Two

Brenda was in shock.

So was Galwell, but his was more of a mixture of horror and surprise. He looked between the Queen and Bothan, his eyes wide in his face as he paled.

“With pleasure,” Bothan growled softly.

Galwell gasped and reached for the pommel of the sword hanging from his hip.

He pulled the rapier free, earning a response from the royal guards. They surged forward, but the Queen held up her hand. “Do not interfere. I have said Chief Gunn has the right to demand satisfaction.”

The royal guards obeyed their queen, but several of them took a knee in front of her, making it clear they would defend their monarch should the fight come too near her.

Bothan didn’t have a sword. His larger broadsword had been left outside the home, taken by the captain of the guard. That fact didn’t give him a moment’s hesitation, though. He pulled a long dagger from his belt, his lips curving up as he faced off with Galwell. “Come here, My Lord, and discover how a Scotsman deals with slurs to his name.”

“No,” Brenda announced. She really wasn’t certain when she decided to interrupt, only that she was in motion, on her way to keep the razor-sharp point of Galwell’s rapier away from Bothan.

Maddox slipped behind Brenda, pulling her back as the men circled one another. Galwell recovered his poise as he looked at the dagger with a clear gleam of disdain in his eyes.

Brenda shuffled back at Maddox’s urging, setting her teeth against her lower lip to remain silent. The rapier was thin but deadly sharp. She’d seen the Italian weapons at court and knew they could kill with only a small wound to the chest or through an eye or the throat. Galwell handled it expertly, proving why the rapier was becoming well known in England. The rapier meant brute strength was no longer the deciding factor in a fight.

It was a weapon that could equalize a man such as Galwell against a larger one like Bothan.

“Come, Scot,” Galwell mocked Bothan. “Let’s get this finished so I can get on with my wedding.”

Bothan was moving slowly, skillfully, as he gauged Galwell’s reactions to his movements. Time became Brenda’s greatest tormentor as seconds passed by like hours. Everyone in the room knew how grave the consequences would be. They were deathly still, so much so that the first swish of Galwell’s rapier through the air made Brenda flinch.

Bothan turned his body sideways so the sharpened end of the weapon sliced through the air where his neck had been. Galwell had extended his arm with the strike, and Bothan made good use of the opening, lifting his leg and kicking out at his opponent. Galwell stumbled back with a grunt, but he twisted, angling the rapier up so the point neatly cut across Bothan’s bare thigh when he brought his leg down.

“First blood is mine,” Galwell announced.

Declaring his victory was a mistake. In that moment when Galwell was staring at the bright-red blood dripping onto the floor from Bothan’s leg, Bothan lunged forward. The rapier wasn’t any good in close-quarter fighting. Galwell learned that fact as Bothan smashed him in the face with his elbow. Galwell stumbled back, colliding with the wall. A second later, Bothan had the edge of his dagger against the Englishman’s throat.

“Trust a man such as ye,” Bothan growled, “to think a little prick is all he needs to claim victory.”

Bothan had his arm wedged across Galwell’s neck as he pressed the tip of his dagger against the soft spot in his throat. Galwell’s court shoes were slipping on the floor as he tried to gain footing and fight, but the effort was laughable when measured against the pure brawn Bothan represented. They couldn’t have been more opposite from one another.

“I suggest you yield, Galwell Scrope,” Elizabeth advised him after watching the struggle. “Else there will be a large mess for Lord Berkley’s staff to clean up.”

Galwell’s eyes were bulging. His face was red, and he’d pressed his lips together as he fought to deny the truth.

“He’s no’ worth the stain on me soul,” Bothan said in disgust.

Bothan released Galwell and turned to look at the Queen. Elizabeth Tudor’s lips lifted into a very small smile of praise.

“You have proven yourself to be more than the savage Lord Scrope claims you are,” Elizabeth said. “The matter is settled. Brenda Grant will wed you.”

“I will no’,” Brenda exclaimed. “You are a queen in yer own right. Ye of all people should understand why I have no wish to wed again.”

Bothan’s body tensed. Brenda watched the way the muscles in his neck corded. But Elizabeth chuckled softly.

“It seems you have another challenge to face, Chief Gunn,” Elizabeth said. The English Queen shifted her attention to Brenda.

“One I am eager for,” Bothan declared gruffly. “I mean no insult, ma’am, but there is nothing else in this life that could have enticed me to cross into England except Brenda Grant.”

Elizabeth returned her gaze to Bothan. One of her eyebrows rose. Bothan inclined his head, but that was as far as any manner of apology went.

“Your Majesty,” Galwell began. The Englishman had taken time to regain his poise. He was standing in perfect courtly stance, his inner leg on display for Elizabeth’s enjoyment. “I really must beg you—”

“Indeed, you should beg,” Elizabeth interrupted, her tone sharpening, “for you have played me for a fool.” The Queen was gripping the armrests of her chair. “Have you not heard me say I am a Prince? Do you dare to judge me so lacking in sense as to have my head turned by pretty words? That I do not require sincerity?”

Galwell tried to speak. “Glorianna—”

“Seal your lips!” Elizabeth snapped. “I would banish you if I did not worry you would only find another innocent to beguile. You and your family have far too much ambition to suit my taste. So you shall remain with my court, sir, in silence until I bid you speak.”

Galwell’s eyes had bulged again. His complexion was crimson and his forehead bright with perspiration. But he lowered himself in a long reverence before straightening and doing as he was told.

Elizabeth Tudor turned her attention toward Brenda. The English Queen was no longer in the first blush of youth. Brenda realized Elizabeth’s face powder hid a great many fine lines. But Elizabeth’s blue eyes were still sharp, proving her mind was not feeble.

“I do understand why you do not wish to wed, Mistress Grant,” Elizabeth said. “And yet I also understand what it is like to wait long to wed and have fate make such impossible. That is when regret shows its face.” The Queen’s gaze fluttered momentarily toward the Earl of Leicester.

Brenda started to argue, but the Queen raised her hand once more. Brenda set her teeth into her lower lip.

“Yet you are here because you understand duty,” Elizabeth continued. “I have a duty as a Prince to understand why our royal cousin James has decided it is best for you to wed. Good will between our nations benefits us all. I could not tell James I dissolved his wedding contracts.”

Galwell perked up, opening his mouth. The Queen proved how observant she was by snapping her fingers at him. “I am your master, sir!”

Galwell inclined his head instantly.

“As I said,” Elizabeth spoke once more, “I shall not dissolve the contracts out of respect for our royal cousin. However, I will have to send word to James on the matter of the challenge issued by Lord Scrope toward Chief Gunn and the outcome.” Elizabeth aimed her gaze directly at Galwell. “You, sir, have lost the dowry, and I am the witness.”

Galwell was shaking. His hands clenched into tight fists, but he lowered himself in obedience.

“I shall also witness your wedding, Brenda Grant.” Elizabeth looked at Brenda. “For to do otherwise would be to insult James. As you have proven how much you understand the necessity of performing one’s duty, I expect you to argue no further.”

Oh, ye understand.

And still Brenda wanted to scream with fury. For the briefest of moments, she’d felt the noose lifted away from her throat with Galwell’s defeat. A short-lived relief. Now she was facing Bothan and the certainty of wedding him.

Better than Galwell but still another man, set to do with her as he pleased. One she would wed for the sake of politics. She lowered herself before Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England, and watched the way the monarch’s lips curled into a soft smile.

It was nice to know someone was pleased.

* * *

Elizabeth Tudor wasn’t planning on drawing matters out. Brenda barely made it back to her pavilion before the Berkleys’ Head of House came hurrying after her. The woman was flushed from running, the front of her apron wrinkled from where she’d grabbed handfuls of it so she might lift it high.

“You must come with me back to the house, Mistress Grant,” the woman said. She stopped to drag in a deep breath. “Her Majesty has decreed the wedding shall be tonight. We must get you bathed and dressed, and there is your hair, and…” The woman stopped stammering long enough to draw in another breath. She was flustered, lifting her apron up to dab at her forehead before she lowered the fabric and sent Brenda a look designed to get her moving.

Brenda didn’t argue. Doing so would have been pointless. However, the real reason she went with the Head of House was because she desperately needed escape from her thoughts. The only way to do so was to fill her time with enough tasks to blind her to what she would be facing that night.

And there was much to do.

Brenda enjoyed the bath, taking the time to scrub herself from head to toe. She’d likely not gain another opportunity to indulge in a hot bath before she made it to the Highlands.

She had no idea what sort of home Bothan would be taking her to. Not that it mattered. Her first husband had lived in a finer castle than her father had, and she would have traded it for a croft in a moment if such a bargain would have freed her from the abuse of her husband.

Bothan will not abuse ye…

Brenda went still for a moment, closing her eyes and willing herself to believe those words. He’d never given her a reason to suspect he’d raise his hand to her. But men often changed after the wedding and bedding were over.

“Come now…out with you.” The Head of House had returned to the room in the back of the kitchen where Brenda was bathing.

The Head of House was carrying a fresh smock and stockings. She smiled as Brenda stood and a maid brought her a length of linen to dry herself with.

“The mistress has opened her own closets for you.” The Head of House beamed as she fingered the fine fabric of the smock. “This will feel like heaven against your skin.”

Brenda sat on a bench in front of the fire first so her hair would dry. She recalled well how it felt to have servants in the room without a care for her modesty. It was something else she didn’t miss. Living at Grant Tower as a widow had been some of the happiest years in her life. Even better than her childhood, for there had been no one telling her about her duty to wed. She had been her own woman.

Yes, but taking a lover didn’t satisfy ye…

It was a truth that still puzzled her. Bhaic MacPherson had shown her there was pleasure in bed sport. She’d truthfully though it nothing but a rumor made up to help men seduce women. She had certainly been disappointed after her first wedding night.

Pain she’d expected on that first night. But the reality had been so much more than what her young mind could have grasped.

There had been the physical pain. And then there had been the emotional torment.

It had been a grand match between her and the Campbells. Her father had settled a fine dowry on her, and the Campbells had been eager to ensure they claimed it before her father changed his mind. So she’d wed before turning sixteen.

She shuddered, struggling to shut the doors on the memories. But with the maids in the room and the Head of House so very content being there while Brenda was completely bare, well, Brenda discovered there was no way to ignore the similarities between her last wedding and her next one.

“Here now,” the Head of House announced when yet another maid arrived with a tray of food. “Come and eat, for you’ll likely get naught else until tomorrow.”

It was sage advice, but Brenda only managed a few spoonfuls. The Head of House propped her hands on her hips and contemplated Brenda for a long moment.

“It’s not your first marriage,” the woman stated.

“I assure ye,” Brenda answered, “I was less nervous before my first wedding, for I did not know what was to come.”

She locked gazes with the Head of House. They shared a moment of knowledge only women might truly understand.

“Yes, well, best to get on with it,” the Head of House offered.

Yes, best to get on with it indeed.

* * *

Maddox was fingering his beard, which meant he was deep in thought.

Aye, it was also likely his friend was trying not to laugh outright and give Bothan a reason to smash him across the jaw.

Bothan gave his captain a warning look, but true to Maddox’s nature, the burly Highlander grinned in spite of the warning. Bothan tightened his fingers into a fist and heard his knuckles pop.

“I cannae refuse to wear it,” Bothan defended himself. “The English Queen will be insulted if I turn me nose up at her fine wedding clothing.”

Maddox swept Bothan from head to toe. “Oh nae, we could no’ have her feelings injured.”

Bothan growled, but he turned and looked at his reflection. The room he was in had a full-length mirror. Somewhere, there might be one in the twin towers that made up the stronghold of the Gunn chiefdom, but he’d never gone looking for it. Not that he’d been chief very long. Moving into the upper floors of the towers had been enough of an elevation. He still slept in the hall more often than in the master chamber that was his now. If there were luxuries abovestairs with no purpose beyond feeding one’s vanities, he’d not taken time to notice. But he admitted he would favor something more than the rough life he’d been living.

Brenda will make yer towers into a home.

He contemplated his reflection with a little more enthusiasm. Aye, she was strong enough to not turn her nose up at his lack of a castle. The first time he’d seen her, she’d nearly singed his eyebrows off with her spirit.

She’s wild enough to draw ye upstairs too…

Perhaps he didn’t care all too much about the clothing. What mattered was the wedding. He’d intended to court Brenda, but the truth was he didn’t know much about courting either. Now, chasing a lass, that was an altogether different sort of matter. One he knew a bit more about. Brenda had ignited in his embrace. Having the right to touch her meant he’d be able to explore their reaction to one another.

And she’d take his towers and infuse them with the life inside her.

Was he besotted?

Perhaps.

Maddox was toying with his beard again, enjoying the sight of Bothan shrugging his shoulders as he attempted to get the doublet to feel better.

“You’d better get dressed too. You’re the one telling me no’ to offend the English Queen.” Bothan watched Maddox through the mirror. His captain lost his amused look when Bothan pointed at another suit of clothing lying on the bed.

Bothan chuckled at the stream of Gaelic profanity Maddox let out. His burly captain approached the velvet clothing much as he would a snake, reaching for it with two fingers to pluck it off the bed and hold it up while he scowled.

