The Great Scottish Devil (2 page)

“I didn’t kill him.” She swallowed hard, tears creeping slowly down her cheeks. “He’s my father.”

Brodie heard Douglas dismounting, walking next to him. He lowered his sword, studied the young girl, puzzled at the dark hair cut roughly to chin-length. How could he have not recognized her as a female? God’s teeth, had his loss of memories affected his…

No. No, his cock was even now stirring to life. But, good God, she was but a child! His gaze went to her chest. All right, she was a very endowed child. He scowled in annoyance. She should not be affecting him so. Aye, he refused to allow it!

“Ye should no’ be out here alone,” he bellowed.

Douglas glanced at him with a raised eyebrow but said nothing.

The girl, though, shot to her feet, brushed away her tears, and scowled right back at him. “I wasn’t alone until my father died.” At the last word, some of the spirit went out of her. “You do not need to interrupt your travels because of me. You can leave at any time.”

His men started down the hill behind them. The many hooves plodding over the ground drew everyone’s attention. His shoulders stiffened. He didn’t like the idea of his big, brawny Highland soldiers seeing this tiny sprite of a female. Especially with her standing there wearing boy’s-sized braies, which fit her slender form far too well for his peace of mind. And, in her anger with him, her breasts had thrust forward even more, pushing against the fabric of her shirt. He could see her nipples, dark rose-colored buds, pebbled hard.

“Ye have no’ hidden yer woman’s body well enough.” He motioned her toward the wagon. “Find something to cover up with.”

She didn’t move, simply continued to scowl defiantly at him. “You cannot tell me what to do.”

“I have fifty men riding closer by the second. Men who’ve been many days on the trail, many days without a woman.” That all might be true, but he knew none of his men would harm her. He would never allow it. And not a one of them would want to tangle with him.

As if she hadn’t heard the pounding hooves or seen their approach, she looked toward the hill now thickly covered with armed soldiers and powerful horses. The color left her face. “Please, take your men and continue on your way. Please.” She glanced back at the ashen-faced, middle-aged man near her feet. The dirk she held lowering to dangle in her limp hand. “Leave me to bury my father in peace.”

Brodie saw the miserable grief in her expression, fear as well. He knew all about fear, all about grief. Ever since the clansmen who’d brought him back to Urquhart from Tunis had told him about the deaths of his father and his older brother, he’d been grieving. But his grief hadn’t been as wrenching as hers clearly was, because he didn’t actually remember his father or his brother.

“We will see to the burying of yer da,” Douglas stated in a tone that brooked no discussion.

Nodding in agreement, Brodie grew more anxious as the other men neared. He reached over his shoulder to slide his sword back into its sheath. Thinking quickly, he went to his horse and pulled the plaid fabric he used to cover him as he slept on the ground at night from a pouch. He walked to her and easily relieved her of the dirk. Then, as she watched him in astonishment, he draped his plaid around her.

“There. ‘Tis better.” He stepped back, relieved at hiding her woman’s assets that had been making him uncomfortable. And now none of his men would see them either.

Frustrating lass that she could be, she started to pull the plaid off, but stopped when he gave her a fierce glower. “You’re a most annoying man.”

“Aye, he can be, lass,” Douglas chuckled, grinning when Brodie turned the glower in his direction. “He is not called The Great Scottish Devil for nothing.”

Her eyes flashed wide as she gasped, “I’ve heard of you!” But instead of cowering as many people did when they were around him, she gave a soft laugh. “Tales of you are known all throughout the lands. Tales spread by tinkers, added to by maidens fair—and not so fair—eager to be taken to your bed. Your reputation as a lover nearly surpasses your reputation on the battlefields.”

She smiled and studied him. “As such a feared warrior, I thought you would be more battle scarred. Breathe fire even.” She blushed and looked at his kilt. “I can understand why you are lusted after, Lord Devil.”

“Ye shouldna speak in such a manner, lass.” Brodie snarled at her, trying to erase the teasing smile on her face. It was doing things it shouldn’t to his cock. His kilt was starting to lift with his arousal and he didn’t like that at all. Not with Douglas standing there trying not to grin as he noticed, and not with his men fast approaching. He latched onto the only thing he could think of to get control of the moment. “Especially not with yer dead da lying next to ye.”

