by Mary Wine
“It pleases me to see ye torn on the matter, Brenda,” Bothan informed her.
“Why?” she questioned him honestly. “The first time we met ye knew full well there is gossip aplenty concerning me.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, and his grin widened. “That’s the solid truth.”
“Why would ye want a wife with so much gossip attached to her name?” Brenda asked, perplexed.
Bothan studied her for a long moment. The silence left her questioning her own opinion on the matter. He was contrary to everything she’d been taught men valued.
“People talk,” Bothan began. “A wise man learns to hear what they are truly saying, which is no’ found in just the words coming across their lips.”
Brenda nodded. It wasn’t so much that she’d intended to agree with him as she just found his words striking a spot inside her where she’d never thought to ever find a like-minded soul.
“See,” Bothan explained, “those good wives are wagging their tongues over yer behavior, and the truth is they wish they had the courage to do the same.”
Brenda scoffed at him.
He offered her a shrug. “Ye are no’ the only one who was wed to a man too lazy to share the pleasure of bedding ye.”
Brenda shifted, moving a few steps away from him so she could break eye contact. Bothan grabbed the back of her skirt, moving up behind her and keeping her in front of him.
“Ye are also no’ the only woman with passion, Brenda.” He spoke close to her ear, sending a shudder down her spine as she felt his body heat wrapping around her. “Yet the truth is no’ every woman has fire in her. That is what drew me back to ye, and I will have it.”
She grunted and twisted, gaining enough space between them so she forced him to either release her or tear the pleats of her skirt off the waistband.
“It is no’ yer choice alone,” Brenda informed him. “I will not be claimed.”
She’d designed her words to be sharp, but Bothan merely smiled at her. His lips parted as he crossed his arms over his chest, making the man appear larger and stronger than he already was.
“Agreed.”
Surprise flashed through her. Any retort she might have made died as she attempted to understand his thinking.
“Since we’re wed,” Bothan explained, “it will be me pleasure to seduce ye.”
She’d stopped too close to him. The strange reaction she had to him had her forgetting just how quickly the man moved. As she caught his words and started to recoil, Bothan stepped forward, easily closing the distance between them with his larger stride. He captured her, closing his arms around her and sliding his hand up her back to grasp her nape.
Brenda stiffened. The urge to struggle was strong, but it conflicted with the knowledge that she’d only make herself more aware of his hard body if she moved too much. It wasn’t his touch she feared so much as her reaction to it.
He was poised to take a kiss, but all Bothan did was lower his head so she felt the brush of his breath on the delicate surface of her lips.
“Ye’ve been taken, Brenda,” he whispered. “And I’ve pressed ye for a response…”
A shiver went down her back. Her mind offered a perfect recollection of the way he’d sent pleasure twisting through her. And her clit throbbed softly in response to it.
“Perhaps I should have given ye more time,” he said, “before pressing ye.”
“Ye should forget the idea of having me for yer wife,” Brenda insisted, but her tone wasn’t resolved or even stern. No, it was husky and needy, and there was something else, something she didn’t want to name because she feared it might be lament.
She couldn’t change her mind. No, to be a wife was to be chattel, and for all her brave words, she feared wearing those bonds again. No one could deny her an annulment either. At least not if she was careful.
“Men often tire of their playthings once they have had them.” She sent a determined look toward him. “Ye’ll be no different.”
Her words struck him hard. She watched the way anger flared in his eyes. It wasn’t wise of her to stand her ground. Bothan was a hardened man. She knew the difference, could see it in the firm flesh exposed by the way he had his shirtsleeves rolled up. The air was still too crisp for her to bare her arms, but Bothan was used to thriving in far harsher conditions.
“Ye’re angry with me now,” Brenda stated boldly.
Bothan tilted his head to one side. “Ye’re being a shrew, sure enough.”
It was a harsh judgment, made doubly so because Brenda agreed wholeheartedly.
“What concerns me most, Brenda,” Bothan continued, “is the fact that ye behave so because ye fear what happens when we get close to each other.”
She froze, feeling her eyes widen.
“Ye’ve struck me as many things, lass, but no’ a coward.” He reached out and caught her up against his body.
She shuddered, feeling the connection as if she’d sat down in a warm bath after standing in the frigid chill of winter. Bothan captured her nape, securing her in place as she battled the urge to melt against him.
He felt so very good against her.
Like…she was touching life…
Bothan’s lips were poised over her ear, his breath brushing her skin as she felt the thump of his heart beneath where her hands had flattened against his hard chest.
“Ye’ve been hiding in yer cousin’s tower,” Bothan whispered. “Shutting yerself away. Life was unkind to ye, but are ye truly broken, Brenda?”
He shifted so their gazes met and locked. “For if ye go back to yer cousin, it’s no’ to be yer own woman, it’s to lick yer wounds and pity yerself.”
“No, that’s not what—”
Bothan smothered her retort beneath his lips. She gasped, and he took advantage of her open mouth, kissing her deeply while he controlled the way she tried to shift away from him.