Maddox shook his head.

Bothan grunted at him.

Maddox rolled his eyes. “Only in bloody England would I be reduced to wearing something such as this!”

* * *

Brenda had come to England to wed. So there was no reason to continue to allow it to upset her.

But not at court…

Brenda tried to chastise herself over her fear. And there was no way to avoid realizing what the sensation prickling along her limbs was.

Icy…cold…dread.

Brenda struggled to stand still as she was dressed. But the source of her fear was deep inside her mind where the memories of her first wedding were impossible to avoid.

She’d been so very young. Perhaps that was why the memories seemed so sharp. As they rose up from the dark corner where she’d banished them, she felt like she was being sliced anew by the images. Even at sixteen years old she’d known there would be an inspection of her body. But no one had warned her about the bedding.

Ye must not think upon it…

Her strict instructions worked for a bit. Brenda had never been very interested in clothing, but contemplating her reflection allowed her to dwell on something besides the coming night. In an effort to please their queen, the members of the noble family who were hosting her were truly giving the wedding preparations every effort. The dress Brenda wore was of silk and velvet. A stiff slip beneath it known as a farthingale held the skirts out like a bell. The underskirt was revealed by an opening in the front of the overskirt. Pearls were sewn onto the sleeves, and the corset laced tight beneath the bodice ensured her waist was small.

The last time she’d worn something so fine she’d been a maiden.

Brenda snorted. The sound earned her a curious look from one of the maids. But the lady of the house had arrived.

“Enough now,” Lady Berkley instructed her staff. “She appears quite ready.”

The maids lowered themselves before heading for the door. Lady Berkley looked at the supper tray Brenda had barely touched.

“This is not your first marriage,” Lady Berkley remarked. “Maidenly nerves should not affect your appetite.”

The lady of the house came forward, sweeping Brenda from head to toe. But it wasn’t done coldly. No, Brenda detected a hint of maternal affection.

“Thank ye for the dress,” Brenda replied sincerely. “And for the attention of yer staff.”

The maids had done Brenda’s hair, weaving ribbons as well as pushing pins with pearls attached to them into it. The finished effect was quite pleasing. If Brenda were in the mood to enjoy it. Even if marrying wasn’t to her taste, she admitted to enjoying the way the staff worked toward making sure she was presented well.

“I would think wedding one of your own countrymen would put your mind at ease,” Lady Berkley continued.

“It does,” Brenda said. “It is wedding at court I have no stomach for.”

Lady Berkley drew in a stiff breath. Brenda watched the flash of memory in the other woman’s eyes.

“I understand,” Lady Berkley said. “Best to hope your husband concludes matters swiftly.”

Lady Berkley was doing her best, but there really wasn’t anything to be done for the matter. Court weddings meant beddings witnessed by any and all who wanted to follow the bride and groom back to their chambers.

It was a revolting custom.

Oh yes, Brenda understood it had begun as a way of ensuring men did not accuse their brides of being impure. More than one wedding had been arranged to end a bloody conflict between rival families or clans. And more than one of those unions had seen the groom attempt to discard his unwanted bride by claiming she had not been a maiden or that they had not consummated the union. So a witness from each family at the consummation was the best insurance against such allegations.

At court, though, the custom had evolved into something far worse than two unknown witnesses sitting behind screens. Now, the bedding was often a gathering of the groom’s drunken friends who leered and shouted vulgarities. Brenda recalled it well.

In spite of how hard she had tried to bury the memories.

It was strange the power the recollections had over her. She hadn’t feared anything in a very long time. Once being widowed, she had become her own woman, and yet now she felt perspiration on her forehead as the bells from the chapel started to toll.

She would not have it.

Brenda stood up and turned to face Lady Berkley. The noblewoman sent her a look of approval.

“That’s the way of it,” Lady Berkley said. “Refuse to be broken by the idea. Do what you must, and do it quickly. All in the interest of being able to banish it to the past and know it is finished. ”

Well said…

Brenda left the chamber with Lady Berkley’s words ringing in her ears. Outside the doors to the chamber, several younger girls waited. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation. They reverenced Brenda before one handed her a bunch of wildflowers tied with a ribbon. The girl giggled shyly before she and her companions took up their positions around Brenda.

They were young and innocent. To them, marriage was a time of wearing pretty gowns and sitting at a banquet table filled with delights. They would be kept busy with discussing details of the ceremony and entertainment to be presented at the banquet. The wine would flow, and the music would make it simple for the hours to fly past. Their mothers would have them all safely abovestairs in their beds by the time it came to the bedding ceremony.

Brenda had once been just like them.

Born to a good family, one that kept her closeted. She pressed her lips tightly together against a new wave of bitterness. Oh aye, she’d been a proper lamb on the way to the slaughter at her first wedding. Tonight, during the banquet, the younger girls would all be sent away under the guise of protecting them from men who had indulged in too much wine. Those younger girls wouldn’t be there to see the way the celebration turned ugly as the guests began to taunt the groom with vulgar suggestions. Nannies and maids wouldn’t dare breathe a word of the matter to their young charges for fear they’d lose their well-paying positions.

Well, ye aren’t a lamb now…

No, she’d grown into a she-wolf. Brenda had heard it whispered as she moved through the passageways of her home. It was meant as a slur, yet she embraced it. Allowed it to ring in her ears, drowning out the tolling of the bell. Somehow, she made it to the entrance of the chapel. The girls all hushed as they spied the Queen of England. Brenda sank down into a deep reverence along with them before Elizabeth raised them up.

She-wolf…

Brenda lifted her chin and strode forward. Let Bothan see her as she was, for she would not be transforming into a meek and obedient wife.

* * *

The English court had a reputation of enjoying revelry.

Brenda watched as Elizabeth Tudor’s nobles danced and feasted. And drained their goblets over and over. She wondered if any of them even tasted the fine wine the Berkleys had provided for the occasion. Lord Berkley himself was the very image of the jovial host. His cheeks were red from how much he’d smiled, and his hat came off his head every few minutes as he proudly oversaw the entire affair, greeting everyone who ventured near him.

“I doubt most of them even know who married,” Bothan spoke beside her. “Or care. It seems more important that they have a reason to feast and celebrate.”

Her new groom wasn’t any more pleased with the festivities than she was. He’d ripped open the top few buttons on his doublet and sat with one elbow braced on the tabletop as the musicians played and the nobles of Elizabeth’s court danced. His wine goblet was left untouched after only a disgusted look toward the fine glassware.

Bothan didn’t know the songs, and Brenda had only a dim memory of some of them. However, it seemed not to matter to anyone that the bride and groom sat at the table instead of enjoying the festivities. Brenda picked up her own wine glass and drank deeply to still the tremors shaking her as the candles began to burn lower and she watched the nannies begin to remove their young charges from the hall. She could feel the mood changing, like the very air was becoming soiled. A servant filled her wine glass again, and she brought it back to her lips.

Bothan reached between them and plucked the wine goblet from her fingers. “Are ye truly so displeased with yer circumstances, Brenda?”

Brenda turned her attention toward him. Somehow, she’d forgotten the way the man affected her. Consumed by her own thoughts, she’d not really given him much of her focus. Now, though, he was so very close to her, and his blue gaze was just as piercing as before. There was a flutter in her belly as her breath caught.

“Would ye truly prefer Galwell Scrope sitting here beside ye?” Bothan demanded.

His jaw was drawn tight, irritation clearly evident on his face.

“I do not care for court weddings.” Brenda didn’t care for how much of an admission her words were. Bothan’s eyes narrowed as he heard the emotion edging her tone. “I am not a child, Bothan.” Brenda had lowered her voice.

He tilted his head to one side and leveled a stern look at her.

“Ye declared to one and all that ye would have me, and I am past the age of thinking such a declaration is something I might trust as a future filled with happiness.”

She was being blunt. Most people didn’t deal well with straight talk. It might have been wiser to keep her thoughts to herself, yet some impulse had sent them past her lips.

She looked away, reaching for a piece of fruit sitting on her plate. Bothan captured her hand, closing his own around it.

He is so much larger than ye…

Brenda shuddered. It was another of those responses she held no power against when it came to Bothan. When he touched her, she felt the connection more deeply than she’d ever considered possible.

“Ye can be certain I will have us on the road north at first light, Brenda,” he assured her.

She looked back at him, drawn by the tone of his voice. She’d heard him tease her. Recalled the way he’d boasted to her. Yet this was something different. A familiarity she had no idea what to do with.

Except shy away from.

Brenda tugged on her hand. Being in contact with him unsettled her, to say the least, and she needed her composure to survive the coming night. Bothan’s eyes narrowed.

“Ye deny me, Brenda?” he asked softly. “Ye are me wife.”

The certainty in his voice made her stomach clench.

“Oh yes,” she snapped back. “Yer chattel. Well then, since the courtship has ended, let us get to the matter ye are truly interested in.”

She flattened her hands on the tabletop and pushed the heavy chair she was sitting in back. The pages behind her were caught by surprise, but they recovered quickly. They pulled her chair well away from the table, making Bothan release her hand or risk being seen fighting with her. She knew anger was an unwise thing to let rage in her for it would make her foolish, but the flare of her temper gave her the strength to charge into what was eating away at her soul.

Best done quickly…

Truer words had never been spoken.

The English nobles sent up a cheer as she stood and turned for the side of the high ground on which the head table was positioned. Bothan tried to follow her, but several of the men caught him at the bottom of the steps. They were soaked in wine, hooting and shouting as they dragged him away.

Brenda caught only a glimpse of Bothan growling at them before a flurry of women in silk skirts and starched neck ruffs surrounded her. They chuckled softly as they escorted her toward the bridal chamber. The musicians followed, along with servants with trays of food and pitchers of cider.

Her temper failed to keep the dread from her as her clothing was stripped away by the women amid their laughter and enjoyment.

“Your groom is a beast.”

“I wonder if his member measures up to the rest of him?”

“Is it true that Scots prefer to mount their wives from behind?”

“I wager he’ll not last past twenty thrusts.”

“I take your bet!”

Brenda wanted to scream, but she doubted any of them would have noticed. Instead they tugged on the laces, keeping her corset closed. Once the garment was unlaced completely, they tugged it down her arms and pulled her smock up and over her head.

“You’re pretty as can be.”

“Best we get you into bed before the men arrive with the groom.”

But Brenda wasn’t ready just yet. Someone pushed her down onto a stool as some of the ladies plucked the pins from her hair and brushed it out.

“Drink up,” a woman in a huge neck ruff said as she tried to press a goblet into Brenda’s hands. “Better to be merry while you might be.”

Brenda was certain her throat was so tight not even a drop of the cider might pass. The women had no mercy in them, or perhaps it might be better to say they simply didn’t think she minded that she was bare and they clothed. Once her hair was lying across her back in a simmering curtain, they all circled around her to inspect her. One even reached out to pinch her nipples into sharp points.

Brenda recoiled. “Do not.”

The lady lifted her hands in surrender. “As you like, dear. But men like taut nipples. Mark my words. Pinch them up, and your husband will finish in half the time!”

There was a round of laughter as the others nodded in agreement. Brenda ducked between two of them, heading for the large bed and something to help her recover her modesty. The bed ropes groaned as Brenda landed on the bed hard. She grabbed the bedding and pulled it up to her chin.

She made it none too soon, either. The men were heard coming down the passageway. The door was kicked in to the delight of the waiting women. They let out excited cheers as the musicians played and the servants poured more cider.

Brenda was certain she was near to going mad.

“Enough!” Bothan roared.

“He’s eager to get to his bride!” one of the men shouted.

“She’s ready for you!” someone else yelled.

A moment later, two of the women grabbed the bedding and yanked it from Brenda’s grasp. There was a swish and the bedding was tossed aside, leaving Brenda grabbing one of the pillows and hugging it.

“Go and get her!” a man urged Bothan.

Bothan was clad in only his shirt. He looked at the horde of English nobles waiting eagerly for him to join her in the bed. Brenda gasped as one of the women near the bed grabbed the pillow and tried to pull it from Brenda’s grasp.

“Get out!” Bothan roared. He wasn’t planning on being ignored this time. “Or so help me Christ, I’ll break every right arm in sight!”

There was a fight to get through the doorway first. Bothan’s men, who had managed to keep up with their chief, began to toss velvet-clad men toward the exit. It turned into a brawl that the musicians tried to play through until one of Bothan’s men grabbed an instrument and broke it across his thigh. A woman smirked and another one fell over as the courtiers fled from Bothan.

Brenda stared at the panic, blinking as she tried to believe her own eyes. As her brain processed the sight of her new husband kicking the last man in the rump because he was moving too slowly, her chest loosened up, allowing breath to flow freely.

“How do these bastards think themselves more civilized than us in the Highlands?” Bothan demanded on his way back into the bedchamber. He grunted in disgust as he reached down and yanked the bedding off the floor. There was a snap as he raised it high and shook it so it unfolded in the air above her. He let it settle down over her before he snorted and went to one of the tables where a servant had left a pitcher behind in his haste to escape the threat. Bothan lifted it up and took a huge swallow from the side of it. Once he lowered the pitcher, he looked at the trays of food sitting on the tables.

