Never Kiss a Scot: The League of Rogues - Book 10 Page 9

  Joanna stood, offering him back his greatcoat. She straightened her own cloak before glancing about.

  “Um… I need to…” She blushed, and he knew instantly what she needed.

  “There’s a thicket not too far off. You may go over and see to your needs. We’ll be reaching a stream in a few hours where we can wash a bit and let the horses quench their thirst.”

  Joanna nodded and then rushed off in the direction he had pointed out to her. She returned a short while later, and he helped her mount her mare.

  They rode for three hours, passing several farmers out in their fields while their cattle grazed. A flock of sheep crossed the road, and a farmer and his exuberant collie herded them onward to a pasture on the other side of the road. Joanna seemed to marvel at the sights, laughing as the collie nipped at the heels of the more stubborn sheep. Brock loved the way her smile seemed make her face glow. The shadows and the pain he’d glimpsed in her last night were not here today. She was bravely facing her new life with him, and he was damned proud that he would soon call this woman his wife.

  They reached a small wooden bridge with a stream flowing beneath it. Brock led the way, guiding his horse over the bridge. They rode their horses through the shallows a quarter of a mile downstream where they could rest unseen from the road.

  “I’ll tend to the horses if you wish to bathe.” Brock grabbed the reins of her horse and urged it along with his own to the stream bank. The two horses were grateful for the water, and he allowed them to have their fill. When he returned them to the shelter of the trees alongside the stream, he found Joanna had removed her boots and stockings and was wading knee-deep into the water. She kept careful hold of her skirts, and he caught a tantalizing view of not only her bare ankles but the curves of her calves. She had lovely legs. Brock drew in a measured breath as he imagined those legs wrapped around his waist.

  “Brock, are you all right?” Joanna called out to him.

  “Aye, I’m fine. Why?”

  “Oh, it’s just your jaw was clenched and” She didn’t finish.

  He dared not tell her the direction of his thoughts. It would likely frighten her to learn the depths of his desire.

  “I’m fine,” he assured her again, forcing himself to relax.

  She splashed about the shallows, kicking up water and dancing on the flat smooth rocks large enough to be stepping-stones. He had become so used to her as a fine, composed English lady that it was a surprising delight to see her act so playful now.

  “There are tiny fish in here.” She turned his way, a radiant expression of delight on her face as she pointed to the stream.

  Unable to resist, Brock joined her in the shallows, his boots sturdy enough to resist a bit of water.

  “Have you not seen fish before?” he teased, and caught her by the waist when she wobbled on an unsteady stone.

  “I have, of course, but…” Her brow furrowed as she met his gaze. “It’s just that…my mother never really let me go outside, not like this. I was only allowed to walk, sit, or ride. I was not permitted to swim, to run about, to fish—not like my brothers.”

  Brock’s heart ached for her. Every child should be free to explore the world around them.

  He cupped her face in his hands. “As my wife, and the lady of Castle Kincade, you may run about the woods and splash in our loch as much as you desire. I’ll even show you how to fish.” He could think of nothing more delightful than taking her out on the water in a small boat, the sun beaming brightly on the water as he showed her the pleasures of fishing.

  “Would you really?” Her eyes widened, and her voice held a hint of shyness that made him want to tip her head up and kiss her senseless.

  He stroked a fingertip down the line of her adorable nose. “Of course.” His body hummed with arousal, but also with something softer, sweeter. He couldn’t deny that he had a strong affection for his future wife.

  “Ladies in Scotland have more freedom,” he explained. “You may do anything you please. I want our marriage to be one of equals.” It was vital that she understood that. He had no desire to order her about or lock her inside the castle and control her the way his father had controlled his mother. The very thought of it made his stomach knot with painful memories.

