“Most likely not.”
A breeze picked up, making her shiver. William unclasped his clan badge with one hand and tucked the top portion of his plaid around her. Wool trapped his heat against her body. She wiggled, caught between two desires. One was to flee from him, and the other to bury herself deeper into his warmth.
He looked wane. “When is the last time you slept?” she asked, settling her chin on his shoulder.
“Not since I met you.”
His shirt sleeve was stained with dried blood from the night before. “You are injured.”
“Aye, I know.”
“Shouldn’t you have Connor look at your shoulder?”
He eyed her through dark, narrowed lashes.
“You should.”
“Rhiannon.”
“It’s bad enough that I have brought you into my mess. Go take care of yourself, please.”
“You didna bring me into this. I chose to get involved.”
Why he made that choice was still beyond her. A man like him didn’t need to go to lengths for any woman.
“Please, just take care of yourself.”
He studied her for a moment, eyes barely hiding dejection. Rhiannon’s heart sank and she wanted to say something kind.
“Thank you for taking care of my arm.” She knew it wasn’t enough. “Thank you for probably killing Geoffrey.”
He nodded, following it with a sound that might have been, you’re welcome. Then he turned and called for Alice.
She came, a mug of wine already in her hands. “I thought you might be thirsty,” she said.
“Make sure she finishes it,” William ordered.
Rhiannon glared at the both of them, but it seemed she’d been overruled. They ignored her.
William slipped out from behind her and walked away, looking all too much like the leader he was. She managed a few careful sips of the wine before he was back with a plaid in his hands.
“The cloak she wore last night is too big for her, too cumbersome,” he said. “Wrap her in this instead.” He handed it to Alice. “Connor has one for you as well.”
“Thank you, my laird.”
Rhiannon finished her drink and let Alice tuck the plaid around her, realizing belatedly that she’d complied with William’s wishes without a second thought.
“What am I doing?”
Alice frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Just . . . never mind.”
* * *
Stay awake.
Rhiannon drew up straight in the saddle, attempting to clear the sleep from her head. She cringed when the cut on her side pulled. As always, she was all too aware of William next to her on the dapple-gray stallion his men had taken from Geoffrey. He hadn’t wanted her to ride by herself, but she needed to maintain some dignity. Not that Geoffrey had left her with very much. But she wasn’t so bad off that she was ready to give up trying.
Jeremiah, the mature stallion beneath her, was steady, but stiff. He’d seen his better days pass him by.
Like William’s shoulder.
She wondered what the two battle-scarred warriors had been through together. William was not much over twenty-five, by her best assumption, yet his mount had to be at least fourteen. And if he’d had the animal most of its life, then William had taken up the sword when he was but a child.
Rhiannon looked at William in his green plaid, belted at his waist. The excess fabric crossed his torso, then fell over his back in folds. His sword was strapped to his back and his ebony hair fell around his broad shoulders. She remembered the way his smooth hair felt against her face, and the way it smelled. Like the morning air and leather.
A new beard graced his chiseled jaw. His nose was a little crooked, as if it had been broken a time or two. A hairline scar ran down his right forearm. She shivered and wondered what the scar on his shoulder looked like, and how he’d come by it.
The sun filtered through thin gray clouds above their heads. Rugged, craggy hills rolled around them. Rhiannon closed her eyes and imagined the lochs and the high-blooming heather of William’s homeland. She pictured the summer gloaming, and the dark winter his land would soon enter.
Then she opened her eyes and imagined herself sheltered and safe, like she was before her parents were murdered. Silent tears stung the scratches on her face. Her stomach churned and threatened to heave the wine and oatcakes she’d consumed earlier.
William reined his horse closer to hers.
“I am fine,” she bit.
“I shouldna have let you ride alone.” His calm tone made her regret her acidic one. “You must be in pain.”
Rhiannon shrugged. The reins were in her only working hand and she struggled to wipe her eyes on her shoulder.
“We will break for camp at nightfall. Why do you not ride with me until then?”
Rhiannon looked at what little she could see of the sun. It was hours before sunset. She glanced around for Alice and spotted her with Connor, curled up in his arms, asleep. Rhiannon groaned. “Alice is not usually like this.”
William glanced in their direction. “Connor’s a good man, and he earns a descent living from me. He can afford a wife if he wants one.”
“Wife? Wonderful.”
“You say it as if ’tis a crime.”
“For some it is.”
“We’ve all had a lot of excitement, but Connor wouldna use her. I know you feel you have no reason to believe me, but he is the kind of man who stands behind his convictions.”
A man who stood behind his convictions.
She thought men like that died out when her father was murdered. She looked away, unable to balance her needs against reality. Just because she was able to acknowledge that she was now under William’s protection didn’t mean she was ready to be pursued by him in any way.
“I stand by my convictions as well,” he said.
“’Tis not as if it matters.”
“I told you, I would never force.”
“You already do.” Her fingers gripped the reins. “And now I am your property.”