“They truly meant to make an evening’s entertainment out of our consummation?” Bothan muttered, revolted. “I will never understand the English.”

“The Scottish court did the same at my first wedding,” Brenda said. There really was no purpose in saying it aloud. But relief swept through her as she said it. The bedding was cold from having been on the floor, but she clutched it close to hide how badly she was shaking.

Bothan turned an incredulous look toward her. “And yer husband permitted such?”

Brenda felt the bitterness rising up inside her again. “He enjoyed it very much.”

Brenda refused to cry. She’d made an oath that night to never shed tears over the matter again. Tonight, though, she had to fight to blink away the water flooding her eyes. Success gave her a much-needed boost to her confidence. She steadied her nerves and looked at Bothan, locking gazes with him.

“Thank you for sending them out.”

* * *

Bothan wasn’t normally given to moments when he felt like his mind couldn’t process what he heard. But he was struggling with what his new bride had said. There was a pinched look on her face and a glint in her eyes that told him she’d spoken true. Never once had he witnessed her trembling, at least until that very moment.

It sickened him.

God, he hoped her first husband was in hell or at least purgatory. The man had some sins to atone for.

“Ye were young when ye wed the first time,” Bothan said. Brenda had represented something he wanted to claim, and he’d made certain to learn about her before setting out to win her. “Too young, as I recall.”

Brenda didn’t look at him. Instead she was looking past him as she pressed her lips into a hard line. She was fighting to maintain her composure. And he didn’t care to know it was his touch she was mustering her courage against.

“Sixteen is considered old enough by many,” she replied stiffly.

Brenda shuddered. Bothan watched the way memory gripped her. But she steeled her resolve and looked straight at him. “It does not matter now. I am not a child any longer.”

She lay back, making his temper flare. He moved closer to the bed. Brenda had looked away as she waited, but when he didn’t join her, she rolled her head toward him.

She had courage. But the look of resignation in her eyes chilled him to the bone.

“Ye’re right, we do nae know one another,” Bothan said, reminding her of what she’d said at the high table as their vows were being celebrated.

For all that he’d followed her to England to free her, Bothan realized he had not ever felt truly protective of her until that moment.

Now it was a powerful need washing through him, leaving him with a new, deeper understanding of the idea of winning her.

But where to start?

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching the way she eyed him.

“This is no’ the way I want to claim ye, Brenda.” As far as a beginning, Bothan wasn’t sure it was correct. She contemplated him, clearly as uncertain as he was about how to proceed.

“Ye have the rights ye followed me to get,” she informed him.

He let out a little sound of frustration. “I wanted to court ye. Ye may be very sure I’ve never written a letter to a woman before.”

She looked away, a delicate blush appearing on her cheeks.

His lips twitched in response. She was not unmoved by him.

But they were strangers. He tightened his grip on his discipline, vowing not to ruin his chance with her by acting impulsively. If he treated her like chattel, the word would be forever between them.

“As for having rights to ye,” he continued, “the English Queen provided me a way to end the royal order given by James, so I will no’ quibble too much over the details. It’s the truth I can no’ think of a better solution. She’s clever, Elizabeth Tudor.”

Brenda returned her attention to him. Bothan enjoyed the way their gazes locked. Perhaps he was seeing what he wanted, but it seemed a small step in the correct direction to have her looking at him instead of looking away and sealing herself against his advances.

Aye, it was a way to begin, at least.

“It seems we need to become less strange to one another,” he whispered.

He reached out and fingered a lock of her unbound hair. Something stirred inside him. The strength of it set him back for a moment because it was deeper than lust or longing. The same need to have more from her than he’d ever had from any other woman, leaving him uncertain as he tried to decide how to proceed. She was just like the wine glass someone had placed in front of him at the banquet, delicate and full of something he was certain would intoxicate him.

But he had to be careful to handle the glass stem with care, or it would snap and spill the contents, leaving him with naught but the scent of what he craved and no way to retrieve it.

Bothan stood before he went any further. “We’re leaving at first light. Sleep while ye can.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I came to court ye, Brenda, no’ have ye bound by duty to surrender yer body to me.” He realized he’d never meant anything more in his life.

She sat up, hugging the bedding tightly to her chest. “And if this is the only way I will give myself to ye?”

A spark entered her eyes as she spoke. It was a damned fucking relief to see it too. Bothan felt his lips rising into a grin. He leaned over, threading his fingers into her flowing hair so he could cup her head. He captured the little gasp she let out with his lips, pressing his own down onto hers in a kiss. Bothan felt her shift in uncertainty. He held her firmly as he moved his lips over hers, coaxing her passion to life.

Brenda didn’t disappoint him. She let out a little sound that was a mixture of frustration and delight before she was reaching for him. He sat on the bed so she could flatten her palms on his chest. She was kissing him back, softly at first and then with a spark of passion that stirred his member. He indulged in the moment, savoring the feeling of passion.

He wanted more…

But he pulled away, enjoying the look of bewilderment on her face.

“I will win yer trust, or ye can have an annulment,” Bothan promised her.

Perhaps he was three times a fool for leaving her. For certain, there would be plenty of men who’d advise him to have the matter of their union settled then and there so the dowry was his without dispute.

Somehow, he realized it wouldn’t be enough. Brenda had drawn him to her for more than the gain it would bring his clan, and he wasn’t going to settle for less. Even if he wasn’t completely sure what it was he craved from her.

“Good night to ye, Brenda.”

She blinked, her eyes wide with frustration. But she clutched at the bedding, her knuckles turning white as her reason returned and the passion ebbed.

“I will nae have ye blinded,” he informed her gruffly. “Ye will come to me and know full well ye choose me.”

* * *

Maddox looked up as Bothan came through the doors into the receiving chamber. The rooms themselves were all one large area with doors between the bedchamber and the receiving chamber, which was nearest to the passageway.

Maddox had pulled a trundle bed from where it was stored beneath a cupboard. His captain lifted his head and fixed him with a curious look.

“What are ye doing out here?” Maddox inquired.

Bothan grabbed his kilt from where one of the noblemen who had stripped him on his way into the chamber had left it. He shook it out before lying down and pulling some of the wool over his head. Maddox didn’t take the hint. His man kept eyeing him, as his lips curled up into a grin that begged Bothan to bury his fist in it.

“Proving my worth,” Bothan growled when he realized Maddox wasn’t going to give him any peace.

Maddox scoffed at him. “I did no’ think ye needed to be told how to go about proving yerself to yer bride, but I could give ye a few bits of advice on the matter of pleasing her—” His captain stopped talking because he was choking on his mirth. Bothan raised his head and glared at Maddox.

“What Brenda needs is to trust me,” Bothan insisted. “Something that will no’ happen if I overwhelm her. As soon as passion is satisfied, she’ll see me as naught more than another man who looks to twist her into submission. Taking what I want with no regard for what she might have chosen for herself.”

Maddox abandoned his smirking amusement. A serious look took over the man’s features. “Aye, well, ye knew when ye followed her here that her past is no’ a happy one when it comes to men. The Earl of Morton treated her as a whore.”

“He’s lucky he’s dead,” Bothan responded.

“No’ to her he is nae,” Maddox replied as he lay back down. “It would be a lot simpler if the man might be killed. For now, ye are battling a ghost locked inside Brenda’s mind.”

More like a demon. Bothan had been labeled one himself, but the Earl of Morton had been far more deserving of the insult.

The man had done truly evil deeds and allowed them to be committed to those who had the misfortune to fall under his power. Young James might be a lad in need of life experience, but he was far better than the regent who had ruled Scotland in his name. Once the Earl of Morton had been removed from power, it hadn’t taken long for Morton’s enemies to catch up with him.

Bothan grunted and rolled onto his side. He’d had his fill of royalty, even if Elizabeth Tudor had given him what he wanted. Or at least part of what he wanted.

He craved more, though.

The sight of Brenda lying so submissively in bed turned his stomach. That wasn’t the woman who had snared his attention at a May Day festival with her brazenness.

Well, he had her now. It was something to set his attention on as he lay back down to sleep.

Aye, she was his. So long as he could find a way to win her.

Bothan grinned at last. Winning what he set his mind on was something he knew a fair amount about. Brenda had best get sleep while she might because he was going to give her only until daybreak before renewing his suit.

* * *

Bothan was true to his word.

It was barely first light when Brenda woke to the sound of Bothan and his captain moving beyond the curtain that separated the bedchamber from the receiving room. Even with the window shutters still closed, she could see the light changing with the rising of the sun.

She smiled.

Joy filled her to the point of bursting as she flipped the bedding back and rolled out of the bed. She looked back at the wide expanse of the bed, realizing her host had given her such a large bed because the idea had been for her to share it with Bothan.

The man was very large.

Brenda reached for her stockings and sat down to pull them on.

Ye should not think about him…

And yet, as she tied a garter in place around the top of one of her stockings, Brenda discovered herself feeling very kindly toward Bothan.

Her husband.

She pulled the second stocking into place as she contemplated that idea.

Well, he wasn’t truly her husband, for the union was unconsummated. Advice she’d once given to Jane Stanley came to mind as she reached for her boots.

“Ye may try him and see if he is to yer liking…with no one the wiser because ye are no’ a maiden…”

Her clit decided to heat in response to the idea.

She stood and began to dress faster in an effort to banish her thoughts with work. Her quick motions made more noise though.

“Come out when ye are ready, Brenda, me men will have the horses saddled,” Bothan called through the curtain. “I have had me fill of England.”

“As have I,” she answered.

Bothan made a sound of agreement in the back of his throat. Brenda finished dressing, slowing down only long enough to ensure she tied everything in place with a good knot because Bothan’s voice promised her he intended to ride hard and long toward their home.

Something that pleased her well.

He pleased ye last night too…

Her cheeks heated as the memory of Bothan’s kiss fill her thoughts. She seemed to have no control when it came to her responses to him. Which only reminded her of her suggestion to Jane. It was true that she wasn’t a maiden. Which afforded her time to decide what to do.

Are ye really thinking to try him?

Brenda didn’t care for the surge of heat the idea sent through her. It would be like embracing madness if she gave in to her impulses. And foolish, for if any of his men took note of it, she’d be stuck wed to him, her days of being her own woman finished.

So she would simply not allow him to kiss her again.

With her choice firmly in mind, she turned her back on the fine bedchamber. She went happily, eagerly toward the road where there would be few comforts. Yet the sun was rising with the promise of a fine warm day. Winter was well behind them now, and the snow would be melting in the Highlands.

No, there would be no further kissing. No one had everything. Her cousin Symon had pledged to never make her a match. Now that Symon was wed, Brenda didn’t need to shoulder the responsibility of ensuring the clan had a clear line of succession.

No. She might be her own woman at long last.

Bothan would simply have to accept her choice in the matter.

* * *

“Your Majesty.” Robert Dudley lowered himself before the Queen of England.

Elizabeth was up early, as was her practice. She was sitting at a table set up in the garden of the estate, the morning sun shining in her hair and making it look like rubies.

“Join me, Robin.” Elizabeth indicated the chair across from her. “It seems too long since we have broken our fast together.”

Robert slid into the chair, feeling like a weight was being lifted off his shoulders. Beyond them, the nobles of her court were beginning to stir. The servants were up, attending to the task of getting their masters ready to see their monarch.

Somewhere, musicians began to play from where Lord Berkley had set them up behind some greenery. The meal was simple, fresh summer fruit and cheese along with the first bread of the day. Elizabeth reached for her small beer as horses cried out from farther down on the estate.

“I do believe our Scottish guests are intent on departing immediately,” Robert informed her.

Elizabeth smiled over the rim of her goblet, not a fancy glass one but a sturdy silver one. “Chief Gunn struck me as a wise man.”

Robert contemplated her for a moment. Elizabeth abandoned her tight control and smiled at him as freely as she had done when they were much, much younger.

“I know there were no witnesses to the consummation, Robin,” Elizabeth said softly. “Allow me to see Brenda Grant indulged in her desire to be her own woman without the shackles of duty attached to her.”

Elizabeth’s smile faded. For a moment, she looked every single one of her years, fatigue wrinkling her brow and darkening her eyes. Robert enjoyed the moment, reaching out to place his hand over hers since they were in private. Or at least as private as the Queen of England might ever be. Cat Ashley was busy working a needle through a piece of fine linen off to his right, her eyes on her needlework. Two yeomen of the guard were stationed six feet away with pole axes, their gazes straight ahead of them.

“Young James will have to be content,” Elizabeth muttered as she lifted her gaze and looked into Robert’s eyes.

Her eyes brightened as he felt his heart fill with happiness. Aye, Robert understood her well enough. There were many things they had both done because they had to. And then there was the love between them which had to be guarded carefully lest it be strangled by their positions. Elizabeth had seen her opportunity to allow Brenda Grant to return to a life where she had more choices than a queen was afforded.

Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England, would never be his wife, but Elizabeth was now and forever his truest love.

* * *

Bothan pushed hard for the border. Sleeping on English soil was something he wanted to avoid. His horses had been bred for strength and took to the journey without hesitation. His men were eager for their homeland as well.

