Highland Redemption (Highland Pride)

by Bailey, Lori Ann

  “I heard the meeting will take place in June. Will ye be going?”

  “Nae, my father and oldest brother will be. My other brother will keep watch over the clan while they are gone, and I’ll probably be left to settle disputes.” He winked lightheartedly.

  “Do ye think the Royalists and Covenanters will find a way we can live in peace?”

  “Nae, but there is always hope.”

  They danced by the newly married couple and delighted chatter reached her ears. Nae, she would never have the bride’s infatuated look in her gaze, but she would be well cared for, safe, and content to live her life with the cordial third son of a laird who wouldn’t be required to produce heirs.

  Breaking into her thoughts, Collin pulled her closer and said, “Dinnae sacrifice yerself if ’tis no’ what ye wish. If this match is no’ right for ye, we will find another way to a truce.”

  She swallowed, afraid that her indifference had ruined her uncle’s chance for peace with Collin’s clan. “Nae, ’tis fine. I would be happy to be yer wife.”

  “Aye, that may be so, but ye dinnae look at me with fire in yer eyes.” And, she realized, he seemed quite immune to her as well.

  Her mouth fell open, but nothing came out.

  “We dinnae even ken each other.”

  Was he looking for a way out? Nae, she had to stop him. The MacPherson and her uncle would never find a peaceful solution to their feud if she jilted his son.

  “Nae, I’m pleased with ye, with us.”

  “I’m just saying to think about it. We should at least get to ken each other a little better. I’ll ask for time to come court ye on yer uncle’s island.”

  Only a short while later, Ross and Neil MacLean were stuffing her in the back of a wagon and destroying her hopes of a peaceful future. What would her uncle and Collin do when they discovered her missing? Would her chance to broker peace between the clans be destroyed?

  As she considered her options, she burrowed under the covers.

  …

  Waking on her back with Brodie’s gaze meeting hers, her heart skipped a beat.

  “Were ye watching me sleep?”

  “Aye, I was.” A lazy smile coupled with his husky voice followed. “I never got to wake to find ye next to me.”

  Sitting up quickly, she threw the blankets at him and scooted off the end of the bed while changing the subject. “I’m hungry.”

  “I am, as well,” he burred with a suggestive tone.

  She ignored him, and he must have received the message, because the bed shifted as he rose to pull on his own shoes. Making the mistake of turning around, she froze at the image before her.

  Brodie’s bare ass, lean and sculpted, looked hard as oak, but smooth and velvety at the same time, and her hand itched to close the short distance and caress the rounded globes to test the contradiction. He stretched and her eyes were drawn up the slight incline to his tapered waist, then farther to the wide expanse of his sinewy shoulders. Blood heating, she struggled with the desire that woke from some forbidden place inside her.

  He had changed over the years, and now, in the morning’s light, he was even more bonny than he had been as a youth. When he turned, she gasped at the unmistakable evidence that his thoughts had strayed in the same direction as hers. His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips and down to her still-clothed body.

  She blinked and remembered she was newly betrothed and shouldn’t be looking at a man other than her husband. Snapping her eyes closed, she tried to visualize Collin MacPherson’s face and turn her thoughts to him, but the only features she could recall were those of the man she wanted to forget. Her lids flew open.

  Giving her a wolfish grin, he tilted his head sideways in a flirtatious expression that made her want to forget the hell he’d put her through. She couldn’t help it—her mouth went dry. Or was it watering? Either way, she gulped and tried to control her racing heart. She turned her head, but it was too late. The image of his well-sculpted form was burned into her memory. His massive shoulders, taut stomach, and fully erect penis would haunt her the rest of the day. Clearing her throat, she stood and walked for the door.

  “Ye are the devil,” she muttered without turning back toward him and reached for the door.

  “Hold on. Ye cannae go without me. What if Ross and Neil are here?”

