by Amy Jarecki
She drew in a stuttered breath.
He again glanced at her exposed thigh nestled just outside his hip. Did she even know he could see her skin? Skin that looked like burnished satin—not creamy white but with an olive tint, as if kissed by the sun.
“Are you cold?” he asked in a throaty whisper.
“Aye, and hungry.”
With the sun going down, it would grow colder for certain.
A bolt of lightning streaked through the sky above, followed immediately by a deafening crack of thunder.
Akira squealed and threw her arms around him. In an instant, Geordie didn’t feel quite so miserable. He wanted to reach around behind and pull her in front of him so he could protect her between his arms. But he didn’t trust his strength. Not yet.
With another blinding flash, the clouds opened. “Mayhap ’tis time to find a shelter.”
Akira squeezed her arms tighter. “I hate thunder.”
“Not to worry, lass,” he said. Geordie didn’t care for it much himself, especially with the clouds being so low overhead he could practically touch them. “I spotted a shelf on the journey up. We can take shelter beneath it until the storm passes.”
The horse pinned his ears back and started down the mountain like there was a deerhound nipping at his heels.
“Whoa, laddie.” Geordie tugged the reins downward, making the gelding lower his head, which brought him under control.
Rain pelted them in sheets and the footing grew slippery. Lightning flashed in forked streaks across the sky. Thunder boomed so loud the ground shook. Akira clutched her arms around Geordie’s midriff. Heavenly stars, soft breasts molded into his back. He blinked and imagined what she might look like naked. Pert breasts, a slender waist, wicked hips. The corner of his mouth turned up as he shifted his seat forward to negotiate the rocky slope. No better elixir could there be than a woman who needed him—a bonny woman who needed a strong man to protect her.
He rather enjoyed being anonymous for a change. Elizabeth had wanted him only for his title. The first daughter of a duke couldn’t bear to marry beneath her station.
“Hold on,” he shouted over his shoulder. “I see the shelf yonder.”
Akira squeezed him tighter. “Why must it rain today of all days?”
Geordie could conjure a hundred replies, but none of them would do a lick of good to change the weather. If he told the lass that having her arms around him eased his pain more than any healing salve ever invented, she’d probably release him and give him a good thwack. So he just bit his tongue and urged the horse to a trot.
Once they’d traversed the crag, he helped Akira slide down, then swung his good leg over and gingerly dismounted. The gelding had been trained well, standing there like a soldier. A green horse would skitter sideways—might even try to rear.
Regardless, the movement caused a surge of blinding pain, and Geordie had to balance himself against the horse until his head stopped spinning.
“I should hobble him,” Akira said, pulling a length of rope from her satchel.
Geordie reached for it as rain streaked into his eyes. “I’ll do it.”
“But you’re on death’s door.”
He scowled. “No woman will do a man’s work whilst I’m still breathing.”
“I hobbled him at the cave.”
“That was different. I’m conscious now, and no gentleman worth his salt would allow a lass to do his work.” He waved her beneath the stony shelf. “Go on, get out of the rain.”
It nearly killed him to crouch down to tie the horse’s front legs so he couldn’t move but at a walk. Nonetheless, in no way would he allow himself to appear like a weakling in front of a woman. His hands shook as he knotted the rope, and then he glanced over his shoulder. Ballocks, Akira watched him like a mother hen.
Garnering all his strength, he bore down and stood, sucking in his urge to bellow. He ran a hand across his eyes to clear the rain—and the tears, though he’d never in his life admit to the latter.
Once the worst of the pain passed, he patted the animal’s shoulder. “You’re a good fella. Sturdy, too. I’d like to find a place for you in my stables.”
Walking the few steps to join Akira nearly brought him to his knees, but he ground his back molars and endured the pain. Ducking his head, he stumbled beneath the shelf, spinning and sliding down the rock face to his bum. “Arragh!” Jesus Christ, the last jolt of agony forced the groan from his throat.
