Highland Velvet Read online

  She laughed at him, then handed him a juicy piece of roast pork. She was already eating, her lips red from the kiss, glossy from the meat. She grabbed a piece of meat pie when Stephen took the pork. “How did you come to this place? Who brought the food? How did you hear about the cliff?”

  It was Stephen’s turn to laugh as he began to eat, but without Bronwyn’s gusto. He still hadn’t recovered from Bronwyn’s hand between his legs. Tam had been more than right about the convenience of the Scots’ dress.

  “Douglas went to Tam,” he said after a while, then frowned. “I wish I could teach your men to come to me,” he said in disgust. “I seem to hear everything second-hand.”

  Bronwyn had her mouth and both hands full of food. “Douglas was merely being an obedient son.”

  “Son? What are you talking about?”

  She blinked at him. “Douglas is Tam’s son.”

  “But I thought Tam’s son was killed.”

  She gave him a look of disgust as she buttered a piece of black bread. “A man may have more than one son. My father said Tam was trying to make his own clan. He has an even dozen sons, or did have until you English killed one.”

  Stephen put his hand up in defense. “Who are they?”

  “Douglas, Alex, Jarl, Francis, are the oldest. Then he has some boys who are too young to fight, and his new wife is about to bear him a new one any day.”

  Stephen chuckled. It was always the quiet ones you needed to watch.

  “You haven’t answered my questions,” Bronwyn said, not anywhere near to slowing down her eating. “And why did you bring me here?”

  “I thought the ride might cool my temper, and I didn’t want your men interfering,” he said before answering her other questions.

  “Tam tried to wake me but he couldn’t.” He gave Bronwyn a chastising look, but she ignored him. “Morag made me drink some disgusting concoction that nearly killed me. Before I could recover, I was on a horse and we were running along the cliff path. We got there just as Alex was being pulled up.”

  He put down the chicken leg he was eating and gave her a searching look. “Why did you have to go over the side? Why the hell did those men of yours allow you to do that?”

  She set down the scone she was eating. “Can’t you ever understand? I am the MacArran. It is I who allows or disallows. My men follow my orders, not the other way around.”

  Stephen rose to put more peat on the fire. His English upbringing warred within him. “But you’re not strong. What if Alex had been unconscious and couldn’t have helped you? You haven’t the muscle to lift the dead weight of a man.”

  She was patient with him, realizing that he was trying to understand. “I went myself because I’m small. There was very little room on the ledge, and I felt I could move about more easily than a large man. As for lifting Alex, I can’t lift his entire body but I knew I could get a rope under enough parts of him so that he could be pulled up. If I thought there’d been a better chance for Alex by sending someone else, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I always try to do what is best for my people.”

  “Damn!” Stephen said fiercely, then jerked her to her feet. “I don’t like hearing words of wisdom from a woman.”

  She blinked, then smiled at his honesty. “Don’t you know some good leaders who use their heads instead of their muscles?”

  He stared at her, then pulled her into his arms, his hand buried in her hair. “I was so angry,” he whispered, “I didn’t at first believe the men when they told me where you were. I don’t think I breathed until I saw that you were all right.”

  She lifted her head and looked at him, her eyes searching his face. “If I had been killed, I’m sure Tam would have given some of my estates to you.”

  “Estates!” he gasped, then pushed her head back to his shoulder. “Sometimes you are a stupid woman. I should punish you for that insult.” He wouldn’t let her move when she tried to. “I think maybe I will delay your eating,” he said huskily. He lifted her face and kissed her greedily, laughing at the grease on her lips. “You’re an earthy thing,” he said, then said no more as she slipped her arms around his neck.

  It took only moments to renew his passion. Recalling the events of the morning, his fear for her while she’d been suspended against a sheer rock wall, made him kiss her almost in desperation. He held her face in his hands, his tongue sweetly drawing on her nectar.

  He put his arms beneath her knees and carefully laid her by the fire. He took his time undressing her, unbuckling her belt, then kissing her stomach. He slid her plaid away from her hips, then kissed her legs, the whole golden length of them.

  “Come to me,” she whispered.

  But it was his turn to be the torturer. He pushed her pleading hands away, then began unbuttoning her blouse. He kissed each patch of skin at it was bared and smiled when she arched toward him.

  He only laughed when she pulled on his hair, demanding that he come to her. He shook his head vigorously, his face buried in her breasts, and her hands fell away. He sat back on his heels and looked at her. Her body was so beautiful.

  She opened her eyes to stare up at him and wondered what he was thinking. She watched as he threw off his clothes and came to lay beside her. She gasped as his skin touched hers.

  It was warm in the room, but their hot skin touching made it an inferno. “Stephen,” she whispered, the word sounding almost like an endearment.

  “Yes,” he murmured before pulling her under him.

  In spite of their passion their lovemaking was slow. They took their time with each other. Bronwyn pushed Stephen to his back once and controlled their movements. Then, as their desire rose, faster and higher, Stephen shoved Bronwyn to the floor for the last few deep, hard thrusts.

  Weak, he collapsed on top of her, his lips against her neck. Within minutes they both fell asleep.

  Two weeks later Stephen’s prediction that the MacGregor would hate Bronwyn came true.

  Stephen had spent that two weeks learning from Bronwyn’s men. That one disastrous cattle raid had shown him the need for learning to fight in the Scots manner. He learned to run, to use the heavy Claymore. He could slip in and out of his plaid in seconds. His legs grew brown and weathered, and he didn’t even mind the cold when the first snows arrived.

  As for Bronwyn, she watched him suspiciously, only relaxing her guard at night when she was in his arms.

  Stephen had changed so much in the last few weeks that it seemed a long time since that cattle raid when Bronwyn had scratched her initial on her enemy’s shoulder. The first sign Lachlan MacGregor gave of his anger was when he burned three crofters’ houses on the northern estates.

  “Was anyone hurt?” Bronwyn asked weakly when she heard the news.

  Tam pointed to a young man standing amid the ruins. He turned, and on his cheek was branded an L.

  Bronwyn put her hand to her mouth in horror.

  “The MacGregor said he’d brand all the clan before he’s finished. He said he nearly died from blood poisoning from the wound ye gave him,” Tam continued.

  She turned away and walked back to her horse. Stephen stopped her.

  “You needn’t worry that I’ll lecture you,” he said flatly when he saw her face. “Perhaps you’ve learned something from this. Now it’s my turn to settle the matter.”

  “What are you planning to do?” she asked.

  “I’m going to try to meet with the MacGregor and settle this once and for all.”

  “Meet with him!” she gasped. “He’ll kill you! He hates the English more than I do.”

  “That’s impossible,” he said sarcastically as he mounted his horse and rode away from the smoldering ruins of the houses.

  An hour later Chris was agreeing with Bronwyn. The two men, who had come to Scotland looking so much alike, were now very different in appearance. Chris still wore the English dress—a heavy velvet jacket lined in mink, satin breeches, and tight, fine woolen hose. But Stephen had changed completely; even his skin had