Page 39

brODIE STARED AFTER Lady Greer, his gaze upon her straight back as she strode out of his forge and into the barmkin.

Curse her to Hades, the lass was a vision this morning, in a dove-colored surcote with a slate-colored lèine underneath—a hue that matched her smoky eyes.

Her clothing hugged her small form, accentuating the curve of her back and the womanly swell of her hips and backside.

Her wheat-colored hair tumbled down her spine in heavy curls, so long that it reached her waist.

Brodie couldn’t take his eyes off her, and he hated himself for it.

He wanted to punch himself in the face for being so weak—but for a few moments, he allowed himself to imagine tangling his fingers in that lustrous hair, tilting her head back and holding it captive as he plundered that pert, lush mouth with his tongue.

His groin started to ache then, and he growled the filthiest curse he knew.

This was his fault. He shouldn’t have stood so close to her.

She smelled delicious, of a spicy, musky perfume he didn’t recognize.

Most lasses wore scents of rose or lavender, but Greer Forbes wasn’t like other lasses—she was from another world.

She was a tempest. She’d swept into Dun Ugadale the evening before, barreling into him, and now had commissioned a job from him.

He felt stunned in the aftermath of their conversation—and embarrassed, as if the lass had just made a fool of him.

She had, for his rod was still stiff as a tent pole inside his braies. Shaking his head to clear it of the lewd images her nearness had provoked, he yanked his leather gloves back on. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to make her a dirk—a clan-chief’s daughter had no need for such a weapon.

“She’s spoiled, and ye are a clod-headed fool for indulging her,” he muttered, moving back to his forge. “Look at ye … like soft clay in her hands. Pathetic!”

Bitterness filled his mouth then.

He’d always felt in control with women, yet he’d never tangled with a clan-chief’s daughter before.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Greer was used to wielding her charm and smiles like a weapon.

Why else would her father have agreed to let her spend the summer at Dun Ugadale?

A lass of her age should be busy finding herself a suitable husband, not making a nuisance of herself.

Returning to his work, Brodie shoved the last of the set of knives he was finishing into the flames, watching as the fine blade glowed red. He then set about hammering it flat, glad to have the opportunity to work off his foul mood.

Worse still was the self-recrimination that simmered beneath his anger. Not only was he a bastard, but he had the manners of a goat. He’d been rude to Lady Greer, although she’d had the grace not to retaliate.

“Time to get out of the broch for an eve,” he ground out between each strike of his hammer. “Time to escape for a few hours.”

Aye, it had been nearly a month since his last visit to Ceann Locha, the nearby port, which had taverns and alehouses where he could drink and dice until the wee hours. And some of the establishments had serving lasses who were happy to lift their skirts for coin.

It had been even longer still since he’d found himself a lass to tumble.

Brodie was always selective in his choice of lover.

He’d never swived any of the local lasses, to avoid entanglements as well as gossip.

It was easier to pay for a woman’s favors—that way, she demanded nothing from him but coin.

He was careful too, not to get any of his lovers with bairn—always withdrawing before spilling his seed within them.

As a bastard himself, he didn’t want to pass on the same stain, or shame, to the next generation.

He never intended to sire any bairns, illegitimate or not, anyway. The family he already had was enough.

Time was, Kerr had joined him in his revelry in Ceann Locha, yet once his brother had started pining for Rose, he’d let his younger brother go alone. In truth, Brodie didn’t enjoy his carousing as much as he once had, and as such, had reduced his evenings away from the broch.

However, tonight, he’d ride out again.

“I don’t find Dun Ugadale small and rustic in the least, Sheena … in truth, I prefer it to Druminnor.”

Greer’s firm response made all the women gathered in the ladies’ solar halt their sewing and embroidery. Their surprised gazes then fastened upon her.

After a brief pause, Sheena gave a soft snort.

However, Greer marked the glint of pleasure in the Mackay matriarch’s dark-blue eyes.

Sheena was proud of her home, even if she had just criticized it.

“I don’t understand why,” she said archly.

“Dun Ugadale isn’t one of Scotland’s great fortresses, after all. ”

“No, but I’ve always felt far more at home here than I ever did at Kilchurn,” Davina spoke up. “Despite that my father’s keep is a magnificent one.”

Bonnie’s feisty sister-by-marriage had just arrived from Loch Lussa. Davina currently perched upon a high-backed chair by the hearth, near Bonnie and Sheena. Meanwhile Greer and Rose shared the window seat a few yards away.

