His Highland Rose Read online

  Annie dismounted and led her horse to the water. It dropped its nose and began drinking. She stood with her back to Iain, her rigid posture betraying her tension.

  He dismounted and let his horse make its own way to the spring to drink as he stomped up behind her. “God, lass, ye scared me half to death, riding through these woods like a demon. Have ye nay sense? Ye couldha been hurt. Or Belle…” He placed his hands on her shoulders, surprised she didn’t jerk away—and surprised to feel them shake.

  “What’s amiss? Are ye crying…or laughing?” The thought occurred to him she might be leading him on a merry chase. She wouldn’t be the first lass to run until she caught him. Come to think of it, some of those chases had been merry, indeed, if not during, then after the lass let herself be caught. But he should not be thinking about them now. Annie seemed…what? If he turned her around he’d get his answer. But something told him to let her be…for the moment.

  “Neither,” she bit out. “I’m…I dinna ken what I am. Ye’re like the tide, or the north wind, relentlessly pushing me toward something I dinna want.”

  She spun to face him, cheeks flaming, whether from the exhilaration of the ride or something else, Iain didn’t know. He knew he had to make her want him, or she’d never be his. He had to find a wife, and he wanted her. Catherine was too young, and Mary was…unknown…and unavailable. On impulse, he cupped her shoulders, as he had when he stood behind her.

  She lifted her stubborn chin, refusing to meet his gaze.

  His gaze dropped to her mouth. The moment seemed perfect for him to lean down and kiss her. So he did.

  Annie’s lips were soft and moist, beguiling him. But her whimper of surprise nearly made him pull back. He only meant to prove she did enjoy his touch. If she did not welcome his kiss, he would stop.

  She kissed him back. Her lips pressed and moved over his as if she explored a man’s mouth for the first time, testing the rasp of whiskers on her delicate cheek, the heat of his skin.

  He drew in a careful breath, not wishing to stop her, but desperate suddenly for air. Her scent filled his nose, tempting him to taste her lips with the tip of his tongue. He slid it along the curve of her upper lip, then sucked her lower lip into his mouth and pulled her closer. Her moan vibrated through his body. She tasted like nothing he’d ever tasted before—and everything he’d ever searched for among those other women. He’d never known what he needed—who he needed—was Annie Rose. But he had her now, and he didn’t intend to let her go.

  His muscles tightened, and his cock stiffened between them. If only he could take her—loving her would seal her to him and stop her talk of not marrying. Annie wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on, making him hope her resolve weakened with every kiss. He deepened the kiss, taking advantage of her sigh to plunder her mouth. The plump mounds of her breasts pressed against his chest. She closed the last sliver of distance between them and pressed against his hardness, snapping him back to reality. A lesson was one thing, taking advantage of an innocent lass quite another. He had to stop, but he didn’t want to.

  “Tell me true, Annie love, do ye enjoy my touch?”

  She sighed and met his gaze, her eyes heavy-lidded. “Aye. Too much. I shouldna, but I think I would like to enjoy some more.” She threaded her fingers into his hair.

  “I wish I could draw this place. And ye. So beautiful…” He kissed her again, taking his time exploring her mouth and kissing her throat, reveling in the little mewling sounds escaping her, the tug of her fingers tunneling in his hair. When his tongue traced the shell of her ear, she writhed against him and threw back her head on a gasp. He nearly lost control, the press and slide of her body against his hardness so firm he could feel the curved top of her thighs, the mound shielding her sweet center. He’d had plenty of other lasses, but this one got to him in a way he’d never experienced before. Not because he needed a wife. Because she was Annie, kind and smart and skilled with a bow. The way she responded to him made his hunger for her unbearable. He slid a hand up her ribs to cup her breast. His hips flexed at the juncture of her thighs, rubbing the length of his shaft against her belly. He damned the layers of clothing between them, even as he bent to take her mouth again. His need for her scared him, but also enflamed him. He was under her spell.

  “Iain!”

