Highlander's Redemption: The Sinclair Brothers Trilogy, Book Two (4 page)

Suddenly he bolted
up from the footstool and crossed to her in front of the fire. She jumped at
his lightening-fast movement, but he wrapped his hand around her wrist
delicately, holding her in place.

“What is this,
Jossalyn?”

His touch on her
wrist was light, but his voice was dark with anger, and his gray eyes were
stormy as they bore down on her. She nearly flinched under the weight of his
stare and his question.

“It’s nothing. I
just…it’s just an old bruise.” She hated the sound of the lie in her voice, but
what was the alternative? Tell this strange Scotsman that her brother, Raef
Warren, Lord of Dunbraes, had squeezed her arm so hard a week ago that the mark
was still visible?

His eyes searched
her face, seeming to see right through her, lies and all. “Your brother?”

She inhaled
sharply, suddenly frightened that he knew too much. But she had told him that
her brother disapproved of her healing. Lowering her eyes, she simply nodded,
not wishing to either lie more, or worse, reveal the truth.

“He is so against
you helping people that he uses force against you?” The incredulity and rage in
his voice made her feel—safer, surprisingly. This stranger seemed to have more
decency and regard for women than her own brother did.

She nodded again,
but pulled her wrist back, breaking their light connection. She turned back to
the caldron, where the comfrey root was turning into a paste the right
consistency to apply to Garrick’s shoulder. Hopefully the same remedy that had
John feeling young and spry again would work on Garrick as well.

“Jossalyn.”

The sound of her
name on his deep voice sent a shiver up her spine. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to
stay with your brother. Where I’m from, your gift for healing would be valued,
and the people there would treat you as you deserve. People would…care for
you.”

Her hand stilled
in its stirring. Was she hearing him right? Was he suggesting…? No, he hadn’t
said that
he
cared for her, or that she should leave with him. But the
seriousness in his voice told her that he did want better for her. And she
wanted better for herself.

She had always let
herself fantasize when she was collecting herbs or roots in the forest next to
the village that perhaps someday she would escape her brother. This had often
involved imagining getting married to some honorable English knight and living
in the countryside where she had grown up.

But with her
brother’s recent threats to use her marriage to forge an alliance for his
benefit, those dreams of wedded bliss had been quashed. And even setting aside
the nauseating thought of marrying some old lecher for her brother’s gain, she
was no longer sure she wanted to move south back into England. She had never
been farther north than the Borderlands, but she had become enraptured by the
more rugged, wild country that she now inhabited. The longer summer days and
the colder, snowier winter nights, the towering mountains in the distance, the
violent storms and the tranquil lochs—these were the things that moved her,
that made her feel alive.

And then there
were the people. The village was a constantly changing hodgepodge of Englishmen,
Borderlanders, and Scottish Lowlanders, most of whom were simply trying to keep
their heads down and survive. No one would speak directly about it, but
Jossalyn had been in enough backrooms and marketplaces to hear talk of the
desire for Scottish independence. These people, on whose lands she was living,
had been hammered by her countrymen, just as King Edward I had set out to do. They
sought their freedom—freedom from oppression, freedom to worship, to keep up
their traditions, to live in peace—yet her King and countrymen had to have
more, had to be in control.

Though she had
never voiced such thoughts to anyone before, she had often felt a kindred
struggle for her own freedom. She understood perfectly the value of
independence and liberty from tyranny. She didn’t want to live under her
brother’s control for the rest of her life, and certainly wouldn’t be married
off to some cradle-robbing English nobleman, so what was left?

She had always
pushed away the whispers inside her head, but now they were clear and loud: she
should escape, move north, leave behind England and its constant quest to make
Scotland come to heel.

If she were free,
she could work as a healer—a real healer, not just one who could only see
patients when her brother wasn’t paying attention. She could help more people. She
could live as she pleased, marry whom she pleased. Perhaps she could even marry
a man like Garrick.