“I’m sorry you’re in so much pain.” Akira’s teeth chattered, and she clutched her sopping arisaid tighter around her shoulders.
“I’ll be fine with a bit of rest.” It was too wet to start a fire, so he placed his arm over her shoulder. “Come, I’ll warm you.” He hoped. Just listening to her teeth made him shiver.
She drew away, a look of distrust pulling down the corners of her mouth. “But ’tisn’t proper.”
Good Lord, Geordie had endured a lifetime of propriety, drilled into him by everyone from his mother to his former duchess. “I’m in no condition to do anything untoward, and there’s nary a soul for miles.” He pulled her closer.
Akira rubbed the outside of her arm and leaned in, releasing a long breath. “I’ll allow it this once, but you must give me your word you will not breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“You have my solemn vow, m’lady,” he said, his noble breeding rising to the surface. But only for a moment. Aside from running for his life with a hole in his leg, he was enjoying his role as Geordie, a mere Highlander. The tension in his shoulders eased. Her softness molded into him and soothed away the chill. He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent—jasmine kissed by rain. He could lose himself in such a fragrance.
A nicker drew him from his moment of calm. The horse hovered over them, his head bent beneath the shelf. Geordie shooed the beast with a flick of his wrist. “Can you not find some grass to eat? There’s a wee meadow but twenty paces down.”
Akira shifted, nestling closer. “I don’t think he likes the rain, either.”
“Well, he’ll not be sharing our meager shelter.” Geordie thumped the gelding’s chest. “Go on and graze, lest you’ll not be fit to carry us on the morrow.”
The mule-brained varlet shook his head and snorted.
Akira laughed. “I do not think he likes your idea.”
Groaning, Geordie leaned his head against the rock. If he didn’t have the hole in his leg he’d lead the damned beast down to the lea himself, but the mere thought of putting more stress on his injury made his head spin.
“Why not let him stay?” Akira asked. “He’s blocking the wind.”
With a frown, Geordie considered her suggestion. “That he is,” he mumbled without conviction. “If he could light a fire, I’d be happier about it, though.”
Her body shook with a chuckle. “You are funny.”
He knit his brow. Him? Funny? No one ever made such a comment about the Duke of Gordon. “Why do you say that?”
“Because you talk like you’re heartless, but I do not think you are.”
“You hardly know me.” And she certainly has no idea who I am.
“I think I’ve witnessed enough. I’ve seen men in Dunkeld whip horses for less. You merely gave the old fella a wee push.”
“Aye?” Geordie stretched his leg out in a futile attempt to find comfort. “Well, I’m not quite myself.”
She drew her knees up beneath her skirts as if growing a tad more comfortable. “Then if that’s the case, I hope you stay injured.”
Drawing his eyebrows together, he gave her an exasperated look. “I beg your pardon?”
She smiled, and her grin was radiant enough to make the clouds part. Her teeth were white and healthy, one on the top right slightly crooked, but that gave her character. Those indigo eyes shone vividly, encircled by black feathery lashes and dark eyebrows. Then her lips pursed as if in thought. Red as rubies, her mouth formed a bow—a full and ever so kissable bow.
She winced. Her eyes turned
dark and filled with anger—or distrust. “If you were to turn into a blackguard and tried to hurt me, I’d—I’d—I’d…Well, I’d take the horse and ride away from here as fast as I could.”
Geordie blinked. Honestly, that was the most sensible thing she’d said since he regained consciousness. But what had she said at first? His brow furrowed. “Have you been…ah…hurt?” He flexed his fingers. He’d kill anyone who tried to take advantage of the wee lass.
“Not me, but I’ve seen terrible things. Remember, I’m a healer.” Shaking her head, Akira swiped a hand across her mouth like she was holding more inside.
“Aye, I can imagine.” With a sigh of relief, Geordie squeezed Akira’s shoulder. “You have no need to worry about me.”
“I ken.” She lowered her hands and regarded him with a hint of a smile playing on her bonny lips.
