Page 42 of A Highland Rogue to Ruin

A knot tugged in his chest. Here Brighde sat right atop him, touching the tiny movements of a brand new life about to burst forth, and Tormund thought of another babe so long ago. Another that was lost to history, who’d once kicked his mother’s womb out of shape, who’d once been the MacLeods’ pride and joy, so innocent and pure. He hated James with such fiery passion, but…could he do to James’s bairn what had once been done to him? Orphan it?

More silence. Was Aileana considering tattling? “Is he good to ye? Do ye trust him?”

“I’d trust him with my life.”

The knot in Tormund’s heart twisted, stealing his wind. Fok. She shouldn’t.

It was the reminder he needed, that even if by some miracle James would allow a relationship to bloom betwixt them, that he’d not be able to protect her. Just the badge of Tormund’s surname upon her would put her in harm’s way eventually.

“Then I’m happy for ye,” Aileana said. “Truly. But be careful. James will punish any man who is untoward. And the last thing ye need is some Highland rogue’s bastard in yer belly, ruining ye.”

Christ, Aileana was gouging every blade she could in Tormund’s chest as he eavesdropped. He might be inextricably linked to Brighde for the rest of their lives if his passion that he couldn’t seem to control came to fruition in this tangled web they wove.

“Be safe, Brighde. I shall look for yer return all day. But ken that if ye’re no’ back by nightfall, I shall have to tell Jamie, for I’ll be too worried to sleep otherwise.”

A moment later, after more creaking of the cot where it seemed apparent that they’d hugged, the weight of both ladies lifted off Tormund’s belly and Brighde’s ankle stepped out of his hold. Another moment passed after the light flashed across the rug from the flap of the tent, where Brighde seemed to be gathering her composure.

And then the blanket lifted as she dropped to her knees and craned down, glaring hard at him as her sleeping braid slipped to the earth and his talon slid free of her cleavage.

Even as her lips turned up into a forced smile, he inspected the strain tugging her mouth. Seeing her in a whole new light. Was she really as happy as she always seemed? He was beginning to wonder.

He pulled the gift of lavender he’d brought her from within his brigandine and reeled her to him by the end of her sleeping braid, needing to seal their lips together after what he’d just overheard and ease the crinkle of distress still marring her brow. She looked lovely, mussed from sleep, fresh-faced in the morn, and he wished he could paint a portrait to keep. What he’d give to wake to this bonny sight every morn.

“Did ye hear all of that?” she whispered warily, and bit that lip.

He breathed out slowly as he tucked the sprig over her ear, letting the tension for a potential skirmish ease from his limbs.

Every word worth hearing. “Nay, why?”

Her shoulders relaxed and the crinkle smoothed on her brow. Aye. After this sennight, they’d go their separate ways. This was too dangerous. And if the ambush came to pass, he wouldn’t have to worry about her love for him anymore. Her hatred and scorn would run so deep, he’d always burn in her hellfires where a demon like him belonged. It would be a life sentence and an assurance that this tryst was good and truly over.

He rolled out from beneath the cot. Turned to leave, peering out the back of the tent. He shouldn’t have come this morn—

“Where do I meet ye?”

He turned to her, expectant light so bright, he couldn’t rescind his invitation, even though he knew he should, and instead dropped a rough kiss to her lips.

“Meet me in the wood behind the tavern tent when ye’re done with yer maids.” He toyed with her sleeping braid, twisting the end around his fingers contemplatively. “James’ll nay worry about yer escort if he and his men see me ride out. I have purchases to make first but will wait for ye, unless ye nay think ye can come.”

Her hands slipped up around his nape. “I promise to be there.”

He nodded once but pulled out of her touch, ignoring the furrow in her brow when he did, but needing distance. He needed to get to the stockyard to finally put to use that coin he’d reluctantly agreed to take, and then peered out the crevice between her back tent flaps again. James’s sentries walked by, crossing paths, then receding in their own directions.

He slipped out and sauntered into the trees as if on a carefree stroll, as if daring James MacDonald to see him, vanishing into the proverbial mist. He didn’t look back. Until that time to let her go came, he’d bloody well give her every ounce of freedom he possibly could. Mayhap a few good memories of him would persist and resurface in her heart as the years went by.

By the time she dashed through the trees, finding him where he’d promised, and he’d hoisted her onto Nykr, her hands slipped around him and her cheek rested against his back. The union felt so right, that all frustration was forgotten as he spirited her away.

At least for then.

Chapter Twelve

Reaper, who’d met them along the way, helped herd the score of sheep he’d purchased down into the glen that afternoon toward his only inland landholding bordering the Mackenzie lands, which had borne the brunt of the most recent reaves and left these folk with a ravaged village and stolen livestock.

“Ye brought her?” Reaper accused. “Why?”

Casual enough, but Reaper was hedging for more information. As far as Tormund’s men had known yesterday, he and Brighde were through.

He eyed the lass in question. Brighde was swept up in the celebration of the villagers, with a basket filled with wild bilberries, on their way to the nearby kirk with the celebrants to make the ceremonial tithe of food to the priest. Wildflowers were tucked into her hair. Song fell from the revelers’ lips.