Page 2 of An Allusive Love
Scottish Highlands
Scratching at hischest, Brodie poked his face under his plaid and inhaled. His nose wrinkled. He needed a bath. Desperately. He’d report to his grandfather, the MacNaughton, then find Kirstine. He’d had a conversation with his oldest brother, Lachlan, about the future clan chief. They had a plan, and he needed to think it through aloud with Kirsty.
As he emerged from a copse of trees, a movement to his right caught his eye. A long slope of spring grass gave way to another path that led to the village of Dunderave. He pulled up his horse and leaned over its neck to get a better look below.
A flash of red and blue jumped into his vision, disappeared, followed by a screech and theclip clopof horse hooves. Brodie nudged the gelding’s sides with his heels and guided it down the hill. He came across a basket, partially filled with plants, then a wool shawl in the MacDunn tartan. At the bottom, in a shallow gully, lay a tangle of skirts and plaid, and a cursing girl. A dapple-gray pony stood on the other side of the path, sedately munching on grass.
“Weel, what do we have here?” Brodie grinned. “Are ye in need of some help, my bonny lass, or just need a wee rest?”
Kirstine pushed up on her elbows, kicked at her skirts, and righted her plaid. Somewhat. She blew the deep red locks from her eyes and squinted up at him. “Look who has come home. My brawny Brodie to the rescue.” She smiled, dark eyes lit with pleasure as she held out a hand.
He slid from the saddle, then grasped her fingers, and pulled her to her feet. “The pony doesna like ye?”
“He’s young and still a wee green. A hare dashed out in front of him, and he spooked.” She brushed off her backside, then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I was daydreaming instead of paying attention. On yer way home, then?”
He nodded and bent to help her collect the herbs that had spilled from her basket. Kirstine’s mother was the clan’s healer and sent her daughter out regularly to replenish medicinal supplies.
“What were ye dreaming about?” He retrieved the shawl that had been draped over her hair.
“None of yer business,” she replied with a smirk, then picked up her skirt and ran when he raised a bushy black brow.
Brodie caught her easily by the waist and tickled her belly as she doubled over and squealed in mock protest. She wriggled against him, and the movement startled him when a familiar pounding began low in his belly. Often a result of close contact withotherwomen. Never Kirsty. His muscles grew taut as his brain comprehended his body’s reaction to his best friend.
When her elbow drove into his gut, his breath came out in anoomph, and he let go.
They faced one another, hands on their knees, and he blinked at the warmth that rushed through him. A smile curved her pink lips. His eyes travelled from her mouth to her neckline, her breasts rising and falling as she took in deep gulps of air.
He swallowed.
Something odd stirred inside Brodie as he tried to fathom what had changed. Her eyes still reminded him of a dark cup of coffee. Her thick, cherry waves fell across her shoulders; threads of deep red tipped with gold glistened and shimmered as her body dragged in another breath. He reached out and slid a silky strand between his fingers. Her plump lips were parted, and he bent forward to ki—
Kirstine froze, her eyes wide.
He dropped the lock of hair. Their gazes locked. “For the love of saints,” he whispered. “When did ye become so lovely?”
Then the pony let out a whinny. She ducked her head and ran under his arm to collect the horse. Brodie followed behind her with the basket. Out of habit, he cupped his hands and squatted slightly to give her a leg onto the pony. A glimpse of her slender ankle and firm, stockinged calf sent a rush of heat through him.
“I need to talk to ye later.” His hand rested behind her on the blanket; his fingers absently brushed the small of her back. “Lachlan and I met up at the Thistle Inn and had a conversation about the future.”
She laid the basket on the crook of her arm and clucked to the horse. “Ye ken where to find me. I’ll be waiting as always,” she called over her shoulder.
Brodie watched her ride away.What the devil just happened?He’d been gone less than two months, and suddenly his fiddle had decided Kirsty was an attractive female. Of course, she was, but… he scowled at her retreating figure. He hadn’t eaten much. Maybe he was just lightheaded.
“Aye, that’s it. I need sustenance,” he declared to his horse as he mounted. Without another thought to the incident, he sent the gelding into an easy canter.
*
He paused atthe bottom of the lane and let out a satisfied sigh.Home.The aging castle, with its ancient round tower and square addition, had belonged to the MacNaughtons for centuries. The drafty medieval structure would continue to be the seat of their clan for generations to come—if his grandfather Calum had anything to say about it. And the man always hadsomethingto say.
A Scottish deerhound loped up from the stable. With a howl, it announced Brodie’s arrival. His grandparents emerged from the castle, Calum in his traditional belted plaid, squinting down at him, and Peigi wrapped in a shawl, waving enthusiastically. Black Angus’s long shaggy tail wagged a welcome as he took his place next to his master on the cobblestone. Calum dropped a hand to scratch the wiry, dark-gray coat.
“I didna expect to see ye until next week.” His grandfather’s broad chest expanded as he yelled, “I hope it’s no’ bad news.”
Brodie shook his head. A young stable lad with red curls came ran up to take his horse. “Ye’ll be pleased, Grandda.” Dismounting, he tossed the rein to the boy and ambled to his grandmother for a hug. “Miss me?”
Peigi nodded and poked at the faded red curls that had escaped her kertch. “Like I’d miss fresh butter on a warm biscuit.” Her green eyes slanted as she took him in. “Ye need a good meal. Ye’ve lost weight.”
Calum laughed. “The lad’s been home but a moment, and ye want to feed him already.”
