by Mary Wine
And her.
“So ’tis time for us to get to know each other,” Bothan said as he settled down beside her.
Brenda wiggled away from him. He was just so large.
That isn’t the reason…
She didn’t care for her thoughts. They were dangerously undermining to her determination to remain unaffected by Bothan.
He followed her, stopping only when she ended up against the rock face.
“Go to sleep, Brenda,” he advised her softly.
She blinked at him, so fully awake there was no possible way she was going to relax enough to sleep. All of her senses were heightened now, telling her he was close to her and just how little control she had over noticing all the details of his body.
Bothan was watching her. She caught the twitching of his lips as he rolled onto his side and propped his elbow against the ground before laying his head in his hand.
“I suppose we could find something else to do other than sleep, lass,” he suggested in a tone edged with wicked suggestion.
Only wicked because ye are thinking the same thing…
Brenda snapped her eyes shut. She heard him chuckle, the sound dark and somewhat suggestive. Without her sight, though, she became more aware of him so close to her. Inside her chest, her heart was pounding, sending her blood speeding through her veins. Her breathing accelerated as it kept pace with her heart, drawing in the scent of Bothan’s skin.
She’d never realized she might like the way a man smelled.
Something deep inside her was warming up, stretching, and awakening.
“Aye, ye’re likely wise in choosing to sleep,” Bothan teased her. He was so close his breath brushed her ear.
She shuddered, and her eyes popped open. It was just a reaction to him being so very near. Controlling it was impossible. Their gazes locked, and she felt herself battling the urge to look at his mouth.
Ye want his kiss…
The craving was hard and strong, rising up through the choices and decisions she’d so carefully made about how her life was going to be once she’d woken up in Grant Tower and heard she’d been granted the freedom to be her own woman.
“I want to kiss ye.” Bothan appeared to read her thoughts.
Brenda jerked her attention back to his face to find him grinning at her.
“But I fear we’ll both end up frustrated if I do,” he finished.
Bothan reached out and pressed his fingers against her lips to still her retort. She might have moved her head away, but the truth was she knew her argument would have been more for her failing composure than for any truth the words represented.
Bothan knew it too.
Brenda closed her eyes, admitting defeat under the cover of darkness. She heard him let out a soft male sound before he was stroking the side of her face. She shivered in response, the contact sending a torrent of sensation through her.
How was it possible to notice a simple touch so very much?
She didn’t know. But she could not refute the reality of it either. All she could do was curl her lower lip in and bite it to contain the little gasp that tried to escape and let him know how strongly she was affected.
Bothan pressed his thumb against her chin and pulled her lip free. In the darkness, Brenda felt her cheeks flooding with color.
At least he couldn’t see it.
Small comfort, yet she would take it. For now it would be enough, and when sleep finally claimed her, she went happily with the idea of rest restoring her resolve.
* * *
Bothan watched Brenda relax into slumber.
He’d waited a long time to have the chance to watch her sleep. His men were bone-weary and their horses were being run hard, but it all seemed worth it to be close enough to the woman who had been appearing in his dreams since he’d met her.
More than one man might accuse him of being obsessed. Bothan doubted he would have argued the point. The truth was he wouldn’t have bothered to discuss the matter if there was another alternative. Brenda was a topic he found very personal.
His life wasn’t one that afforded him many opportunities to indulge in his personal desires. In fact, he’d spent a great deal of his self-discipline on making sure he didn’t give in to weaknesses that stemmed from what he personally wanted from life.
A chief put the needs of his people first. The Gunns needed a mistress. That was true enough, but Bothan had to be honest with himself when it came to Brenda. He was chasing her for his own personal reasons.
A match with a Grant was a good one for the Gunns.
The land Brenda came with was going to be a fine addition to the holdings of the clan as well.
But he’d have sought her out without any of it.
Without the beauty that made men compete for her or the things listed on her dowry. He’d craved her from the moment he met her, and even a winter in the Highlands hadn’t cooled his need for her.
Yer weakness.
Bothan watched the way she curled toward him. Drawn to him just as clearly as he was to her. He shifted, making space for her against his body. He felt the connection between them as she settled against his side. He smiled, the idea of what she’d say if she realized she’d come to him in her sleep making him grin.
Perhaps he would tell her later. When he had the privacy to kiss her. Brenda might be his weakness, but he was hers as well.
And it was going to be his pleasure to help her admit it.
Three
Bothan’s home was as hard as he and his men were.
The twin towers of the Gunn chiefdom rose up against the sky looking like a fortress that was impossible to breach. The stone was dark, almost black in places from the growth of moss. Set on the high ground, around its base a village was thriving. She could see the waterwheel where the mill was grinding grain into flour up at the top of the village. There were chickens and goats and cows in the pastures and stone buildings to prove the Gunns weren’t living in hovels made only of sticks and dried mud.