It wasn’t that he forgot Brenda.

No, it was more a matter of thinking she had more reason than any of them to wish to be gone from England that made him press on. His bride didn’t disappoint him, either. She kept pace with them, even as they rode into the fading light and continued when a full moon rose to illuminate the road.

In the end, they slept only because the horses required the rest, rolling up in their kilts and lying on the ground.

By first light, Bothan discovered himself wondering if he’d pushed Brenda too far. But his bride was heading toward the river they’d camped near to wash without any indication she had been abused by the demands he’d placed on her.

Not that he had addressed the demands he truly wanted her to satisfy.

“How is that leg?” Maddox suddenly asked.

Bothan tilted his head to one side, giving his captain a hard look. Maddox surprised him with a wide smile. One that showed off the two missing teeth in his mouth. “Just seems, well, seeing the way Mistress Grant is intent on ignoring ye, perhaps ye might need a wee bit of tending for that wound ye suffered in getting her released from her contract with Galwell Scrope.”

Bothan narrowed his eyes. “Ye want me to whimper…like a pup?”

Maddox shrugged. “Lassies like puppies. Put them in their laps and cuddle them, they do.” His captain winked at him. “Rub them from head to tail and straight across the belly.”

Maddox was grinning at him, tempting Bothan to bury his fist in the man’s face.

“I’d no’ be able to live with meself if I—did something—so befitting a lad—” Bothan lost concentration as Brenda stopped by one of the horses. She reached up and stroked the mare’s neck.

A long, sure motion of her hand against the animal’s skin.

Christ.

Maddox was choking on his amusement, rocking on his heels as he looked up to the sky in an effort to ignore the sharp glare Bothan tried to cut him with.

“Just seems like all the pair of ye need is a little less distance between ye.” Maddox nodded with a gleam in his eyes. “Once ye’re together…well…nature can take its course.”

“Go and check the horses,” Bothan growled. “I’ll handle the courting of me own wife, thank you kindly.”

“Better to let her handle ye…” Maddox got in a parting jab before he ambled away toward the horses.

There was naught Bothan wanted more.

And yet he realized he did indeed want something more than a victory won through overwhelming her.

But Maddox was correct in one matter. Bothan and Brenda had something they needed to discuss.

And Bothan had never been a man to avoid a challenge.

* * *

They rode hard again but stopped before the sun set. Brenda slid from her saddle with a little sigh of relief. She knew how to ride, but so many hours in the saddle had her backside aching. Her skin felt like leather, dry and caked with dirt. One of Bothan’s retainers took her horse, offering her the opportunity to venture to the river’s edge and wash.

The water was cold.

Very cold.

Brenda didn’t let the chill stop her from cupping handfuls of it and splashing it onto her face. During the day, she’d bound her hair up in a length of fabric to keep the dust out of it. Now, she unwound the linen and used it to scrub her face and neck. Her skin was chilled, but it tingled too, leaving her delighted by the clean feeling.

Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew a comb. The sun was still on the horizon, promising her enough light to finish cleaning up. Reaching into her hair, she dug out the pins. After two days, her braids were fuzzy. Working the comb through the stands took patience, but her hair eventually rose into a fluffy cloud because of how long it had been braided.

“Ye’re a stunning woman,” Bothan said from behind her.

Brenda jumped. The sound of the water had filled her ears, making it possible for Bothan to approach without her realizing it.

“I’d no’ allow ye to be at risk,” he informed her as he stood. He’d clearly been watching her for some time, crouched low near the tree line, the muted colors of his plaid helping him to blend in with the foliage.

“Ye know ye are fetching though,” he continued, his gaze on her unbound hair.

“A fact that has brought me naught but grief,” she replied as she stood and came up the riverbank. Sensation was prickling along her spine, some sort of awareness of him and the fact that they were very much alone.

Bothan met her before she’d come very far, standing in her path with his feet braced shoulder-width apart. She was no stranger to men, and yet he struck her as harder and larger than any others.

Stop being childish…he is but a man…

Fine advice, only she couldn’t seem to make herself heed it. With Bothan, she responded, her composure slipping from her grip like grains of sand. The harder she tried to maintain her hold, the more it escaped through her fingers.

He reached out for her hair. Brenda felt her breath catch as a jolt of need went through her belly. She stepped back, earning a scowl from Bothan.

“Why do ye act as though me touch is something that revolts ye?” Bothan asked gruffly. “Ye enjoyed me kiss full well.”

“Only after ye insisted,” Brenda said, defending herself.

Bothan’s eyes narrowed. “Ye have no’ even tried to like me, woman.”

She hadn’t, but Brenda refused to ponder her reasoning. Instead she raised her chin and leveled a firm gaze at him. “I have no reason to long to be chattel again. Me uncle granted me freedom to be my own woman.”

She’d meant her words to be a hard refusal of anything further. It was the truth that she was trying to anger him enough to be disgusted with her stubbornness. Instead, he tilted his head to one side, his expression softening. After a moment of contemplation, he extended his hand, offering it to her.

“What are ye thinking, Bothan Gunn?” she demanded. At least Brenda had intended her words to be sharp and cutting. Instead her tone had turned husky and breathless as anticipation of being in contact with his flesh had undermined her efforts to push him away.

“I’m thinking what I found worthy of leaving me home in order to court ye was yer nature,” he replied. “If it was a fair face I’d wanted in a bride, ye can be certain I might have found one among the offers I have from men who would have an alliance with the Gunns.”

Brenda felt her breath catch again. This time emotion was surging through her, one she really couldn’t name, and yet she knew without a doubt that she liked it.

Liked it a lot.

Bothan knew it too. He read her indecision in her face as though they had some connection between them that went far beyond the normal understanding between a man and a woman.

An intimacy…

Brenda stepped back, unwilling to allow him so close to her thoughts. They were the only thing she might never be forced to share.

“A contracted bride does nae have the right to refuse me touch once I have fulfilled me duty in wedding her,” Bothan continued.

“I told ye firmly I had no wish to wed ye,” Brenda countered.

His face darkened. “Aye, ye did. Plenty of others heard it too.”

She’d been harsh. Brenda felt her cheeks heat in shame. She knew well how deeply unkindness cut. Declaring to one and all at the English court that she did not want to wed Bothan had been overly harsh.

Bothan’s gaze touched on her cheeks, his lips twitching up in approval over the color staining her face. He beckoned her with his fingers.

“Choose me, Brenda,” Bothan encouraged her. His tone was dark with promise. “Ye went to Bhaic MacPherson because ye were no’ content with the way yer husband had left ye unsatisfied. It was no’ affection that sent ye into his bed but passion and a need to discover whether women might feel pleasure during bed sport.”

“Ye would have me, knowing I willingly bedded one of yer fellow lairds?” she asked.

He lowered his hand. The motion sent a shaft of fear through her. Had she said the one thing he could not accept?

“A timid, submissive bride I might have contracted with easily enough,” he replied. “I came back for ye…for the passion I saw in yer eyes. The passion that would no’ allow ye to live yer life without tasting it. I want that passion in our union.”

Brenda was captivated by his response. So much so she didn’t realize Bothan was closing the distance between them. She tipped her head back to maintain eye contact with him. There was a flicker of intent in his eyes that enthralled her.

“And I will have ye choose to give it to me,” he rasped out as he closed his arms around her.

He didn’t kiss her though.

Brenda gasped as Bothan slipped around her. Oh, he had her sure enough, his larger arms wrapping behind her, securing her to his body as she shuddered. The contact between their bodies was a hard blow to her weakening composure, like the sun hitting the ice on a roof. At some point, it would crack, and all the water would flow out from beneath it.

“I will no’ take ye, Brenda,” Bothan whispered against her ear.

She tried to break his hold, earning a chuckle from him. Behind her, his chest rumbled with the sound while she felt his heat warming her as though she’d been freezing without the contact.

“But I promise,” Bothan continued, “I will tempt ye.”

He buried his face in the cloud of her hair. She heard him inhale deeply as his hands rubbed her from shoulder to elbow in sure strokes. Delight spread out over her skin. Beneath her bodice, her nipples drew into tight little points that begged to be released from the hard confines of the garment.

Somehow she’d forgotten how nice it was to be touched. Or maybe she hadn’t ever known and was learning it now.

With him.

“I do nae want a girl for me wife, Brenda,” he continued softly. “Ye are a woman, hardened by life’s circumstances.” Bothan lifted his head for a moment. “I am sorry for yer past, but I admire the fact that ye’ve chosen to live in spite of the harshness ye have suffered.”

“I will no’ let them break me.” Perhaps she should have kept her words to herself. But they were across her lips before she’d really thought about them. The truth was she didn’t want to waste time on contemplation.

No, she wanted to sink into the wave of sensation Bothan was stirring in her with his touch. Brenda tilted her head to the side, and Bothan needed no further encouragement. He pressed his lips to the tender skin of her neck, sending a ripple of pleasure down her body. Buried between the folds of her slit, her little pearl was awakening. Brenda knew what it craved, and she knew full well Bothan could give it to her.

Did she dare?

It wasn’t truly a matter of what she thought she wanted. Her body was hungry for passion. For all that Bhaic had shown her the pleasure there might be in bed sport, Bothan touched something deeper inside her. A wildness that craved only one thing, and that was to be taken so very completely that there was nothing except the moment.

“But I will tame ye, Brenda,” Bothan declared softly. He seemed to know her thoughts.

“Ye will…nae…” Her denial didn’t leave her mouth with the hard tone she’d intended.

No, instead she sounded breathless as Bothan slipped his hand into her bodice and boldly cupped her breast. Brenda arched, unable to stop herself from reacting. His hand felt perfect there holding her breast. Pleasure surged through her, drowning her thoughts. What was left was the churning need flicking in her insides.

“I will,” he promised as he gripped her breast and kissed her neck again.

This time he bit her. Bared his teeth and nipped her skin. The little touch of pain broke through another barrier she hadn’t realized she had. Now, her instincts were rising up, shoving aside everything she’d decided she wanted from life in favor of what she craved.

Wildness…

It was a living force inside her. Bothan felt it, sensed it. What filled her with anticipation was the way he acted upon it. He’d pulled them around so his back was to a large section of rock. Reaching down, he grasped her skirt and raised it up as he lifted one foot and placed it on a smaller rock in front of them. The evening air touched her bare thighs a moment before he was hooking her knee, lifting her foot off the ground, and opening her thighs as he dropped her leg over his.

“And ye will enjoy me showing ye the merit of being me wife,” Bothan declared boldly.

She lifted her eyelids, wondering just when she’d allowed them to slide close. The action afforded her a view of Bothan pulling her skirts up once more. This time, he flattened his right hand on the inside of her bare thigh while holding her against him with his left arm.

“I smell yer heat, lass…” he muttered gruffly as he stroked the inside of her leg.

It should have been impossible to enjoy a touch so much.

The level of intensity made no sense, and yet Brenda couldn’t deny it. She was arching once more, leaning back against Bothan as he cupped her slit.

“So…wet…” he told her darkly. “But I will nae claim ye…no’ yet…”

He stroked her slit. Brenda felt her breath catch. Her clit was throbbing so hard she felt like climax would take only a slight touch.

Bothan denied her that.

Instead he teased her, drawing his fingers along the outside edge of her slit.

“Did ye think I would give ye release quickly?” he asked as he rimmed the opening of her body with one fingertip.

“Stop toying with me,” she begged.

He offered her a soft sound of amusement before pressing his fingertip inside her. She jerked, her hips flexing toward him, attempting to push more of his length into her.

“Ye can be sure I plan to play with ye, lass.” Bothan drew his finger up her slit until it was poised over her clit.

Brenda let out a little moan.

“And there is the reason why,” Bothan muttered darkly against her ear. He flicked his fingertip across her clit. “I want to hear the sounds ye make when my touch pleasures ye.”

He renewed the motion on her clit, and there was no way she could have contained the sound of her pleasure. The level of it was simply too high, too intense. Bothan held her secure to his body as he rubbed her clit, pressing down on the little bundle of nerve endings while she was being driven closer and closer to the edge of madness.

There was no hesitating on her part. She went gladly into the storm of need. Bothan was the only solid thing in her world as he pressed her toward the final moment of rapture. It burst inside her, burning her with an intensity that left her mouth open, but no sound came from her because every muscle she had was clenching tight in that instant of pleasure. She was twisting and turning as it surged through her, racing up her body from the point at the top of her slit where his hand rested.

Brenda ended up lax and spent in his embrace. Without his support, she would have collapsed into a heap at his feet. Instead, he held her tight to his body as he sent her skirts down to cover her.

“Ye enjoy me touch well,” Bothan said a few moments later. “The ride home will give ye time to accept our union.”

Brenda blinked. Her mind didn’t want to do anything more than curl up and sleep. He’d reduced her to a boneless heap, and her temper stirred.

“I do nae want a husband.” She lifted her leg off his and moved away from him.

Bothan let her go, but gaining her freedom only allowed her to notice just how weak her knees were.