“As have I,” Bonnie agreed with a smile. “Stirling Castle is stuffy … and too far away from the sea for my liking.”

“As is Druminnor,” Greer added, making a neat stitch upon the delicate linen wrap she was decorating with a spray of yellow and white daisies.

The wrap was for Bonnie’s babe-to-be. “Its setting isn’t as dramatic as here either.

The castle stands near a burn surrounded by meadows and woodland … it’s a two-day ride to the coast.”

“Well, it’s decided then … Dun Ugadale wins the prize for Scotland’s best broch,” Bonnie announced with a grin. “A home with heart!”

Sheena murmured something under her breath; clearly, the woman found her younger companions’ exuberance wearing at times. Nonetheless, Davina, Greer, and Rose all smiled at this declaration.

“Wait … we’ve forgotten someone.” Greer straightened up then, her attention flicking to the opposite side of the window seat. “We can’t come to a decision yet … not without Rose’s opinion.”

They all looked to where the young woman with wavy rich-brown hair and pine-green eyes sat sewing a tiny lèine for the coming bairn.

To Greer’s surprise, Rose’s cheeks flushed pink.

She then lowered her gaze. “There’s no point in asking me,” she muttered.

“I haven’t been farther than Ceann Locha.

I have nothing to compare Dun Ugadale to. ”

“Aye, Rose is a farmer’s daughter,” Sheena added, with unnecessary zeal. “Common folk don’t make tours of Scotland’s castles, Lady Greer.”

Heat flushed over Greer at this reprimand, even as Rose’s blush deepened.

She hadn’t wanted to embarrass the lass, yet she’d unwittingly done so. Her interactions with Rose so far had given the impression of a straight-forward, confident young woman. Yet Rose’s reaction now told a different story.

An awkward silence settled then—one that Bonnie eventually broke.

“Rose has had a difficult time of late,” she murmured.

Greer glanced over at her friend to see a groove had etched between Bonnie’s brows.

Aye, she’d already told her of the incident in the spring, where some of the villagers, encouraged by the local priest, had tried to burn Rose at the stake for witchcraft.

“But she’s a part of this family now”—Bonnie’s gaze narrowed as she glanced Sheena’s way— “And she belongs here as much as anyone else.”

“Of course, she does,” Greer agreed hurriedly.

Meanwhile Rose still stared down at her sewing. Her face was strained.

It struck Greer then that the lass was likely still traumatized by her near-death experience, as most folk would be in the same circumstances.

To be the focus of such blind hate and prejudice would certainly leave a scar.

Aye, she had Kerr’s unwavering love and support these days, but it would take a while for her to trust others again.

An idea blossomed within Greer then, warmth suffusing her as it took root. She wanted to help Rose, to make her feel part of things here—and she would.

“Perhaps we could all take a ride out tomorrow morning,” she suggested. “Bonnie … ye told me of the pretty path along the north coast. We could bring something to eat and make a day of it.”

Bonnie beamed at this suggestion. “What a lovely idea.”

“Well, I won’t be joining ye,” Sheena sniffed. “My old bones aren’t up to riding all day … or to sitting on blankets to eat.”

Greer didn’t miss the relief that flitted across Bonnie’s lovely face at these words, even though she hurriedly masked her reaction. “Nonsense, Sheena,” she murmured. “Ye are fitter and stronger than any of us.”

The older woman sniffed at this, although she did preen a little. Indeed, although she would be nearing the end of her fifth decade, Sheena Mackay still sat with the straight posture of a woman half her age.

“Well, I shall be happy to join ye,” Davina announced with a smile. She then glanced over at Rose. “And ye will too, Rose?”

Rose raised her gaze. Her cheeks were still pink, yet her pine-green gaze was guarded. She then shook her head. “I can’t ride.”

“Of course, ye can’t,” Sheena said crisply. “ Ye should realize that, Davina.”

Davina shot her mother-by-marriage an irritated look, far from being quashed by her sharp tongue. Her lips parted as she readied herself to reply.

However, Rose cut her off. “It doesn’t matter,” she replied briskly, in a valiant attempt to mask her disappointment. “I’m due to help Eara tomorrow, anyway.”

Greer’s brow furrowed. This wouldn’t do, at all. She’d suggested the ride so that Rose could have a fun day out, not so she’d be excluded. She’d heard that Rose worked with the local alewife a few times a week, but she wouldn’t let this news thwart her plan.