She hadn’t even attempted delicacy.
“I think ye ken why, leannan.”
After a swift glance around the opening, he cupped her elbow and guided her to the hedge’s protective shadows. They were suitably hidden from the house behind the six-foot-high, neatly trimmed boxwood, and from this angle, not visible from the stables, either.
She surprised him by sighing deeply. Her attention swerved to somewhere over his shoulder. “If this is about the kiss, ye needna fret. I ken ye are a man of—ah—strong needs, and I’m the only unattached female—”
Jesus on the blessed cross.
Did she think he’d only kissed her because she was the only lass available?
Was her opinion of him truly so low?
“Hold there, Kendra.” He cupped her delicate shoulders, forcing her to face him. “Do ye ken how insultin’ yer suggestion that I kissed ye because ye were the only accessible woman around is? I thanked ye for honorin’ me with yer kiss because it meant somethin’ to me. I hope it did to ye, as well.”
Her bosom rose as she drew in a deep breath, and he damned himself for being unable to drag his attention away.
He’d always been a breast man.
Some men were leg men. Some adored a plump bum, and while he certainly could appreciate a shapely calf and thigh or a delectable, pear-shaped bottoms, breasts… Ah, glorious breasts. Those magnificent, impossibly soft, yet firm rounded mounds made for kissing, licking, and fondling.
And none compared to the swell of Kendra’s ivory breasts. Och hell. His loins responded with predictable enthusiasm.
Broden swallowed and forced himself to think of something—anything—else.
The earldom. Mother. My wards. The hole healin’ in my chest.
“Ye do have a rather—erm—colorful reputation, Broden. I’m nae fool. Ye dinna suddenly find yerself enamored of me.” She adjusted the basket before meeting his gaze boldly. “We shared an enjoyable kiss. Let’s leave it at that. I expect nothin’ from ye, and ye shouldna expect anythin’ from me, either.”
She made to move away, but he caught her elbow.
“’Twas more than that, love.”
Her eyes flashed, the blue and gold flecks in her irises sparking.
In surprise? Anger? Excitement?
“Was it?” She narrowed her gaze to shrewd, pewter slits. “How precisely? We’ve been at odds for years. Years, Broden! One kiss disna change that.” She waved an ungloved hand, the fingertips slightly pink from the cold. “Blame my participation on relief that ye’re recoverin’. That the dastard who shot ye didna succeed. To a wild, impetuous whim.”
“Ye dinna believe that any more than I do,” he said, surprised by the vehement emotion compelling his words.
Did she?
Her reaction suggested it meant far more.
But why this retreat?
Why this obvious effort to downplay what had happened?
She made to step around him, but he gently caught her free hand.
Her attention on his hand gripping hers, she murmured softly, “Broden, there are a dozen or more reasons for our impulsiveness, and neither of us needs to make more of the situation than what it was.”
“What are ye afraid of, lass?” Broden needed to know. To understand.
The connection had been real. Vibrant. Powerful. He was experienced enough to know what had passed between them wasn’t commonplace.
However, she wasn’t.
This phenomenon wasn’t something he’d readily relinquish, either.
She opened her mouth, her gaze softening for the briefest moment before her lashes dipped, blocking her eyes—her secrets—from his view.
“Trust me, Kendra.”
Her eyelids flew open, and she shook her head. “I canna.”
“Why no’?”
It was his turn to be blunt.
Her chest rose and fell again as if she struggled to remain calm. At last, she looked at Broden squarely.
“Ye once said I was a splotchy-faced dumplin’ with perpetually knotted hair and grubby smudges on my chubby cheeks. Yer dislike and disdain for me extends back many years. I canna believe one passionate kiss erases years of yer contempt.”
Jerking his head up, Broden narrowed his eyes, not recalling ever having said anything so harsh. “I never did. That would’ve been cruel. I’d never have been deliberately unkind to ye.”
Even in their verbal sparring, he’d never crossed the line into insulting. He’d been stern, though. Mocking. Sarcastic. Disdainful.
