The Highlander's Stolen Bride Page 5

  She prayed her thoughts didn’t show on her face. “Of course. Nevertheless, that doesn’t mean I could make love to a man without loving him.”

  The silence that followed her comment fell in thick waves around her, and Rosalyn suspected Derek found her provincial and ridiculous.

  She was not so innocent that she didn’t understand that people coupled purely for pleasure. She suspected Derek did it all the time. He didn’t appear to be a man who denied his physical needs.

  “Your commitment is admirable,” he finally said. “You should hold on to your beliefs. Do not give away what you have to offer; the right man would do anything to have you.”

  The intensity in his eyes took her breath away. “You really think so?” she asked softly.

  “Yes.” Then he leaned down and kissed her.

  Rosalyn felt on fire, flames of need licking at her skin, clamoring to be appeased. The things a simple kiss could do, the exquisite pressure he created as his lips slanted over hers, wrung soft moans from deep in her throat. She felt on edge, like a foreigner in her own body.

  She tenuously slid her hands over his shoulders, following the sleek, muscled contours to his neck to entwine her fingers in his thick, silky hair as she had wanted to do for weeks.

  The ache that had begun in her chest became a dull throb between her thighs, building with every sweep of his tongue.

  He broke the contact, taking a step back, then another, as though trying to escape. Rosalyn was grateful. He was too masculine and beautiful, too much of a temptation. And even though he might feel desire for her, nothing could ever come of it.

  “It’s late,” he said in a raspy voice.

  “Yes,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around her waist.

  Without another word, he strode to the door. It opened and shut with the barest sound. He was gone, only the faint smell of sandalwood left to mark his place.

  Five

  D erek paced the scarred floorboards of the darkened tavern the next morning. Several patrons snored away their overindulgence, while the clock that hung askew upon the wall kept time with the rhythmic click of his boot heels. His gaze continued to move to the stairs leading to the rooms above, from where Rosalyn had yet to emerge.

  He’d had a restless night, roaming the confines of his room, listening for any sound coming from Rosalyn’s side of the door. Her safety had not been the only thing on his mind—the sweetness of her kiss had haunted him.

  His growing desire for her had kept him in a sexual stranglehold, and he had finally forced himself to his bed until the sun crept over the horizon.

  He had been so damn sure he could mentally beat his attraction to her into submission. He never realized how difficult it would be.

  “A drink to calm your nerves, my lord?”

  The innkeeper held up a tray with a large mug of ale on it. Derek took the mug and tossed a handful of coins on the tray.

  With a greedy smile, the proprietor counted his earnings as he trundled off to the kitchen to bark orders at his help.

  Derek took a sip of the foul-tasting brew and grimaced. Sheep’s piss. What had he expected? No one could make ale like Highlanders, and his clan made the best beer in all of Scotland.

  Rich, dark hops were aged in thick oak barrels until properly ripe. People traveled great distances just for a taste. Their ale was part of a plan he had implemented to restock the clan’s coffers, which his father had greatly depleted waging battles against rival clans.

  His father had been a good leader, but too much hot blood ran in his veins. He had been fond of telling Derek that he would never be a truly great laird because of his English stock.

  Derek had resisted the urge to remind his father that the choice of his origin had not been his own. His father enjoyed a selective memory, preferring to believe that Derek had been conceived by means other than the usual—and when drunk, he would go a step further and accuse his wife of being unfaithful.

  Derek remembered how much time he had spent hating himself as a child and wondering how two people who disliked each other so much had ever become man and wife.

  He forced back the memory and turned toward the stairs as footfalls descended. A figure emerged from the shadows, but not the person he had been waiting for.

  The woman’s back was slightly humped and her face even more aged than her years. He had hired her from a nearby village that morning, offering her a good deal of money to assist Rosalyn.

  “The lass be right down, m’lord,” she said with a wheeze. “And may I say the gel is quite luvely. If only me own daughters could be so fair, perhaps I could find them proper suitors.” She sighed, resigned to her fate. “If that is all y’ be needin’…?”

