Page 24 of A Highland Rogue to Ruin

“I think ye fear greatly. A frightened wolf bites and right now, ye snarl. And ye ken nothing about my life,” she retorted.

“I ken that ye feel trapped.” He stalked back to her, hitching his chin like the arrogant bastard he was. “I ken that yer grandsire brought ye trinkets from abroad and that ye race horses like the finest marcaiche and that ye love lavender and books.” He stepped closer. Dropped his voice. Leaned down to her ear. “I ken what ye sound like when a man pleases ye. That sound is mine, a sound I’ll always remember, wishing I could imbibe another swallow of yer sweet moans.” Hell, her blush. “I ken ye taste like wine and berries and that yer skin is smooth like cream. I ken that deep down ye wish ye’d been born a man, so that ye could have that freedom everyone else always had, and that ye played me like a lute over a game of chess and that ye dance like a mirage, drawing a man out to sea without a sail to drown in yer beauty.”

“Sakes, ye speak in verse…”

He stood so close again, that magnet pulling him. “I ken much about ye.”

“Then we’ll never just be strangers, will we? I ken much about ye, too. I ken ye smell like sea breeze. I ken ye’re slow to smile, but when ye do, yer eyes glitter mischievously. I ken ye feel trapped, too, in yer position and by yer grief”—

“Grief,” he grunted.

“And that we were wrong about yer brother.”

He froze. Gaze sliced to hers.

“I ken ye’ve lived life by the sword so long, ye seem to have forgotten how to simply live. And I ken that yer pride seems to be worse an enemy to ye than my brother.” She dropped the coin to the path with a heavy jingle. “Yer people need this more than ours. This purse can right one wrong. Yer crops. ’Tis why ye needed to win, is it nay?”

Reparations. Truth. A peace offering.

He snorted with disbelief. It wasn’t often someone surprised him, but she’d been doing that from the moment she’d knocked into him last night.

“Common people shouldna’ suffer for the battles chiefs fight among themselves,” she continued. “Tell me, was it the blackguard or the masked demon who saved me on the trail today? Because that man was the same one who loved me last night.” Love? What the hell— “He was honest and kind and there was good in him.”

No one had ever called him good. Or beautiful. As she’d called him the night before. She closed the tiny gap between them, touching him, posturing bigger for her slim height. He lifted the talon off her chest to examine it.

“Why did ye never tell us about Owen?” she whispered. “All this time, we thought…”

Tormund went rigid. Walk away, man. But the tears once more brimmed in those happy blue eyes— “Why do ye assume yer kin would have listened to the truth?”

“I’m listening now.”

She stared wide-eyed at him, her palm coming up to hold his face. He tensed. Her thumb caressed his cheek, now crusted with drying blood in spite of it, softening that burgeoning anger within him, fingered the other talon in his ear as he clenched his teeth at her sweet remembrance of their tryst, when her brother called.

Startled, she whirled over her shoulder.

“He’s determined to take me home after I signed up to race in secret. Says I’m being reckless.”

“Brighde!” called her brother again.

She worried her lip, turning back to him. His thumb plucked it out of her mouth before he could think otherwise. Pressed the flesh out of shape as her eyes darkened with desire for him.

“If ye want me to keep that coin, ye’ll have to best me. And so far, yer record does nay demonstrate a winning streak,” she challenged, then dashed away through the throngs of fair-goers, glancing back only once.

Best her for it? As in a race, or a game? Moths that fluttered toward flames burned, and Brighde MacDonald burned brightly, beckoning like a siren who had the power to drag him under the waves.

The coin lay abandoned at his feet. Reparations. She’d…recognized the harm done to his people. It wasn’t enough to right all the wrongs, but it was an olive branch. She was listening.

Am I?

Chapter Seven

“The trees in this pass are braw for an ambush. High road bends here and narrows, blinding the traveler to what’s around the curve.” Ghost pointed with his sword. Having left the faire grounds, Tormund and his men had checked out their weapons from Laird Rose’s armory.

“Aye, those tumbled rocks are a sound ruse. MacDonald and his men will never see us until it’s too late.” Reaper nodded to the affirmatives from Tormund’s retinue of guards.

Tormund braced a low-hanging branch, looking up, giving the thick ash a shake. Sturdy. He swung up onto it like a sailor on a yardarm, shimmying deftly to where it bowed over the path, right over where he’d drop to land atop the Devil. He inspected the view around the bend and how restricted it seemed from below. Noted similar nearby trees that would provide solid boughs upon which to tie ropes to swing down and take out James’s leading warriors: Sir Angus and Sir Lewis, so the others could be picked off in the ensuing chaos.

“Nay any crofts or hamlets nearby,” Tormund said to himself. No one nearby to hear the commotion. Another boon.