Her heart pounded
furiously at the thought. Of course, she hardly knew him, so she wouldn’t let
her mind rush to thoughts of a life with him, but maybe she could find someone
who was as kind, or who would accept her as a skilled healer, or who stirred
her and made her stomach flutter, the way the mere sight of him did.

Yes, the man
standing behind her moved her in ways she didn’t even understand, but this
wasn’t about him—it was about her freedom. But perhaps he could help her.

Letting that
thought simmer for the moment, she turned back to face Garrick. He loomed over
her, his naked torso dominating her field of vision. He was a patient at the
moment, she reminded herself as she tried to keep her eyes from roving all over
him.

She failed. She
couldn’t help but drink in the sight of all those contours and muscular planes.
Something hitched in the back of her mind, though. She had noticed it before
when she was checking his shoulder, but hadn’t registered it.

“How did you get
these scars? I would have expected to see burn marks on a blacksmith, not so
many healed cuts.”

His eyes flashed,
and he paused for a moment before answering her. “My brothers and I roughhoused
with each other a lot. When we were children, we fancied ourselves knights.”

“Jousting and
sword fights and all that?” she said with a wry smile.

“Yes, something
like that,” he replied, one corner of his mouth quirking into something
resembling mirth. “But we grew out of it,” he continued, more serious suddenly.
Something dark lay behind his words, but she didn’t want to pry.

“If you’ll sit
again, I’ll wrap your shoulder, which should ease the pain.”

He obliged, and
she dipped a strip of cloth from her basket into the paste bubbling over the
fire. She approached him, blowing gently on the paste-covered cloth to cool it
enough to apply it to his skin. After placing the strip across his shoulder,
she returned to the caldron, repeating the steps until his shoulder was covered
in comfrey-soaked cloth.

As she finished
arranging the last of the strips, his hands suddenly came up and wrapped around
her waist. Before she could get out a gasp of surprise, he had pulled her down
onto his lap, and placed a kiss on her surprise-parted lips.

He hadn’t meant for
it to happen, but he damn well didn’t regret it either.

Her nearness was
intoxicating him, making it hard for him to think straight. Hi didn’t plan on
getting involved, but hearing the strain in her voice when she mentioned her
lowlife of a brother had made him furious—and protective, for some reason. This
lass was none of his concern, but then why was his blood boiling at the thought
of her brother laying a hand on her in anger? And why was he so intrigued at
her apparently strong feelings of connection with Scotland? And why had his
cock stirred when he had held her delicate wrist in his hand and inhaled the
scent of her?

When she had
pursed those plump red lips and blown on the cloth, however, that was his
undoing. His mind had flown unbidden to thoughts of what else those lips might
do, and he had nearly lost his battle to control his cock. It was all he could
do to stop from pulling her to him right then, but he had managed to resist.

It wasn’t until
the last piece of cloth had been placed on his shoulder and her hands drew back
that he lost his battle. He wanted more of her touch, wanted to feel her
fingertips grazing across his skin again, to feel just how soft and sweet her
lips actually were.

It was even better
than he could have hoped. Her surprise melted almost instantly into soft
tentativeness. He forced himself to keep the kiss light, just a brush of his
lips against hers. His hands stayed around her waist, and hers rested between
them against his bare chest. Just when he was about to break off the relatively
innocent kiss, she leaned into him a little, pressing her lips more firmly
against his and slightly curling her fingers into his skin.

He tilted his head
to deepen the kiss. Their lips melded more firmly together. She made a little noise
like a sigh, and he took the opportunity to brush his tongue against her
slightly-parted lips. She inhaled with surprise as his tongue gently teased the
inside of her mouth, but she melted even further into him, moving her hands
from his chest to wind around his neck.

Slowly at first,
then with more confidence, she matched the movements of his tongue, caressing,
teasing, and intertwining. Heat shot to his cock, which was pressed against her
bottom. He gripped her hips, pressing her more firmly into his lap, even though
he was only increasing the exquisite, pleasurable torture.

“Ahem.”

Jossalyn shot like
a spooked cat out of his lap and onto her feet at the sound of Burke’s voice in
the doorway.