  “Yes,” Derek replied distractedly, his gaze drifting to the staircase.

  “Then good day tae y’, sir. Remember old Martha when next y’re in town.”

  Derek barely heard a word she said as delicate steps made a slow progression down the stairs. Every muscle in his body tensed, and an uncharacteristic agitation stole over him. Since meeting Rosalyn, he couldn’t seem to shake the effect she had on him.

  “Well, well. If it ain’t King Manchester,” a voice drawled behind him.

  Derek’s hands fisted at his sides as he pivoted to face the person speaking to him—a man he could barely tolerate most days, and whom he had often contemplated severing completely from his life. The task might have proved easier had the man not been his brother—or half-brother, actually. His father had strayed often, if the tales were true, but none of the women had offered up a babe, except one.

  “What are you doing here?” Derek asked tightly, endeavoring to keep his anger in check. His brother had an uncanny way of showing up at the most inopportune times. Ethan’s sole purpose in life seemed to be annoying him, and he succeeded far better than Derek would ever let on.

  “What kind of greeting is that for your beloved sibling? Surely you’re happy to see me?”

  Derek refused to get reeled in. Ethan enjoyed prodding him until they were a hair’s breadth from exchanging blows, always making it look as though Derek had lost his temper first, or that Derek begrudged his brother what Ethan deemed his rightful heritage.

  Some of his clan were actually sympathetic to Ethan. He was a bastard, never recognized by his father, and ironically the one person who had real reason to shun him was the very person who made sure he was educated and left a small inheritance: Derek’s mother.

  Lady Emmaline had refused to be pitied or looked at as a laughingstock because her husband had flaunted his transgressions. Instead she had used those very transgressions, tossing them up in his face at every opportunity. And what better way to do that than to raise the son he refused to acknowledge?

  To further the irony, Ethan was really more deserving of being the laird than Derek. Ethan was firstborn, bastard or not. And Ethan’s mother had been a Scottish princess, though her clan had lost most of their prosperity in her early days.

  In the fifteen years after Ethan’s birth, his mother’s clan had become a nomadic group, primarily scavengers and peddlers and vagabonds. Most Scottish found their presence a blight, and they were often treated like the lowest forms of humanity.

  When Ethan had first come to live with them, Derek had felt sorry for his half-brother, had wanted to get to know him and share a bond. They had a common enemy, their father, who considered both of them no good. And they had both been pawns in the war between Derek’s parents.

  But Ethan had chosen to remain at a distance—and to hate Derek with every fiber of his being, until Derek had no choice but to hate Ethan in return.

  “I repeat,” Derek said. “What are you doing here?”

  Ethan propped a shoulder against a wood pillar and smiled sardonically. “You never change, do you, brother? You always think the world belongs to you and you alone. I hate to be the one to bring your glass house crashing down, but the rest of us have just as much right to be here as you. So you had best get used t
o it.”

  “The rest of the world can stay. You, however, can get the hell out.”

  “Tsk, tsk. That’s not a very loving attitude. You know what Mother used to say: vengeance is best left to the Lord. You’d heed that advice if you know what’s good for you—though you were never very good at that, were you?”

  A familiar knot cramped Derek’s jaw. “Mother? Certainly you’re not referring to my mother? Your mother was a whore who chose to spread her thighs and then abandon you on my family.”

  The slight tensing of his half-brother’s shoulders was the only outward sign that Derek had struck a nerve. Ethan had always been better at controlling his emotions, and that, perhaps more than anything else, stoked Derek’s anger the most.

  “How could I possibly forget?” Ethan replied with a mocking grin. “You and our dear father took every opportunity to remind me of my illegitimacy. But Lady Emmaline, bless her English heart, loved me like my own mother couldn’t. She took me under her wing and nurtured me like a baby chick, and look at me now. Rather formidable, wouldn’t you say? No longer the scruffy ragamuffin who could be bullied.”

