Highland Brides 03 - On Bended Knee

by Tanya Anne Crosby

  Colin’s lips twisted into a grimace. He certainly didn’t mean to, but he had no defense ready for himself. In truth, he had broken his share of hearts… and still managed to though he tried not to.

  “Would it help if I said I’m sorry?”

  She turned back to the still. “Why ever for?”

  Damned if she wasn’t going to make him say it.

  Colin watched her, uncertain what to say now. “So where have you been?”

  She didn’t respond, only continued to work on her wretched device.

  “I was concerned,” he confessed. “Ye dinna come back, and I thought ye’d taken ill.”

  She gave a little snort. “O’ course, Colin Mac Brodie! And that would be the only reason a woman would not fly into your arms to be kissed!”

  Colin’s frown deepened.

  She turned on him suddenly, frustration showing in her features. “Why did ye come out here?” she demanded to know.

  “I worried,” he said, and thought for himself that it was a lame excuse. He didn’t know why he’d come out here. He’d been asking himself that same question for hours. As yet there was no answer.

  He was drawn to her.

  He couldn’t figure another reason.

  “Well!” she assured him. “I dinna need your help, and I surely dinna want your kisses, Mac Brodie, so ye can bloody well go home now!”

  He didn’t want to.

  “I’d like to help.”

  “I said I do not need your help!” she countered stubbornly. “I can manage alone verra well, thank ye verra much!” She turned back to her work.

  “You cannot fix it like that,” he told her. “It needs a smith. Why will you not let me help?”

  She kicked the base of the still. “Because you’re a rotten selfish knave who cannot do anything for anybody without wantin’ something in return, and I’ll not be kissing you—not today, nor any other day! That’s why! Blasted thing!” She kicked the pot still once more in a fit of temper.

  That wasn’t precisely true, Colin protested, though silently because he could not come up with a single instance he had not profited from a situation. He was certain there must be an occasion, but it just wasn’t in his nature to pass over opportunities. Life was full with them, even in the darkest times. It was no crime to help oneself while helping others, too.

  She spat out a string of oaths that would have made his sister blush.

  “I do not even know why I asked you for help to begin with!” she confessed. “You’re a rotten bugger who does not care about anyone but himself!”

  Colin’s brows collided over her low opinion of him. He damned well didn’t like it. “So why did you?”

  “Because I made the mistake of believing you had a heart, Colin Mac Brodie!”

  “Will ye stop calling me by my full name! You sound like my grandminny Fia! My name is Colin. I do not need to be reminded that I am Brodie’s son.”

  She cast him a sour glance. “I dinna want to call you Colin! I do not like you Colin Mac Brodie!”

  “Och, but I dinna even know your name!” he blurted, and then at once wished he hadn’t, because her green eyes bore into him like daggers.

  “And why should ye remember the name of every little girl whose heart you break?” she asked, her jaw taut with anger.

  He wanted to caress it till it slackened beneath his touch, wanted to kiss her until the anger melted from her body.

  “Ouch!” he said, and felt suddenly like an insect to be squashed beneath her feet.

  “Go away,” she said again.

  He couldn’t.

  How could she throw such accusations at him and then expect him to just walk away? If he could make up for the past he wanted to try. Obviously, she had been wounded by him, and it was his duty to make things right.

  She was right, he did owe her.

  “Och,” he relented, “I’ll help you… you don’t even have to kiss me, lass.”

  Chapter 8

  Seana gave Colin a disbelieving look. “You’re just now figuring that out are you?”

  His cheeks colored.

  Seana wasn’t sure whether it was from anger or chagrin. In either case, she didn’t care—the pot still demanded her attention, Colin Mac Brodie be damned!

  Her father had fashioned the contraption long ago. He’d been a smithy in the town where he and Seana’s mother had first met. His own da had brewed the uisge beatha until the time of his death, from a recipe handed down from generation to generation.

  Seana’s ancestors had all been distillers of the “water of life”—the uisge beatha. They had been keepers of the ancient recipe. To their ancestors, its power to revive weary bodies and failing spirits, to drive out winter chill and rekindle hope was a gift from the gods. Seana was the last of her family to know the treasured recipe—aside from her da. And now she had broken his still. She didn’t have the heart to tell him.

  “You’re not going to fix that without a smithy,” he assured her. He was still peering over her shoulder, annoying her with his continued presence.

  She couldn’t concentrate with him there… breathing on her…

  He was too close!

  “Go away, Mac Brodie!”

  Seana wanted nothing more than to elbow him, out of sheer frustration, but she refrained from doing so. She’d never had a heart for violence, no matter what the circumstances.

  “’Tis not so simple as simply giving it to the smithy!” she explained as patiently as she was able. “Each and every change in this pot still changes the flavor of the spirits!” No two pots tills, no matter were they made by the same two hands, ever produced the same spirit. There were those who claimed the process a magical one, but Seana’s da seemed to think the difference was in the still.

  “So what do ye do when it breaks?”

  “I dunno!” Seana answered a little hysterically, despite her resolve to remain calm. “I’ve never broken it before!”

  It was all too much for her.

