Free Highland Thirst by Lynsay Sands, Hannah Howell Page B

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.”
    “It
doesnae sound foolish. He would destroy a woman with your kindness and
compassion.” He smiled when she blushed but before he could say anything else
their companions had returned.
    “‘Tis
verra near dark,” said Colin as he entered. “Are we to leave now?”
    “Aye,”
said Heming even as Brona moved to start packing her small bag of belongings. “Brona
will go with me to Cambrun until it is safe to move back here.” Since he did
not have many belongings to pack, Heming moved to pack up the food and wine.
    As
Brona settled Havoc into a large woolen sack so that she could carry him, she
became aware of a thick silence around her. She turned to look at the men and
they were all staring at her or, more exactly, her cat. Brona had the feeling
that she was soon going to be involved in a lengthy argument.
    “I
cannae leave my animals here,” she said. “Hervey or Angus would kill them.”
    “Ye
cannae take the cat, Brona,” Heming said gently.
    “He
kens how to travel—“ she began, even though it was the