Page 38 of Never Kiss a Scot
“Yes,” she assured him. She brushed her fingertips over the patch of dark hair on his chest, again fascinated by his body. He in turn curled a lock of her hair around his finger.
“Do you need to rest? We can sleep here if you like. The room is paid for the night.”
She was about to say no but then yawned and burrowed deeper into him.
“Rest,” he commanded with a gentle chuckle. “We’ll eat again when you wake.”
She didn’t think it would be possible to sleep, not lying naked in her husband’s arms after what they had just done, but somehow she simply slipped off to sleep without even realizing it.
14
Brock held his new wife in his arms, a quiet peace filling him. They had managed to enjoy a peaceful night’s sleep at the inn as man and wife. Late morning sun boldly illuminated the room. Brock knew he should have gotten up and roused Joanna from her slumber, but they’d traveled so hard the last few days that she deserved to rest. And he couldn’t resist enjoying her like this.
She was nestled against him, his arms around her, pulling her tighter to him. Having been inside her, sharing himself with her and she with him, the idea of putting any distance between them now was unfathomable. Merelyholdingher while his lips occasionally dropped kisses onto the damp curls of her head, filled him with a peace he’d never before experienced and never imagined he would feel.
The scars left behind from his father’s violence were still there, marring him inside and out. He still feared, deep down, that he would end up like his father, that he also held that cruelty within him. He feared what would happen if he ever lowered his guard, if he stopped holding those feelings at bay. Yet somehow, when he was with Joanna, he wasn’t afraid of himself anymore.
The anger that had always simmered beneath the surface faded when she was near, leaving behind only a faint prickling sense of something poisonous being removed. She was, in her own way, a kind of magic, one that leeched away the darkness within him. He would never hurt her—it was impossible now for him to do so. The rightness of being with her, protecting and caring for her, was there, buried deep in his bones, deeper than any anger and violence could reach.
He studied her face, the way her dark-gold brows softened when she was relaxed, and yet he remembered how they could arch imperiously when she wished to challenge someone. Her lips were not too full, nor were they the desired Cupid’s bow pout that many men deemed pretty. They were simply kissable lips, ones that curved into a breathtaking smile whenever she was happy. Her eyes, though hidden from him now, were twin pools that he wanted to bathe in, to dive deep and explore the depths of her soul, if she would let him. He could’ve stared at her sleeping form for centuries. She brought him out of the darkness he felt so trapped in.
He dreaded what would happen when her brother caught up with them. Brock did not want to fight Lennox again, especially when he knew it would upset Joanna. What if he lost control when he took one punch too many from the Englishman? He’d lost his temper before, years ago when he’d fought the Earl of Lonsdale and the Duke of Essex over a barmaid who’d fancied Brodie. They’d destroyed the inn, but thankfully not each other.
He kissed Joanna’s forehead and slid out of bed before he tucked the bedsheets securely around her. He dressed in fresh clothes from one of the saddlebags and shaved himself before he left Joanna alone in the room. He wished to check on the horses and acquire some more wine. Joanna would need to lunch, and he wanted to make sure she had a full belly. Castle Kincade was more than a full day’s ride from Gretna Green but they wouldn’t reach it until dinner the following day. They would hire a coach for the rest of the journey and tie their horses to the back of it.
He found their horses in good shape in the stables and took care to search their extra saddlebags for blankets. Then he groomed each, chuckling as Joanna’s horse, Kaylee, nibbled on his shoulder while he flicked the brush against her coat, making it shine.
“You’ve done well,” he praised her. “You’ve brought your mistress safely to Gretna Green, and you need not worry about another wild race.” He brushed out her mane, removing the tangles caused by the winds blowing down the northern English roads. Then he saw to his own horse, who was far more used to mad dashes like this. All the while, Brock felt a warmth stir in his chest as he realized how much his life had changed. He would soon return to his rooms and find his wife waiting for him, warm and sweet in their bed.
I’m a lucky man to be gifted with her as my wife.
He exited the stables and stood there for a moment, taking in the bustle of the village, the carriages lining up at the smithy across the street. Mr. Lang stood outside the forge, welcoming a new couple inside. When he saw Brock, he gave a wave and a nod, which Brock returned. The smells coming from the meat and spices inside the inn, made his stomach growl. It would soon be time for lunch, and they could both use another meal after eating so thinly the last two days.
He was returning from the stables when the thunder of hooves drew his focus. It was unusual to have so many riders grouped together. Gretna usually had single riders or coaches. Brock brushed off his trousers and risked a glance toward the men.
Bloody hell!There was Lennox, a thunderous expression on his face. Five of his companions rode behind in a phalanx formation. Brock frowned, worry knotting his insides. He’d hoped for more time with Joanna before having to face her brother. He wondered if the damnedSassenachshad slept at all the last couple of days.
Lennox slid off his horse and headed straight into the blacksmith’s shop. The others dismounted and waited nearby. Brock watched them unseen from his vantage point at the door of the stables. He was tempted to rouse Joanna and get her dressed and bundled into the nearest available coach, but that would not stop the coming storm, only delay it. He would have to face Lennox. Best if he spared her the pain of witnessing it.
Lennox stormed out of the blacksmith shop, clearly aware that he was too late. Brock stepped out of the doorway of the stables. Jonathan St. Laurent, one of Lennox’s friends, was the first to see him. He whistled sharply with his fingers, drawing the attention of the others. Within seconds, Brock was surrounded by the League of Rogues.
“You…bloodybastard!” Lennox bellowed and dove at Brock, slamming him against the outside wall of the stable. He grunted as the air was forced from his lungs. Brock was beginning to wonder if every encounter with Lennox was going to end in a fight from now on.
“Where is she?” Lennox demanded, delivering a right hook that hit him hard in the eye. It was going to bruise, he could feel it.
He growled, shoving hard at Lennox’s shoulder, sending him stumbling back. “She’s safe.”
“Married to you? Safe? I don’t think so.”
That set Brock’s anger ablaze, but he summoned his control, refusing to fight back. When he looked at the man’s face, he saw Joanna’s bright-blue eyes burning into his. Punching Lennox would be like hitting his own wife.Impossible.
“Where is she? I want to see her!” Lennox demanded.
“Calm yourself first. I’ll not have you upsetting my wife.” The moment the word left his lips, he knew it was a mistake. But he accepted the blows that would come because he deserved to let Lennox strike him. He had stolen the man’s sister away without his blessing.
“Don’t youdarecall her that!” Lennox hit him again, this time on the jaw. He tasted blood when his teeth sank into his cheek.
“I assume since you visited the blacksmith shop that you know we were married yesterday,” Brock said as he wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