  “Don’t delude yourself. Under that refined accent and those refined clothes, you’re still that skinny, dirty urchin who was dumped on our doorstep. And you were never bullied; you were always the instigator. Tormenting the children of the village, throwing rocks at the farmers, shooting the hens for the hell of it—and then there were all those ‘accidents’ I had, like the fall from my horse when I was fifteen that broke my leg, or the time I got locked in the vault. No one found me for three days. I could have died.”

  “Yet here you are, safe and sound, and unfortunately no better for your trials.”

  “No thanks to you,” Derek bit out, his fists throbbing from clenching them so hard.

  “So you’ve always said. You managed to turn the entire clan against me and have me sent off to America to live with Lady Emmaline’s pious sister.”

  “That year without you was worth all the grief.”

  “I imagine you spent every waking moment praying my ship went down at sea.”

  Derek’s life would have been so much easier if Ethan had gone away and never returned. But no matter how much he’d hated his half-brother, he had never wished him dead.

  “Why bother talking about what could have been?” Derek replied. “For some reason my mother left you a stipend. You’re financially independent, so why don’t you use your cache to disappear into the vast reaches of civilization? Perhaps explore the world of albino pygmies or travel to France and socialize with the other pompous asses.”

  Ethan tapped his forefinger against his chin. “While your suggestion sounds intriguing, there are two things stopping me. The first is that your dear mother didn’t leave me all that much blunt. In the end she loved her own flesh and blood better, or she would have left me the estates.”

  “They go with the title,” Derek reminded him stiffly.

  “Which you shunned, to live among the Scots who will never fully accept you. No matter what you do, you will never be one of them, unlike me. My blood is pure. What a twist of fate that is.”

  Derek forced himself to loosen his fists. “And the second reason stopping you from disappearing?” he prompted.

  “That should be readily apparent,” Ethan said with a shrug. “I live to annoy you. Really, what other enjoyments do I have? Why deny myself life’s simple pleasures?”

  Derek took a step toward his brother, who matched the move, mere inches separating them. “I could permanently bar you from the clan.”

  “But you won’t, because it would appear as though you couldn’t handle me. Take heart, brother, there are other ways to be rid of me. You could throw me in a mask and shackle me in the dungeon, tell people I simply left one day, and you hadn’t seen or heard from me since.”

  “Though,” he went on with a smirk, “I doubt you’d be able to live with your conscience. That was always your problem, wasn’t it? You were never able to let me get what I deserved, even when Father knew it had to be me who had nearly killed the heir apparent in the vault. You wouldn’t let him beat me; you had to say that you might have accidentally locked yourself in, or that the wind could have blown the door shut.”

  Ethan shook his head and smiled benignly. “A conscience is clearly a burden, and I’m glad I don’t have one. For no matter what it takes, I intend to show the clan that you are not who they think you are. My mission is to dethrone you—and I will, before too long.”

  Before Derek could lunge at his brother, a thick arm thrust between them. “Do y’ lads never get enough of bein’ at each other’s throats?” Derek shot a glare at Darius, who shook his head in reproach before turning his regard on Ethan. “What is in ye boy, tae be harborin’ so much anger and resentment toward the only remainin’ family y’ve got? Derek isn’t the one you should be spewin’ y’r venom on.”

  “And who is, old man?” Ethan asked in a savage tone, a muscle working in his jaw. “You?”

  “Nay, I’m a peace-lovin’ soul, as y’ well know. But this feuding between you and y’r brother—”

  “Half-brother,” Derek bit out. “And I have my doubts about that, considering his mother.”

  Ethan’s hand shot toward Derek’s throat, but Darius pushed him back. “Enough! Two grown men actin’ like bairns.” Darius threw up his hands and stepped out from between them. “You”—he pointed at Derek—“have someone who needs you right now. The wee lass has no one tae help her. If y’re bound and determine tae kill him or get yourself killed, then so be it. But dunna say I didn’t warn y’.”

  A slow smile spread over Ethan’s face. “Speaking of the wee lass…” He pushed past Derek and strode to the stairs. “Good morning, Lady Rosalyn. I cannot say how pleased I am to see you again.”