  He wasn’t sure what her breathless exclamation meant. Her chest heaved under his hand, and he found the hard nub of her nipple with his fingertips. He kept his touch gentle as he pinched it and whispered in her ear, “And more?”

  She groaned as he kissed her again, tangling his tongue with hers as he squeezed her breast, his other hand sliding down her back to cup the curve of her arse. So firm, clenching under his hand as her hips rocked against his in their instinctive, timeless rhythm. His cock would split the front of his breeches if he did not remove them very soon. Without thinking, he gathered a handful of her skirt and tugged it up.

  Her eyes lost their passion-drugged glaze and snapped to his. Like a cold wave, she slapped his hand from her skirt. “I ken what ye are doing, Iain Brodie,” she panted.

  “Do ye? Is it working?” The sudden return to reality jarred him, but he immediately regretted his tone.

  “Let me go,” she demanded, her chest still heaving under his palm. “I didna bring ye here for this.”

  “Why then?” He loosened his hold around her and kissed her forehead, gently, reverently, feeling the urgency of his need for her ease a little. If it helped convince her of his sincerity, he could wait. He could let her go—for now. But not forever.

  She stepped out of his embrace, moved to the spring, splashed water on her face, then cupped her hands and drank. Then she went to Belle and gathered her reins.

  He was gratified to see she looked as unsteady as he felt. Her skin glowed as pink as a rose, and her lips had swollen from his kisses. Damn, he wanted her, and damn it, he’d almost taken her. His breeches still bulged with the evidence of his desire and the pain of it brought him up short.

  Hell, her father had sent them off alone together. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, then cupped his hands and got a drink from the spring. Did he expect Iain to tame his recalcitrant daughter by bedding her? Now that she wasn’t in his arms, he could think, and he was glad she’d come to her senses before he did something to hurt her. He knew taking her would have been the wrong thing to do—underhanded and unfair to Annie. He wanted her to desire him—and it appeared she did. But his fractured sense of honor demanded she marry him because she wanted to, not because he had ruined her. Not even because her father had sent them off alone together. Or had ordered her to.

  “’Tis time we went back.”

  Her voice startled him from his self-recriminations. He stood and eased the fit of his trews, then faced her. “I…I owe ye an apology, lass.”

  She shook her head. “Nay, ’tis my fault, too. I got lost in…” She trailed off and looked away.

  In what? Lost in his kiss? In wanting him? She wouldn’t look at him, so she certainly wouldn’t tell him.

  He helped her onto Belle, then got on his horse out of habit, barely aware of what he was doing. He couldn’t look away from her. She could be frightened by what they’d just done—and nearly done—or furious. Her stony expression gave him no indication of her feelings, and his chest hurt that he couldn’t tell. They rode back in a silence even more tense than the mood he’d sensed as they rode out, before their race. She’d been determined not to marry him before they left the keep. He hoped his kisses and caresses had made the idea of having him in her bed each night seem acceptable, even desirable. But instead, he might have made his chances worse.

  * * *

  Annie paced the dimensions of her chamber, too agitated to sleep yet. Dinner had been pleasant enough, but the gleam in Iain’s eye made her pulse race. When he left with her father to share a few drams in the laird’s solar, she’d wanted to eavesdrop, but she had gone out to the stable instead to check on the puppies and ensure the young r
uffian who worked with the blacksmith wasn’t in there tormenting them.

  They were just weaned and adorable still. Their mother had already gone back to the kennel, but Annie had a deal with the stable boy to keep them here another week so they’d be used to people and horses as they got older—and smart enough to avoid trouble. The blacksmith’s apprentice had kicked one who’d followed someone out of the stable. The memory still made her angry. She’d pinned back the lad’s ears. She hoped she’d ended it, but sometimes a lad who’d hurt one animal would hurt others, too. She couldn’t bear for that to happen, especially to a bairn like the pup.

  The stable boy had assured her all was well, so she’d wandered back into the keep, eyed the closed door to the solar, sighed, and gone upstairs.

  Thoughts of Iain Brodie kept her pacing.

  He infuriated her. He’d dared to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her.

