her breasts.

  The barely restrained passion in his every touch left her breathless and titillated and panting with desire.

  He lifted her up and without a word carried her to the table, setting her atop it. His eyes never left her as he pushed her back on it.

  Elizabet’s breath caught as he lifted up her dress to unveil her to his eyes. It was one thing to reveal herself in the darkness, with a single taper lit against the night, and another entirely to do it by daylight when nothing was hidden from his eyes.

  The intensity of his expression took her breath away. He stared down at her, his chest heaving with desire, and his arms tensed at his sides.

  She swallowed, and opened for him, wanting him to come inside.

  She belonged to him.

  He belonged to her.

  And she wanted no secrets between them, no barriers, no shame.

  He sucked in a breath at what she so brazenly revealed and whispered, “So verra beautiful.”

  With deft movements, he divested himself of his garb and then fell to his knees before her, gloriously naked, to drink of her body.

  Seana arched her back, eagerly anticipating the touch of his tongue. It was warm and silky when it came at last, and she moaned with desire. He lapped her hungrily, tasting her, kissing her, and as he did, the remembered taste of herself upon his lips made her cry out.

  She shuddered with exhilaration as warmth flooded through her body and he groaned at the taste of it. He stood then, looking down upon her, his eyes dark with passion. Still quivering with her climax, she opened for him, and he took himself into his hand, pushing into her body. His head fell back and he cried out in pleasure as he entered her.

  He made love to her until she came to a second climax and then a third, until she thought he would never stop, until she trembled beneath him one last time, sobbing with joy.

  And then he gave a final, violent thrust and shuddered with his own release.

  “I love you,” he cried out. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

  She thought he meant he was sorry for hurting her, but he hadn’t hurt her at all. She reached out to embrace his head to her bosom, reassuring him, lacing her fingers through his hair, cooing softly to him.

  “’Tis alright,” she whispered, stroking the hair from his damp face. “Everything is going to be alright.”

  Nothing was going to be alright.

  Broc dressed himself in the tunic Elizabet had fashioned for him, grateful that it fit. He wrapped himself afterward in his plaid, praying she would believe him.

  “Bring the hound,” he directed, his heart squeezing painfully.

  “Where are we going?” she asked when he took her by the hand and led her out of the hut.

  “To speak with Piers,” he replied, his tone dull. He tried to make his mouth say the rest, but he couldn’t get the words past his lips.

  The expression on her face was one of surprise. “He’s returned from Edinburgh?”

  “Aye,” he answered simply and fell into silence beside her, holding her hand. Harpy, tail wagging, kept pace at her side.

  “I see,” she said low and must have sensed his turmoil, because she suddenly looked distressed. He thought she might be afeared, as well.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised. “Dinna be afraid, Elizabet.”

  She nodded, and he gently squeezed her hand in reassurance.

  God help him, he didn’t know how to say it.

  There seemed no good time. He’d never intended to wait until they reached Piers’ manor before breaking th
e news to her, but in the contemplative silence, the walk seemed far too short, and before he realized, they had arrived.

  It was near dark now, and the burned remains of the stable sat like an open wound upon the land. He led her toward the sound of the reed in the distance, its song melancholy.

  Everyone had gathered in the field near the little chapel.

  “It looks like a funeral,” she remarked, peering up at him.

  His heart pounding painfully, he pulled her toward the gathering, never daring to look at her.

  They reached the church before the gathering. Before it sat a simple white cross wrapped in Brodie plaid.

  God forgive him, but this instant, he almost wished it were himself being laid in the ground.

  How was he going to face her after?

  With every step he took, his stout legs seemed as though they would falter.

  “Forgive me,” he begged her.

  Elizabet was beginning to get the most terrible feeling.

  Broc’s face was pale, his expression full of regret. Confusion embraced her.

  She stopped and turned to face him. “Forgive you… for what?”

  He wouldn’t look at her. He tried but couldn’t meet her gaze. He turned away to peer at the gathering of people in the distance, his throat bobbing.

  He shook his head and said only one word, “John.”

  Clarity returned with that single utterance.

  She turned toward the crowd in the distance, comprehension dawning.

  “No!” she exclaimed, her heart thumping against her ribs. He remained silent, and she tore her hand from his. “Tell me it isn’t so!” she demanded of him.

  He didn’t speak, wouldn’t look at her.

  She flew at him, pounding him on the chest. Harpy began to bark.

  “No!” she screamed.

  She turned from him and began to run toward the gathering, shouting her brother’s name.

  Harpy ran after her, barking at her heels. In the distance, the music ended, and she ran blindly toward the gathered crowd, which turned to face her, watching her approach. She felt as though her legs would give beneath her.