  Derek spun around. Christ, he had forgotten about Rosalyn, and Ethan took full advantage, moving in on her like a shark, as he had done every time Derek was by her side in London. Then, as now, he switched off his smug attitude and turned on the charm.

  Derek felt like doing bodily injury as Ethan lifted Rosalyn’s hand and placed a kiss on the back, lingering far longer than was necessary, which, of course, was his intention.

  “You are a fetching sight, my dear,” Ethan said. “Let us have a look at you.” He took her hand and drew her down the final step. “Lovely, as always.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured, her gaze meeting Derek’s, the concerned look in her eyes confirming that she had heard his run-in with his brother.

  Tucking Rosalyn’s hand in the crook of his arm, Ethan escorted her into the room. “What a wonderful surprise to see you. I was most unhappy when I learned of your departure from London. Lady Dane kept mum about your sudden leave-taking.” Flashing a look at Derek, he said, “Now I see why.

  “But,” he continued in a light tone, “I’ve found you again, and I don’t intend to let you out of my sight this time—we shall be boon companions. I know you love to ride, and if you’d like I’ll let you take my mount, Sabbath. I’m sure he’ll be quite happy to have you on top of him.” Leaning close to her ear, he said loud enough for Derek to hear, “I know I would be.”

  Fury consumed Derek, and he slammed the heel of his hand into Ethan’s chest, knocking him back. Pointing a finger in his face, Derek said through clenched teeth, “You are to stay away from her. Do you understand?”

  Ethan straightened and dusted off his shoulder. “Are you proposing to tell me what to do? I think we’ve discovered that I’ll do what I want.”

  “When I have you turned out, then we’ll see what you’ll do.”

  “My lord, please…,” Rosalyn beseeched, not wanting to be the cause of a problem. “I’m sure he meant no harm.” The furious look Derek leveled on her warned her not to get involved.

  Ethan’s smile was a mere baring of teeth. “You heard the lady, brother. Be nice to me. I’ve had a difficult life, or hadn’t you heard?”

  “Enough, boy,” Darius
said warningly. “Be done with it.”

  “I haven’t even started, uncle.”

  “Don’t make me tell you again,” Derek said in a taut voice. “You won’t like the outcome.”

  “So you’re finally shedding that yellow streak? Bravo, I never thought the day would come. Surely something is behind this amazing transformation. What might that be?”

  Leaning forward, Ethan’s warm breath fanned Rosalyn’s cheek as he said, “I believe it’s you, my lady. It seems you have brought about a miraculous change in the lad. King Manchester is known to have an icy heart that not even the equatorial sun can melt.

  “Well, this will make for an intriguing stay. Now if you’ll excuse me, Sabbath is waiting for me, and I’d like to let him know that he may have a visitor.” With a devilish smile, Ethan inclined his head to Rosalyn. “Good day, my dear.” Turning, he said with a mocking tone, “Always a delight, brother. And Darius, please stop hovering. You’re like a pesky fly.”

  As Ethan left, Darius said, “If that boy wasn’t half my age and twice my size, I’d kick him in the pants. Hard.” He trudged out of the tavern, muttering something about seeing to the horses, which were in the traces and anxious to go.

  Derek hesitated, then turned to face Rosalyn. In the muted light, she looked so young. Her hair had been brushed until it shone; a gleaming golden mass that he longed to run his fingers through.

  He had only seen it down once, when he had barged into her room and discovered her bouncing on top of the steamer trunk.

  Normally her hair was braided into a thick rope that hung down her back or else was looped upward and secured with combs, as it was this morning. The combs were a delicate pearl that matched the luster of her skin and the creamy color of her day dress.

  “You look tired,” he said, noting the dark circles under her eyes, which only made them look larger and more luminous. “Did you not sleep well?”

  Her gaze dropped from his. “The accommodations were fine.”

  A moment of silence descended, then Derek said, “I’m sorry about what happened before. Ethan can be—”