  She kept her fingers curved around the handle, but did not look; the whoosh of his plaid as he threw it over his shoulders brought some relief from the torment. The bed squeaked, and she was certain that he was pulling on his boots and would be decent, but she decided not to risk a glance.

  Another whine sounded from the bed as it protested the loss of his fine form, and gooseflesh rose on her skin as she felt the air part for him when he came up behind her. Lifting the latch and moving to open the door, she tried to flee the room, but he put his hand on her arm. She caught her breath at the light touch and looked around.

  Shaking his head, he motioned for her to step back into the small chamber, and she did. He cracked the door silently and stuck his head out, peering in both directions. After pulling the door in, he said, “’Tis clear.”

  He led the way down the stairs, but as they neared the bottom he held out a hand to stop her advance. Realizing he really was concerned the men who had abducted her would follow them, she stilled and prayed he was wrong. His head turned to scan the room for threats, then he motioned for her to continue.

  As they took a table in the empty room for a meal, a relative calm washed over her at the prospect of quenching the pain in her empty belly. Either the guests in those filled rooms had left earlier in the morning, which was likely, considering it was time for the midday meal, or there had been no others.

  She was helpless to protest when the innkeeper’s attractive, rosy cheeked daughter started ogling and openly flirting with Brodie. He seemed not to notice or care, but it burned her inside that women threw themselves at him all the time.

  When the buxom wench served him a handsome portion of eggs, the harlot bent low enough to reveal the milky expanse of her nearly exposed chest. Skye glanced down to lament that her own breasts were quite small in comparison, then ground her teeth and clenched her fists under the table. If the girl dipped any farther, she might fall out of her gown. To add to the insult, when the girl straightened, the cheeky lass didn’t even offer her any food, just plopping the rest in the middle of the table for her to fill her own trencher.

  To be fair, Brodie didn’t encourage the woman, but she could only assume his reputation preceded him, so she blamed him anyway. Tapping her foot a few times, she tried to fight the jealousy, but it irked her. What made it worse was, she shouldn’t care. She no longer had a claim to him; even more, she did not want one. But some irrational part of her said if she could not have him, no one should.

  “How long will it take us to get back to Stirling?” She drummed her fingers on the table and turned her eyes from the full-figured lass lurking in the corner, waiting to service any need Brodie had.

  “Nae, I am taking ye to Kentillie.”

  Her fingers froze. “Surely, ye can have any lass ye want. Why saddle yerself with one who doesnae want ye?”

  Something she didn’t recognize flashed in his eyes. “Ye are the only lass I ever wanted,” he countered.

  “From what I hear, ye want every lass in Scotland.” She could hear the bitterness in her tone.

  “Were ye keeping tabs on me then, sweet?” His body leaned in closer to hers. Finding it hard to breathe, she slid her chair back from the table.

  One side of his lip curled up in a wicked grin. He could see she was jealous, damn him. The dimple on that side appeared, and her heart skipped a beat. No man had the right to be so appealing, and it galled her that she still fell for his charms.

  “Dinnae call me that, rogue,” she snapped.

  He leaned back lazily. “How is it ye ken so much about me, but I havenae heard what ye have been about these last few years?”

  “I a
m a private person. I dinnae wish for my dalliances to be on display for all of Scotland.” Balling her fists, she remembered the string of events that had changed her life. She had sought out Brodie to tell him her father’s illness had worsened, and that she didn’t want to be alone. She was sure he would come sit with her while she nursed her father back to health. Not finding him at his house, she darted toward his stables and saw more than she wished to see.

  He was there. So was Nora Stewart. Brodie moved in like he was going to kiss her, but then pulled back, laughing. Her heart, already devastated by the declining health of her only family on Cameron lands, split beyond repair. Then, Brodie went down on his knee in front of Nora, and her carefully crafted world fell into ruins.

  Anger burned in the pit of her stomach. Her repeated requests for him to tell her where he’d vanished had only been met with half-truths and evasion. But now she knew why—he’d been with some harlot.