  But she’d kissed him back. She didn’t know what had come over her, but his kiss had felt like something she needed as much as she needed air to breathe. As much as she needed water to drink. At the spring, she’d wanted more of his kisses, even though she knew where they’d lead—with her married to him and gone from Rose to Brodie. She wanted more of him, and knew if she hadn’t stopped him when he started to lift her skirt, he would have given her a great deal more—unless he saw what her skirt hid. God, he wanted to draw her. Beautiful, he’d said. Despite his anger and fear for her when they’d arrived at the fairy pool, she’d seen something in his gaze when he looked around at the wee glen, the waterfall, and the spring bubbling up in the pool. He had an artist’s eye. An appreciation for beauty. For perfection. And perfect, she was not.

  He would have given her all of him. The thought made her want to cry out her longing and frustration. But she’d given up on tears after her mother died. She stroked her chest, recalling the heat of his hand on her breast. His touch had broken through her defenses, making her feel as though his hand belonged there, as though he was a part of her she’d never known she lacked. Her womb clenched, and she squeezed her thighs together at the memory of his body pressed against hers, his heat, his strength, his hardness making clear his desire to possess her.

  How could he want her so? He barely knew her. And why did he arouse in her such feelings of belonging, such sensations of need? She barely knew him. But something about Iain Brodie pulled her in the most delicious way.

  The man was bloody dangerous.

  He made the idea of marrying him, standing by his side, seeking comfort—even passion—in his strong arms, so appealing she couldn't get him out of her mind or, she feared, her heart. Yet she could not marry him. She wouldn’t be able withstand the look in his eyes when he saw what being impaled on that broken branch in the swollen burn had done to her leg. She was lucky she could walk at all, much less normally. Which she could manage, most of the time. When Belle had gotten to her and pulled her free, the pain had been indescribable. Cold shivers ran down her spine just thinking of it. But the cold water had slowed the bleeding. Belle had gotten her back to the keep, where Mary immediately put her into the healer’s care, or she would not be alive today. Her father had been away at the time, and she had begged Mary and the healer not to tell him. She’d feared he wouldn’t let her ride any more. She didn’t know if he had any idea, even today, that she owed her older sister her life.

  Mary deserved the chance to marry first. And, after years of taking care of her father’s clan, she deserved to be the wife of a laird and gain the respect she was owed. Their mother always had told them Mary, as eldest, would be the first chosen. Not Annie, especially not if she cost Mary her chance at a future with a husband and children of her own. Why couldn’t father see that? And why, in the face of all the reasons not to, did Annie still want Iain Brodie?

  Chapter 5

  “Mary’s back!” Cat’s excited cry echoed through the keep. Annie dropped her needlework and raced out into the bailey in time to see Mary and her escort of five Rose warriors dismount.

  Cat reached her first and nearly knocked her down with the enthusiasm of her greeting. Mary staggered a bit, but hugged her youngest sister while giving Annie a tired smile over the top of Cat’s head.

  “What are ye doing here?” Annie asked. “We didna expect ye back for a few more days.”

  Mary released Cat, who stayed by her side. “Da sent for me.” She shrugged. “I missed ye. And ye, ye wee scamp,” she added, ruffling Cat’s hair.

  Annie frowned as Mary’s expression turned sad, if only for a moment, her eyes downcast and her lips pressed together.

  Cat beamed at her oldest sister. “I’m glad ye are home, even if Annie isna.”

  Annie snorted. “I’m glad, too, silly.”

  Mary seemed to shake off whatever bothered her. “Where is he?” she asked, glancing around at the growing crowd gathering to welcome her home. It seemed most of the clan had joined them in the bailey.

  “Gone hunting with the two Brodies,” Cat told her before Annie could speak. “They should be back later this afternoon.”

  “Visitors from Brodie? What do they want?”

  “Why don’t we go inside so ye can refresh yerself,” Annie suggested. “And I’ll tell ye all about it.”

  It didn’t take Mary long to settle herself in her room.

  “How is Auntie Jane?” Annie asked, moving a pillow aside so she could sit in the window seat.