Brenda turned to send him a glare, only to fear his keen gaze saw far too much of the weakness she was trying so hard to keep hidden from him. The tops of her thighs were wet, and his lips were curved into a smug, male grin.

“Ye want me,” he informed her gruffly. “As yer lover.”

Bothan lifted his fingers to his nose. She watched the way he inhaled the scent of her body from the fluid lingering on his fingers. His eyes closed to slits as hunger drew his features tight.

“Ye wanted far more than I just gave ye,” Bothan declared. He reached out and grabbed a handful of her skirt. He was looming over her a moment later, the scent of his skin filling her senses and stirring hunger inside her once more.

She did want more…

It was a harsh truth that couldn’t be denied. At least to herself.

“I’m going to give it to ye, lass,” Bothan promised her as he held her in front of him. “But no’ until ye demand it of me.”

He smothered her reply beneath his mouth, claiming her lips in a kiss. The grip on her skirt ensured she stayed in place, but the demand of his kiss stole her breath. She wanted to resist him, but the reality was that inside her that wildness was impossible to ignore. Denying him was fighting her own nature.

There was no possible way.

So she kissed him back. Reached up and gripped his shirt to hold him in place as she rose onto her toes so she could take from him as much as he did from her. She heard him groan. Felt the way he wrapped his arms around her body, binding her to him as he cupped her nape to contain her even further.

Brenda slid her hand up and into his hair in response. She wasn’t going to be taken.

Bothan pulled away though, putting her from him when she refused to release him. Brenda glared at him, listening to her own breath as it rasped through her teeth.

His lips rose once again. There was a glitter of male victory in his eyes that drew a snarl from her. Bothan chuckled in response. The rogue reached up and tugged on the corner of his bonnet before he winked at her.

He was gone a moment later, climbing away from the river’s edge on steps she was forced to admit she didn’t hear. Bothan was hardened and very adapted to his environment. Even among Highlanders, he was considered dangerous. A man any wise person thought twice about crossing or disagreeing with.

She let out a little huff and adjusted her bodice so her breasts were in the correct position.

Well, she would be defying him.

And he deserved nothing less.

He knew she was unbridled. The very first time they’d spoken he’d confirmed he knew the gossips had plenty to say about her. And none of it was good.

Aye, unbridled…and she would be staying that way.

* * *

Bothan was watching her.

Brenda found his gaze on her more than once during the next few days.

Ye must not allow his intentions to sway ye…

She had difficulty listening to her own words of advice. Worse still was the twinge of foreboding that refused to be banished.

“Ye have no’ even tried to like me, woman…”

His words rang in her ears like the church bell did when she was trying to be lazy and sleep through morning mass, the sound attempting to draw her back to good choices instead of lingering in laziness.

“Ye enjoyed me kiss full well…”

She had, and Bothan didn’t know the full extent of the truth either. Bhaic MacPherson had been her lover, and she’d learned that a woman might in truth find enjoyment in bed sport. But she’d never been so consumed by Bhaic’s kiss.

Not in the way Bothan’s lingered in her thoughts. As though she was making a grave miscalculation in not exploring her reaction to his touch.

Bothan was pressing hard. He didn’t call a halt to their day until the sun was sinking. When he did, there was a flurry of activity as they all worked to build a camp before night fell.

The labor kept her mind occupied, and once that was done, there was darkness to take shelter in. The men were clustered around the fire. They laughed as they told stories, jesting with one another. They wouldn’t have forbidden her to sit with them, but the truth was she was avoiding Bothan.

“I see ye’re thinking on it.”

Brenda gasped, shooting up off the rock where she’d settled to enjoy her supper. Bothan caught a handful of her skirt to steady her. She’d been facing away from the fire; with his greater height, the fire behind her illuminated his features, giving her a look at the smug grin on his lips.

“It pleases me to see ye torn on the matter, Brenda,” Bothan informed her.

“Why?” she questioned him honestly. “The first time we met ye knew full well there is gossip aplenty concerning me.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, and his grin widened. “That’s the solid truth.”

“Why would ye want a wife with so much gossip attached to her name?” Brenda asked, perplexed.

Bothan studied her for a long moment. The silence left her questioning her own opinion on the matter. He was contrary to everything she’d been taught men valued.

“People talk,” Bothan began. “A wise man learns to hear what they are truly saying, which is no’ found in just the words coming across their lips.”

Brenda nodded. It wasn’t so much that she’d intended to agree with him as she just found his words striking a spot inside her where she’d never thought to ever find a like-minded soul.

“See,” Bothan explained, “those good wives are wagging their tongues over yer behavior, and the truth is they wish they had the courage to do the same.”

Brenda scoffed at him.

He offered her a shrug. “Ye are no’ the only one who was wed to a man too lazy to share the pleasure of bedding ye.”

Brenda shifted, moving a few steps away from him so she could break eye contact. Bothan grabbed the back of her skirt, moving up behind her and keeping her in front of him.

“Ye are also no’ the only woman with passion, Brenda.” He spoke close to her ear, sending a shudder down her spine as she felt his body heat wrapping around her. “Yet the truth is no’ every woman has fire in her. That is what drew me back to ye, and I will have it.”

She grunted and twisted, gaining enough space between them so she forced him to either release her or tear the pleats of her skirt off the waistband.

“It is no’ yer choice alone,” Brenda informed him. “I will not be claimed.”

She’d designed her words to be sharp, but Bothan merely smiled at her. His lips parted as he crossed his arms over his chest, making the man appear larger and stronger than he already was.

“Agreed.”

Surprise flashed through her. Any retort she might have made died as she attempted to understand his thinking.

“Since we’re wed,” Bothan explained, “it will be me pleasure to seduce ye.”

She’d stopped too close to him. The strange reaction she had to him had her forgetting just how quickly the man moved. As she caught his words and started to recoil, Bothan stepped forward, easily closing the distance between them with his larger stride. He captured her, closing his arms around her and sliding his hand up her back to grasp her nape.

Brenda stiffened. The urge to struggle was strong, but it conflicted with the knowledge that she’d only make herself more aware of his hard body if she moved too much. It wasn’t his touch she feared so much as her reaction to it.

He was poised to take a kiss, but all Bothan did was lower his head so she felt the brush of his breath on the delicate surface of her lips.

“Ye’ve been taken, Brenda,” he whispered. “And I’ve pressed ye for a response…”

A shiver went down her back. Her mind offered a perfect recollection of the way he’d sent pleasure twisting through her. And her clit throbbed softly in response to it.

“Perhaps I should have given ye more time,” he said, “before pressing ye.”

“Ye should forget the idea of having me for yer wife,” Brenda insisted, but her tone wasn’t resolved or even stern. No, it was husky and needy, and there was something else, something she didn’t want to name because she feared it might be lament.

She couldn’t change her mind. No, to be a wife was to be chattel, and for all her brave words, she feared wearing those bonds again. No one could deny her an annulment either. At least not if she was careful.

“Men often tire of their playthings once they have had them.” She sent a determined look toward him. “Ye’ll be no different.”

Her words struck him hard. She watched the way anger flared in his eyes. It wasn’t wise of her to stand her ground. Bothan was a hardened man. She knew the difference, could see it in the firm flesh exposed by the way he had his shirtsleeves rolled up. The air was still too crisp for her to bare her arms, but Bothan was used to thriving in far harsher conditions.

“Ye’re angry with me now,” Brenda stated boldly.

Bothan tilted his head to one side. “Ye’re being a shrew, sure enough.”

It was a harsh judgment, made doubly so because Brenda agreed wholeheartedly.

“What concerns me most, Brenda,” Bothan continued, “is the fact that ye behave so because ye fear what happens when we get close to each other.”

She froze, feeling her eyes widen.

“Ye’ve struck me as many things, lass, but no’ a coward.” He reached out and caught her up against his body.

She shuddered, feeling the connection as if she’d sat down in a warm bath after standing in the frigid chill of winter. Bothan captured her nape, securing her in place as she battled the urge to melt against him.

He felt so very good against her.

Like…she was touching life…

Bothan’s lips were poised over her ear, his breath brushing her skin as she felt the thump of his heart beneath where her hands had flattened against his hard chest.

“Ye’ve been hiding in yer cousin’s tower,” Bothan whispered. “Shutting yerself away. Life was unkind to ye, but are ye truly broken, Brenda?”

He shifted so their gazes met and locked. “For if ye go back to yer cousin, it’s no’ to be yer own woman, it’s to lick yer wounds and pity yerself.”

“No, that’s not what—”

Bothan smothered her retort beneath his lips. She gasped, and he took advantage of her open mouth, kissing her deeply while he controlled the way she tried to shift away from him.

And then she just didn’t want to fight anymore. No, her body warmed, awakening like she’d been deeply asleep for a long time. She smoothed her hands on his chest, needing to feel his flesh. The hold he had on her became one she enjoyed because it proved his strength to her.

She craved strength.

Craved him.

Brenda rose onto her toes so she might kiss him back. She caught the little male sound of approval he made as he met her kiss measure for measure. Pleasure spread through her, from where their mouths were fused together to her toes. It was all-encompassing and growing hotter by the second.

But Bothan pulled away, setting her back with his greater strength.

“Think on that,” Bothan insisted. “I do nae judge yer situation to be an easy one, but life is a battle. Facing it makes ye strong.”

He waited for just a moment to see his words’ impact on her before he turned and headed back toward his men.

She shivered. But it wasn’t the chill in the air that caused the action. No, it was the knowledge that he was very correct. Living with her cousin was being a coward. Symon had never labeled her such, and she doubted he ever would.

Yet she knew.

And in her heart, Brenda realized her freedom might in truth be the greatest challenge she’d ever been handed. There would be no way to blame others for her plight, for she was in charge of her circumstances.

Well, she was now that Bothan had freed her from the King’s demand that she marry.

Brenda drew in a deep breath and sat down. Her mind was full, and she realized she needed to think matters through before she behaved foolishly. It was strange how Bothan unmasked her, taking what she thought she wanted and showing it to be the worst action she might choose. He was correct, though; she wasn’t afraid of him.

But of herself.

* * *

Bothan raised his hand in the afternoon the next day. His fingers were closed in a hard fist. His men recognized the gesture instantly, pulling their horses to a stop and reaching down to sooth the necks of the animals to keep them quiet. Tension was tightening all around them as Brenda watched their expressions harden.

It was just after midday; the sun had passed overhead. With the horses still, she caught the sound of the wind. It was moving the tree branches, causing the leaves to brush together. But there wasn’t anything else. Brenda gripped the saddle of her mare tighter. No birdsong meant there was someone else near.

The sound of approaching horses came with the next gust of wind. Bothan and his men were out in the open, making it impossible to avoid being seen. Still Bothan turned his stallion to the high ground and moved toward it before the approaching column of men got any closer.

“Campbells.” Maddox identified the approaching riders by their tartan.

“They’re a fair way from home,” Bothan answered.

Maddox shrugged. “It is summer.”

Bothan’s captain might have been making the argument, but his tone made it clear he wasn’t in the mood to welcome the Campbells. Yes, it was true, summer was a season for travel and the only time to get out to market, but Maddox didn’t trust the situation.

Not that Brenda blamed him; it was a harsh world.

Brenda had experienced such before, so she couldn’t really blame Bothan or his men for being cautious. Alone on the road, well, they had to defend themselves if the approaching riders decided to attack.

It was sad to have to think in such a way, but life had forced her to look on her fellow man with suspicion through lessons she didn’t think on very often because of how much pain was associated with them.

“Chief Gunn.” The riders had arrived. “I am Hamell Campbell.”

Brenda felt her blood chill. Hamell looked at her. She knew him. One of a dozen cousins who had so often been around when she was wed. Hamell was just as hardened as Bothan. His right arm was crisscrossed with raised scars from sword cuts. He liked to fight and not only with the sword. Hamell had made a sport of female conquests, a list he’d invested a fair amount of effort in adding her to in spite of the fact that she’d been his cousin’s wife. In fact, she suspected Hamell had pressured her partially because she was wed to his cousin. She had watched more than one naive girl fall under his spell only to realize too late that she would end up beneath his boot when he’d finished with her body.

“Brenda.” Hamell greeted her by reaching up to tug on his cap. “The very person I was sent to find.”

Bothan’s men shifted closer to her. The horses didn’t care for the closeness. Her mare let out a shrill sound of distress with so many stallions in such proximity. She tried to control the animal, but the horse wasn’t having it. Brenda lost her seat, lifting her leg up and over the neck of the mare so she could at least land on her feet instead of being thrown. Bothan slid from the back of his stallion and caught the mare by the bridle, smoothing a hand down her neck as he spoke soothing words into her ear.

Two of Bothan’s retainers joined her on the ground. They pulled her away from the horses as other retainers gained control of the animals. In the end, Brenda ended up on the high ground, farther away from the Campbells and the horses. Behind her, there was the sound of rushing water.

Hamell Campbell grinned and slid from his stallion’s back. Bothan stepped into his path.

“If ye’re looking for me wife,” Bothan stated clearly, “ye can state yer business to me.”

Hamell stopped and looked at Bothan. “Word reached us about the English Queen releasing Brenda to ye. Laird Campbell is grateful for the service of bringing our kinswoman back to the Highlands.”