And then she just didn’t want to fight anymore. No, her body warmed, awakening like she’d been deeply asleep for a long time. She smoothed her hands on his chest, needing to feel his flesh. The hold he had on her became one she enjoyed because it proved his strength to her.
She craved strength.
Craved him.
Brenda rose onto her toes so she might kiss him back. She caught the little male sound of approval he made as he met her kiss measure for measure. Pleasure spread through her, from where their mouths were fused together to her toes. It was all-encompassing and growing hotter by the second.
But Bothan pulled away, setting her back with his greater strength.
“Think on that,” Bothan insisted. “I do nae judge yer situation to be an easy one, but life is a battle. Facing it makes ye strong.”
He waited for just a moment to see his words’ impact on her before he turned and headed back toward his men.
She shivered. But it wasn’t the chill in the air that caused the action. No, it was the knowledge that he was very correct. Living with her cousin was being a coward. Symon had never labeled her such, and she doubted he ever would.
Yet she knew.
And in her heart, Brenda realized her freedom might in truth be the greatest challenge she’d ever been handed. There would be no way to blame others for her plight, for she was in charge of her circumstances.
Well, she was now that Bothan had freed her from the King’s demand that she marry.
Brenda drew in a deep breath and sat down. Her mind was full, and she realized she needed to think matters through before she behaved foolishly. It was strange how Bothan unmasked her, taking what she thought she wanted and showing it to be the worst action she might choose. He was correct, though; she wasn’t afraid of him.
But of herself.
* * *
Bothan raised his hand in the afternoon the next day. His fingers were closed in a hard fi
st. His men recognized the gesture instantly, pulling their horses to a stop and reaching down to sooth the necks of the animals to keep them quiet. Tension was tightening all around them as Brenda watched their expressions harden.
It was just after midday; the sun had passed overhead. With the horses still, she caught the sound of the wind. It was moving the tree branches, causing the leaves to brush together. But there wasn’t anything else. Brenda gripped the saddle of her mare tighter. No birdsong meant there was someone else near.
The sound of approaching horses came with the next gust of wind. Bothan and his men were out in the open, making it impossible to avoid being seen. Still Bothan turned his stallion to the high ground and moved toward it before the approaching column of men got any closer.
“Campbells.” Maddox identified the approaching riders by their tartan.
“They’re a fair way from home,” Bothan answered.
Maddox shrugged. “It is summer.”
Bothan’s captain might have been making the argument, but his tone made it clear he wasn’t in the mood to welcome the Campbells. Yes, it was true, summer was a season for travel and the only time to get out to market, but Maddox didn’t trust the situation.
Not that Brenda blamed him; it was a harsh world.
Brenda had experienced such before, so she couldn’t really blame Bothan or his men for being cautious. Alone on the road, well, they had to defend themselves if the approaching riders decided to attack.
It was sad to have to think in such a way, but life had forced her to look on her fellow man with suspicion through lessons she didn’t think on very often because of how much pain was associated with them.
“Chief Gunn.” The riders had arrived. “I am Hamell Campbell.”
Brenda felt her blood chill. Hamell looked at her. She knew him. One of a dozen cousins who had so often been around when she was wed. Hamell was just as hardened as Bothan. His right arm was crisscrossed with raised scars from sword cuts. He liked to fight and not only with the sword. Hamell had made a sport of female conquests, a list he’d invested a fair amount of effort in adding her to in spite of the fact that she’d been his cousin’s wife. In fact, she suspected Hamell had pressured her partially because she was wed to his cousin. She had watched more than one naive girl fall under his spell only to realize too late that she would end up beneath his boot when he’d finished with her body.
“Brenda.” Hamell greeted her by reaching up to tug on his cap. “The very person I was sent to find.”
Bothan’s men shifted closer to her. The horses didn’t care for the closeness. Her mare let out a shrill sound of distress with so many stallions in such proximity. She tried to control the animal, but the horse wasn’t having it. Brenda lost her seat, lifting her leg up and over the neck of the mare so she could at least land on her feet instead of being thrown. Bothan slid from the back of his stallion and caught the mare by the bridle, smoothing a hand down her neck as he spoke soothing words into her ear.
Two of Bothan’s retainers joined her on the ground. They pulled her away from the horses as other retainers gained control of the animals. In the end, Brenda ended up on the high ground, farther away from the Campbells and the horses. Behind her, there was the sound of rushing water.
Hamell Campbell grinned and slid from his stallion’s back. Bothan stepped into his path.
“If ye’re looking for me wife,” Bothan stated clearly, “ye can state yer business to me.”
Hamell stopped and looked at Bothan. “Word reached us about the English Queen releasing Brenda to ye. Laird Campbell is grateful for the service of bringing our kinswoman back to the Highlands.”
Hamell was speaking loudly, making sure every man with him and Bothan heard his words. Brenda felt her shoulders tighten with suspicion.
“Brenda was living with her cousin on Grant land,” Bothan answered. “I was doing Symon Grant a favor in making sure she was freed of the contract made by the king. No need for yer laird to think it had anything to do with him.”
