Page 7 of An Allusive Love
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Brodie picked upspeed and broke into a run, paying no attention to the bleating sheep that griped at him or the rhythmicthumpof his sporran against his thighs. He needed to rid himself of this tension, the tightness in his chest and… other places. Sort out what had changed between Kirsty and him in such a short time.
He’d wanted to kiss heragain. And what the hell had she been wearing? Where were her usual simple wool skirts and modest necklines? This afternoon he had seen the outline of her body through that thin gown. The beige muslin material, with light orange ribbons and embroidery, had cast a golden glow over her skin. The flimsy shawl had done nothing to cover her curves. When she’d leaned back, exposing her neck to the warm sunshine, he’d glimpsed the creamy swell of her bosom. His fingers had itched to trace the lace, slide under the delicate border, and stroke the soft fullness beneath.
A low growl worked up his throat. Was she trying to look like the proper misses that strutted about Glasgow and Edinburgh? She was a Highland lass, not a debutante.
The devil take him! Sweat dripped down his neck, under his shirt. A sweet ache penetrated his muscles the longer he ran; his lungs burned but it cleared his head. By the time he stopped at the swimming hole, he panted, hands on his knees, and sucked in great gulps of air. Then he peeled off his clothes and dove into the clear, cold water. He swam toward the waterfall and stood under it for a while. Let the falling drops pound the soreness from his shoulders and chest.
His muscles relaxed, and his natural optimism returned. He’d spent too many days in the saddle, that was all. The run had released that excess energy, the pent-up excitement from the business ventures and bustling city.
When he swam back to the rocky bank, he found his sister Brigid on the jumping boulder. She waved a cold meat pie at him, took a bite, and grinned. “Ye ken how many lasses would like to be where I am right now?”
He laughed. “Ye minx. Turn yer head so I can dry off.”
“What’s it worth to ye?”
“Does everything have to be a bargain with ye?” He sighed and ran both hands through his wet hair, smoothing it back. “What if I dinna whip yer hide when I catch ye?”
“Ye canna catch me.” She stuck out her tongue. “But since I havena seen ye in so long, I’ll do ye a favor.”
“How grand of ye, sister.” He grabbed his plaid and rubbed himself down quickly, yanking on his shirt. “I’m good.”
Brigid turned back to him, her long auburn curls flashing in the late afternoon sun. She watched him in silence as he wrapped the kilt around his waist and secured it. He sat down to put his stockings back on, and she climbed down the rock to plop beside him.
“I’m starving, sweet sister. Can ye spare half of that?” His mouth watered as she took another bite of the flaky crust.
A bit of carrot missed her mouth and plopped onto her lap. With a wicked smile, she gave her other dirty hand an obligatory wipe against her skirt, picked up the gravy-covered chunk, and tipped her head back to drop it into her open mouth.
“I’m hungry too, dear brother.” She took another bite and chewed slowly with her lids closed, groaning loud enough to set the hounds to howling. Her feet wiggled back and forth, the coarse brown skirt halfway up her calves, revealing her dirty stockings and muddy boots.
“Have ye been chasing piglets? Ye need a wash yerself, ye filthy lassie.”
“At least I’m no’ barefoot. Ma is happy I’m at least covering my toes.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I missed ye.”
Brodie grinned. He and Brigid were the youngest and had always been close. His mother said he’d been the only one who could soothe his sister as an infant. He still had a knack for calming her temper, though it took more effort as she grew older.
“Do ye want to go hawking tomorrow? Enid’s ready.” Brigid referred to the bird she’d found injured and tended to over the winter. “We’ve no’ gone since November.”
“Ye named the hawk after our cook?” he asked as he crisscrossed and tied his laces. “What was the reasoning behind that?”
“They both have a ferocious scowl but are good at what they do.”
Brodie howled with laughter. “I’ve missed ye, too, Brigid. And aye, we’ll go tomorrow.”
His sister’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve been collecting wood for the bonfire. Mairi’s asked about ye.”
Mairi. A bonny redhead with freckles, a pert nose, and ample bosom. A perfect diversion. Perhaps she’d chase away these peculiar sensations.
Brigid wrinkled her nose when he grinned. “What about Kirsty? If ye had half a brain—”
“Which I dinna, as ye and Ma often remind me when it comes to her.”
“She’s a silly thing. I dinna ken how ye put up with such giggling lasses.”
“The same way I put up with a domineering, nosy sister.” He stood and helped her to her feet. “With copious amounts of patience, humor”—he leaned over and snatched the last bite of pie while pushing her into the water—“and swift feet!”
Brodie let out a guffaw as Brigid spluttered and flapped, sending a wet spray over his head. He grabbed his shirt and sprinted up the grassy slope. His sister’s curses floated after him, most of which should never grace a lady’s ears, let alone come out of her mouth.