Hamell was speaking loudly, making sure every man with him and Bothan heard his words. Brenda felt her shoulders tighten with suspicion.

“Brenda was living with her cousin on Grant land,” Bothan answered. “I was doing Symon Grant a favor in making sure she was freed of the contract made by the king. No need for yer laird to think it had anything to do with him.”

Hamell frowned. He didn’t care for the carefully worded warning from Bothan. And it was a veiled threat, for certain. Brenda watched the way the Campbells shifted their hands closer to their weapons.

“Brenda is our kinswoman by marriage. Laird Campbell has made another match for her since she is young enough to wed once more. Her widow’s portion will stay with the Campbells,” Hamell declared firmly.

Brenda sent Hamell a hard look. “That match wouldn’t happen to be with ye, now would it?”

Hamell looked past Bothan at her. His lips curved into a grin full of arrogance. “No’ that it matters, but aye, with me.”

“Oh it matters,” Brenda informed him. “What happened to yer wife? Did ye no’ wed only last spring?”

Hamell Campbell shrugged. “Died.”

“When?” Brenda pressed the matter.

There were a few scoffs from the Campbells. It sickened Brenda to hear them, and she wasn’t going to hold her tongue either. “Wasn’t she yer fourth wife? How is it yer spouses continue to die so young and often?”

“Yer husband died young as well,” Hamell insisted. “No one spoke against ye for the misfortune.”

“Brenda is now me wife.” Bothan stepped to the side, putting his body between her and Hamell. “So ye can return to Laird Campbell and tell him there will be no match.”

“As to that matter,” Hamell continued with far too much confidence for Brenda’s taste. She felt a shiver touch her nape, like a sense of foreboding. “The match was approved by the Earl of Sutherland,” Hamell informed them firmly.

Brenda felt her belly tighten. Scotland had few nobles and even fewer of them in the Highlands. The Earl of Sutherland was Bothan’s overlord. He was also her cousin Symon’s overlord. The Campbells were being crafty by making sure they gained the earl’s approval.

Bothan snorted. “So…yer laird went sniveling to Sutherland…in order to regain Brenda’s widow’s thirds by matching her up with another Campbell.”

“Marriage is business,” Hamell replied nonchalantly. “Ye would no’ be turning down the land the King settled on her or forgetting to ask for the money due her from the Campbells if ye were able to keep her yerself.”

“I will be keeping her, be very sure of that,” Bothan informed Hamell firmly.

“Ye should have consummated yer union instead of kicking the English court out of yer bedchamber,” Hamell said frankly and with far too much glee. “Oh aye, we’ve already heard. Laird Campbell keeps some of the best hawks in the land, just so he has news faster than anyone else.”

Brenda was torn between the need to retch and the desire to shout at Hamell. But she looked at his men and realized they outnumbered Bothan’s retainers two to one. Bothan hadn’t left his land with the intent to travel all the way into England. Hamell, on the other hand, had departed from Campbell land with enough men to take Brenda by force. The look on his men’s faces confirmed they’d been told to anticipate a fight.

Bothan would make it the hardest one they’d ever faced.

But the odds were not in his favor. She felt dread filling her, rising up to drown her in just how dire the situation was. Not a single member of the Gunn party was showing fear, but she knew the odds, could see the numbers and just how experienced the men Hamell had brought with him were.

The bright-green grass she stood on was about to be watered with spilled blood.

Time was suddenly so very precious, and she was woefully aware of how much of it she’d squandered. She looked over at Bothan, soaking up the details of his form. His hair was as black as midnight, but his eyes were a deep blue. He was handsome for certain, but what she found most attractive was the way he thrived in the northernmost part of the Highlands.

She would not become his Achilles’ heel.

Hamell was grinning. She watched the bloodlust rising in his eyes as he began to reach behind his shoulder to where his sword pommel was. But the water was behind her, the sound of it telling her the river was a large one, swollen with snow melt. It was churning and crashing against the rocks that formed its bed. Bothan’s men had formed in front of her, pressing her back to where the earth had been eaten away by the water.

“I deny you!” she shouted loudly enough for the Campbells to hear her.

Brenda grasped the front of her skirts, raising the fabric up so she might run. Bothan turned his head, his eyes widening as he realized her intent. He was lifting his hand, reaching for her as she turned and bolted for the edge of the earth. The river below was just as powerful as she’d suspected. The water was frothy and white from how much strength the current had.

But she didn’t lament her choice. No, she was her own woman after all. The Campbells would never profit from her again.

* * *

The water had no mercy.

So Brenda decided she would expect none.

The current grabbed her skirts, yanking her downstream as it tried to tumble her like a leaf. She struggled to lift her head above the frothy water, fighting for every breath. She struck rocks, clawing at them in an effort to gain a handhold.

But the river was too strong.

It tore her away, tumbling her again, so she fought its grip until she was suddenly weightless. The ground gave out beneath her as she sailed over the edge of a waterfall. For a moment, she was flying, suspended in the air with the water all around her. She caught a glimpse of the green hillsides before plunging into a pool. The speed she was traveling at made her sink deeply beneath the surface of the water. She could see the sunlight above her as her lungs began to burn. Raising her arms, she pulled against the water, swimming up toward the light. Every muscle she had ached, and yet it seemed like she was never going to reach the surface.

But her fingers broke through, giving her a feeling of the air against her wet skin. She pulled her arms down again, and this time her head broke through to the air where she gasped and sputtered.

She laughed.

And coughed.

But laughed more as she looked around the edge of the pool she’d landed in. Fate had delivered some kindness to her at last in the form of dumping her out of the center of the current. There was only a gentle pull on her skirts now, and most of it was from the weight of the water.

There was a large splash, one that sent a huge wave of water up into the air. It hit her in the face as she was swimming toward the shore. Brenda blinked the water from her eyes as her feet touched the ground at last. Looking back, she watched as Bothan broke the surface of the water with a snarl.

He’d jumped in after her.

She blinked, but he was still there, his large arms fighting against the water as he turned and looked around. He froze when their gazes meet.

“What sort of fool are ye to jump in after me?” she demanded.

A chill went down her back, and Brenda realized it had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

He might have been killed.

“Ye jumped…first, woman,” Bothan replied as he swam toward her. “Ye cannae berate me for doing something ye did yerself without branding yerself a fool.”

Brenda realized there was no denying the truth of his words. Climbing out of the water took her full attention though, granting her a distraction. The rocks lining the pool were large and covered with slimy green algae. Her skirts were trailing too, the water making them impossibly heavy. She fought to make it to the shore as Bothan came out of the water with far more ease. He caught up to her and stepped past her to the shore, turning around to grasp her wrists and pull her the rest of the way.

“I did jump,” Brenda informed him. “And I’d do it again. Anything to keep Hamell Campbell from making a prize of me.”

The fact that she was drawing breath, when she’d fully expected not to be, was speeding through her veins like fire. Brenda should have been freezing, but she wasn’t.

In fact, she had never felt so alive.

Bothan was pulling his sword belt up and over his shoulder. He realized she hadn’t moved away from him, was in fact standing only a single pace from him as she propped her hands onto her hips and declared her opinion.

Their gazes locked, and the world shifted between them. She’d never felt such a connection or the need for it with another living soul. Moving away was impossible. His lips twitched up, flashing his teeth at her in the same arrogant grin he’d shown her the first time they’d met.

“Ye are just as brazen as the day I met ye.” Bothan dropped his sword belt. “’Tis the quality I like best about ye.”

She enjoyed his words.

They filled her head, burning though restraints she hadn’t realized were holding her back. What was unleashed was a desire so strong she didn’t even bother to question it. The reason was simple; she wasn’t thinking.

And Brenda decided she liked it a great deal.

She reached for Bothan, fighting to get the buckle on his belt open. The wet leather was slippery, but she grasped the end of the belt and pulled, feeling the buckle loosen as he cupped the sides of her face.

He raised her head up so their gazes met again while his kilt sagged to the ground in a wet heap.

“I want ye,” she muttered, delighted by how husky her voice was.

“Ye want to touch life,” he replied.

“Yes!” she insisted as she rose up on her toes to kiss him.

He met her halfway. It wasn’t a soft kiss now. Bothan took her mouth, and she did her best to claim him. Everything inside her was boiling. Containing it was impossible, and she didn’t want to, either. No, Brenda wanted him.

She’d never craved another man this way. She tore at his clothing, fighting to bare his skin. Having her skirts tossed wasn’t going to be enough. But she wasn’t willing to break off their kiss. So she kissed him as she tugged the lace free from where it was tucked into the front of her bodice. Popping the knot open, she drew the length of the cord from the eyelets.

Bothan pulled away from her so he could rip his shirt up and over his head. It landed with a wet sound somewhere behind him as he reached for her breasts.

“Christ, I’ve dreamed of seeing these…” Bothan cupped her breasts with only the thin layer of her smock between them.

She arched back, a little sound of delight coming from her lips. Bothan kneaded the soft mounds, sending another jolt of need through her. She fought with her waistband, opening it and tugging on the tie that held her hip roll in place. With a shove, Brenda sent the whole wet mess of her skirts down while Bothan pushed her open bodice over her shoulders and down her arms.

It left her in her smock. The fabric was soaked and sticking to her like a second skin. She stepped out of her puddled clothing, facing Bothan with a boldness many men wouldn’t approve of.

Let him see that she wanted him.

“Ye’re far more fetching than any dream, Brenda.” He moved toward her, catching the edge of her smock in his fingertips and drawing it up her body. For a moment, she couldn’t see him, but once she lifted her arms and he pulled her last garment free, she was staring up into his blue eyes.

The desire there stole her breath.

“And ye’re mine,” he rasped out before cupping the sides of her face in his large hands.

Bothan really was huge. Somehow, she forgot how much larger he was than herself when she was arguing with him. Now, as he kissed her, she felt the way he had to lean down to press his mouth against her. His shoulders were so wide and packed with hard muscle.

Brenda let out a little moan as she flattened her hands on his upper arms and stroked those ridges. He was hard, so much harder than herself. But his skin was smooth and warm.

And she craved it.

There was a burning hunger inside her that wanted more. More contact with his skin, more kisses, just more. She was twisting against him, trying to touch all of him as he did the same. His hands were in her hair and then sliding down her back to grip her bottom. A crazy jolt of need went through her as her clit seemed to awaken. The little pearl at the front of her slit began throbbing as she reached down and boldly grasped his member.

“Sweet Christ,” Bothan exclaimed as he arched his back. His neck was corded, and he grasped her hips as she drew her fingers along his length. Men liked to boast about the size of their members, but Bothan’s was thick and long.

And hard.

Her clit throbbed harder, the hunger gnawing at her insides rising to a fevered pitch. Waiting was impossible. She closed her hand tight around his girth and pumped it hard and quick. He jerked, growling as he returned his gaze to hers. There was a connection when their gazes met, one that shook her to her core. Brenda saw the flare in his eyes as his expression tightened and he drew his lips back from his teeth.

“Aye,” he growled as he gripped her hips once again. “Right now.”

Her heart was racing, but it accelerated as she heard him. She nodded as his eyes narrowed. “Right…now!” she insisted.

Bothan lifted her up and turned her so that her back was pressed hard against the flat face of a huge granite rock. Brenda locked her legs around him as the head of his cock slipped between the wet folds of her slit.

The first thrust was hard. Brenda felt her body being stretched, but there was something about the hard edge of the sensation that pleased her. She still felt like everything inside her was boiling, and she didn’t want to slow it down one bit.

No, she wanted to go faster.

Harder.

Deeper.

“Yes!” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to anchor herself.

Bothan shuddered. Inside her, his cock twitched. But he was holding back, leaning his head away from her so he might see her face.

“I would…no’…hurt ye…Brenda…” He fought to speak through the hunger that had his nostrils flaring.

Brenda bared her teeth at him. “More!”

Bothan didn’t hesitate to act upon her command. He pressed her against the stone, gripping her bottom as he thrust into her body with hard, deep motions. She was completely at his mercy, and yet the hard ride was precisely what she craved. Every thrust connected with her clit, pushing her closer and closer to the edge of insanity.

She went eagerly into the vortex, crying out with the burst of pleasure. It was so bright, so hard, she dug her fingernails into Bothan’s shoulders without realizing. There was nothing but the pleasure. It was wringing her, twisting her into a tight, throbbing knot as Bothan hammered a few final thrusts into her and spilled his seed. She felt it coating her insides, shooting out of his member in hot spurts as the walls of her passage milked him for every last bit. Her heart was thumping so hard it was near to bursting, and she simply didn’t care.

Nothing mattered beyond the moment and the feeling of her lover against her.

* * *

“I see something!”

Brenda opened her eyes as she heard horses coming closer. Bothan cursed but stepped back enough so her legs could lower to the ground. Her wits were slow, but Bothan seemed more awake. He hesitated for only a moment to ensure she was steady on her feet before he was striding over to retrieve her smock.

The sun bathed every inch of his skin. Her cheeks heated as he turned, showing off his member.

“Do nae look like that, Brenda.” Bothan had made it back with her smock. “We’re married.”

