Page 55

SPINNING GREER AROUND, Brodie walked her back against the wall of the forge, pressing his body against hers as his tongue explored her mouth.

God help him, she tasted good—like the sweetest nectar. And her soft body pressed against his was his undoing.

Greer started to make soft mewing sounds then, her tongue tentatively stroking his, her small hands sliding over his leather-clad chest. Her actions were untutored, yet they went straight to his groin.

He ground his hips against hers and was rewarded with a low groan that tore from her throat.

Christ, this woman wasn’t just sunshine and joy, she was every sensual desire he’d ever had brought to life.

He slid his hand up, his large palm covering one of her ripe breasts. Her hard nipple dug into his palm as he massaged the softness trapped within the confines of her clothing.

Touching her like this wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

Dragging his mouth from hers, he kissed and nibbled his way down her jaw and throat.

He then roughly pushed aside her shawl and shoved her lèine and kirtle off her shoulders.

A breast popped out, and murmuring an endearment, he bent his head, devouring it.

Her nipple was large and hard, and he sucked at it like a strawberry. Aye, it tasted just as sweet.

Greer’s gasps filled the forge, exciting him beyond measure.

He was going too far now—as his hands delved under her skirts, sliding up the smooth skin of her thighs and parting them—yet he didn’t care. Feral lust had taken over. Every wicked desire he’d quashed over the past weeks clouded all other instincts.

His fingers slid between her thighs, a groan rumbling from him when he discovered how wet she was.

Murmuring a curse, his mouth found hers once more, as his fingertip circled the small bud of flesh within the petals of her sex.

He smothered her soft cries, holding her fast with his free hand as her thighs started to tremble.

Satan strike him down, she was so responsive, so ready for him.

His need for her was almost madness.

Her hips bucked against his hand then, wetness slicking his fingers. Her sharp teeth dug into his lower lip, jolting him out of the haze of wild lust.

Breathing hard, he drew back, meeting her gaze for the first time since he’d hauled her into his arms for that bruising kiss.

And the look on Greer’s face almost undid him. The need, the trust.

“Is this what ye want, lass?” he growled, stroking her most intimate place again and causing her to tremble against him once more.

“If ye wish, I can drag ye into my chamber out back and swive ye up against the wall.” He was being deliberately crude.

He wanted her to understand the risk they were both taking and that acts had consequences.

He should know—for he was a product of reckless lust. His father had ruined his marriage to tumble the cook, an act that had produced a bastard.

The reminder was like someone had just upended an icy bucket of water over his head.

Greer stared up at him, her gaze wide, her breathing ragged. “Brodie,” she whispered. “I—”

“Is that what ye want ?” he demanded.

The limpid glow to her eyes faded, and her lovely features tightened.

At last, she understood the point he was making.

“There isn’t any future for us, Greer,” he said, even as his gut twisted with each word.

“There never was.” He removed his hand from between her thighs and gently rearranged her skirts.

He then pulled up her clothing, covering her exposed breast. “Aye, we want each other,” he continued, hating himself now, yet forcing himself to continue.

He needed to sink the last nails into the coffin, to send Greer on her way and ensure she never looked back. “But that’s not love.”

He stepped back then, breaking physical contact with her. “Ye need to go now, lass … before anyone notices ye missing. Ye need to forget this ever happened.”

She pushed herself up off the wall and moved unsteadily toward the door of the forge.

Brodie watched her go, unspeaking, unmoving. He’d said and done enough this morning. He’d let her leave without being humiliated further.

However, Greer halted in the doorway and looked back over her shoulder at him.

And to his surprise, her gaze wasn’t cowed or despairing.

Instead, there was a quiet strength on her face, a dignity that made something inside him quail. He’d underestimated Greer Forbes, right from the beginning, he realized. She was no silly chit who believed in tales of princesses in lofty towers waiting to be saved by daring princes.

She was a woman who knew her own mind, her own desires.

“I will never forget ye, Brodie,” she said quietly.

And with that, Greer turned and departed, her slippered feet whispering on the cobbles outside. A moment later, she was gone.

“I will miss ye so much,” Bonnie gasped, clasping Greer in a tight hug. “Promise me ye will write.”

“Of course,” Greer replied, her voice thick with emotion as she squeezed her friend back.

“Every week … as before … I promise.” And she would.

Now that her life was about to change, her friendship with Bonnie Mackay was even more important than before.

Bonnie would be her lifeline, something that was hers alone.

“Hurry yerself, Greer.” Her father’s voice intruded then, laced with impatience. The sun was well up now, and the Forbes party had amassed in the barmkin. The clan-chief was keen to make a start on the long journey home.

Greer extricated herself from Bonnie’s embrace and nodded to her father. She then hugged Rose.