But he had no business thinking about the lassie’s lips, or any other part of her body for that matter. They might be safe for the time being, but he could not forget for one minute that a mob of bloodthirsty dragoons was on their tail. Allowing himself to give in to amorous ideas would only see him dead. He inclined his head to her satchel. “You mentioned you were hungry. Do you have anything to eat in there?”
“A bit of cheese and bread.” Her hands trembled as she fished inside and held up a leather-wrapped parcel. “I’m sorry. I’ve eaten most of it. Here. You need your strength.”
He rubbed the outside of her arm. “I only have a thirst. Seems being shot in the leg saps a man’s hunger as well as his strength.”
“Do you still have whisky?” Unwrapping the parcel, she glanced at his sporran and gasped. “Oh dear, your flask.”
“’Tis lost.” He shrugged, though he was anything but unconcerned. That damned lump of silver could lead the redcoats straight to his castle gates.
She bit off some cheese. “But it was fine enough to be an heirloom. You’ll miss it for certain.”
I’d miss it a lot less if I kent it was still buried under the clump of broom. “’Twas just a trinket.” Downplaying the importance of the gift from his father, he pointed to the satchel. “Do you mind if I help myself to the water?”
She nudged it toward him. “Sorry, yes,” she said with her mouth full of bread. “Are you sure you don’t want to eat?”
“You have it, lass.” He took a long drink, the cold water giving him unwanted shivers.
After nipping off one more bite of cheese, she wrapped the remaining morsels in the piece of leather. “I’d best ration it. When do you think we’ll meet up with those friends of yours?”
“A day, mayhap two.” He looked at the rain dripping from the shelf and streaming down the horse’s back. “Depends on the weather, I’d reckon.”
“Oh my goodness, we’ll starve.”
“Nay.” Closing his eyes, he couldn’t help but incline his nose to her hair. “Not in the Highlands.”
If he wasn’t careful, he could succumb to charms such as hers. Deep blue eyes, a scent to ignite a fire in his ballocks, and thick waves of black hair. Holy hellfire, Akira was a recipe for disaster.
Chapter Seven
Curled under Geordie’s arm, Akira actually stopped shivering. All around them rain splashed. Everything was soaked and their little alcove smelled of horse—not a horrid smell, but not one she’d choose for her boudoir either. If she had a boudoir.
She chose to ignore the voice in the back of her head telling her it wasn’t proper to allow a strange man to put his arm around her shoulders and offer her warmth. Besides, he’d been right when he said no one would see them. She also believed she was completely safe. If she didn’t, she would have already fled—would have left him in the cave. But there was something in the way Geordie looked at her that made her feel all warm inside and, moreover, protected. Aye, he’d been in a great deal of pain—was still in great pain—but since he roused from his last bout of unconsciousness, he’d behaved admirably. He’d brought the horse under control, figured out where they were, and formed a plan to take them to someone he could trust to provide her with an escort home.
With darkness, the air grew colder. Clutching her fists under her chin, Akira curled into Geordie’s heat. Indeed, the man could suffice for a brazier. He smoothed his palm along her outer arm, his touch soothing.
When he turned his lips toward her, his warm breath skimmed across her forehead. “Try to sleep.” The gentle burr of his voice imparted all the more comfort.
But she couldn’t get too comfortable; she must do her duty. He was still her patient—a patient who promised payment. She tugged at her collar and cleared her throat. “I’m the healer. I should be telling you to do the same.”
“No need to worry about me. I only wish this rain would let up so we could start a fire.”
“That would make this night near perfect.”
His hazel gaze drifted to her mouth, and he grinned.
With a quick gasp, Akira covered her mouth. He must think her a harlot.
Then he grazed his bottom lip with his teeth. Swarms of butterflies flitted around her stomach. How did he do that to her? With just a look, and in the cold? She should be as wretched as a stray dog.
Akira quickly leaned forward and picked up her satchel. “Your wound needs another application of salve.”