  She had been days away from her eighteenth birthday and had given Brodie Cameron her heart and soul. Only two weeks before, she had given him her body. He had told her everything she’d always wanted to hear, that they would marry, have a large family, and live happily ever after.

  Returning home and pushing aside her misgivings to focus on tending to her only parent, she vowed to confront Brodie once her father was better. But Brodie didn’t show up that night for the late meal like he usually did, or the next day when her world had fallen apart.

  She’d been all alone with her father when he’d died. She had needed Brodie to wrap his strong arms around her and let her know she would survive and she shouldn’t be afraid of being on her own because he’d always be there. But he hadn’t been. Not able to go for help, she’d spent the whole night with her father growing colder.

  She vowed she would never be alone and helpless again.

  Brodie had not even attended the funeral. Although she hadn’t planned to leave, she’d not argued when her uncle had come and taken her to his home on the Isle of Skye before Brodie even bothered to return.

  Dropping the fork, she wiped at her eyes with the sleeves of the same olive-colored gown she’d been wearing since the wedding. After jumping up, she headed for the outside before he could see how affected she still was by his betrayal and indifference. She ran for the door, but he was right behind her, catching her and spinning her to face his dark gaze before she made it through the door.

  Anger blazed in his eyes. “Until we find out why the MacLeans tried to kidnap ye, ye best keep yer head about ye, Skye, and no’ be running off. ’Tis no’ safe.”

  Chapter Five

  Brodie was gathering his pack when his gaze drifted to the south-facing window as movement caught his attention. Riders approached. Squinting, he made out a wagon and a man on horseback beside it, but they were still some distance away.

  Hell, it was Ross and Neil, although he’d done all he could to cover their tracks last night. His jaw started to tic, because these men had put their filthy hands on Skye. He dashed toward the hall to get Skye to safety before they found her.

  Relieved to see she hadn’t gone far—she held a large basket in one hand and was laughing with the innkeeper—Brodie pulled out a handful of coins and tossed them to the man. Some clinked to the floor, missing the outstretched hand of their host, and the man stooped to retrieve them. “Men approach. Keep them busy and dinnae mention we were here,” he muttered to the innkeeper.

  “Aye. I will stall them. We appreciate yer patronage,” the man reassured him.

  He clamped onto Skye’s empty hand and pulled her toward the back. She must have recognized his urgency, because she didn’t argue or pull away.

  The stables were thankfully on the north end of the property.

  Mounting the horse quickly, they were off and probably out of sight before the blackguards had reached the inn. He kept looking over his shoulder, but there was no pursuit and no sign that the men realized how close they were to catching up to them.

  “We should be going back to Stirling.” Skye protested only a few moments after they’d left the inn, and he was reminded how stubborn and strong-willed she could be. Her tenacity had seen him through some of the tougher times with his family during his youth.

  “Ye ken that isnae a good idea.” Certainly, they could double back and head for Stirling instead of Kentillie, but there were three problems with that.

  First, he’d never discover why Skye had left him or what hand her uncle played in taking her away right after her father’s death. Second, he didn’t fully understand the threat against her. If the MacLeans were after her, who else might be waiting to do her harm, and what did it have to do with the ongoing conflicts in the region?

  Which brought him to third—he had a prearranged meeting today to discuss a recent spate of activity amongst the Covenanter crusaders in the area with the second in command of the Royalist Resistance—none other than Ross’s sister, Isobel MacLean. Maybe while he was there, he could discover what her brother was up to.

  “This Neil called yer name. He kens who ye are, then?” she asked.

  “Aye. He does.”

  “Does he ken where ye live?”

  She had a valid point, but back at home, he knew the terrain and could better protect her.

  “He kens I live on Cameron lands, but no’ where. I am sure if he tries hard enough he will find it. But better to face Ross and Neil on familiar ground than somewhere I cannae properly defend ye. Anyway, when we get back, we can let Lachlan ken what is going on.”

