Without looking back, Laurel pushed herself to run faster, but she knew the battle was lost when she reached stairs she could never climb faster than Brodie. She slid down the wall until she sat on a step, her shoulders shaking from the power of her sobs. Brodie sank down beside her and pulled her against his chest.
“Dinna,” Laurel choked, but she didn’t push Brodie away. She curled into herself and sagged against his powerful frame. Neither spoke, but Brodie held her as she cried. She’d thought she’d been upset when she sobbed against Monty’s shoulder only days earlier, but it failed to compare to the gut-wrenching torrent of tears and emotions that engulfed her. The only thing that kept her anchored to earth was Brodie’s solid presence, his silent strength.
Brodie’s heart ached for the woman in his arms. Her ire hadn’t surprised him, and he’d welcomed it directed at him rather than anyone else. He understood others would ridicule her for her diatribe toward him, but he had skin thick enough to weather it. Any man maligned as Laurel had been would have struck out with his fists. A physical fight wasn’t an option for Laurel, so she defended herself with what she had. He could see a wildness to her that was never meant for the confines of court. If others had recognized it, too, and perhaps offered her compassion and warmth when she arrived, her time at Stirling Castle would have been different. But Laurel wasn’t meek. Her family may have profoundly wounded her, but she was resilient in her own way. Brodie intuited that when Laurel least deserved love and kindness, she needed it the most.
Laurel inhaled the pine and sandalwood scent from the skin that peeked through the laces of Brodie’s leine. The heat he generated soothed her much like a hot bath helped ease tension. His calloused palm ran over her back as he comforted her with his presence rather than with platitudes. As her tears slowed, and she no longer scrunched her eyes closed, she listened to the steady rhythm of Brodie’s heart. It was predictable and even, a point to focus upon as she tried to calm herself. The tension slipped from her shoulders and back, leaving her pliable and relaxed against Brodie’s chest.
“How can ye care?” Laurel whispered. Brodie considered her words. She hadn’t asked for the reason he did care. Rather, she didn’t understand his ability to. Brodie’s heart tugged even more as it dawned on him that Laurel felt entirely unlovable. He considered that Laurel had spent nearly as many years at Stirling as she did at Balnagown. But she wouldn’t have remembered much of her first four or five years among her clan in any case. It must have felt like she’d spent more time at court than with her family. It was more time spent feeling left out than included.
“Because I understand ye, or at least I believe I do.”
“What is there to understand? I’m spiteful and hateful, and probably the most unladylike woman of yer acquaintance.”
“Ye’re a thistle,” Brodie responded. When he said no more, she leaned back. Her watery eyes showed her confusion. “Ye’re beautiful from near and far, but ye’re prickly when someone comes too close. But ye’re also as hearty as the Highland flower. Nay matter the strength of the gale, ye and the thistle survive. For those brave enough to face the spiny leaves, they discover the flower smells sweet. The thistle is a solitary plant, easily overlooked compared to roses and heather. That doesnae mean that it isnae worthy of admiration. The thistle is the symbol our Scottish pride for a reason. It’s like our people, indomitable and proud. Ye’re a thistle, Laurel. Indomitable, and ye should be proud.”
“Brodie,” Laurel shuddered as she burrowed back against his chest. Brodie tipped her chin up and brushed away the last tears with his thumb.
“Shh, Laurie. It tears at ma heart to see ye so wounded.” Brodie saw the spark in Laurel’s eyes when he used the diminutive. “Do ye like me to call ye Laurie?”
“Aye,” Laurel breathed. “I’ve never thought of maself as a flower. But if I ever had, I suppose I would consider maself a bush of nettles.” Laurel offered Brodie a watery smile, and he returned it with a grin.
“As prickly and itchy as the nettle might be, even its tea is good for the body,” Brodie pointed out.
“Do ye intend to boil me alive to find ma softer side?” Laurel gazed up at Brodie, but a shiver coursed along her spine when she caught the spark of desire in Brodie’s eyes.
“Laurie, I’ve already found it,” Brodie whispered before he lowered his mouth toward hers, giving her a chance to push him away. Laurel slid her hand up Brodie’s chest and over his shoulder until her fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his skull.