“Very well.” He pulled his arm away, but not before running his fingers across her back. Blessed tingles spread over her skin as if she’d been caressed by feathers. Oh, heaven help her, his touch was unbelievably sublime. If only she could ask him to run his fingers back and forth again—just one more time.
She reached for the hem of his kilt, then quickly snapped her fingers away. What had she been thinking? True, she’d applied the salve before, but that was when he was mostly unconscious and definitely before he’d put his arm around her shoulder and smiled at her like a…like a…brawny Highlander.
“Have you gone shy, lass?” he asked with a hint of humor in his deep brogue.
She peeked at his face. He was smiling, his teeth white and shining through the darkness, as did his eyes, making him look devilish—too much so. Akira clutched her hands around her middle to stop the butterflies fluttering about. “I—ah…”
He dipped his chin. “Did our mad dash on the horse give you too much of a fright?”
“No.” She glanced back to his hem. “For some unknown reason, I’ve become somewhat bashful. If only your wound were a wee bit lower…”
“But ’tis not.” His lilting voice grew huskier.
“No.” She looked up again. By the gooseflesh spreading across her skin, she knew she shouldn’t have done that. “Would you mind exposing your wound? I-I mean, afore, you were unable, but now…”
“Now?” He leaned toward her, his lips but a hand’s breadth from hers.
If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was about to kiss her. “N-now you are entirely able to do it yourself, and it would be improper for me to—ah—touch you—ah—I mean touch your kilt.”
With a shrug, he turned those tempting lips away, slid the wool up, and exposed his thigh. Akira tried not to notice the muscle surrounding it, or the chestnut-colored hair peppering his thigh—hair she wanted to run her fingers over to see if it was as downy soft as it looked.
Squaring her shoulders, she remembered her duty, leaned forward, and sniffed. In the dark, it was almost impossible to determine how well he was healing. “It smells like wet horse.”
His entire body shook with his laugh. “You do have a sense of humor.”
Akira glanced at the gelding. He’d been standing like a statue for hours. “Mayhap he’ll go down and graze after we fall asleep.”
“I’m sure he will.” Geordie patted her shoulder. “Are you aiming to apply that salve or hover over my leg for the rest of the night?”
“Sorry.” She pulled the stopper off the pot and scooped a healthy bit with her fingers. “I hope this doesn’t sting.”
By his hiss, she reckoned it did. “Sorry,” she
said again.
“Devil’s piss,” he cursed through clenched teeth.
She blew on the wound to cool the burn, then stoppered the pot. “My ma says ’tis a good sign of healing if it stings.”
Geordie closed his eyes. “Och aye? What else does your mother say?”
Never allow yourself to be alone with a man. Always be demure. Always insist on payment afore you provide healing services.
The list of her errors could go on all night.
“Ah, she says to keep it clean—says ’tisn’t as likely to fester if you keep the dirt away.”
“Really? I’ll have to tell my physician about that.”
“You have a physician?”
“Uh, the family physician comes to the ca—ah—house when needed.”
“Just like Doctor Kennedy in Dunkeld, I’d reckon.”
“Mm hmm.”
Akira replaced the pot in the satchel and sat back, trying not to curl into Geordie as she’d done before. She clasped her arms across her body to stave off the cold. “I wish my clothes were dry.”
He rubbed her arisaid between his fingers. “’Tis almost dry.” He opened his arm. “Come. You’ll catch your death if you stay over there.”
“I mustn’t. As you said, I’m nearly dry.” And being so utterly close to you, I can scarcely think straight.
“Very well.” He scooted toward her with a grunt. “If you refuse to move toward me, you give me no choice but to slide toward you so I don’t catch my death.”
She bit her bottom lip, allowing him to drape his arm across her shoulders. “Forgive me. I must have sounded awfully insensitive.”
He jostled until they fit together like a mold. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“It’s just—” She shouldn’t say it.
“What?” His fingers massaged her shoulder.
