him again. ’Tis his way. But, I might weel try that if nay for one thing—Angus wishes to wed with me.”
Heming actually saw red and felt his fangs slide into place. Angus had the same hard, cold cruelty in him that Hervey did. The man had also been very creative in his methods of torture, as if he spent many long hours finding or thinking of ways to make people scream in pain. The thought of any man touching Brona was enough to make him grit his teeth in jealous fury, which surprised him. The thought of Angus touching Brona, of laying claim to her as his wife, was enough to make Heming want to howl with rage and go after the man, hunt Angus down, and rip him apart.
“Ye are the daughter of a laird. I would have thought your cousin would seek a more fitting husband for one of your birth.” Heming almost winced at his own hypocrisy, for if Angus was too lowborn for Brona then so was he.
“I was the daughter of a laird. I am now just a cousin of the laird. And, in truth, what I overheard implies that there was some dowry left for me. If I wed Angus then Hervey gets to keep the dowry and he is in need of some coin. They planned on seeing to that matter as soon as they were done with you.”
“Then ye must come with me to Cambrun. Ye will be safe there until I have killed Hervey and Angus.” Heming realized stating his plans for her cousin so bluntly may not have been the wisest thing to do, for she grew a little pale.
Brona knew Hervey and Angus deserved whatever punishment this man wished to give them considering all they had done to the man. She had just not been prepared to hear his plans spoken so bluntly or with such a cold resolution. Yet, it was not just Heming that men like her cousin were threatening, it was the entire MacNachton clan. Knowing her cousin and Angus, they had undoubtedly made their distaste for MacNachtons brutally clear, insulting and humiliating Heming at every turn. Brona supposed it was Heming’s right to feel as angry as he did. A man as proud as she sensed Heming was would have found his time as Hervey’s prisoner a source of great rage.
“I apologize,” Heming said. “The mon is your cousin—”
“Aye, but he has courted such a fate as ye promise him for years. I kenned what ye must feel, e’en what ye may have to do to save your clan, ere I unlocked your cage. I just winced a bit at hearing it said so clearly. ’Tis as if I unsheathed the knife that is now being held to my kinsmon and laird’s throat. In truth, it would do the people of Rosscurrach only good if those two men were gone. My cousin isnae a verra good laird.”
Heming gently grasped her by the chin and turned her face up to his. “Come with me to Cambrun. I can keep ye safe until ye can return here or anywhere else ye may wish to go.” He felt sure that he would be doing his best every step of the way to convince her to stay with him for a great deal longer than that, but it was not the time to even hint at such a plan.
Brona stared up into his golden eyes and felt something inside of her melt. He was such a beautiful man, his face cut of pure clean lines, and his lips full enough to be incredibly tempting. If she went with him she could remain at his side for a little while longer and she knew that was just where she wanted to be. The way he stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers had her trembling slightly and she had to face the fact that she would probably be willing to follow him anywhere.
Just one little kiss, she thought as she stared at his mouth. That did not seem too much to ask. Brona knew she was not the sort of woman a man as fine as Heming MacNachton would choose, but he could weaken enough for just a moment to give her a kiss. When she realized that his mouth was actually slowly moving toward hers, Brona had to fight hard to keep from throwing herself into his arms and hurrying things along. She had been dreaming of kissing this man for days and she did not want to do anything to stop him from giving her what she craved.
He knew it was a mistake, but Heming could not resist the temptation. Brona’s full lips were so close and he felt a deep urge to try to do something to take the look of sadness from her eyes. The moment he brushed his lips over hers, however, all thought of gently comforting her fled. He felt a wildness seize him. Even as a voice in his head whispered that he should be cautious and gentle, he quickly deepened the kiss. He needed to taste her, needed to hold her close. Slipping one hand into her hair and wrapping an arm around her small waist, he pulled her close to him and nipped gently at her bottom lip. As a soft gasp escaped her Heming swiftly took advantage of it, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. The taste of her was almost as intoxicating as the rich taste of her blood.
Brona clung to his broad shoulders and tried not to do anything that might let Heming know that she was almost completely innocent of this sort of thing, even kisses. When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, she almost squeaked out a protest, but it died as he stroked the inside of her mouth. The same heat that had flooded her body as he had taken her blood rushed back so quickly she felt faint from the power of it. This time the hand stroking her back did not do so in a gentle soothing manner, but in a way that had her pressing her body close to his.
It was the sound of a dog’s claws on stone that stopped Heming’s fall into mindless passion and need. The men were coming back and he knew they would not like to see their mistress being mauled by a man they were still not sure they trusted. He also realized that he was already starting to push Brona down onto the pallet, desperate to feel her body beneath him. Heming was sure that Brona was a virgin and such rough play would not be right, nor would taking her virginity in haste, in a cold, damp chamber beneath Rosscurrach with three men about to interrupt them. A woman like Brona deserved wooing, not grabbing. Heming ended the kiss, and had to fight to ignore the soft sound of protest she made, one that tempted him to return to her arms.
“Brona,” he said, lightly cupping her face in his hands, “the men are returning.” For a moment he feared she had not understood but then she blushed and pulled out of his arms.
When she kept right on blushing, nervously patting a hand over her hair as if trying to tidy it, and refused to look at him, Heming inwardly sighed. She was embarrassed. It was his fault for throwing himself upon her like some untried boy, but Heming was not sure how to ease that embarrassment. What women he had been with in his life had not required gentle words and fine manners.
“I am sorry if I have upset ye,” he said quietly, keeping one eye on the doorway.
“Och, nay, ’tis probably I who should apologize to ye for behaving so shamelessly,” Brona said and took a deep breath to calm herself enough to look him in the eye.
“If I hadnae heard the men returning, I would still be acting verra shamelessly myself. Ye certainly have naught to apologize for.”
Brona was about to argue that when she realized she had not heard anything and listened closely for the sound of the men and her pets returning to the chamber. She was just about to tell him he must have misheard when she heard the low murmur of voices. Brona looked at Heming in astonishment.
“How could ye have heard them?” she asked. “I have only just done so.”
“I have excellent hearing, a gift from both my father and my mother. Although my father claims that my mother’s hearing is enough to make him hang his head in shame.” Heming smiled faintly. “He says she can hear a butterfly sneeze in London.” Heming was pleased when Brona smiled fleetingly.
“One of those gifts ye mentioned, eh?”
“Aye, one of those. Will ye come with me to Cambrun, Brona Kerr?”
It was probably not the wisest thing to do, but Brona nodded. “Only until I can return to Rosscurrach without fear of being forced to marry Angus. I truly cannae abide the mon. I ken it sounds foolish but I believe marriage to that mon would slowly kill me in spirit and mind if nay in body.”