  Her eyes darkened as she stood up on tiptoe, kissing him. It was not a kiss to inflame desire, nor did he wish for it to be. It was an expression of gratitude. Still, it flamed the desire within him, and he couldn’t resist the temptation she presented. He caught her by the waist, lifting her out of the shallows and carrying her into the protection of the trees, where he pressed her against a sturdy ancient oak. Then he kissed her the way he wanted to, the way a man can when no one is watching. With fire and hunger and longing. He explored the delicate shape of her mouth, the shell of each ear, and the back of her neck, making her shiver and moan in his arms.

  Before he could stop himself, he was sliding a hand up her thigh, questing eagerly for that sweet spot between her legs. When he found it, he slid a finger inside her. She jumped, digging her fingers into his shoulders. She was wet and hot and already unbearably tight.

  She hissed and threw her head back in startled surprise as he gently thrust his finger in and out of her. He wanted her to know this, to feel him inside her, even in this limited fashion for now. This was how she would be, wild and wanton, clawing at him for more as her passion exploded.

  “Brock!” She screamed his name in surprise and fright as her passion overtook her so abruptly that it caught them both off guard.

  He kept her pinned to the tree, holding her steady, holding himself steady too. Her channel clamped down around his finger in little aftershocks, and she whimpered as he withdrew his finger and put it to his lips. He sucked it clean and moaned at the taste of her.

  “My God, lassie,” he uttered hoarsely. He shouldn’t have done that. His body was rigid with need now, but he’d have to calm himself or else he’d be unable to ride today.

  “That…you…” Her blue eyes were searching his, as though trying to comprehend what they’d just shared.

  “That was us, together, lass. Soon it will be even better, I can promise you that.” He kissed her then, soft and sweet, just as she had done to him moments ago, before he’d gotten carried away.

  She and I will soon know each other in bed and outside of it. It was just as important to him as having a strong passion between them in bed.

  She stepped back from him on trembling legs and returned to the grassy shore, where she dried her feet and put her stockings and boots back on.

  He stood there, watching her. His blood hummed sweetly, and his hands ached to drag her back into his arms. But he had to resist. There would be time enough yet for all the things they could share.

  “Ready to go?” he asked when she’d finished.

  “Yes.” She rubbed her neck while a wild blush stained her cheeks, but she made no protest as he helped her back onto her horse. They were making good time. As long as they didn’t delay, they would reach Gretna Green in another day.

  They rode several hours, taking only brief breaks to let the horses rest. As dusk fell, they entered more hilly countryside, and Brock kept a sharp eye out for a good place to find shelter for the night. He spotted some rocky outcroppings, and the two left the road and moved into the denser underbrush by the rocks. Brock dismounted and helped Joanna down.

  “Stay here a minute.” He left her holding the reins of both horses while he did a quick investigation of the area. He found a small cave on the opposite side of the rocks, perfect for tonight. He returned to Joanna and showed her where the cave was. Then he tended to the horses while she saw to her personal needs. Then he broke the bread and cheese up between them, and they shared the flask of ale again. He could tell by her eyes and her face that she was weary from the travel, but she made no protest, not even a whimper.

  Brock made a comfortable nest of his coat. He hadn’t thought to bring extra blankets except for the ones to put over the horse
s after he had unsaddled them.

  I’m a bloody fool for not thinking ahead. He’d been so focused on avoiding Ashton and getting safely away from the estate that he hadn’t seen to his wife’s basic needs. He vowed to find a way to do something special for her when they reached his home to make it up to her.

  “Come and rest,” he beckoned as the night closed in on them. Joanna could barely see him in the dark, but she managed to find him and lay down beside him. He wrapped the greatcoat over them and pulled her in tight. He’d never been more thankful to have a sunny day following the previous night of rain.

  Joanna slid one hand over his shirt close to his throat, her fingers twirling the fabric of his shirt before she fell deep into slumber. Brock smiled in the darkness, unafraid to let his affection show given that the only witnesses were the stars and the two horses. He had grown protective of this woman in a way he never had about anyone else. It was frightening to care about her like this, but he knew he could never go back. He could not erase these feelings inside him.