  He smiled as he thought of his cousin Lachlan and his new wife, Maggie Murray. She would love Skye and would welcome her with open arms, not to mention all the other lasses with whom she had been friends as a child. If the Cameron women made her feel welcome, she might never want to leave.

  Knowing she’d have the protection of the entire Cameron clan, Brodie could return to days filled with delivering covert messages to dangerous people and nights hiding in the shadows, playing a game of politics that would one day destroy him and anyone he loved. Every day in this business, the risk his identity would be discovered grew, and if it were ever uncovered, Skye’s mere presence in the room with him put her life in danger.

  An image of Donald MacKay’s battered and bloody wife swaying in the wind from a tree in the spy’s own yard reminded him of what was at stake.

  Suddenly, it was Skye’s face he saw on the swinging figure, and bile rose from his gut. He would never risk exposing her to his secret life or chance letting Argyll get his hands on her.

  …

  Brodie eased up slightly on the steed but kept a steady pace. Skye began to relax, and her curves sank into him as she fell into a peaceful sleep. He inhaled her lavender scent and let his thoughts stray to a place he couldn’t afford.

  The mystery of what had happened between them still eluded him. Surely she kenned how much her father had meant to him, and he’d been destroyed when he’d returned home to find them both gone. A last minute, urgent, covert mission in Inverness had kept him away longer than intended. Wanting to assure her he would take care of her, he’d rushed to her uncle’s castle, only to be turned away, beaten nearly to death, and told Skye never wanted to see him again.

  Throwing himself into his work eased the sting of the rejection and kept him from going mad. He was now so deeply embedded in his secret world, there was no possibility of ever getting out with his life, much less exposing her to it.

  He scanned the barren, dormant trees amongst the still green pines and frozen dirt as they made their way west instead of north. Hoping Skye wouldn’t be familiar enough with the roads to know they weren’t headed straight to Cameron lands, he debated what to do with her while he met with Isobel this evening.

  Skye stirred in his arms. “’Tis so cold,” she said as she nuzzled into him. “Do ye remember that winter it was so cold, and Father was out late? Ye came over and we tried to start the fire in the hearth.” Her teeth chattered, but despite that he could hear the mirth
in her voice.

  He laughed. “Aye, I do. Ye threw all the cooking grease in the hearth. The flames were shooting up almost to the ceiling.”

  “Then ye tossed the water on it.” Her lilting glee rolled over him, warming him like the summer sun.

  “I ken better now.” Her laughter died, but she seemed more at ease.

  “Aye, me as well.” He shook his head. “Yer father tanned my hide that night. He told me to never put ye in danger again. He said I was responsible for taking care of ye.”

  After that evening, Skye’s wellbeing had become his priority. But he was young, and self-doubt, the feeling that he would never be good enough for her, had taken hold—until the Cameron laird had taken him into his confidence and given Brodie a position he thought would make him worthy of her. By then, it was too late.

  He straightened his shoulders and tilted up his chin, urging the horse forward again.

  The day Brodie overheard what her uncle said about him played in his head—that was the day he’d started his quest to uncover the truth about the MacDonald laird’s loyalties. The day he’d discovered what the Royalist Resistance was up to and how, despite their ruthlessness, they could be used as a source of information in order to protect the clan.

  The skies had been clear and the weather unusually warm for an early June day when he’d made his way to Skye’s house to share the late day meal with her and her father. Raised voices reached his ears, drawing his attention to the open windows. As he continued to approach, the argument intensified, and he heard his name mentioned.

  He flattened his body to the cool stone of the house next to the window, far enough away he wouldn’t be noticed.

  “Ye cannae mean to let her marry that farmer.”

  Brodie lurched at the raised, unfamiliar voice and the implications.

  “Aye, I do. He will make her happy.” Skye’s father, Darach, defended Brodie, and he was able to take in a shallow breath.

  “Like ye did for my sister. Ye never should have brought her here,” the imperious tone shot back, and it dawned on Brodie who the man was: the MacDonald. Skye’s uncle.