The dapple gray stallion shook out his long mane, metal on the bridle clanking. “You are my responsibility,” he said. “I’ve no desire to own anyone.”
He might be strong enough to stand by his convictions now, but what would happen when she began to round out with Geoffrey’s child? Would he dissolve their union? And then what would she do, once she found herself abandoned in a foreign land? Did she have the courage to leave Alice behind with Connor and seek her own way in the Highlands, all by herself?
Nay. Curse me, but I do not have the courage for that.
She only had two options.
Make William believe that the child was his. He was a smart man, so she would have to consummate their marriage quickly. No doubt he would be more than willing. But she was not.
Or she could force a miscarriage. She’d heard about herbs that could see the task through. It was what she’d planned on doing when she and Alice had stolen the horses and run away.
“Alice would never be far from you.” He continued the previous conversation. “Connor is the captain of my guard, as well as my second cousin.”
Jeremiah picked his own path over rocky soil while Rhiannon sank into a bog hole of her own making. She would have to take her chances with the herbs. She wondered what it would be like to miscarry. Certainly it could be no more dangerous than what she had already lived through.
“Lassie.” There William was, smooth as silk. Lacy webs reaching out for her. Trust me, they said.
“I do not want to talk to you.”
“I think we need to.”
“Do you always talk so much?”
He flexed his right shoulder, the skin around his eyes tightening.
“What happened to your arm?”
He took so long to answer that Rhiannon assumed he wouldn’t. A horse snorted from somewhere behind them, and a couple of his men laughed as if one had told an amusing story.
; “I was injured in battle,” he said.
“Bad then?”
“I almost died.”
The wind picked up and goose bumps broke out over her skin. “Tell me?”
His face changed, became more guarded. “Another time.”
Sensing that she’d accidentally discovered how to shut him up, Rhiannon leaned forward until her face rested on the stallion’s neck, careful to keep her arm from being pinched against the saddle. She closed her eyes and let Jeremiah find his own way.
The rocking motion made her drift. In her sleep she fell.
And she didn’t even care.
“What are you thinking, stubborn woman? You are in no condition to sit a horse.”
William’s arms came around her, sliding Rhiannon from her mount and onto his, so that she was cradled in his arms. “Mo Leannan.”
She thought no one would call her their darling in Gaelic again, but he did.
She wanted to feel the safety of innocence again. Her fingers gripped his sleeve as tears streaked down her face. William called for the men to halt. Rhiannon knew it was because of her. She was finally breaking down.
William slid off his horse with her in his arms, and set her on her feet. His leather jerkin was smooth under her fingers. His chest was warm and firm. She willed herself to stop weeping, but it didn’t work.
“Alice,” he called.
A moment later William relinquished her to Alice, who wrapped her small arms around her. It wasn’t the same though.
“William, wait.” The words left Rhiannon’s mouth before she’d thought about them. Her hands shook, and she realized just how deeply she longed to feel safe in a man’s arms.
He closed the gap between them, scooping her up so fast her head spun. “You dinna have to do this in front of an audience.”
“I can stop crying. I can.” Tears ran, despite her bluff.
He lowered her to her feet in a copse of windswept oaks.
“’Tis not very private, is it?” He tried to smile.
“Your men will think me the fool.” She shivered against the wind.
He rubbed her upper arms. “They will think you human.”
“They know you stole me.”
He ducked to see her better. “I didna steal you. I fought for you.”
“Why?”
He hesitated, and she decided it was because he didn’t want to tell her.
But she already knew what he wanted from her. And it was a part of her that she couldn’t give.
She started to hiccup.
* * *
William rubbed Rhiannon’s back as she hiccupped. After she stopped, he lowered them both to the ground and sat in the heath with her head on his shoulder. She shivered, and he wrapped the top portion of his plaid around her. Eventually, she fell asleep.
“My laird?” Connor said. “Should we stay here tonight?”
“This is as good a place as any. No fire, though.” The light would be too easy to track, and he would rather avoid any confrontations with Geoffrey’s men. Rhiannon and Alice had been through too much as it was.
Alice came next, walking slowly, as if she didn’t think she belonged there with them.
“She’s sleeping,” he said, his gaze still on Rhiannon.
Alice pushed a wooden mug at him. “May I speak with you, my laird?”
“Aye.” He drank the cold ale, wishing they were home already.
“I have not seen her trust anyone since her parents . . . well, the accident. She is confused right now, but she is beginning to trust you. I thought you should know that.”
“I know. I do.” He was flattered Rhiannon wanted him around at all, even if it was not in the way he wanted her back. William finished his ale and Alice took the cup from his hand.
“Thank you, my laird, for risking yourself to help her.” She curtsied, then left.
William rubbed his chin against the top of Rhiannon’s head and wondered what to do with her. He could only help her so much. He wondered if he should take her to his cousin, Triona’s hall, instead of going directly home. Triona would be able to help her in ways he could not.