  He began to drift off to sleep himself, his mind settling into that hazy place between dreams and conscious thought.

  Suddenly he was alert, his eyes flashing open. His heart beat fast, and he searched the darkness, trying to find what had disturbed him. A full moon cast its milky light over the trees outside their hiding spot. The silhouettes of the horses at the mouth of the cave were unchanged. What had woken him? Brock watched the trees, noting the shadowy sway of branches in the night breeze. He closed his eyes again.

  His only fear was being caught by Lennox, and he was certain Lennox wouldn’t leave the road to find them.

  Snap! The distinct sound of a twig breaking had him sliding Joanna gently to the ground so that he could get up. He pressed his body flat against the wall of the cave, on the side that was darker with shadows. If anyone came inside, they would not easily see him, and it would give him a brief advantage if he had to fight.

  An interminable silence passed before he heard a second snap and a soft whisper almost too quiet to be heard. A trio of figures moved into the mouth of the cave. They were decent-sized men, and any struggle with them would not be easy. He leapt at the man at the back, knocking him into the opposite wall of the cave. The man grunted and fought back, kicking Brock hard in the stomach. Air rushed from his lungs and he stumbled, fighting off a brief wave of pain. He had only a second before the other two men launched themselves at him. He bellowed and threw one of them off his back, but not before he heard Joanna’s startled cry.

  “Brock, help!” she screamed. The shout was cut short. Terror shot through his body, and he punched the man trying to choke him from behind.

  “Hold him!” the first man hissed.

  “Trying to!” the man behind Brock snarled, squeezing tighter. Brock clawed at his neck, his breathing dangerously shallow. He flung himself backward, ramming the man on his back against the cave wall. The man cursed in pain, and Brock repeated the move a second time. His vision was blurring now. Shadows darted across his eyes as he prepared to crush the man trying to choke him a third time.

  Joanna needs me.

  “Stop that right now or your woman dies.” One of their attackers moved into view at the mouth of the cave. He held Joanna against his chest. Her mouth was gagged, and her wrists were pinned in the grasp of one hand while he pressed a knife’s edge to the vulnerable column of her throat.

  Joanna made no sound, no cry, no attempt at pleading through the gag. Only her harsh breathing betrayed any fear. His lass was damned brave, but he had no choice but to surrender.

  A sense of defeat hit him hard, and he forced himself to relax. He raised his hands in the air. The man holding his neck loosened his grip, but only so he could kick Brock behind the knees. Brock fell to a kneeling position, just feet from Joanna and her captor.

  “Good. Obey me and she won’t be harmed.”

  The man behind Brock grabbed his hands and tied them behind his back with rope, and then Joanna was released but only to have her wrists bound in front of her.

  “Gather their things,” the man who’d held Joanna ordered. The other men quickly picked up their saddlebags, throwing them over the horses’ backs, and then the men began to walk the horses out of the cave.

  “On your feet. Come with us,” the leader ordered. He kept hold of Joanna by the shoulder and kept his knife out. They walked a mile or so deeper into the woods. Brock’s fear that they would not survive this encounter increased with every step. If this was a simple robbery, it would be over and done with already. No, there was something more at play.

  Lights suddenly blossomed in the darkness, illuminating a hunting lodge as they drew closer. Brock and Joanna were forced inside, their mounts taken to a small stable by one of the other men. Brock now had a better view of the two men holding them captive. They were tall, strong looking, and well dressed. They wore hats and black masks, hiding their faces.

  Bloody highwaymen.

  The man holding Joanna began to drag her back toward a room.

  “Please…” Brock breathed. The second man pressed a pistol into his back between his shoulder blades, but Brock took another step toward Joanna. “Please, don’t hurt the lass.”

  The man gripping Joanna frowned. “What is she to you?”

  “She’s my future wife.” He hoped these blackguards would have some small piece of humanity still inside them.

  Joanna made a soft sound, her eyes meeting his, and it broke his heart.