After so many days traveling, she found the sights and sounds of civilization a feast for her senses. The Gunn retainers were happy to be home. Men called out from their workbenches as they rode closer, greeting their friends and relatives. Children rushed to the edge of the road to enjoy the sight of the chief returning. Women appeared in doorways of houses, many of them holding babes. Children peeked around the edges of the doorways, their smiles showing off missing teeth.
The sound of the blacksmith working on his anvil came through the air along with a steady tapping from the carpenter’s workshop. Even the clucking of the chickens seemed welcoming after so many days in the wilds. Her mare quickened its pace as the animal recognized its home and the opportunity to be done with traveling for a time.
Brenda felt her belly rumble as the scent of bread filled the air. Bothan hadn’t stopped for anything more than to rest the horses. His men had hunted to keep them fed, but her mouth watered at the thought of something more than game animals.
Right after greeting their kin, the Gunn people directed their attention toward her. Men stroked their beards as they contemplated her, while younger women smiled shyly at her.
Bothan rode up to the base of his tower, swinging down and off his horse with a happy grunt.
“We’re home, lads,” he declared to his men. “I’ve never rode with a finer lot. Ye’ve proven yerselves well and against harsh circumstances. I’m proud to have been among yer number.”
His men enjoyed the public praise. There were smiles and slaps on backs as they allowed younger boys to lead their horses away. Bothan shook each man’s hand, offering private words of praise.
He was a good chief.
Even if Brenda didn’t care for the sight of him being so completely in command of the Gunn stronghold, for it tightened the hold he had over her.
She wasn’t going to fear him. In fact, she forbade herself to think about just how completely she was under his power now. Doing so would only feed the despair she’d spent the better part of the last week attempting to fend off.
There was a whoop and then several more joining in. The men were throwing off their sword belts and over-jerkins.
“Here now, miss,” someone said beside her.
Brenda turned and looked into the face of a Gunn retainer. He had a single feather sticking up on the side of his knitted bonnet.
“Best to look away now,” he advised her. “The men are heading down to bathe in the river. Ye’ll be seeing more of them than ye care to if ye do nae direct yer attention elsewhere.”
Whoever he was, there was a sense of authority in him. He reached up and helped her down, but once her feet were on the ground, she caught him staring at the strip of tartan Bothan had used to secure her wrists.
“I will deal with me wife, Leif.”
Bothan appeared from behind his stallion. A man was leading the animal away, clearing the space between them.
“Pleased with yerself, I see,” Brenda remarked as Bothan came closer.
Leif tugged on the corner of his knitted cap before withdrawing. In fact, a clearing had formed around them, but the Gunn people were still straining their necks in order to get a glimpse of what they were doing.
Bothan’s lips twitched, rising just a bit at the corners, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his enjoyment the most.
“Aye,” Bothan confirmed in a husky voice. He caught her wrists, pulling her close to him so that his breath brushed her ear. “I am very pleased to have ye here.”
He pulled a knife from his belt and slid the smooth blade through the fabric around her wrists. Brenda looked at him as he jerked the weapon up and through the fabric. A rope would have left bruises on her as it tore into her skin and left her with wounds. The fabric would give her only bruises, and then only because she’d tugged on the fabric in an attempt to free herself.
“Now that we’re home, we’ll have the privacy to deal with each other without interruptions,” Bothan informed her softly.
Something twisted in her belly, a sense of anticipation she would just as soon banish.
Yet her flesh seemed to have other ideas, and her mind was all too willing to offer up a memory of how much she’d fought herself the night he’d laid down next to her.
She pushed away from him, needing space between them so she might think. Bothan was grinning at her as she tugged the remains of the fabric binding from her wrists and tossed them to the ground.
“Such a waste of fabric,” she informed him. “Better to have left me on Grant land. Me mind is set. I am too old to accept being chosen as a bride.”
Bothan had replaced the knife. He’d crossed his arms over his wide chest, making himself look larger and more formidable than ever. Another sensation snaked through her belly, and this time she knew without a doubt that it was arousal.
“Here ye can run if ye like,” Bothan informed her.
His statement confused her. Brenda blinked as she tried to decide just what he meant. Bothan closed the distance between them again, clamping his arm around her body to secure her in place.
“Run and I promise I will track ye down, Brenda,” he spoke against her ear. “I know me land well. I’ll find ye, and I will come alone, so we’ll have some privacy when I catch up with ye.”
She tried to push away from him, flattening her hands on his chest. She felt the rumble of his amusement, looking up to lock gazes with him.
“I like ye when ye’re feeling wild, so run if ye’ve a mind to,” Bothan said before releasing her. “It will give me leave to dispense with courting ye.” Something crossed his face that made her breath catch. “The choice is yers.”
Brenda stumbled back a few paces before stopping herself because of how hard she’d been straining to escape him.
The truth was she was battling herself. The look of raw desire that had flickered in his eyes touched off the embers still smoldering in her from their encounter. Time didn’t appear to have dampened them.