“I think I’ve found yers,” Laurel murmured before their lips pressed together. The spark of desire turned into a raging fire as Brodie fought the urge to crush Laurel against him. He flicked his tongue against her lips twice before growing bolder and pressing it against the seam of hers. Guessing what he wanted, she opened to him. Her gasp of surprise when his tongue entered her mouth made Brodie wonder what else he could do to elicit such a sound. Laurel shifted restlessly against him, twisting her body closer to him. Brodie’s hand slid down to cup her backside. When she gasped again, Brodie fisted his other hand in her hair, steeling himself against the temptation to press her beneath him on the stairs and hike up her skirts before thrusting into her.
A sound in the stairwell a flight below them made them jerk apart. Laurel turned a terrified expression toward Brodie, who was already pushing to his feet. He helped Laurel to hers, but neither moved beyond that. They waited to determine if the sound drew nearer. When it receded instead, Brodie wrapped his arm around Laurel’s waist and pulled her against him. She put up no fight, her hands pressing high upon his chest.
“We canna stay here, Laurie. There’s more to say to one another, but I willna have ye forced into marrying me because someone finds us like this.”
Laurel nodded as she looked around them. Brodie was right; if anyone found them, even if they weren’t kissing, she would have no choice but to marry Brodie. He might have shown an interest in her—he might even desire her—but Laurel was unconvinced that he wanted to marry her. She stepped back and lifted her skirts, prepared to finish climbing the stairs, but Brodie blocked her route.
“Are ye all right to make it to yer chamber?” Brodie asked.
Laurel cocked an eyebrow and fell back into her courtly speech. “Do you believe your kisses sufficient to keep me so weak kneed that I can’t walk to my door?”
“Keep you weak kneed?” Brodie smirked. “Then they have done a fine job to start.”
Laurel rolled her eyes. “If anyone is in need, it is you.” Her gaze flickered downward for a moment. “Of having your sporran remain in place.”
“Saucy as ever,” Brodie laughed, his hand darting out to cup her backside as he took two steps down, bringing them eye-to-eye.
“Do you wish me to be otherwise?” Laurel quipped, but Brodie felt her anxiety as her body tensed.
“Not in the least.”
“Brodie?” Laurel waited until he nodded. “I truly am sorry for what I said and did earlier. What possessed me to spit at your boots is beyond me. That went much too far, even for me.”
“You were justly upset,” Brodie placated, but Laurel shook her head.
“Please don’t make excuses for me. I’m ashamed of how I acted. I—I—I don’t want you to think that’s how I would treat you normally. I spoke the truth the other day. I respect you, and I—I—would like you to respect me, too.”
“Laurie, I already do. If I didn’t, would I have come after you? Would I have stayed with you?”
“That’s just pity,” Laurel said dismissively.
“It is not,” Brodie corrected.
Laurel’s lips thinned before she nodded. “My point is, I don’t want you to think—fear—that I will treat you like that again, especially not in public. I humiliated myself, but I embarrassed you in the process. I’m sorry.”
“I ken, my wee cluaran,” Brodie murmured before he brushed a kiss against Laurel’s lip. Clu-air-an. She is ma wee thistle.
Laurel’s
face softened as she nodded. “Thank you, Brodie.”
“Will you join the other ladies?” Brodie asked tentatively, but Laurel shook her head.
“I think I should let the fire run its course and not add fuel to it.”
“Laurie, will you let me accompany you to the evening meal? My men and I have sat with Monty and his men since we arrived. You haven’t eaten with us once. Do you not wish to see them?”
Laurel gritted her teeth, and Brodie frowned. In two questions it seemed he’d lost any ground he’d gained. He wondered which one ruined his progress. He had his answer to his surprise.
“I would appreciate you walking me the Great Hall, but I will not sit with my brother.”
“Would you sit with me?”
“Do you intend to sit with him?”
“I had.”
“Then I won’t.” Laurel crossed her arms and shook her head. She could only imagine how petulant she appeared. “You said we shouldn’t linger here.”