Hell. Weren’t they all part of the same verbal, mean-spirited arsenal?
Had he truly been belittling and disparaging her, inflicting wound after wound, and not even realized his culpability? That made him the worst sort of sod. An insensitive clodpoll.
An eyebrow winged upward, and a pained expression pinched Kendra’s pale face. A hint of embarrassment shone in her eyes until she averted her gaze. “Ye also said…,” She sucked in a wobbly breath, two bright spots appearing on her cheeks. “Ye said, ye’d never kent a lass who ate more sweets, and ye felt sorry for my horse.”
“I…”
Shite.
What could he say to that?
He raked a hand through his hair. “God,” he groaned, despising his younger, self-absorbed self. Had he ever said something so callous? Aye, she wouldn’t lie about something so humiliating. “That’s beyond contemptible. I have nae memory of sayin’ such things, but I beg yer pardon, nonetheless.”
“Ye were in yer cups.” She shot a gaze over the hedgegrow to the house. “In the library with Liam and a bottle of whisky. Ye drank a lot back then.”
Och, hell.
As a stupid, callow youth, angry about his father’s death the year he’d turned one and twenty, he’d indulged in strong spirits way too often to obliterate the gruesome memory of finding him beaten nearly to death during a robbery in Edinburgh. He’d died in Broden’s arms, and he’d exacted brutal revenge on the men responsible.
A large man, even then, Broden had attacked the thieves. They were no match for his superior size and strength. Or his grief-borne rage. He’d broken their necks. Snapped them like twigs from a tree.
An act he wasn’t proud of but couldn’t entirely repent of, either.
It was devastation on the dirty face of one of the men’s sons that still haunted him. The wee lad had tried to protect his father, just as Broden had protected his. A couple of months later, when a degree of reason had returned and gut-wrenching remorse had overcome him, he’d tried to find the lad and his family, if he’d had any.
He’d wanted to apologize and offer to help them financially. Even after searching for a fortnight, he’d had no luck. To this day, he wondered what had happened to the wee, skinny lad and remorse gnawed at his peace of mind.
That guilt had also driven him to the bottle.
When pished, he couldn’t remember much the next day, which was one reason that he never drank to excess anymore. More than once, he’d awoken in a strange woman’s bed, with no memory how he’d come to be there.
What had been a sliver of shame had expanded into full-blown self-disgust.
Kendra didn’t much like the Broden McGregor she already knew. She’d be appalled and repulsed if she knew him for the former womanizing drunkard who’d killed two men.
“I’m nae holdin’ a grudge if that’s what yer thinkin’,” she said. “It has been many years, but I canna help but think what a man says while pickled comes straight from his heart.”
Her assumption wasn’t farfetched.
“I was plump, and I had hideous red spots all over my face. I didna care much about my appearance back then. But ye see, Broden, I worshiped ye as only a silly, young lass can. Ye wounded me with yer careless words. Wounded my spirit, and it took me a long while to overcome that hurt.”
“Kendra…?” He clamped his teeth together, despising the self-centered arse who’d hurt her so long ago. “If ye say I said those untenable things, I
dinna doubt ye. I shallna insult ye by offerin’ pitiful excuses. I was an inconsiderate, unforgivable, blackguard.”
A fragile smile softened the corners of her mouth. “’Tis a long time ago. I shallna deny it stung, but I’ve tried to put it behind me. Still, until two weeks ago, ye still treated me like I had the plague.”
Because he’d been so bloody frustrated at her rejection of him. Her enmity. Now he understood why she’d rebuffed him at every turn.
“I can only beg for yer forgiveness.” He captured her hand again. Somehow, he must right the wrong he’d done. That she’d suffered from for so long. “Tell me what I must do to make it right?”
She tilted her head sideways as if confused by or uncertain of his motives. “Perhaps…” A long, uncertain paused stretched out between them before she dampened her lower lip. “Perhaps, we could start over?”
Chapter Eight
Start over?
Kendra had just blurted the first thing that had sprung to mind. A clever idea, if she didn’t say so herself. Slightly terrifying, too, if she were completely honest with herself.