Hamell frowned. He didn’t care for the carefully worded warning from Bothan. And it was a veiled threat, for certain. Brenda watched the way the Campbells shifted their hands closer to their weapons.
“Brenda is our kinswoman by marriage. Laird Campbell has made another match for her since she is young enough to wed once more. Her widow’s portion will stay with the Campbells,” Hamell declared firmly.
Brenda sent Hamell a hard look. “That match wouldn’t happen to be with ye, now would it?”
Hamell looked past Bothan at her. His lips curved into a grin full of arrogance. “No’ that it matters, but aye, with me.”
“Oh it matters,” Brenda informed him. “What happened to yer wife? Did ye no’ wed only last spring?”
Hamell Campbell shrugged. “Died.”
“When?” Brenda pressed the matter.
There were a few scoffs from the Campbells. It sickened Brenda to hear them, and she wasn’t going to hold her tongue either. “Wasn’t she yer fourth wife? How is it yer spouses continue to die so young and often?”
“Yer husband died young as well,” Hamell insisted. “No one spoke against ye for the misfortune.”
“Brenda is now me wife.” Bothan stepped to the side, putting his body between her and Hamell. “So ye can return to Laird Campbell and tell him there will be no match.”
“As to that matter,” Hamell continued with far too much confidence for Brenda’s taste. She felt a shiver touch her nape, like a sense of foreboding. “The match was approved by the Earl of Sutherland,” Hamell informed them firmly.
Brenda felt her belly tighten. Scotland had few nobles and even fewer of them in the Highlands. The Earl of Sutherland was Bothan’s overlord. He was also her cousin Symon’s overlord. The Campbells were being crafty by making sure they gained the earl’s approval.
Bothan snorted. “So…yer laird went sniveling to Sutherland…in order to regain Brenda’s widow’s thirds by matching her up with another Campbell.”
“Marriage is business,” Hamell replied nonchalantly. “Ye would no’ be turning down the land the King settled on her or forgetting to ask for the money due her from the Campbells if ye were able to keep her yerself.”
“I will be keeping her, be very sure of that,” Bothan informed Hamell firmly.
“Ye should have consummated yer union instead of kicking the English court out of yer bedchamber,” Hamell said frankly and with far too much glee. “Oh aye, we’ve already heard. Laird Campbell keeps some of the best hawks in the land, just so he has news faster than anyone else.”
Brenda was torn between the need to retch and the desire to shout at Hamell. But she looked at his men and realized they outnumbered Bothan’s retainers two to one. Bothan hadn’t left his land with the intent to travel all the way into England. Hamell, on the other hand, had departed from Campbell land with enough men to take Brenda by force. The look on his men’s faces confirmed they’d been told to anticipate a fight.
Bothan would make it the hardest one they’d ever faced.
But the odds were not in his favor. She felt dread filling her, rising up to drown her in just how dire the situation was. Not a single member of the Gunn party was showing fear, but she knew the odds, could see the numbers and just how experienced the men Hamell had brought with him were.
The bright-green grass she stood on was about to be watered with spilled blood.
Time was suddenly so very precious, and she was woefully aware of how much of it she’d squandered. She looked over at Bothan, soaking up the details of his form. His hair was as black as midnight, but his eyes were a deep blue. He was handsome for certain, but what she found most attractive was the way he thrived in the northernmost part of the Highlands.
She would not become his Achilles’ heel.
Hamell was grinning. She watched the bloodlust rising in h
is eyes as he began to reach behind his shoulder to where his sword pommel was. But the water was behind her, the sound of it telling her the river was a large one, swollen with snow melt. It was churning and crashing against the rocks that formed its bed. Bothan’s men had formed in front of her, pressing her back to where the earth had been eaten away by the water.
“I deny you!” she shouted loudly enough for the Campbells to hear her.
Brenda grasped the front of her skirts, raising the fabric up so she might run. Bothan turned his head, his eyes widening as he realized her intent. He was lifting his hand, reaching for her as she turned and bolted for the edge of the earth. The river below was just as powerful as she’d suspected. The water was frothy and white from how much strength the current had.
But she didn’t lament her choice. No, she was her own woman after all. The Campbells would never profit from her again.
* * *
The water had no mercy.
So Brenda decided she would expect none.
The current grabbed her skirts, yanking her downstream as it tried to tumble her like a leaf. She struggled to lift her head above the frothy water, fighting for every breath. She struck rocks, clawing at them in an effort to gain a handhold.
But the river was too strong.
It tore her away, tumbling her again, so she fought its grip until she was suddenly weightless. The ground gave out beneath her as she sailed over the edge of a waterfall. For a moment, she was flying, suspended in the air with the water all around her. She caught a glimpse of the green hillsides before plunging into a pool. The speed she was traveling at made her sink deeply beneath the surface of the water. She could see the sunlight above her as her lungs began to burn. Raising her arms, she pulled against the water, swimming up toward the light. Every muscle she had ached, and yet it seemed like she was never going to reach the surface.
But her fingers broke through, giving her a feeling of the air against her wet skin. She pulled her arms down again, and this time her head broke through to the air where she gasped and sputtered.