  She plopped herself backward upon the ground, her skirt flying down around her, and pouted like a child. “I do not know what to do!” she said, feeling miserably helpless.

  And Colin Mac Brodie was the very last person she wished to have witness the first attack of hysteria she’d ever had in her life!

  “Go away!” she said again, and couldn’t help herself. It came out sounding more a whine. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she made the mistake of peering up at Colin through watery eyes. He was staring at her, his expression full of pity or something like it, and Seana could not bear it. Her tears began to flow at once.

  “I do not know how to fix it!” she sobbed, throwing her hand out in disgust at the mechanical beast. “I do not want to kill anyone!” The rest of her words came out less coherently. “My da… he canna… he canna see anymore to fix it… and… and I can be a good wife!” she wailed. She didn’t need Colin’s pity! It was the last thing she wanted. He didn’t have to like her! He could dislike her forever for all she cared, but she didn’t want his pity! “Damned cat!” she railed, and wasn’t even sure why she said it. For once, My Love was nowhere to be found. But the bloody cat was never going to like her either!

  Seana buried her face in her hands and sobbed pitifully.

  She was vaguely aware that Colin approached and knelt at her side. She felt his hand upon the back of her head, tentatively at first, and then more firmly, consoling her. She didn’t want to be consoled, not by him or anybody, and yet, she didn’t move away from him. She let him caress her head, overwhelmed by the feel of another human touch. Her da had never been very affectionate in that way—no hugs or even pats upon the head, though his love for her had been evident in his eyes—eyes that could no longer see her very well.

  “Dinna cry, lass,” he whispered.

  “I can cry if I want to!”

  Colin smiled at her response.

  All those years ago, when he had hurt her… flung his cruel words at her and then laughed with his friend
s…. She hadn’t even cried then. She’d stood there looking at him, her heart in her eyes, and then had run away, but not before facing her tormenter, with such an expression of sorrow that his guilt had choked him.

  She was a strong woman, he knew. She had to be strong to survive out here in these woods alone with her drunk of a da. Seeing her cry just now wrenched at Colin’s heart. He knew it could not be easy for her to weep before him. He wanted to hold her.

  He sat down upon the ground beside her and stroked her head, letting her weep. “Cry then,” he whispered. “’Tis all right to cry sometimes, lass.”

  Her weeping subsided a bit, and Colin smiled. Contrary wench. If he asked her to breathe, he thought she might stop just to spite him.

  “Go away!” she said again, though with far less meaning.

  “What if I don’t want to?” he asked softly. Two could play at this game. Stubborn wench. He withdrew his hand, lifted his knees, and draped his arms over them.

  She peeked up out of her hands, peering up at him through teary eyes. Somehow, they seemed greener now—those eyes. They were the most vivid shade of green he had ever seen. They stood out, stark in color against her dirty face. Despite her weeping, she managed to give him a malevolent glare.

  Colin smiled at her. “There ye go now, lass,” he teased. “That’s more like it.”

  “I do not like you, Colin Mac Brodie!” she said peevishly.

  “Well, I don’t like you either,” he lied.

  “Good!”

  “But I do want to kiss you,” he confessed, and winked at her.

  ‘She turned to look at him. “Then you’re a worse rogue than I even imagined!” She eyed him coldly. “How can you want to kiss someone you don’t even like?”

  “Easily… when she has the loveliest lips I’ve ever seen on a woman.”

  She blinked, and Colin didn’t miss the little gasp of surprise she tried to hide. She hid her mouth behind her arms, then, depriving him of the luscious sight.

  “’Tis the truth,” he asserted, reaching out to wipe away a black smudge from her forehead. She didn’t protest, though her eyes remained narrowed. He yearned to place a thumb between her brows and soothe away the frown, but he withdrew again, not wanting to push his luck. Every advance was a victory, no matter how small, and patience had always been his greatest virtue.

  Her brows twitched slightly, and he knew she was trying to read his thoughts.

  “Why did you come here?” she demanded to know.

  “I told you. Because I wish to help.”

  It wasn’t quite the truth.

  He didn’t know why the bloody hell he’d come.

  But he had, and now he truly did wish to help.

  She gave him a dubious look.

  “Even if I believed you, Colin Mac Brodie, you cannot help me. It was silly of me to even ask you in the first place.”

  “Mayhap,” he said, reaching out and wiping a tear that slid down her cheek. “But I think I can help, though first things first,” he said. “What about the still? Ye mean to tell me it has never broken before now?”

  She shrugged. “My da used to fix it.”

  “And why can he not now?”

  “I told you, he’s not well.”

  Colin was certain he understood her meaning. Unwell, was he? He felt a surge of temper at the thought of her father lying drunk somewhere, leaving his daughter to tend his spirits. He took in her dirty clothes, her solitary presence here in these woods, and his anger intensified. “Where is he now?”

  Her lashes fluttered downward. “Sleeping, most likely.”

  Colin’s jaw tautened with his anger. What manner of father allowed his daughter to work this way, only to satisfy his vices. His gaze fell to her bare feet. How could he sleep whilst his daughter went without shoes or food to eat?