Was it possible to start over?
Really, truly start over? Expunge their past, and begin fresh and new?
It astonished her how much she’d like to try.
“Aye, lass. Let’s start over.” Honesty in his gaze, a delighted grin split Broden’s face. He bent into an exaggerated, flourishing bow, and she smothered a giggle.
Never had she seen him this jovial or charming.
“My lady, I am Broden McGregor, the newly titled Earl of Montforth.” He waggled his eyebrows in a cocky, confident manner. Speaking like the stuffiest lords she encountered in Edinburgh, he droned, “Yer humble and most devoted servant.”
“Humble and devoted?” Unchecked laughter made her voice uneven.
She quite liked this carefree scamp.
She gripped her cloak and skirts, rather awkwardly given the basket she still held, and sank into a deep curtsy, as embellished as his bow had been.
“My lord. ’Tis a pleasure to make yer acquaintance.”
She batted her eyelashes while gazing up in what, she hoped, was a coquettish manner. It felt rather like she’d a bit of dust in her eye and was trying to rid herself of the annoyance.
“I am Kendra MacKay, sister to Baron Penderhaven.” As she rose, she made a sweeping gesture. “The owner of this fine estate upon whose grounds we stand. Och, and alas, I am merely Miss MacKay. No’ ‘my lady.’”
“We’ll see,” he said, his voice gone deep and suggestive.
A thrill similar to what she’d experienced when his mouth had ravaged hers so wonderfully this morning skittered across her shoulders.
Did he imply what she thought he did?
That he genuinely was considering making her his countess?
The notion was so far gone, she could scarcely frame the idea in her mind. Broden hadn’t said as much, not directly. She’d best temper any giddy responses lest she misinterpret and make a bigger fool of herself.
The delight, the anticipation, the optimism competing for dominance were secondary to the relief tunneling through her veins. Skipping happily along her spine, too. She’d taken a monumental gamble, and the risk had paid off amazingly.
So far.
She’d been given a second chance to win the affections of Broden McGregor, and by God, she wasn’t going to botch the opportunity. The past offenses and hurts she’d stuff into a chest, then lock and pack them away in a dank dungeon where they’d stay forever. Never to discourage her with their unwanted presence again.
Neither ignorant nor in denial, Kendra knew full well his reputation with the lasses.
Once, when he’d been particularly odious to her, she’d complained to Liam that Broden wasn’t fit company, hoping her brother would, at the very least, banish him from their home. Liam had tolerantly assured her much of what was said about Broden McGregor was exaggerated. In some instances, pure fabrications.
Liam had continued to encourage her and Broden to make amends. He wanted them to form an accord. How could he not? They were two of the people he most loved in the world, and as he’d told her one time, it dismayed him to see them constantly at odds.
Admiring Liam for his loyalty was one thing, but he’d been most adamant about Broden’s roguish reputation. According to Liam, Broden was not a philanderer. She hadn’t been convinced, and at the time, had said as much, too. Nevertheless, she’d been forced to concede he mightn’t be the womanizing libertine she’d painted him in her mind.
Not that Broden was a saint by any stretch of a maiden’s imagination. But if he were truly improper company, Liam wouldn’t have given him leave to spend so much time at Eytone Hall.
Her brother’s defense of Broden was heartfelt and sincere, and she began to understand his faith in the man.
Wasn’t she doing the same thing now?
Putting her faith in Broden?
Trusting that whatever this thing budding between her and Broden, it was worth pursuing?
“Does this mean ye intend to formally court me, Broden?”
Today was Kendra’s day for boldness, it seemed.
That mischievous twinkle appeared in his rich whisky-tinted eyes that she so adored. A more intent glint, hinting at a secret promise, gleamed there, too. “Aye, lass. I’ll need to speak with yer brother first. I’d no’ have his displeasure aimed toward me for oversteppin’.”
Liam would approve.