Temptation was wicked and yet oh so very tantalizing.
“I do suggest ye go inside and eat a fine meal first, wife,” Bothan said as he backed away from her. “I promise ye ye’ll be needing the strength to deal with me.”
Brenda propped her hand on her hip. “Perhaps I will stay right here and watch ye stumble through wooing me.”
She sent him a look full of warning. Bothan didn’t miss it, either. A flash of surprise crossed his face before he was grinning wide enough to show off his teeth. The brute enjoyed her attempt to put him in his place, which only made Brenda more determined to set him on his ear.
“Ye’ll be begging yer men to take me home before the end of the month, Chief Gunn. Mark me word on it. I will no’ call another man husband. No’ in this lifetime,” Brenda told him clearly.
Half his men were already on their way to the river to bathe. Stripped down to their boots and kilts, they turned when they heard her proclamation. They looked between Bothan and her, careful to hold back their reaction. Bothan reached up and tugged on the corner of his cap. He stepped back and offered her a low reverence.
“I accept yer challenge, Brenda Grant!” Bothan declared loudly.
His men were delighted, whooping and laughing as Bothan threw off his doublet and charged toward the river with them. Brenda turned as more than one backside flashed at her.
Which left her facing the women of the Gunn clan.
They stood contemplating her with mild amusement on their faces. Younger children watched through wide eyes, likely biting back their inquiries as to why Brenda had been allowed to be so tart to their chief.
Her belly rumbled, though, proving Bothan was correct about her needing a good meal. Walking into his tower wasn’t the wisest first step in a campaign designed to free her from his hold, but that was exactly what she turned and did.
He was correct; she was hungry.
But she’d be using the strength to leave him far behind, and that was a promise.
* * *
“Ye must be Brenda Grant.”
The woman speaking was formidable, to say the least. Like all children, Brenda had heard her share of warnings about how she should listen to those who had experience in life. The woman Brenda faced had time etched into her face with wrinkles, but her eyes still glittered with a sharp mind. For certain, this woman was someone who knew a thing or two about life.
“I am called Alba.” The woman offered her a nod of respect.
The woman wore a wool dress that was more serviceable than fashionable. There were patches carefully sewn under the arms where the wool had been worn and along the hem too.
“Are ye the Head of House?” Brenda asked politely.
Alba tilted her head to one side. She wore a cap with a strap that went beneath her chin and buttoned on the side. Only a little tuft of her hair was visible at the front. But there were faint soot stains on the cap, telling Brenda the woman had been working the ovens.
“We’re no’ much on titles here on Gunn land,” Alba replied. “As to the kitchens, I run them, as me mother did before me. Isla is me daughter.”
There was another woman behind Alba who lowered herself once her mother introduced her. Isla looked straight at Brenda as well. The lack of formality was refreshing after too many days at court where simpering was expected by nobles who had done so very little to earn it.
“Ye look as though ye’ve been on the road a good long while,” Alba said after sweeping Brenda from head to toe. “Best come into the tower, and we’ll get ye a bath while the men are cleaning up.”
It was such a simple idea. Yet Brenda struggled to accept it.
What are ye going to do? Stand in the yard?
Symon had agreed
with Bothan.
In the end, it was that single idea that prompted Brenda to follow Alba into the first tower. Symon was one of the few men she’d trusted. Knowing he’d watched as Bothan had carried her off had kept Brenda silent for most of the journey north. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt alone in the world, but it still seemed to sting just as badly.
The lower floor was where the great hall was located. It was the entire length and width of the tower. There was a wide opening on one side that led to a passageway. Alba kept going through the hall, past the long tables that served as a place for the Gunn retainers to enjoy their meals. At night, the tables would be stacked so the men could roll themselves in their kilts and sleep. Many of the women serving in the kitchens were likely wed to some of the men, and they would lie down in the hall as well. Heating and maintaining a separate residence was a great deal of work, which made making use of the tower far more appealing.
There wasn’t a high ground.
Brenda stared at the end of the hall where a raised platform should have been placed for the chief’s table. Bothan and his captains would have eaten there, their status reinforced by the elevation of the seating.
But it wasn’t Bothan’s style to set himself above his men.
Refreshing…
Brenda passed through the opening and into the passageway with her lips still curved into a smile. What she hadn’t seen from the front was the long outer building where the kitchens and storerooms were. They stretched out behind the first tower, set back far enough to keep the tower safe in the event of fire.
The bathhouse was simple as well, but the thought of being clean was far more enticing than the location. There was a sizzle as Isla pushed a newly filled kettle into a huge hearth.
Someone cleared his throat from behind them.
“I brought the mistress’s things,” Leif said, his tone betraying his desire to be anywhere but there in the women’s bathhouse.
“Aye, I can see ye did,” Alba replied as she crossed the room to take the bag he offered. “Ye should have sent one of the younger lads. Men do nae belong near the women’s bathroom, and ye know it well.”