Page 15 of When a Highlander Weds a Hellion
He’d revealed to the Dark Riders that he was a bastard, and he wanted respect. They had understood that, though they had told Broch that the only respect he truly needed was respect for himself and a belief in himself. He was not about to share those things, though.
“I think they could see how verra much I wanted to prove myself to others,” he said instead, which was the truth without all the details.
“Can ye show us some of the things ye learned in yer time there?” Cadyn asked, to which William nodded.
“I dunnae care to see anything he learned,” Donell snapped.
“Ye should, ye clot-heid,” Lannrick bit back. “He just knocked yer sword out of yer hand without so much as batting an eyelash.”
“We’ll all go watch him,” Kinntoch announced, giving an unmistakable warning look to his eldest son. “Come,” the laird said. He descended the dais and motioned to Broch. “Tell me of the MacLeod as we walk. I kenned his father but not the man who is laird now. Iain?”
“Aye. Iain,” Broch confirmed and began to talk of him. But he could not help wondering if Kinntoch was merely curious or if he was intent on discovering just how great of an opponent Iain would be if the Kinntoch did decide to disobey the king’s orders and start a war.
Six
Katreine gave a half-hearted glance around the loch adjacent to her family’s castle, ensured no one was near, and stripped down to her léine to wade into the water. Everyone knew she swam in the loch at night before supper, so no one should dare to come here. It was her private time. As she glided through the water, she felt the tension of the day, the strain created by inability to get Broch MacLeod out of her head, finally slipping away. She knew from speaking with her father that Broch and William would sup with them tonight, and tomorrow they would make their way to the Blackswell holding. Broch had promised not only her but her father and brothers that he would do his best to discover if the Blackswells were raiding their lands, and if they were, Broch had vowed to inform the king.
Her father had impressed upon her the importance of making Broch like them tonight, as Da implied that the fonder Broch felt toward them, the more inclined he’d be to take their side against the Blackswells and not accept the false face the Blackswells were certain to present to him. The mere idea of being near him again made her stomach flutter.
It vexed her to no end that despite telling herself she’d be guarded around him, she had been unable to put him from her mind. In fact, she’d thought of little else but him all day. When the healer was inspecting her wound this morning, Katreine had recalled the concern he’d shown her and the gentle care he’d given her. When she’d been bathing to wash away the grime from the whole ordeal, she vividly had remembered the heat of his hands upon her and the warmth of his mouth as their tongues intertwined. When she’d been in the kitchens helping to prepare supper, she’d been lost in thoughts of his seductive blue eyes and the way every single thing about the man, from his broad chest, to his powerful thighs, to the rippling muscles of his arms, to the way he wielded a sword, exuded raw masculinity and coiled power just waiting to unleash.
“God’s teeth,” she moaned, flipping onto her back to gaze upon the moon and stars. She prayed she could conquer her fascination and pull to this man she had just met.
She frowned at the twinkling stars as an image of Broch crept back into her mind. Och! She tried again to focus on something else as she floated under the high cliffs. With her eyes, she followed the line of the sharp, jagged ledge from which she often jumped into the water. For a brief moment, her heart ceased. She could have sworn she saw the silhouette of a man standing on the ridge, but then there was nothing.
She blinked and peered into the dark above. There were parting shadows but not even a glimmer of what she had thought she’d seen. Her mind was playing tricks on her, teasing her with a giant figure that reminded her of Broch. She rubbed her eyes, looked again, and still there was nothing but the rocks. The shadow was gone, just as Broch MacLeod would be on the morrow. Then she could put his probing eyes, hard muscles, and honorable deeds out of her mind. Tonight, she would be pleasant, dignified, distant, and—
A splash immediately to her right sent water over her and rolled her to the right, making her scream. She came up spewing water from her mouth and blinking. Her pulse exploded when she thought of her defenseless state, and as whoever had jumped from the cliff surged to the surface, she used the only weapon she had—her fist. She shot it out and into the chin of the man who dared to invade her private time. Her knuckles connected not with bone, as she had been expecting, but with a grip harder than any she had ever experienced. She hissed, and the iron grasp immediately lessened, and then a low, deep, familiar chuckle rolled around her.
“Lass,” Broch said, “why is it that every time we encounter each other, ye try to wound me? Do ye do that to all men?”
“Nay,” she said, wincing at her breathless voice, which had nothing to do with the fright he’d caused her and everything to do with his nearness and the way he overwhelmed all her senses. “But ye are the only man I’ve ever known who dunnae take a care around me.”
She gasped. That was it! That was why she was pulled to him. Men who’d thought to woo her had approached her as if she were a fragile thing that might break or as if they were fearful of what her father or brothers would do if they did not treat her like a delicate flower. Except, of course, the Blackswell warriors who had attempted to snatch her. But from the moment she met Broch, he seemed to see her as woman to be taken seriously.
She grinned at him, and he frowned. “Am I to assume by the smile on yer face that ye dunnae mind that I’m wary of ye?” he asked.
“Well, to be honest, I love it,” she found herself admitting. “I’ve worked verra hard to be able to defend myself, and I love that ye recognize how a woman can be deadly, too.”
“Trust me,” he said with a laugh, “I recognize it. It’s a foolish man indeed who dunnae seek to defend himself against a woman who is vexed.”
Why did he have to say such things? The sort of things that made her stomach tighten and her guard slip?
She cleared her throat, determined to stay vigilant. “What are ye doing in the loch?” she asked, instilling her normal suspicion in her voice.
“Diving for lasses,” he responded immediately and chuckled.
She had to swallow the desire to laugh with him. “Do be serious,” she chided, but it was hard to remain serious herself with his hand still firmly closed around hers as they floated face-to-face. She wiggled her fingers and tugged.
“Oh,” he said, and she could see well enough in the moonlight to know his eyes had widened and he was now staring at their hands. Had he not realized he still was holding her hand? Did that mean he was as distracted by her as she was him?
Heavens! The foolish side of her was determined to break free.
“I vow that if ye release me,” she teased, “I’ll nae strike ye.”
His laughter was so full-hearted, so natural, that her defenses slipped and she joined in. He released her hand, but neither of them moved. They treaded water there, facing each other, and she laughed as she had never done before with another. It felt wondrous and dangerous. She sensed that same tug to him as she had before, and she struggled against giving in to it.
She started to stroke backward, away from him, when he said, “I like yer brothers Cadyn and Lannrick.”