Like Bonnie, Rose was finding it difficult to keep her emotions leashed. Her green eyes welled with tears when she withdrew from the hug.

“Having ye here this summer has been special indeed,” Rose said huskily. “And I appreciate everything ye have done for me.”

Greer’s throat was so tight now it was hard to speak. “I did little,” she whispered back. “The hard work was all yers.”

Rose managed a wobbly smile. “Thank ye, all the same.”

Greer cleared her throat. “Give Davina my best wishes too, will ye?” she asked. “Tell her I’m sorry I never had the chance to say farewell.”

Rose nodded. “I will … have a safe journey home.”

“Thank ye.” Unlike her friends, Greer’s eyes were dry this morning. From somewhere, she’d gathered the strength she needed to depart with dignity. She’d crumble later, that was certain, yet for the moment, she held fast.

Squaring her shoulders, Greer glanced over at Sheena. The matriarch’s expression was veiled. “All the best for yer upcoming marriage,” the older woman said.

Greer couldn’t bring herself to thank Sheena. Instead, her attention shifted to Kerr, and she forced a smile. He nodded back, his expression solemn. She then turned to the laird.

“Thank ye, Iver … I will never forget yer hospitality.”

“Go well, Lady Greer,” the chieftain replied, his gaze shadowed. “And hopefully, we shall see ye again.”

Heaviness pressed down on Greer’s shoulders at these words, for they both knew it was unlikely.

Turning, Greer made her way over to where her palfrey awaited her. She allowed Captain Errol to help her mount Samhradh before focusing on adjusting her skirts.

She didn’t glance toward the forge, for she knew Brodie wouldn’t have emerged to see her off.

I’ll never set eyes on him again.

The weight that pressed against her breastbone increased.

She tried not to think about the things he’d said to her, deliberately cutting and dismissive, or the way his touch had set her body alight.

She was indeed daft, for there had been a reckless part of her that had hungered for him to drag her into his bedchamber next to the forge. Heat flooded over her as she imagined being pinned up against the wall by his strong body, her legs wrapped around his hips as he thrust into her.

Aye, she was a lady, yet she knew what couples did.

A few years earlier, she’d stumbled upon a stable lad and one of the kitchen lasses tumbling in the stables when she’d gone to feed Samhradh a juicy carrot.

She walked in on them at the height of their passion and would never forget the frenzied way they’d gone at it.

She’d ached for Brodie to take her like that—yet he’d done them both a favor, for she would be ruined, and he would be blamed.

A chill slithered down her spine then. Her father would have demanded reckoning. It would have gotten ugly indeed.

Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, Greer collected the reins and glanced over at where Inghinn sat astride Crabapple next to her. Her expression was clouded as she watched Greer.

Inghinn had been awake earlier when Greer returned from the forge.

“Lady Greer,” she’d gasped, casting an incredulous gaze over her. “Ye didn’t go outside dressed like that, did ye?”

Greer had glanced down, relieved to see that her clothing wasn’t in disarray. However, her shawl was missing. Her breathing had caught when she realized she’d left it behind in Brodie’s forge. Unfortunately, there would be no going back for it.

“Aye, don’t fash, Inghinn,” she’d muttered. Her maid’s eyes were full of questions, yet Greer couldn’t confide in her. She’d start weeping if she did. “I took an early stroll around the barmkin, that’s all.”

Inghinn’s eyebrows had shot up. “But ye are—”

“Enough.” Greer had gestured to the blue damask surcote hanging on the wall, the one she’d arrived at Dun Ugadale in. “Help me finish dressing … we don’t want to keep Da waiting, do we?”

Hurt and concern had shadowed Inghinn’s eyes as she nodded. Greer never spoke so sharply to her, and her mistress’s behavior worried her.

Of course, Inghinn was clever enough to guess the reason for Greer’s upset. She hadn’t pressed the issue.

Greer’s throat started to ache then. She should have taken her maid’s advice. Indeed, she’d played with fire—and had just gotten incinerated.

“Right, let’s move out!” Alexander Forbes’s voice reverberated against the surrounding stone. “Good day, Mackay … thank ye for the hospitality … and again, for taking care of my daughter.”

Greer reined Samhradh around and urged the mare forward, riding next to Inghinn as they followed her father and Captain Errol under the iron teeth of the portcullis and onto the causeway beyond.

Nausea swept over Greer as they traveled through the village and then took the road west, over undulating green hills, away from Dun Ugadale.

She could feel the weight of the broch behind her, pressing between her shoulder blades, as if it were calling to her, asking her to look back and say her final goodbye.

But she would not.

This lonely fortress upon the Kintyre Peninsula was her ‘soul home’—she’d known it from the moment she set eyes upon it—yet to look back at it now would cause her hard-won bravery to falter.

And so, she rode away without looking back.