  “Please,” he tried again, his voice hoarse with fear. “I’ll give you anything.” He took a small step toward Joanna. The man holding her nodded at Brock, which confused him. A second later he realized the nod was not meant for him.

  Pain exploded in the back of his skull, and the last sensation he felt was one of falling.

  10

  Joanna screamed and fought against her captor as Brock crumpled to the ground. The man who had struck him tucked his pistol back into his coat.

  “I’m happy to admit I like this bloke better unconscious,” the man grumbled, and then he glanced at Joanna, his dark-brown eyes curious.

  “Pretty bird,” he commented, still assessing Joanna. She shivered.

  “And not for you.” The man who held her now dragged her forcefully into the room behind them and slammed the door shut. She was shoved into a chair by the fire, and her wrists were freed from the rope. Then the man poured her a glass of wine and pushed it into her shaking hands. She took it, staring down at the contents, and started to raise it up to throw it back in his face, but then he spoke.

  “Just drink, Joanna, for God’s sake. You’ve put me through hell tonight.”

  She blinked, her gaze frozen in confusion as the man removed his hat and mask. Her mouth dropped open.

  “Rafe?”

  Her brother grinned as though a magician had conjured him out of thin air.

  “What the devil were you thinking? You could have killed Brock and me!”

  “Nonsense. Everything was quite under control. I’m actually rather disappointed that my lessons to you three years ago about defending yourself against a man didn’t seem to stay with you. You’ve gotten soft on me, old gel.” He flashed her that smug grin that had infuriated and charmed her as a child. It was quite a difficult thing growing up the younger sister to both Ashton and Rafe. They couldn’t have been more different in manners and more similar in looks.

  “I haven’t gotten soft, I just didn’t expect to be attacked in a cave! Why were you hiding in the woods?” she pressed, the tension in her body subsiding now that she realized she wasn’t in mortal peril.

  “It’s a bit of a lark, really.” He answered a little too quickly, and she knew he was avoiding the subject. “Now, how are you, sister?” He chuckled as he nodded at her glass. “Drink. You look like you might need it.”

  She raised the glass to her lips, her hand still trembling.

  “But you left after Ashton’s wedding. I thought you went back to London.” />
  “I did leave, but not for London.” He poured himself a glass of wine and took a long sip. “Now, what the devil are you doing here, and why were you with that damned Scot in a cave?”

  “Well, we…” She debated whether to tell him the truth and decided she must. Rafe was not Ash. There was a chance he would understand her plight. “We are running away to Gretna Green.” She took a drink and waited for him to react.

  Rafe was quiet a long moment. “Mother and Ashton don’t know?”

  She shook her head. “No, but they will soon enough. If we can arrive in Scotland by tomorrow evening, we may be able to marry before they can stop us.”

  Her brother leaned back against the wall by the table where a few bottles of wine and some food were stored. She wondered if he came here often. Perhaps he lived here while he…

  “Rafe… What are you doing here? Who are those men outside, and what is this place?” She waved a hand at the small bedchamber.

  “I’m a highwayman, or hadn’t you guessed?” he replied, his tone a little sarcastic.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I gathered as much, but why?”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s amusing, and it keeps my pockets lined. Ash keeps a tight hold on the purse strings, as you well know.”

  “Only for you. I have a trust and a banker who sends me money whenever I require it.” She had been trusted long ago with her own dowry funds as well as an annual income. Ash knew she was responsible. Of course, when she married, he would be furious that those funds would be used by her husband, but Brock would have to receive her consent to withdraw anything from the trust.

  “Yes, well, dear Ash doesn’t let me have any control, so I’m making my own way in the world.”

  “Mother and I thought you were trying your hand at speculating in the stock markets.”

  “Well, I am a speculator, somewhat. I merely speculate on which carriages have the most money. Now, why the devil are you and Kincade getting married? You scarcely know each other, and he’s…well, he’s a bloody Scot. Don’t tell me you want to live in some dreary castle in the north?”