“And I also said there is more to be said,” Brodie reminded her. “Laurel, we can’t sit together at the evening meal without your brother as a chaperone. We both know that.”
“And I cannot sit with him at the evening meal without stabbing him.”
“Bloodthirsty and tart,” Brodie mused.
“He knew aboot the wager, Brodie. You both did. Neither of you tried to ensure people wouldn’t believe Liam and Nelson.” Laurel sighed and shook her head again. “I don’t think sitting with you would be wise. None of this was wise.”
Laurel’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open. She spun on her heel and took the steps two at a time. “You did this, all of this, to win.” Brodie seized her around the waist and hoisted her off her feet, tired of worrying she would fall down the stairs each time she moved. “Put me down!”
Once on the landing, Brodie put Laurel back on her feet and reared away from her scornful expression. The loathing that poured from her eyes was enough to make Brodie doubt why he was pursuing the woman. But behind the anger, he saw the hurt and fear.
“This has naught to do with a bet. If it were only aboot a bet, could I feel this way?” Brodie backed Laurel against the wall and swooped in for a kiss that made the previous one seem like an innocent peck. He was persistent and aggressive, but Laurel opened to him without hesitation. Her hands fisted in his leine, tugging him toward her, told him she was a willing participant. He was certain he would devour her, his hunger to touch and taste her verging on the irrational.
Laurel Ross sparked something within Brodie that he never suspected he’d feel. He’d lusted for women in the past, but he’d rarely taken more than a passing interest in anything beyond the physical. He’d pleasured his lovers, but he had never envisioned those women as equal partners; mostly he had performed to ensure the satisfied woman returned the favor. With Laurel, he wanted to watch her come alive, to give her passionate nature an avenue that wasn’t so self-destructive.
Laurel was certain she would float away on a cloud if Brodie’s body weren’t pressing her against the brick wall. She returned his kiss with abandon, the excitement of their touch surpassing even the wildest ride across the rolling hills of Ross territory. Brodie’s hands roaming over her body caused her skin to prickle as the nerves over-fired, and a throbbing ache settled low in her belly. She’d seen more than one couple locked in amorous embraces while living in Stirling Castle, but never had she dreamed she might experience it herself. Brodie’s allure tempted her toward all the hedonistic sins she could imagine but given up years earlier, and she hoped there were ones he could introduce that were well beyond her knowledge. When he pushed his sporran aside, and his length rested against her mons, her moan was foreign to her ears, but the vibration in her chest told her where it originated.
“If this were aboot a mere bet, would I want to rip every thread from ye, and sink into ye until I bellowed ye name in delight?” Brodie panted. “Would I be tempted to ride off with ye, uncaring if anyone kenned where we went or what became of us?”
“I dinna ken,” Laurel confessed, barely able to follow Brodie’s logic since she cared about little beyond the next kiss. Brodie rocked his hips against her, and a whimper escaped Laurel’s lips as she nudged his head toward hers, bringing their mouths together again.
“Lady Laurel!”
Laurel and Brodie turned toward the shocked voice, finding a group of stunned, openmouthed ladies-in-waiting, staring at them. It had been Sarah Anne who screeched her name. Brodie twisted, pushing his sporran back into place, shielding Laurel from the prying eyes of the courtiers. But he and Laurel knew it mattered little. All the damage had already been done.
Nine
Laurel stepped out of Brodie’s shadow, determined to accept the fallout of her actions, both in the Great Hall and in the passageway. She notched up her chin and cast her gaze down at Sarah Anne, who stood nearly a head shorter than Laurel. She flicked her gaze to the other women, daring any of them to speak aloud their accusations and questions. A malicious gleam came into Sarah Anne’s gaze as she accepted Laurel’s challenge.
“I see Laird Campbell found a way to occupy your tongue that doesn’t involve you talking,” Sarah Anne proclaimed.
“Aye. Shame you can only speculate on how enjoyable it is,” Laurel sniffed.
Sarah Anne gasped, unprepared for Laurel to accept the accusation even if it came with a jibe. “Only a trollop would say such a thing.”
“Just as a prude would say such a thing.”