She stepped back against the wagon as if he’d struck her. Those tears she’d finally stopped shedding began falling once more. Her small body shook. “You…you’re a truly awful man,” she whispered.

Douglas drew up to his full height and pinned him with a look of disgust. “Aye, lass, he can be that at times.”

Now Brodie felt great remorse for being so abrupt, so heartless. She just made him… Well, he wasn’t sure what, but she definitely knocked him off-kilter. “’Tis sorry for that, I am,” he mumbled.

The first of his other men rode up and he shifted in front of her, trying to block her from their view, which he knew was ridiculous. He looked at them and ordered brusquely, “We need to bury the lass’s da.”

He heard her suck in a breath and, again, felt bad about speaking so harshly. He glanced toward a small grassy area between several towering birches and a patch of heather. It seemed a fitting place for burial. “Lay the mon to rest there.”

Annabel shivered as she stood rigidly in front of the dirt and stone mounded grave The Devil’s men had finished only moments ago. She wasn’t cold on the outside, more cold on the inside. Cold and lost. But not alone, at least not right now. She knew that his large group of men was nearby, silent and watching as she paid her final respects to her father. “I’ll miss you, da,” she said in a pain-filled whisper.

She bent down to lay the bouquet of heather she’d picked next to the rough cross Sir Douglas had made. Such a big man, he was. A bit gruff when speaking with the other men, but she sensed the gruffness covered a good heart and a fierce loyalty to The Devil and to their men. She gently touched the foot-tall, wooden cross and felt their powerfully built, far-too-handsome leader standing a few feet away. He’d not said another word to her after his awkward apology. She doubted he’d apologized very many other times in his life. The fact that he’d done so to her touched her heart.

“Good-bye, da.” She stood, dashed away the tears on her cheeks, and hoped she could find the strength within her to face life alone now. It was so difficult to turn around and look at the tinker’s wagon in which she’d spent so much time traveling all over the lands with her parents.

“Tavis will ride with ye,” The Devil said, nodding toward a young Scot near her age standing at the front of the wagon. Tavis’s face was almost as red as his hair.

“Ride with me?” She blinked in confusion.

“We canna leave ye out here all alone. Ye will go with us to Urquhart for now.” That said he strode toward his big black stallion.

She ran after him, stopping between the man who towered over her by at least a foot and his horse. “Why do you insist on telling me what to do, Devil? You have no say at all in where I go or when I travel.” Then she remembered the kindness he’d done for her when he didn’t need to do anything. “I do thank you for seeing to my da.”

“Devil?” He frowned down at her, his moss green eyes appearing annoyed.

Douglas said, “Ye’ve no’ told her yer name, Brodie. All the lass knows is yer ‘The Great Scottish Devil.’”

Clearly the bold Scot hadn’t thought about that. “Brodie. Brodie Durward, laird of Urquhart.”

Out of courtesy only, she said, “Annabel Henderson.”

“Now that the introductions have been made, ‘tis time we be on our way.” He began to move around her. “Tavis can help ye onto the wagon seat.”

Annabel once more moved between Brodie and his horse. “
You
can be on your way, but
I
am not leaving for another day or so.”

His massive chest swelled and he gave her a stony, flinty look. “We have been away long enough, lass. My men are anxious to get home. As am I.”

She shook her head. “Then go. Take your Tavis with you.” Now she stepped by him and pursed her lips in exasperation as she heard a number of low chuckles from his men.

He must have heard them, too, for he growled and all laughter stopped. He was on her heels in an instant. “I will
no’
leave ye here alone. ‘Tis dangerous. Ye were jist lucky ‘twas my men and I who came upon ye.”

“I’ve a dirk and…and a sword—smaller than yours—and I—”

“Useless weapons against a mon, or men, determined to have their way with ye. Nay, ye will come along with us.” He clenched his jaw and looked ready to pick her up and toss her over his shoulder if necessary.

Although she imagined most people would be intimidated by him, she was not. What he said might be true, but she wasn’t ready to leave her father’s side just yet. And when she did leave here, she would be traveling on with their normal route. Their—her—wagon with all its tinker’s wares would be expected at the villages they visited this time of year.