The more he thought about it, the better it sounded. Rhiannon would feel the pressure of her station at his home. At his cousin’s, she would be a guest. He wanted Triona and her husband, Ronan, to meet Rhiannon anyway. Not that she was a prize to display, like the perfect wolfhound. But she was beautiful. And something about Rhiannon made William want to be seen with her.
Connor was a discreet distance away, Alice wandering in his direction. William caught Connor’s gaze. “Make sure Alice has a bedroll and blankets. She can sleep here with her lady.”
Alice shook her head. “Nay, you keep her.”
“It will get cold tonight. The two of you will need to combine body heat.”
“I daresay you can keep her warmer than I.”
“What about you?”
She shrugged. “As long as I have something to sleep on, and a blanket, I will be fine.”
Connor returned with sheepskins and Alice took them from his outstretched hands, her smile affectionate.
“I will keep an eye on Alice, my laird,” Connor said, smiling as if pleased with himself for warranting Alice’s affection in the first place.
William nodded. At least things were going smoothly for Connor.
He peeled a lock of hair off Rhiannon’s face. Would she hate him come morning? He knew the answer. “She will kill me.”
Alice laid out a fleece for him and Rhiannon to share, then settled herself nearby, cocooned up to her little nose. Connor slept near her, wrapped in his plaid.
William came to his feet with Rhiannon in his arms, then laid her out on the sheep skins, positioning her on her side with her injured arm facing the sky. The fuzzy warmth of the fleece would create a barrier between the lumpy ground and her slim body. Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t wake.
William removed his weapons, his jerkin, and his boots, then slid in next to her. Her hair was in his face, drowning him in her scent. He draped the top portion of his plaid over the both of them and a worsted wool blanket over that.
And struggled to ignore her long, lean, but undeniably feminine body next to his.
William hadn’t chosen celibacy. Oddly enough, it had chosen him. He couldn’t be the cause of anyone else’s loss. Not like he had before.
Rhiannon shifted closer, probably in an instinctive search for warmth. Her body formed into his in the way that only a woman can. Then she opened her eyes and looked at him.
Her fingers slid upward from his lower stomach—making him grit his teeth. Then the flat of her hand pushed against him. Rhiannon’s eyes seemed unfocused, and he wondered if she even knew where she was.
Unsure of what he should do, he kept her close, even though she twisted away, fighting him. She yelped and he knew he’d squeezed her too hard, aggravating her injuries.
“Mo Leannan,” he said.
She stopped.
William wove his fingers into her hair at the back of her head and lifted her face to his. “It is me.”
“I . . . know.”
“It’s too cold for you to sleep alone. I am only trying to keep you warm.”
“Alice can keep me warm.”
“Not as well as I.”
Her fingers twisted in his shirt. He winced when she pulled out a couple of chest hairs in her iron grip.
“Talk to me,” she said.
“About what?”
“Nothing. Just talk to me.”
“I thought you said I talked too much.”
“Has anyone ever told you that you are arrogant?”
“’Tis not a word often associated with me.”
“Not to your face.”
“Aye.” He smiled. “Not to my face. Are you in pain?”
“Constantly.”
He smoothed his hand over her injured arm, still wrapped in a sling. “You will never have to endure such pain again.”
“Is that a
promise any person can truly make?”
“I will.”
“I knew you were arrogant.”
Her accusation didn’t bother him. He liked it when she challenged him. “Go to sleep. We’ve another long day ahead of us.”
She shifted back so that they were no longer touching. “Keep talking. Nay. Sing. Please sing in your own language.”
He gave her a song, and then said whatever else came to mind. When she fell asleep, he drew her cold body close, her slight curves fitting back into him.
And he knew he wouldn’t be sleeping like that.
Chapter Eight
Rhiannon woke up alone. William had left her just before dawn, making not a sound as he pulled his warmth away, like a child’s blanket whilst they slept.
She’d been so humiliated by her weakness the day before that she’d pretended not to notice when he awoke. Had she actually spent the night with him, when Alice could have kept her warm?
Rhiannon pushed away the layers William had packed her in when he left, recalling the hardness of his solid body alongside hers. Rhiannon could still smell him. She lifted her sleeve to her face. His spicy scent permeated the fabric. It permeated her.
She stood, and was immediately hit by an icy blast of air. Morning mist was heavy and the sun was a yellow blur through gray clouds. The wind tossed her messy hair and she caught it up, twisting it with her one good hand. So much for her morning hair brushing ritual with Alice, she thought, tucking the ends in so it made a fat knot at the back of her head.
Rhiannon sensed someone behind her. She turned her face to look over her shoulder, expecting to see Alice with the hairbrush. But it wasn’t Alice. It was William.
She turned to face him. His eyes, the very color of the mist, met hers. Nay, they weren’t the color of mist, but of moonstone. Her father had a ring with a gray stone in it. Moonstone, he once told her. It had a blue sheen that changed as the light reflected off it.
“Good morning.” He handed her a mug of ale.
She drank, the air-temperature brew making her shiver.
“I wanted to let you know that we are not going directly to my hall, but to my cousin’s. It is closer, although not by much.”
“Why your cousin’s?” she asked.
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