“Lady Laurel,” Emelie stepped forward. “Are you all right?” Emelie didn’t look as convinced as everyone else that Laurel welcomed Brodie’s attention.
“Quite. Laird Campbell and I resolved our disagreement and made amends,” Laurel said offhandedly. She glanced up at Brodie and nodded. “Thank you. I bid you good day.”
Brodie stood in stunned silence, unsure what to make of Laurel’s calm acceptance of being caught. She neither railed at him for the inevitable outcome, nor did she attempt to make excuses to avoid it. He wondered if she might wish to marry him as much as he was finding he wished to marry her. She said no more as she walked past the women and entered her chamber without looking back, leaving Brodie with a gaggle of tittering ladies.
Brodie adopted his most menacing glare, and the women scattered. When no one remained in sight, he stalked to Laurel’s door, knocked once, and pushed it open. He found Laurel sitting in the window embrasure, with her embroidery in her hands. If he hadn’t known she’d been locked in the most erotic interlude of his life and then stared down the accusatory looks from her fellow ladies, he wouldn’t have been able to tell it from the look of serenity on her face.
“Laurie,” Brodie started, but he didn’t know what to say next.
“I meant what I said, Brodie. Thank you.” Laurel spared him a glance before she continued her stitching. Brodie hadn’t a clue what she was thankful for, since her reputation as a maiden now laid in tatters. He closed the door and crossed the chamber. With an aggrieved sigh, Laurel lifted her legs from the window seat and made room for Brodie, but he opted to stand. When he didn’t move, she shrugged, and extended her legs once more, crossing them at the ankles.
“What are you thanking me for exactly?” Brodie wondered.
“For accepting my apology. For understanding me. For not blaming me. And most of all, for giving me my freedom.”
“Your freedom?” Brodie understood each sentiment but that.
“Aye. With my reputation now completely obliterated, I am free. Whether I remain here or go where I please, I owe no one aught anymore,” Laurel said with a shrug.
“Go where you please? Owe no one?” Brodie was baffled by what she meant. She would go to Kilchurn with him, and she would owe him—or rather, they would owe one another—the customs of marriage.
“Aye. I’ll likely be sent down from court since the queen won’t countenance the scandal, but I won’t be welcome at Balnagown either. Monty might suggest a convent, but he said he
wouldn’t force me. I shall find a village somewhere in the hills and say I’m a widow. I’ve done it before. I can be a seamstress for real and do as I please. Any way I look at it, I’m free, so thank you.”
“You cannot be serious, Laurel.”
“And why not? It won’t matter to you or your clan that they found you kissing a lady-in-waiting.” Laurel assessed him as she looked into his storm-gray eyes. Her lips thinned. “If your indignation is aboot not winning the hundred pounds, or rather having to pay it to Liam Oliphant, fear not. I will ensure you aren’t out a penny of your own money. Besides, I’m saving you a bride price that my dowry likely wouldn’t repay. You’ll fare better than even me.”
“You cannot think it’s that simple,” Brodie said, aghast. The woman he’d considered marrying earlier that morning and he would now be required to marry sat before him as though she were describing plans for a summer picnic. But his temper flared when she returned to thinking what he felt had anything to do with a nonexistent wager. “Put your sewing aside, Laurel, and look at me.”
Brodie’s tone rankled, and he knew he’d made a mistake when she not only tossed it aside but stood up. “Save that tone for a wife. One that is your own. Since I am not she, do not think to command me. However, this is my chamber, and I command you to leave.”
“We are as good as betrothed, and you are not so daft that you don’t know that. I am driven to make you my wife,” Brodie barked.
“Driven? Hardly,” Laurel scoffed. “Whatever drove you here may drive you away.”
“It might very well, since it’s your shrewish tongue, but it won’t be enough to convince the king and queen that I shouldn’t take you as my wife.”
“Mayhap, but perhaps I shall leave you as not my husband.” Laurel tapped her toes as she looked over Brodie’s shoulder at the door. “I believe I told you to leave.”
A Hellion at the Highland Court: A Rags to Riches Highlander Romance (The Highland Ladies Book 9) Page 8