Page 13 of The Duchess’s Absolutely Delightful Dream (The Notorious Briarwoods #14)

“O ff we go then.” She pointed to a bag at her feet. “You can carry that.”

Bloody hell, Elspeth was a gorgeous sight, outside in the Highland sunshine, her hair flicking about her face as a strong breeze blew in off the loch.

Damnation, Octavian wanted her. Every bit of her. He wanted the mischievous curve of her lips. He wanted the voluptuous swells of her breasts, currently pressed against her simple linen shirt.

She’d eschewed her usual elegant attire and was dressed in the garments of a Highland lass. And it was driving him positively wild.

“Where?” Octavian managed, wondering when he’d have the opportunity to seize her lips again with his own, to get lost in the heat of her, and the way her body undulated against his in perfect welcome.

“There,” she said, pointing into the distance.

Octavian dragged his gaze from her lush form and stared at the point of her finger. He then followed the line up to what he could only describe as an extremely high point in a series of peaks.

He cleared his throat and wondered if he could convince her to pretend she needed a lie down. Surely, they could vanish to her chambers… But then again, he had loved twining with her in the heather.

“I’m here to rest,” he pointed out, anticipating that the climb would be lengthy.

She gave him the oddest look. “This is resting,” she said.

“Where did you get that garb?” he asked.

“They’re mine,” she said, stroking her hands over the purple wool skirts. “Much as I love French fashions, I always have sensible things for a climb.”

Most of his cousins would’ve thought sensible clothes for a climb meant breeches, but not her. No, she stood captivatingly in a swaying wool skirt, and her simple linen shirt somehow managed to seductively skim her breasts and waist. And she had a shawl tucked over her shoulders.

“It’ll get quite windy,” she said. “So, be prepared for it to become cold.”

“I know ways to keep warm,” he assured. And he could not wait to employ them.

Her cheeks bloomed with color, but her gaze spoke volumes. It was clear that she quite looked forward to his methods.

“Are those boots good for walking?” she asked.

“Very,” he said.

And they were. He had spent a great deal of time walking over continental Europe. Yes, he rode a great deal, but he also wanted solidarity with his men so that they didn’t hate him every time he rode by.

So, he often walked and talked with them. Made sure they were getting enough food, they had their clothes mended, and didn’t have any injuries left unaddressed and festering.

Yes, he was an excellent walker with well-worn boots.

For he knew the danger of blisters. Those were the way to infection and misery.

“Why are you going to drag me up that peak?” he teased. “Surely, we could get our exercise in a—”

“I’m not going to tell you,” she cut in, her eyes dancing.

He pursed his lips, loving the banter with her. He felt like he could speak with her for hours and hours and never feel strained. “Is there some sort of magic fountain at the top?”

She winked at him. “Och, did your cousins tell you about the stream?”

His lips twitched. As a matter of fact, Josephine, Anne, and Emily had gone on and on about the secret stream. He rather hoped to see it eventually, but he did not think that’s where she was taking him.

And he wondered why, at this particular moment, she wanted to haul him up to the top of the world.

“I’m happy to follow you,” he said, “wherever you might lead.”

And he would, for many reasons, least of all the way her skirts clung to the plump figure of her bum.

She folded her hands behind her back and grinned. “Good, because that’s what you are doing.”

“And where is it you think you’re going?” a deep voice with a light Scottish accent asked.

He winced. Now, they were done for.

The pack of Scotsmen crossed up from the garden to the edge of the wild land that headed into the Highlands.

They were indeed a formidable lot with their burnished hair, strong features, and muscles that harkened back to warriors of old, though their dress was quite fashionable, despite being meant for country life.

“I wish to take him for a long walk.”

Brodie laughed. “It’ll do him good. All that tension. Long walks are just the thing.”

Octavian swallowed. It was a damn delicate balance he was attempting here. Did her brothers actually approve of him being alone with her?

“Should we take a chaperone?” Octavian inquired, though he was loath to.

“Och, aye,” called out Archie. “We’ll all go. It’ll be a splendid day.”

“You’re not invited,” Elspeth retorted.

Brodie let out a tragic sigh. “I’m wounded to the quick, sister.”

“You’ll recover,” she drawled.

“But how can we trust that he won’t prove an utter English rogue?” Archie demanded, though it was clear he was in jest.

But the truth was…he was an utter English rogue. Wasn’t he? Well, not entirely. He was only a bit of a rogue. The right amount.

She was a widow. A woman of means. Didn’t she have the right to live freely?