She wanted to argue, but the horses were coming closer. Clothing herself had to take priority. She grasped her smock and went around the rock they’d been up against to find some privacy.

Bothan’s men arrived a moment later.

“Christ,” Maddox declared loudly. “I swear ye tested me faith, Chief.”

“Aye,” Bothan replied. “I am no’ sure why I’m alive, but I’m properly grateful. Keep the men away; me wife requires a moment of privacy.”

Maddox made a sound that sent Brenda’s temper flaring. Oh, she knew she was taking offense over something she’d gotten herself into, but that didn’t seem to stop her from snarling when Bothan appeared.

Her thick cloak was over his arm. He stopped before handing it to her as he heard her snarl.

“Ye are determined to be stubborn about our union,” he said in a tone that betrayed how irritating he found her attitude.

Brenda lifted her chin and shot him a hard look. “Oh…I see. Ye think because I am a woman, one encounter means I’m settled in.”

One side of his mouth twitched. A look glittered in his eyes, one that sent a warning through her.

“Don’t look at me like that, Bothan,” she warned as she grabbed her cloak and swung it around her shoulders. “I am no’ going to be yer plaything.”

The wool settled around her. In the next moment, she was pulled against Bothan’s hard body. He clamped her arms against her sides as she tried to escape, one of his large hands clasping the back of her head so she was completely his captive.

She gasped, stunned by just how easily he managed to subdue her. Her temper flickered, and then there was something else stirring deeper inside her belly. A response she detested because it was the opposite of what she’d decided she wanted to feel for him.

But the ache in her passage was confirmation of how conflicted she was.

“Be very sure of one matter,” he warned her in a husky tone. His eyes glittered with promise as his breath teased the sensitive surface of her lips. “I intend to enjoy ye and make very certain ye find pleasure in being had.”

He kissed her. A hard and demanding press of his mouth onto hers. There was no teasing motion from his lips, just the determination to press her to yield. She wanted to resist, but he held her head in position as he took her mouth. Whatever she might have decided she wanted died in a sizzle of rekindled passion. His kiss sent her insides twisting. An insane shaft of pleasure went through her, numbing her to logical reasoning and anything that didn’t include kissing him in return.

He lifted his head from hers a moment later, staring down into her eyes as she blinked and tried to decide why he’d stopped.

“Ye will be mine, Brenda.”

He left her with his words ringing in her ears. Her lips still tingled from his kiss, and her skin yearned to make contact with his. The world around her was cold without his embrace.

And all of it scared her nearly to death.

* * *

“Seems the pair of ye have settled matters between ye.” Maddox waited until after moonrise to voice what was on his mind.

Bothan tossed down a twig he’d been snapping into pieces. The fire they’d built and cooked over was out now, even the embers covered up to avoid any of the Campbells seeing the light if they still had a mind to fight.

“Naught is settled,” Bothan answered while scanning the area in front of him. Maddox was beside him, looking the opposite direction as they took the first round of watch. “However, I did nae expect a woman such as Brenda to accept me easily.”

“Glad to hear ye knew that little bit afore ye had us ride all the way to England for her,” Maddox responded. “That female is unbridled, and I do no’ mean it as an insult.”

Bothan didn’t answer. He was too easily angered when it came to the topic of his new wife. Trust took time to grow though, more time than he seemed to have the patience for.

But he felt the rise of heat in his loins as the memory of their encounter filled his mind. She craved him as much as he was drawn to her. Whatever was between them, it was stronger than either of their wills.

Caught between the intensity of the pull toward her and the frustration she left him with when she pushed him back, Bothan discovered himself contemplating the form of his wife where she was sleeping. She took to the road as well as he’d expected, pulling her arisaid up and over her head and settling down to sleep like any of his men.

Aye, she was well suited to him.

His life was a challenge. One many of the brides offered to him wouldn’t have faced with such ease. Hamell Campbell had best hope he never crossed Bothan’s path again because Bothan wasn’t giving Brenda up.

Ever.

* * *

“Ye are ignoring me,” Bothan accused the next night.

They’d stopped and built two fires. Several of the Gunn retainers had split off from their party early in the day, rejoining just before they stopped with a dozen rabbits. The game was cleaned and spitted by the entire group while they talked.

But the Gunn retainers kept their voices low.

Bothan had broken off, silently sneaking closer to Brenda. She jumped and looked up only to catch the look of approval in his eyes.

“I do nae think yer men would enjoy the presence of a female,” she replied.

Bothan lifted one shoulder in a shrug before he came closer. She shifted, responding to his nearness. It simply happened, and it earned her a narrowing of Bothan’s eyes.

“Ye crave me too,” Bothan told her bluntly. “And ye enjoyed being taken by me.”

Her cheeks heated in response. Their encounter was something she’d spent a great deal of time attempting to banish from her thoughts.

“Ye should have realized I am no’ adverse to passion,” she began, “after hearing I was Bhaic MacPherson’s mistress. There was no point in being in the man’s bed if I didn’t enjoy it.”

Bothan’s expression tightened. Guilt tried to stir in her, but she ignored it. Better to end his fascination with her now before she lost control again.

“A match between ye would have been something both yer fathers found acceptable,” Bothan said. “But then again, ye made certain to blacken yer name by openly being the man’s mistress instead of having yer father attempt to negotiate a contract between ye.”

Brenda knew it.

“In fact,” Bothan continued as he came closer and his voice dropped, “as I understand the matter, ye made sure the MacPhersons saw ye. Bhaic would no’ have darkened yer name by parading ye about.”

Their gazes met. For a moment, she caught a look at the raw determination in Bothan’s gaze.

“I did,” Brenda replied. “Because I was not going to have me father make another match for me.”

“Not even with a man you found pleasing in bed?” Bothan asked.

“I will not be owned,” Brenda insisted. “Never again will I be chattel.”

She’d never meant anything more in her life. Part of her lamented just what she’d done to ensure her father couldn’t make her a match, because a man like Bothan had pride.

“I am not the right woman for you, Bothan.” She forced the words out. “When we pass Grant land, ye should leave me and annul the marriage.”

“Ye appear to not understand me at all,” Bothan whispered. There was a note in his tone that sent a shudder down her back. She searched his eyes, seeking to understand just what it was that caused her hairs to feel as though they were standing on end.

“I would no’ have come for ye if I was the sort of man who gave up,” Bothan warned her. “Ye will be mine.”

His tone rung with a promise that made her recoil.

“So…ye simply plan to claim me?” Brenda demanded. “With no regard for what yer people will say?”

Bothan sent her a look that made it plain he was thinking her question through. She felt her insides tighten in response. Perhaps she should have kept her mouth shut, held her tongue instead of giving him any ideas.

Perhaps ye want him to take the matter out of yer hands…

“My people will say ye have passion in ye,” Bothan answered her after a moment. “A passion to match me own.”

“I do nae wish to hear of yer conquests.” The words were past her lips before she realized she was exposing herself.

Bothan flashed her a smile. “Ye sound jealous, Brenda. Do ye no’ care for the feeling ye were so intent on filling me with?”

“I am no’ foolish enough to think ye have no’ had yer share of mistresses,” Brenda replied.

“Gunn land is no place for things such as mistresses,” Bothan informed her. “Me tower is no’ like the Grant stronghold. Ye will find few luxuries inside it. For certain there is no’ enough room for any woman who makes her place through her position in me bed alone.”

Brenda liked what he said. Oh, she had no right to enjoy knowing he didn’t have a mistress, and yet she couldn’t deny that she did. At least to herself. She bit her lip to keep her mouth closed. Bothan grunted after a moment of silence between them. He reached out and caught her wrist. He pressed a stick with a generous portion of roasted meat on it into her fingers.

“Get some rest,” Bothan told her firmly. “It’s full moon now, and I will no’ be taking a chance on the Campbells finding us again. As soon as the horses are ready, we’ll take to the road.”

He left her with the roasted rabbit. It wasn’t really hunger that made her lift the stick to her mouth. No, it was more of a sense of respect for Bothan and his men to ride longer hours than she had ever done before. They were hardened, and she wasn’t going to be the weakest member of their group.

So she ate and lay back, pulling the cloak around herself and over her eyes so she might lock out the last of the sun and rest while she could.

* * *

It was later in the week when they heard riders again. Bothan had them traveling at night to make use of the full moon and the cover of darkness. Brenda heard the sound of the hooves approaching and felt her shoulders tense.

Only men with a purpose traveled at night, ones who didn’t want anyone knowing what they were about. Sometimes it was as simple as lifting a few head of cattle from a neighboring clan. Rivalry between clans was common, but it often turned into feuds.

Brenda listened intently, gauging the number of horses—more than ten, she was sure of it—and in the next few minutes, she knew there were at least twenty.

But they were in a bad spot. On one side of the road the earth rose up above their heads, and on the other it dropped away steeply. The road had been cut through the slope. There was nothing to do but go forward and right into whoever was on the road.

The Gunn retainers drew their swords.

Bothan made for the place where the slope gave way to open land. It wasn’t forestland where they might hide easily, but at least it was better than where they were.

Brenda clamped her thighs tight around the saddle, leaning forward to make certain she stayed on the back of the mare. Bothan dug his heels in, and they surged forward. In the distance, Brenda caught a glimpse of their company. Whoever it was, they had been taken by surprise. She heard their horses recoiling from the sight of other horses coming toward them.

The turmoil gave Brenda and the Gunns the time to make it off the slope. Bothan’s men galloped up onto the open space, forming a hard line against the other men while Brenda found herself firmly pressed behind them.

Bothan didn’t intend to run, though. He faced his unknown adversary, sword in hand. The moon was full, but the clouds were thick. They shifted slowly, moving out from in front of the moon so silver light illuminated them all.

“Bothan Gunn?”

Brenda gasped. She knew her cousin’s voice. Symon Grant lowered his sword and nudged his horse forward. It was enough for the moonlight to show his features clearly.

“Symon,” Brenda declared. Relief surged through her as the Gunns replaced their swords.

“Riding in the dead of night is dangerous, Laird Grant,” Bothan said as he dropped off his horse to give the animal a rest. He slid his hand along the animal’s neck before walking forward to offer Symon his hand.

Her cousin Symon clasped Bothan’s hand, the two men closing their fingers around each other’s wrists.

“I had news ye were riding north with Brenda,” Symon said, “so I wasn’t about to waste time sleeping when there was a full moon to ride by.”

Her cousin looked past Bothan to where Brenda was. Maddox and two other men had planted themselves in front of her.

“Christ in heaven,” Symon declared as he looked back at Bothan. “I’m grateful to ye, man.”

Brenda pushed on Maddox’s shoulder. “Allow me to greet me cousin.”

Maddox didn’t budge until Bothan turned and nodded toward his captain. It was a blunt reminder of who held the authority over her. But Brenda didn’t dwell on it because Maddox turned to the side, allowing her to slip past him. She grabbed the front of her skirts so she could run and barreled toward Symon.

Her cousin caught her, clasping her so tightly her ribs ached.

Brenda didn’t care. Tears eased from the corners of her eyes as she held on just as tightly to him.

When Symon released her, Brenda discovered her knees were weak, but her shoulders felt so much lighter.

It was finally over.

The last few months of turmoil were finished at last. She turned and smiled at Bothan.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Chief Gunn,” she said after she managed to drag a deep breath into her lungs.

“Aye,” Symon Grant agreed. “I know I argued with ye, man. When the King decreed Brenda must go to England.”

“As I said at the time, Laird Grant,” Bothan replied, “it had to be me, and I would no’ fail to retrieve her.”

Brenda felt lament shifting inside her. Bothan had faced a challenge he wasn’t required to in riding after her. Life was often hard and unfair. When royals became involved, more than one of their fellow lairds had discovered personal choices had to give way to the decrees of the monarch. Many would have told Brenda to do her duty and make the best of it.

She’d intended to do so.

Yet she was so relieved to discover she didn’t have to.

“We have much to be grateful to Chief Gunn for, indeed,” Brenda added.

Something inside of her was threatening to break loose. A need that would undermine her choice to be her own woman. She found herself torn and completely baffled by the realization of not being content in what she’d decided she wanted for the rest of her life.

Yet she had made her choice back when she went to Bhaic MacPherson’s bed. There were a dozen others she might have taken as a lover. The truth was she’d used a fellow laird in order to make her name notorious.

There was no going back.

Bothan locked gazes with her for a long moment. In the darkness, she wasn’t certain what she saw, but there was something shifting between them.

Bothan looked at Symon. “Ye say ye’re grateful.”

Symon turned to contemplate Bothan. They were both hardened men, but Bothan was larger. Not that Brenda expected her cousin to back down simply over a few inches. Still, she discovered herself noticing the difference between them.

“Aye,” Symon said. “Ye’ve done me a service I can no’ repay.”

“Ye can,” Bothan replied. “Get back on yer horse, and ride for home. Leave Brenda with me.”

Silence hung between all three of them for a long moment. Brenda felt her heart accelerating as her cousin Symon remained silent, clearly weighing the idea.

Brenda shook her head. “I would return to Grant land with ye, Symon.”