“Am I
interrupting?” Burke asked innocently, though his raised eyebrow and quirked
mouth said he had seen enough to know the answer to his question.

“No, no, I was
just…I’m all finished here,” Jossalyn stammered out, her cheeks flaming red.

“What do you want,
Burke?” Garrick ground out through gritted teeth. Damn his cousin’s bad
timing—or was it good timing? How far would he and Jossalyn have gone? And what
would have been the consequences to his mission? Christ, he had let his cock do
his thinking for him.

“I finished up
with that horseshoe and came in to see how it was going in here. Garrick, you
look like you feel better already,” Burke replied, his smile widening.

“I should go,”
Jossalyn said in a small voice. She snatched her basket from the table and
hurried to the back door, pushing past Burke with her head down.

“Jossalyn, wait!”
Garrick strode after her, pausing only to say out of the side of his mouth to
Burke, “You’ll pay for embarrassing her like that.” Burke only grinned wider in
response.

Garrick caught up
with her in the alleyway leading off of the smithy’s backyard. He moved in
front of her to stop her hurried steps, but she kept her head down, not meeting
his eyes.

“Jossalyn, pay no
heed to Burke’s teasing. He only meant to aim it at me.”

“But we shouldn’t
have—I shouldn’t—”

He placed a finger
under her chin and lifted it so that her eyes met his. Their emerald depths
were clouded over with embarrassment. He struggled to find the words that would
ease her shame, to express to her how much that one kiss had stirred him. He
couldn’t even believe he was chasing after her; normally, he let the lasses
come and go, enjoying their company but nothing more. But with Jossalyn, he
longed for more—more contact, more kisses, more conversations.

“I want to see you
again,” he finally managed.

“But you will
likely leave in a few days’ time when John is caught up on his orders, and I—I wouldn’t
be able to come and see you even if you stayed.”

Her fragmented and
cryptic speech brought a question to his mind, but he pushed it aside for the
time being. He had to convince her somehow to see him again, for he didn’t know
what he would do if he never laid eyes on her again.

Damn his brother
and this mission. He hadn’t wanted to go on an information gathering operation
in the first place, and now that he was here in the Borderlands with this
remarkable lass, he had to leave. Burke was clever in letting it be known that
they would be moving on shortly. It would rouse less suspicion if they had only
planned on staying a short while from the beginning, but he had never foreseen becoming
so enthralled with an English lass.

“Please, Jossalyn,
I have to see you again,” he said simply, unable to explain the situation to
her, and not fully understanding his strong desire for her either.

She bit her lower
lip, a look of frustration crossing her face. Finally, she said, “All right. I
will visit you again. But,” she said seriously, “we cannot…behave so intimately
again. We must be friends, and no more.”

He felt his face
grow dark. Why would she deny the passion that clearly crackled like lightening
between them? Why would she push him away like this?

Then it dawned on
him. She was protecting herself. She was keeping her distance so that she
wouldn’t get overly involved, knowing as she did that he would be leaving soon.
She had the strength to do what he was too weak to attempt. He wanted any time
he could get with her, but wouldn’t that make his departure harder on both of
them?

He considered her
demand that they act as friends. Would it even be possible? Based on his body’s
reaction to their kiss, it wasn’t likely. But then again, he would rather see
her again, if only for a few days, than not at all.

“Very well. Will
you come by the smithy tomorrow?”

She nodded, her
green eyes clearing slightly. “Yes. I’ll come check on your shoulder.”

He let his hand
fall from under her chin and stepped back from her. She scrutinized him for a
moment longer, her expression somewhere between quizzical and decisive. Seeming
to have come to some sort of conclusion, she gave another little nod and walked
around him and down the alley.

He waited until
she was out of sight, then barreled back toward the smithy with one intention. He
found Burke still smiling and leaning against the frame of the smithy’s back
door. Without ado, Garrick marched up to him and plowed his fist into his
stomach. Burke immediately doubled over with a loud grunt.