  His own da had had faults aplenty, and Colin bore the worst of them in his own person, but never had his da abandoned his responsibilities to his wife or his children— leastways not when it came to supplying their basic needs.

  At first opportunity, Colin intended to face her da and to demand answers for his daughter’s sake.

  “What if we take that… thing…” He indicated the still. “…to my smith… and you can oversee the repairs and be certain ’tis fixed as it should be.”

  Her brows lifted. “You would do that?”

  Colin nodded. “Aye, lass. I can take it with me tonight, and he shall begin repairs on the morn when you arrive to instruct him.”

  Her gaze narrowed once more. “And what would you require in return?”

  “Only for you to stop weeping.”

  She gave him a wary glance. “Naught more?”

  Colin shook his head. “As for Broc, when we finish with the still, I shall take ye to see Meghan. My sister will help you, because I cannot.”

  She studied him a long instant. Colin thought she might be trying to decipher his motive. For once in his life he had none—save to ease his own conscience. And that was reason enough. Still, he couldn’t quite resign himself to help her win Broc—for two reasons. One, Broc was his friend. And two, even if he knew what to teach her, he was certain Broc would never have her after. Nay, Meghan would know better what to do. But he was determined to help where he could.

  “And there is naught you want in return for your help?” She sounded as though she disbelieved him.

  “Only one thing,” he relented.

  Her answering expression told him that she’d expected him to name a condition. “Aha!”

  “I’d like to know your name.”

  She blinked, and the surprise that registered upon her face made Colin want to laugh. “My name?”

  He winked at her. “Aye, your name, lass—and for you to forgive me for not remembering it to begin with.”

  For an instant, she didn’t answer, and Colin wondered if she were going to tell him. “Seana,” she said after a moment.

  He smiled. “Seana,” he repeated after her, testing the name upon his tongue.

  They sat together in the fading twilight, surrounded by the potent scent of her father’s spirits, and Colin felt a heady rush at the tentative smile she gave him. No ale or uisge beatha could have made him feel so good as did the gratitude in her eyes at that moment. He sat with her for a while longer, without speaking, afraid to break the moment’s spell.

  His body felt more alive in that instant than ever it had before. The burn of her father’s uisge upon the air mingled sweetly with the scent of forest green. He lapped at his lips gone dry. The night air tickled the hairs upon his arm and teased the moistness from his lips. All his senses were heightened.

  More than anything… he wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her…

  The softest breeze blew through the woodlands, sweeping hair into her face, hiding those beautiful eyes. Colin had the most incredible urge to reach out and move the strands from her face so he would not be deprived.

  At such times in the past, he might have done more. He might have reached out this moment and buried his fingers in that luscious black mane. He might have lifted her face for the kiss he’d craved from the moment he had first set eyes upon her.

  His body stirred at the mere thought.

  But he did none of those things, beyond savoring the thought of them. For the first time in his life, he took simple pleasure in the way his body felt in her presence, without the first intent to satisfy it.

  And yet he couldn’t help but wonder if she felt it too… that seductive languor in the air that made his breath more labored. That heat that stirred from deep within his own body and intensified his senses… the anticipation that quickened the beat of his heart.

  She didn’t speak, and Colin’s body hardened at the images that came to play within his thoughts, teasing him, tempting him…

  “Thank you, Colin,’ she said softly, and swallowed.

  He could see the movement in her throat, and Colin knew she felt it too.

  The sound of her v
oice, so deliciously low, like a lover’s whisper, made his heart leap. His flesh tingled where the cool night air touched his hot skin.

  He, too, swallowed with difficulty. “You’d better go home now,” he advised her.

  She didn’t speak, only stared at him, her green eyes luminous in the fading forest light. He wasn’t certain, but he thought there might be unshed tears within them.

  “’Tis growing dark,” he whispered, coaxing her.

  She’d better go.

  Before he changed his mind and seduced her right here where they sat.

  Despite her angry words and all her bluster, the look in her eyes this instant told him that if he truly wished it… she would be his tonight…

  She nodded. “Aye.” And made to rise.

  He set a hand upon her shoulder, couldn’t seem to help himself.

  He hadn’t meant to.

  He wanted to tell her to run.

  He wanted to tell her to stay.

  “G’nite,” he said. “I shall see ye on the morrow?”

  “G’nite,” she said, and placed her hand over his upon her shoulder.

  For an instant, she did nothing more, and then she brushed his hand aside, and bolted away. She stopped once to look back, and said, “Until the morrow.” And then she smiled and was gone, vanished into the forest like a sprite.

  Colin stared for the longest time at the place where she had disappeared, seeing that smile again in his mind.

  It had been a perfect smile, one that had lit even her eyes, one that warmed his heart…

  With the blink of an eye, night had fallen, and there was nothing there now but shadows where she had stood… and a pair of golden eyes twinkling back at him from the darkness.

  They disappeared the instant he spied them.

  Colin blinked, and looked again, but there was nothing there at all.

  There were those who said these woods were filled with faeries and brownies and that at night their magic lit up the forest like falling stardust, but as far as Colin was concerned those were old wives’ tales and he didn’t believe a one of them.

  It was probably just some wretched beast staring back at him… a fox or a cat, mayhap.