Highland Brides 03 - On Bended Knee Read Free Page B

ease with himself and the world. And truth to tell, he envied that in his friend. It was partly what drew Colin to Broc, though Colin was only beginning to realize it. Something was missing in his own life, and it seemed Broc held the key to whatever that something might be.
    Colin would be damned, however, if he’d live the life of a bloody monk. Mayhap it was good enough for Broc, but it was a miserable prospect for Colin.
    Automatically, his gaze was drawn toward a fiery-haired beauty with deep green eyes who cast him a shy backward glance. She stood alongside her mother, holding her infant brother in her arms… or perchance her son, though Colin hoped not. He winked at her, admiring the rosy flush that crept into her sweet round cheeks.
    Women were beautiful.
    Women were godsends.
    He stood there, admiring the red-haired wench, imagining the heat of her skin upon his lips… until he was rudely interrupted.
    “Dinna tell me you’d bed a man’s wife, Colin Mac Brodie!”
    Colin cast an annoyed glance to the bearer of the voice, offended by her insinuation. He didn’t recognize the face, however. Black hair framed a bonny face that had grown tawny beneath the sun’s many kisses. Lips as pink as the petals of a rose were pursed in disapproval. Brilliant green eyes glared back at him. He was stunned, at first, by the animosity apparent there.
    No woman had ever looked at him that way.
    What the devil had he done to deserve her rancor?
    “I have never cuckolded a man in all my life!” he argued.
    She lifted a brow, and peered up at him, her hands going behind her back in obvious challenge. It was clear she didn’t believe him. “Nay?” she asked. “Why? Because ye haven’t the heart to tangle with her man? Or because, God forbid, ye should have some wee bit of honor after all?”
    Who was this wench who dared to speak to him so?
    Colin stared down at her with knit brows, trying to remember when he might have ever crossed her path…
    Surely he had scorned her some time before… or her sister mayhap. He could not fathom why else he should be the victim of her scathing tongue. And yet… he could not imagine ever having scorned that lovely face. Nay, she wasn’t beautiful in the way his sister was, but she was lovely nevertheless. Those eyes were the cool, vivid green of a forest glade, and that skin… soft looking despite the deep color it bore. And those lips… of a sudden he had the urge to see them pursed… though not with scorn.
    “What ails ye lass?” he asked, nonplused. “You look like you’ve been sucking sour berries.” He winked at her, trying to lighten her mood. “A smile would suit that bonny face far better!”
    “Aye?” She raised one brow contemptuously. “And what if I happen to like sucking sour berries?” She raised herself up on tiptoes then, leaning toward him defiantly.
    Saucy wench.
    He’d like to give her something to suck, he thought, and his lips curved into a roguish smile.
    “So suck them,” he relented.
    Dismissing her, he turned his gaze, if not his full attention, toward his sister and her new Sassenach husband. He watched them dance together, trying to ignore the she-devil at his side.
    Wench.
    With hair as black as hers she was like to have a disposition as wicked as Eve’s sin.
    Would she be wicked in bed? he couldn’t help but wonder, and the thought quickened his breath just a little.
    Those fine lips were made for more than sucking berries, he’d warrant.
    She didn’t leave him, he noticed, but stood stubbornly by his side, waiting to torture him a little more. Well, she was doing a fine bloody job without even opening her mouth, didn’t she realize.
    Her sweet scent drifted to his nostrils, taunting him… rosemary… and sunshine… and… something else he was hopelessly addicted to. Woman. He inhaled deeply and held his breath, savoring the pleasurable scent.
    If she didn’t get herself away from him—and soon—he was going to drag her into the