Bothan didn’t look away from Symon. “I kicked yer arse once when ye needed it.”

Symon stiffened. He reached down and curled his fingers around his wide belt.

“Brenda is me wife,” Bothan declared firmly. His tone dared anyone to argue with him.

Once more, Brenda discovered herself shocked by the way Symon appeared to be contemplating Bothan’s idea. It was as if the earth beneath her feet was crumbling and falling away. She stiffened, her temper coming to her aid in a flare. She wasn’t going to let anyone dictate her future. Symon had given her his word.

Brenda stepped back and looked at Bothan. “I will nae go north with ye.”

Symon’s men were watching their laird, shifting in their saddles as they witnessed the confrontation. But Symon hadn’t moved. He was still staring at Bothan, taking his measure. Both of them were ignoring her, thrusting her into the role she’d so often been forced to endure because of her gender. Brenda struggled to breathe. Helplessness was something she couldn’t bear, and having it thrust upon her by Symon was the worst form of betrayal.

“Ye claimed yer own wife, Symon,” Bothan reminded her cousin. “And I feel as strongly about Brenda. Go home. Brenda and I need time together.”

Symon looked toward her. Brenda felt her eyes widening as she realized her cousin was being persuaded. Her cheeks were on fire, as every man riding with Bothan and her cousin was privy to the conversation. She wanted to keep the matter private, but there was no way to do so unless she simply bit her lip and let Symon believe she was amenable to the idea of going home with Bothan.

“Ye gave me yer word, Symon,” she reminded her cousin.

“And ye agreed with me last year when we both admitted to needing to start living again,” Symon responded gravely.

Symon drew in a deep breath. Brenda watched his features settling into a hard mask. She knew the look, had seen it take over Symon’s face when he was facing a decision and felt he was correct even if the circumstances weren’t to his liking.

She shook her head. “I will…nae…go north.”

Bothan reached across the space between them and captured her wrist. Brenda turned her attention to him. But the look in his eyes stopped her for a moment. Determination was glittering in his eyes. She recoiled from it.

Bothan made a sound under his breath. A moment later, he’d bent over and lifted her up and onto his shoulder.

“Put me…down!” she hissed.

His hand landed on her bottom instead.

“Go home, Symon.” Bothan turned back to address Symon Grant. “Ye’ve seen that I’ve brought yer cousin home safely.”

Brenda tried to straighten up, pushing her hands against Bothan’s hard back. He turned and headed toward his horse. She caught a glimpse of Symon watching her being carried off like a sack of grain before her cousin muttered something under his breath and turned his back on her.

Leaving her completely alone with her fate.

Betrayal cut through her heart as surely as a sword thrust through her chest. The only rights she had came from the men around her. She might have been promised her freedom, but without Symon ensuring it, Bothan would have his way.

Over her dead body…

Brenda renewed her effort to be free. Bothan grunted and dropped her onto her feet. She recoiled as he withdrew his dagger, the blade sharp and polished.

“Christ, woman,” Bothan declared harshly. “Do nae look as though ye suspect me of doing murder to ye.”

He grabbed the front of his kilt where the fabric was overlapped. A quick motion from his wrist and he’d neatly sliced into the wool fabric. He shoved the dagger back into the sheath tucked into his belt and yanked on the piece of wool. It tore down his front, leaving him a wide strip.

Brenda gasped, realization coming too late. She should have run while he was cutting; now he reached out and caught her wrist, turning his body to pull her toward him while he wrapped the wool around her wrist.

“Ye’re coming north,” he said as he tied a firm knot and reached for her other wrist.

Brenda held her arm away from him. It was a doomed motion, but she couldn’t resign herself to surrender.

Bothan’s eyes narrowed. He cupped the back of her neck instead, bringing her up against his body and sealing her protest beneath a hard kiss. It stole her breath, smashing into her resolve to deny him. The collision sent a shudder through her, one that felt bone-deep. The shock of it had her rebelling, shoving at his shoulder with her free hand.

A moment later Bothan broke off the kiss, transferring his attention to her free wrist. She realized her error too late. He’d wrapped the wool around her free wrist and knotted her hands together before she’d finished hissing at him.

“Yer choice is this.” Bothan cupped her chin and locked gazes with her. “Stay on yer mare or I will take ye up behind me.”

Resistance was still boiling inside her. Betrayal fueled her temper, but Bothan’s eyes were full of determination. He pulled her closer so he could lower his tone.

“Do us both a favor, lass, get on yer mare,” he warned her softly. “If I have ye too close, I fear we’ll be stopping so I can take the challenge blazing in yer eyes. Yer spirit is what drew me to ye. I’ve followed ye all the way to England, so do nae test me here. I promise ye I will have ye here on the trail as me men wait if ye do nae see the wisdom in granting me a wee bit of space right now.”

Brenda grunted, trying to push away from him. Bothan held her fast, doing precisely what he’d just promised her he would.

Take her challenge.

But she was still trembling from his kiss.

“I’ll ride the mare.”

The words were past her lips without her ever realizing she’d decided to bend. Well, perhaps bend wasn’t precisely the correct word.

Compromise.

She needed to choose her battles, and with Bothan, it appeared selecting the time was going to be her only freedom. It wouldn’t be the first time she faced bad odds, though. It was a long way yet to the upper Highlands. Bothan would discover how much trouble she was before they arrived.

The burly Highland chief could bet on it.

* * *

“She’s planning how to murder ye.”

Bothan turned his head and eyed Maddox. His captain was twisting the ends of his beard as he stretched out on the ground.

“Well,” Maddox started up again, “she might”—he lifted a finger into the air—“be contemplating how to castrate ye because ye’d have to live with the pain of no’ having yer—”

Bothan growled at his captain, cutting off his last word.

Maddox waggled his eyebrows.

Bothan was weary but wide awake. He opened his eyes a few moments later, frustrated by the way sleep eluded him.

Having her wasn’t enough.

His mind was turning that fact over and over, trying to decipher it. One more fact to join the odd ones that accounted for his fascination with Brenda. Knowing he’d been choosing her because she was unlike any other woman he’d ever met hadn’t prepared him for the strange way she affected him.

Tonight he wanted to discover more about what it was he was seeking in her.

She had beauty.

Red hair and a pleasing form most men would have praised her for. His member stirred at the sight of her, and yet what he was recalling about her most right then was her scent and how much he wanted to have it filling his senses.

Longing…

There was another idea Brenda stirred in him.

Wanting to bed a woman, well, he’d encountered the need before. With Brenda it was stronger because she was brazen enough to face off with him and had been from the moment he met her. It was more than a show to entice him. With Brenda, he’d seen in her eyes the spark of determination to push him away. Just as she had on their wedding night.

Only she’d sealed her mind against him once he’d become her husband.

Bothan sat up, the idea of her shutting him out too much to bear. It was like lying back on the point of a dagger. He felt it pricking at his skin, making relaxing impossible. The only solution was to stand and move closer to the thing occupying his mind so completely.

Brenda was lying on the ground near a large rock face. It would be the warmest spot for the night because the wind would be cut by the stone. But that wasn’t to say it wouldn’t be cold. The weather might be fine by day, but at night, it was still chilly.

* * *

Brenda should have been asleep.

She wasn’t, though, and she couldn’t even claim fear was keeping her from getting some much-needed rest. She opened her eyes and caught sight of her bound wrists.

Ye should be afraid…

Well, she wasn’t. That fact in itself was a puzzle her mind seemed far more interested in solving than gaining some rest to help her make it through the next long day of riding.

Ye’re a fool when it comes to Bothan Gunn.

Aye, she was certainly that!

Bothan had used a strip of wool from his plaid to secure her wrists. The wide length of fabric didn’t cut into her skin. The result left her somewhat limited in what she might accomplish with her hands but not helpless.

Thank Christ…

Brenda felt a wave of true despair wash through her. She couldn’t be helpless again. Too many memories already crowded her mind from times when she had been bent and unable to help herself. For all that she claimed to be able to stand up against those memories, the truth was when she was alone and in the dark, she wondered if insanity wouldn’t take her away if she was forced to face one more moment of pain.

“Ye’re awake.”

Brenda stiffened. Her eyes opened out of instinct, affording her a view of Bothan on his haunches beside her. There wasn’t much light, making him appear to be carved out of the fabric of midnight itself.

He nodded slowly before reaching out to brush some hair back from her face.

“I can do that meself,” she told him.

“Aye.” He looked down at her wrists. “I made sure to bind ye so ye can see to yerself.”

“Are ye expecting me to thank ye for it?” she asked.

Bothan appeared to contemplate her question for a long moment. She watched the way his eyes narrowed before he came to a decision.

“Ye’re correct, Brenda, we’re strangers,” he said.

He reached for the section of his plaid that went across his shoulder and raised it up and over his head. She realized he would not take his kilt off, not here on the trail where he might have to roll onto his feet and face an impending threat. Bothan wouldn’t place his comfort over his ability to defend his men.

And her.

“So ’tis time for us to get to know each other,” Bothan said as he settled down beside her.

Brenda wiggled away from him. He was just so large.

That isn’t the reason…

She didn’t care for her thoughts. They were dangerously undermining to her determination to remain unaffected by Bothan.

He followed her, stopping only when she ended up against the rock face.

“Go to sleep, Brenda,” he advised her softly.

She blinked at him, so fully awake there was no possible way she was going to relax enough to sleep. All of her senses were heightened now, telling her he was close to her and just how little control she had over noticing all the details of his body.

Bothan was watching her. She caught the twitching of his lips as he rolled onto his side and propped his elbow against the ground before laying his head in his hand.

“I suppose we could find something else to do other than sleep, lass,” he suggested in a tone edged with wicked suggestion.

Only wicked because ye are thinking the same thing…

Brenda snapped her eyes shut. She heard him chuckle, the sound dark and somewhat suggestive. Without her sight, though, she became more aware of him so close to her. Inside her chest, her heart was pounding, sending her blood speeding through her veins. Her breathing accelerated as it kept pace with her heart, drawing in the scent of Bothan’s skin.

She’d never realized she might like the way a man smelled.

Something deep inside her was warming up, stretching, and awakening.

“Aye, ye’re likely wise in choosing to sleep,” Bothan teased her. He was so close his breath brushed her ear.

She shuddered, and her eyes popped open. It was just a reaction to him being so very near. Controlling it was impossible. Their gazes locked, and she felt herself battling the urge to look at his mouth.

Ye want his kiss…

The craving was hard and strong, rising up through the choices and decisions she’d so carefully made about how her life was going to be once she’d woken up in Grant Tower and heard she’d been granted the freedom to be her own woman.

“I want to kiss ye.” Bothan appeared to read her thoughts.

Brenda jerked her attention back to his face to find him grinning at her.

“But I fear we’ll both end up frustrated if I do,” he finished.

Bothan reached out and pressed his fingers against her lips to still her retort. She might have moved her head away, but the truth was she knew her argument would have been more for her failing composure than for any truth the words represented.

Bothan knew it too.

Brenda closed her eyes, admitting defeat under the cover of darkness. She heard him let out a soft male sound before he was stroking the side of her face. She shivered in response, the contact sending a torrent of sensation through her.

How was it possible to notice a simple touch so very much?

She didn’t know. But she could not refute the reality of it either. All she could do was curl her lower lip in and bite it to contain the little gasp that tried to escape and let him know how strongly she was affected.

Bothan pressed his thumb against her chin and pulled her lip free. In the darkness, Brenda felt her cheeks flooding with color.

At least he couldn’t see it.

Small comfort, yet she would take it. For now it would be enough, and when sleep finally claimed her, she went happily with the idea of rest restoring her resolve.

* * *

Bothan watched Brenda relax into slumber.

He’d waited a long time to have the chance to watch her sleep. His men were bone-weary and their horses were being run hard, but it all seemed worth it to be close enough to the woman who had been appearing in his dreams since he’d met her.

More than one man might accuse him of being obsessed. Bothan doubted he would have argued the point. The truth was he wouldn’t have bothered to discuss the matter if there was another alternative. Brenda was a topic he found very personal.

His life wasn’t one that afforded him many opportunities to indulge in his personal desires. In fact, he’d spent a great deal of his self-discipline on making sure he didn’t give in to weaknesses that stemmed from what he personally wanted from life.

A chief put the needs of his people first. The Gunns needed a mistress. That was true enough, but Bothan had to be honest with himself when it came to Brenda. He was chasing her for his own personal reasons.

A match with a Grant was a good one for the Gunns.

The land Brenda came with was going to be a fine addition to the holdings of the clan as well.

But he’d have sought her out without any of it.

Without the beauty that made men compete for her or the things listed on her dowry. He’d craved her from the moment he met her, and even a winter in the Highlands hadn’t cooled his need for her.

Yer weakness.

Bothan watched the way she curled toward him. Drawn to him just as clearly as he was to her. He shifted, making space for her against his body. He felt the connection between them as she settled against his side. He smiled, the idea of what she’d say if she realized she’d come to him in her sleep making him grin.

Perhaps he would tell her later. When he had the privacy to kiss her. Brenda might be his weakness, but he was hers as well.

And it was going to be his pleasure to help her admit it.