Highlanders Collection. Ann Lethbridge

      ‘But he wasn’t,’ Grizel said softly. ‘He let his temper rule his head. I watched him run to face the enemy and Tavin stepped in to take the sword. He bled to death in my arms while the English took my sons.’

      Grizel stared hard at her. ‘He might be your husband now. But I’ve no wish to speak to him or see his face again.’

       Chapter Twelve

      The chamber door opened and Bram saw his wife standing there, looking utterly defeated. It didn’t surprise him that Grizel had cut her down. His mother had no sympathy in her at all, nor kindness.

      He wanted to draw Nairna into his arms, telling her it didn’t matter. But he didn’t move, uncertain of his wife’s mood right now.

      ‘You were right,’ Nairna said, her voice heavy. She sat down upon the edge of the bed, staring at the stone wall. ‘You needn’t say it.’

      ‘It’s my fault,’ Bram heard himself saying. ‘She’s angry with me and you bore the brunt of it.’

      ‘No.’ Nairna’s hands dug into her skirts, and he heard the anger in her voice. ‘It wasn’t your fault she chose to shut everyone else out.’

      Bram came to sit beside her, not knowing what to say, but his wife looked angrier that he’d ever seen her.

      ‘You’re her son,’ Nairna said. ‘She has no right to blame you for an accident. It was the English who killed your father, not you.’

      ‘He wouldn’t have been caught in the fight, if I hadn’t run towards them.’

      ‘You don’t know that.’ Nairna drew her feet up, tucking them beneath the frayed skirt. ‘She should be grateful you’re alive, not angry.’

      Bram rested his arm across her shoulders and Nairna came to him, burying her face in his chest. The warmth of her body permeated his, and against his better judgement, he pressed her back on the bed until she lay on her side facing him.

      Only a hand’s distance separated them as they lay together. A lock of brown hair curled over her shoulder and he tucked it back, staring at her face. Nairna stilled, watching him with wariness. But he made no move to touch her; he simply absorbed her features.

      ‘I’m glad you’re alive,’ she whispered, reaching out to touch the scar upon his throat. At the softness of her fingers upon his skin, he closed his eyes.

      She traced the mark of the shackle that had chained him. ‘Does this hurt you?’

      He shook his head. It was only the sensation of her touch that was starting to have a different impact. Heat rushed through his veins and he rolled onto his stomach to hide the physical response to her.

      ‘Bram,’ Nairna whispered. ‘I’m sorry I forced you to come here.’

      ‘You didn’t know.’

      Her hand moved against his hair, fingering the edges. ‘We’ll leave in the morning. If any of the other women want to come back with us, I’ll ask—’

      He caught her hand, bringing her palm to his mouth. With his lips, he reverenced her skin, bringing it over his roughened cheeks. He heard her slight gasp of air; immediately he released her hand and sat up.

      He didn’t want to push her too quickly or frighten her. To distract both of them, he pointed out a gown draped over one of the chairs.

      ‘Lord Locharr left that for you,’ he remarked. ‘He bought it for my mother, but she refused to wear it.’

      Made of silk in the Norman style, the kirtle was deep purple, with narrow sleeves and a sleeveless surcoat to be worn over it.

      ‘I don’t need a gown—’ Nairna started to protest, but Bram cut her off.

      ‘I haven’t seen you wear any colours since we came from your father’s house. I’d like to see you in it.’

      Nairna didn’t speak for a long time. When she did, she asked, ‘Do my clothes bother you?’

      Jesu, he wasn’t intending to criticise her. ‘It doesn’t matter to me what you wear. But you used to wear colours and I thought you might like it. That’s all.’

      She sat up, as if considering it. When she looked back at him, her face was crimson. ‘I have no ladies’ maid to help me dress. But if you’ll help me, I’ll … try it on.’

      Nairna turned her back, reaching for the silk gown. The fabric felt smooth, and the weave was so fine she knew instantly how costly it was.

      She loosened the laces of her gown, only to feel Bram’s hands upon her. He stood behind her, and when she lifted her outer woollen gown away there was nothing but a thin shift to cover her bare skin. His fingers stroked over her shoulders, down her bared arms.

      The length of his manhood pressed against her backside, as he kissed her neck. His arm slid around her, then he brought it higher to rest over the mounds of her breasts. Her nipples tightened against his forearm and the needs rose up inside, clouding her mind.

      Bram turned her to face him. The hunger on his face was undeniable, as if he were holding back by a mere thread. Upon his face she saw the strained control and it bothered her, knowing she was the cause of it.

      Hotheaded, Grizel had called Bram. Undisciplined and rebellious, ruled by his temper.

      But that wasn’t Bram at all, she realised. Not anymore. If anything, he’d reined in his emotions, locking them away. He wouldn’t release anything and the tension was taking its pound of flesh from him.

      He’d imprisoned his spirit, as surely as the chains had imprisoned his body. A dark loneliness seemed to dwell inside him, after his own family had abandoned him.

      Grizel’s accusations infuriated Nairna, that she would blame her son for the unfortunate turn of fate. Bram wasn’t responsible for Tavin’s death, or Callum’s imprisonment. And until he could accept the truth of it, he would be caught in shackles of his own making.

      His hands moved back up to her shoulders, while his mouth explored the skin of her neck. Nairna held herself motionless, unsure of what her husband had started.

      He turned her to face him and his eyes were heated with need. She stood on her tiptoes, wondering if she dared to kiss him. When she did, his reaction was immediate, his mouth claiming hers in a frenzy, as though he wanted to absorb her into his skin.

      The more she tried to satiate the desire, the worse it grew. He caressed her bottom, and as his tongue delved inside her mouth, she felt the heat building inside her.

      He seized the hem of her shift, pulling it up until he bared her womanhood. Embarrassment pooled inside her, but it dissipated a moment later when his hands moved to part her legs. He cupped her intimately, as if learning the shape of her body.

      With his fingers, he traced the seam that led to her entrance, and she moaned as his finger passed over a sensitive spot.

      She tried to move his hand away, but he explored further, dipping his fingers against her opening. With his thumb, he pressed inside, and she felt the gentle invasion.

      ‘I want you, Nairna,’ he murmured against her mouth. ‘I want to claim you. As your husband.’

      She shuddered as he withdrew his thumb and pressed it inside again in silent imitation of the way he would join their bodies together, if she yielded to him.

      Though her body was ready to accept him, her mind tangled up with apprehension. Bram was so different from Iver, and she was afraid of the feelings he’d stirred within her. To grant herself a little more time, she whispered, ‘Tonight.’

      His dark eyes grew heated and he stroked her one more time before withdrawing his hand. ‘Tonight,’ he agreed.

      Nairna eased her shift down to cover her nakedness. Her body ached with frustration while Bram helped