Broden was his best friend, and if Kendra was willing to accept Broden’s attention, she could fathom no reason Liam would object. Other than he’d be dumbfounded at the request. Possibly think they’d both taken complete leave of their senses. Or that Broden was making a May game of him and playing him for a clodhead or a numpty fool.
He’d believe every one of those reasons before he accepted Broden had a romantic interest in Kendra. Mayhap, it would be wise for her to be present when Broden spoke to her brother.
Yes, that was the best course.
She passed Broden the basket of apples. “Why dinna ye accompany me to the stables, and after we give the horses the apples, we can have a word with Liam?”
“We?” Skepticism skated over Broden’s lean face.
“Aye. I fear Liam will no’ believe ye unless I give my assurances that I desire yer attentions.” A flush warmed her from waist to hairline at the declaration.
A rather smug, definitely primal, male expression descended onto Broden’s features, but he only said, “Aye. I’d like to have the matter settled before I leave for England.”
Kendra’s chest cramped, reality tempering her newfound happiness.
Broden would leave tomorrow—to plunge headlong into the life of an English aristocrat. He’d now have opportunities and access to powerful people beyond anything he might’ve conceived. His life would never be the same.
How could it?
What if… What if he found that he preferred that privileged life?
If he preferred his English estate? Needed a delicate, refined English rose as his countess?
She gave herself a firm mental shake and silent scold.
No, the Broden McGregor she knew was a Highlander through and through. Scotland was in his very bones. While they had locked horns many times over the years and gone toe-to-toe with their verbal sparring, she’d never once known him to be a man who didn’t keep his word.
As they strode the path to the stables, he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. She quite liked how comfortable and natural the gesture was.
Little whiffs of his soap and cologne wafted to her.
Had he always smelled this divine?
A cow mooed, and another answered. The cattle’s thick, shaggy coats protected them from the Highland’s harsh winters. One of Kendra’s favorite things to do was to visit the newborn calves in late spring, their impossibly big brown eyes so sweet and trusting.
Lifting her face to the sky, enjoying the feeble rays of sunshine vali
antly shining through the smattering of clouds, she narrowed her eyes. The day had started well enough, but the ominous clouds gathering on the horizon portended more rain.
Perhaps even snow, given how cold it had become the past two days.
She could only hope the weather wasn’t too unforgiving, for Broden and the others departed in the morn. No matter what. Traveling in the rain was miserable enough, but in snowfall, nigh onto hellish.
They entered the stables, the comforting scents of warm horseflesh, hay, oats, and liniments filling the cozy atmosphere. As a child, she’d spent a great deal of time playing in the haylofts, often spying on Liam, Broden, and Quinn.
Sheik poked his great head over his box and whickered for Broden.
“I just rode ye,” Broden said, the smile in his voice belying any reproach. “Ye canna miss me that much already.”
Jack, the stable lad, cut a glance toward them from the box he mucked out. “He’s right fond of ye, he is, sir.”
“I think ’tis sweet,” Kendra said.
Not to be outdone, Pandora’s creamy head appeared over her gate. “Hello, my lovely,” Kendra crooned, offering the gentle mare an apple. Pandora greedily accepted her treat as Broden offered a fruit to Sheik.
Sensing they were missing out, several more horses hurried to see what the commotion was about. In a few short breaths, nearly every box had an expectant equestrian seeking an apple.
Kendra laughed and passed the basket to Jack. “There should be enough for them to each have one.”
He accepted the hamper, a wide grin of anticipation curving his mouth. “I’ll return the basket to the house when I’m done, Miss Kendra.”
“Thank ye,” she said, giving Pandora one last stroke down her smooth her neck. “We’ll go for a nice long ride soon, my sweet.” If only around the paddock and stables.
She hadn’t been permitted to ride since Broden’s shooting, and Pandora didn’t understand why she wasn’t being saddled when Kendra was in the barn.
Turning, she met Broden’s speaking gaze, her anticipation sending little tendrils of heat sneaking up her face. This was new territory for her. She wasn’t nervous, exactly, but her typical confidence had momentarily deserted her.
To Enchant a Highland Earl Page 8