  Cat flopped on the bed, next to Mary.

  “She’s better. The fever broke a few days ago. Da’s summons came as she got back on her feet.”

  “Ye were kind to care for her,” Annie told her, “but we missed ye here.”

  “So tell me what has happened. Why are there Brodies at Rose? Who are they?”

  Annie cleared her throat and grimaced. “The laird’s son and heir, Iain, and a companion, Kenneth. Iain is looking for a bride.”

  “Ach, nay! And father is ever interested in strengthening alliances, so he’s considering…who?”

  “No’ ye,” Cat piped up, then sat up. “He doesna wish to lose ye, yet.”

  “Or what I do for him,” Mary muttered. “He’s made that clear enough…” She rested her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists. “Not that it matters anymore.”

  Annie started to ask what she meant.

  Mary held up a hand, waving the question away. Then she clenched her hands. “So, ye, Annie. Of course.”

  Annie nodded. “I’ve told Da I’m no’ ready. And anyway, by rights, as the oldest, ye should be given the choice, shouldn’t ye?” She crossed her arms. “If ye want it. He’ll be laird someday. Soon, I think. His father is ill.”

  Mary’s eyes closed and a stricken look passed over her face.

  Annie wondered about the glimpse of sadness she’d gotten from Mary outside, but assumed this time, she was thinking about Iain’s impending loss more than his inheritance.

  Mary straightened and laid her hands on her knees. “What do ye think of him?”

  “He’s very handsome,” Cat told her, flopping back and spreading her arms. “Tall, too. So is his friend, Kenneth. I like him better.”

  “Oh, ye do?”

  Cat shrugged. “He’s nice and he’s no’ under the same pressure as Iain, so he laughs more.”

  “Annie?”

  “Iain is…handsome, arrogant, infuriating…but there’s something about him.”

  “Ye like him in spite of himself.”

  “Nay, I like him in spite of myself. I dinna wish to marry any man I ken so poorly, but he makes me feel…”

  “How much time have ye spent with him?”

  “A fair amount. We’ve been riding twice. Yesterday, I’d hoped to go alone, but Da brought Iain out to the stable as I was getting ready and I couldna refuse.”

  “Da sent ye out alone with him?”

  Annie nodded, knowing full well what she meant. “I’d thought to lose Iain at the fairy pool when he dismounted to water his horse, so we rode there. But by the time we
reached it, we’d argued, and I wasn’t thinking and got off Belle first.” She shook her head, debating whether to tell her sisters the rest of what happened. She needed to tell someone, and Mary always gave good advice. “I’d raced him to get there, which angered and worried him. When he got to me, he put his arms around me and…”

  “And?”

  “He kissed me.”

  “Oh…”

  “And I kissed him back.”

  “Oh dear. And more?” Mary paled.

  “Oh dear? What do ye mean, ‘oh dear’? And aye, but only a little. Then we drank from the pool. As did the horses. And we left.” She glanced at Cat, then back at Mary. “He didna ruin me, if that’s what ye mean.”

  Mary sighed and wrapped her arms around her middle. “Ye’ve never heard the tale about the fairy pool?”

  Something in her tone made Annie’s blood run cold. “I guess not.”

  Cat sat up. “What tale?”

  “I heard the tale from Mother years ago. Perhaps ye were too young at the time to remember it. Cat certainly was.”

  “So what is the tale?” Cat repeated, bouncing on the bed with curiosity.

  Mary gave her a sidelong glance, as though she debated telling the story in Cat’s presence, then returned her attention to Annie. “That he kissed ye is no’ enough, but ye kissed him back. And drank from the fairy pool. Had ye no’ done those two things, ye might have escaped, but yer fate is now sealed. Ye will marry him.”

  “What? Nay! All because of a kiss by a spring?”

  “By the fairy pool. Ye sealed yer bond when ye kissed him back, and when ye both drank.” She paused and chuckled. “I dinna think the horses drinking from it plays any part in the legend. Anyway, it matters nought what else ye did…or didna do.”