Who was he to decide for her? Who was any man?

The Duke of Rossbrea approached. “Are we having a clan gathering?” he boomed.

“She wants to take him up the peaks,” Archie said.

Rossbrea swung his gaze to his sister and arched a brow. “Good,” he said. “Octavian should see it.”

See what? he wanted to demand. But he knew that would do no good.

“Would you like to join us?” Octavian invited, hoping to keep his friend’s good opinion.

The duke arched a brow. “My sister is very capable of taking you on her own, and I trust that you’re the man I think you are. And she can do anything that she pleases, except marry an Englishman,” he said.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Teague.” She rolled her eyes. “What have you against me marrying an Englishman?”

Her brother winked at her as if they had some sort of understanding about the whole affair. As a matter of fact, all the brothers looked as if they had some sort of understanding with her.

He glanced from Rossbrea to Ellie, then back again.

“Never fear,” Octavian piped, suddenly feeling off foot. He did not like the word “marry” being bandied about. “There’s no danger of marrying an Englishman.”

She laughed, taking delight in his sudden discomfort. “Are you afraid, Octavian?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” he said. “Just a little. There have been forced marriages in my family, and I really would prefer to avoid those.”

“Would you?” she asked playfully. She folded her arms under her breasts and leveled her brothers with a challenging stare. “Would you lot ever force me to marry Octavian?”

“Never,” Rossbrea said swiftly and with ease.

“Not a chance,” Brodie insisted with a shudder.

Archie grimaced. “Force you to marry an Englishman? My God, we’d send you abroad first.”

“Exactly,” she said, turning back to Octavian. “So you needn’t worry about a wee kirk in the heather and being forced down the altar to marry me.”

“That said—” Brodie began.

“No,” she cut off. “There will be no extraneous things added onto this. I am not a little girl. I am a widow. I have been married. I have a fortune of my own. Love you all as I do, you’ll all be quiet about what I choose to get up to.”

Her brothers had the good graces to look chastened for a moment. And quite frankly, Octavian enjoyed what she was saying, because the truth was he’d begun to feel as if he was being bandied about like a ball badgered by a pack of dogs.

At one moment, they wanted him to please her. The next moment, they wanted him to be afraid they might trounce him.

And as she began to stride away, he faced the tall Scotsmen. “You have to understand she’s in far more control of all of this than I am.”

“Some officer you must be,” Brodie said.

The Duke of Rossbrea shook his head. “No, he’s quite a man on the battlefield, but he’s dealing with Ellie.”

Archie began to laugh. “Well, that’s true.”

“You’re her brothers. You love her. My cousins and my uncles would do the same for any female of our family. Threats of murder are quite commonplace amongst the Briarwoods. But I can either do what you lot want or what she wants.”

Archie rolled his eyes. “The answer is obvious, you great idiot.”

“Is it?” he replied.

Brodie tsked. “You always do what the lady wants.”

“Always,” the duke affirmed.

“Always?” Octavian questioned.

The Scotsmen looked at each other, nodded, then looked back to him and said in unison, “Always.”

“But we don’t have to know about it,” Archie whispered with a touch of horror.

“Officially, that is,” added Brodie, as if the idea of contemplating his sister in an affair was horrifying.

Octavian ground his teeth.

“But none of us are foolish enough to think we can control our Ellie,” Archie said ruefully.

“And we could never really blame a fellow for being ruled by her. She’s Ellie,” Brodie said, as if this somehow explained that his sister was a law unto herself, for all that they might try to say.

The duke smiled and took a step forward. “And we can all see she’s much happier with you.”

“Is she?” he asked, ridiculously pleased by this, and feeling far less terrible at the way he was having trouble resisting giving in to the tempting lass. He eyed Ellie’s form as she strode off across the heather, going towards the incline that led up to the peaks.

“Oh, yes,” Archie said. “Just mind yourself. No heartbreak. Do you understand?”

He nodded. “I have no intention of breaking any hearts,” he said.

Though given how things were going…he feared he might break his own.

“Good,” Brodie replied. “Now, don’t keep her waiting. She’s not a lass to be gainsaid.”

That was the truth.

“Right,” he said, feeling both bolstered and flummoxed. He picked up the bag she’d instructed him to bring and slung it over his shoulder. She was a lass ever prepared, for he could tell there was a jug of some refreshing liquid inside.

His Highland adventure was beginning to feel like a Highland farce. And thanks to his grandmother, the family’s love of the theater, and his own reading habits, he was very familiar with farce.