Free The Highlander's Triumph by Eliza Knight

’Twould slow them down, but not make them stop. Even if the rain turned to snow, Wallace would push them. And with good reason.
    A cold drop splashed onto his forehead. Brandon reached behind to pull his cloak over his head, but found nothing save the lasses hair.
    Damn. He’d forgotten that he’d give her his cloak.
    “Cover your head, lass. Appears we will have a storm.”
    She shifted behind him, one of her arms pulling free from his middle, then returning as she did his bidding.
    “What about you, Brandon?”
    Lord, he loved hearing his name on her lips.
    “I will be fine.” And he would. If anything, getting soaked by freezing rain gave him the opportunity to warm himself when they arrived at the castle, and what better way to be warmed than by a woman?
    Och, aye, he wanted that lass to be Mariana, but he knew better than to pull her between his sheets. He still had yet to figure out who she was and what her purpose in Scotland might be. ’Twas far wiser to bed down with one of the willing castle wenches. They seemed to have grown in number since the men had inhabited the castle. How sorely disappointed the lasses would be when they shifted camp in the next two weeks and were forced to return to their homes.
    He’d found a few of them appealing before tonight, been as satisfied as a man could be with a woman he used strictly for pleasure. Though, every time he rutted with a woman it left him feeling less than whole, but he suspected that had to do with his own tortuous past, not with the woman.
    If he were to bed down with Mariana—which he wouldn’t—he’d hate to walk away feeling empty. That scared him more than the possibility of being stabbed in the back by a hidden blade. But the thing of it was, when he’d nearly kissed her…when he’d fallen on top of her…there’d been an extreme, intense need. A desire so potent he’d forgotten where he was, who he was, only the yearning to claim her had been present.
    ’Haps that was most dangerous of all.

Chapter Seven

     
    D arkness consumed them as they descended the mountain through the trees. Mariana was impressed with the skill and silence with which the warriors and their mounts crept through the darkened woods. Clouds covered most of the light the moon and stars would have provided, and cold rain drenched them with no signs of ceasing.
    Her fingers had long since gone numb, even with the heat of Brandon’s abdomen to warm her. They’d gone from cold to painfully icy and finally no feeling at all. She kept her eyes closed, dreaming of the nice hot bath Brandon promised. Rain slid over her head, freezing onto her eye lashes. She feared opening them, but they functioned just fine.
    “Not much longer, lass,” Brandon said. His voice was gruff, tired sounding.
    He had to be freezing, though he didn’t shiver. They shared heat through his back, but without a cloak to cover him from the elements he’d surely catch his death. He refused to let her give him back his cloak earlier, swore it wasn’t because she’d damaged it. Perhaps now, she could offer it another way. Taking a moment to unclasp the loophole at her throat, she yanked open the cloak and wrapped her arms around him.
    “I know you won’t take the cloak for yourself, but at least let us share it.”
    Brandon grunted, but did not refuse. He took hold of the cloak so she could slide her arms back around his waist. Within minutes, her fingers started to tingle back to life, and Brandon’s rigid body began to relax.
    “I would never have asked,” he said.
    “I know, which is why I took the matter into my own hands.”
    “A warrior can handle a harsh rain.” His tone had taken on a hard edge.
    Mariana had no cause to wound his pride. She smiled against his back and used the wit and charm she’d been known for at court.
    “Indeed, you are quite right, Lair d Sinclair. Not only have you mastered a tempestuous storm, but you did so with a lady strapped to your back. Most men would