“Urquhart is by Loch Ness, isn’t it? That is
not
the direction I am headed.”

If the man puffed up any more in his frustration, she feared he’d explode. “Ye. Are. Coming. With. Us.”

She stood toe-to-toe with him and inhaled his scent, which sent shivers of awareness through her, and ignored all but her irritation. “No. I. Am. Not.”

It surprised her how silent so many men could be, but they appeared to be avidly listening to this strained conversation. She sensed their amazement that she dared to stand up to their determined leader. And from the corner of her eye, she noted Tavis practically gaping in shock. But she had to take a stand, had to learn to deal with problems she would face from here on out. Brodie Durward was merely the first one of many, she imagined.

Douglas walked over to them, oddly studying them both. “The day is passing quickly, my lord. Mayhap we could camp here tonight.” He looked calmly at Brodie. “Mayhap ye can talk this matter out while the men rest. We’ve been traveling hard now fer days.”

At first she didn’t think Brodie would give in, she didn’t think he backed easily down from anything. But he gave a curt nod. “We leave on the morrow. Make camp.”

“I—” She started to protest, again, that she wouldn’t be going with them, but Brodie turned and walked away to give the order to his men.

“He’s a good mon, lass. Suffers much pain at the moment, though ‘tis on the inside.” He watched the slightly younger man striding away. “He’s no’ a patient mon, but he’d give his life fer any of his men and they all know it.”

“Pain? On the inside?” Annabel asked, irritated with Brodie but unusually drawn to him. She didn’t like the idea of him suffering. She didn’t like for anyone to suffer. But the thought of him doing so worried her and pulled on her heartstrings.

Douglas furrowed his brow in thought, but finally made a decision. “Our laird lost his memories fighting in the Crusades. Came back to us hurt bad, though his physical wounds have healed. But he doesna remember us.” His voice became even sadder, quieter. “No’ even me and I grew up with Brodie, his brother and his sister.”

“It must be very hard on him. His family as well.” She couldn’t imagine dealing with such an awful thing. And now she’d added to his burdens, even if he shouldn’t be worried about her.

“’Tis harder than any of us can understand, I fear. Fergus, his older brother, died in the battles in Tunis. As did their father.” He glanced back toward the mountains they’d crossed over. “We ride back now from Middleham, from going to see his sister Maggie. The lass is heartbroken that she couldna help him. He doesna remember her, either.”

Annabel’s thoughts turned to her supply of medicinals. Did she have anything that might help him? She didn’t speak, just wandered toward the wagon.

* * *

The men were breaking camp, preparing to leave for Urquhart. Brodie returned from doing his private business in the small stand of trees. In truth, he wasn’t anxious to go home.
Home
. He still had no real recollections of the vast castle and its grounds, nor of the people there. He knew his continued loss of memory concerned them, especially Douglas. Yet he worried the memories were gone forever. He wasn’t sure how to begin a completely new life.

His glance moved to the tinker’s wagon. Annabel Henderson would be beginning a new life, too. He didn’t think he was a man who had much of a soft side, but the tiny lass had gotten to him. She’d admitted to being all by herself in the world now. He felt her pain, her grief, her determination to survive. And he respected that grim resolve, although he was more than frustrated with her stubbornness. They’d talked late into the night about her intending to continue with her family’s tinker trade. Well, she’d talked about it. He’d listened and tried to give her the voice of reason, tried to make her understand the dangers of being a woman and traveling alone. She’d finally acknowledged he was right about that.

So why wasn’t she getting ready to leave? He’d seen her wander off to take care of her own personal matters, but she should be back by now. She should be helping to hitch up her horses. Unless she’d changed her mind about going with them this morn. But had she actually told him she would? Aye, she had. He was certain she had. Well, almost certain.

Irritated, he strode off in the direction he’d seen her go. She
was
coming with them! There was no question about it in his mind. Behind him he heard the sounds of men packing up, saddles being put on horses, men talking and laughing. They were eager to get on their way. Now they were delayed even longer because of this contrary lass. He had a good mind to warm her bottom over all this nonsense.