by Eliza Knight
Bloody hell. Why is she so confusing?
Nay. Taking advantage of her innocence wouldn’t work. But imprisoning her until the king came to collect her…that would work. And it would protect him from whatever confusion he felt toward her.
Lady Eva rolled over and snuggled closer, her bottom scooting nearer until it was pressed firmly to his thigh. Strath held in the groan he wanted to let out as he almost went to wrap an arm around her before he stopped himself. Even in sleep, she was tormenting him.
He opened his eyes, drifting his gaze over the soft waves of her golden hair, the swell of her hips, the tiny feet tucked beside his knee. A sudden and strong desire to protect her ran through him—which absolutely wouldn’t do. Hadn’t he just spent the last hour or so reflecting on how he needed to stop that?
She was his prisoner, for bloody hell’s sake. Protecting her was not his job. He was the one who’d put her in danger—or had he?
There was no point in pondering the fact. What was he going to do, take her back to England?
Like hell.
With one hand pressed to her back and the other to her shapely bum, he shoved her away. They needed some distance between them. He couldn’t think straight with her touching him.
It was for her own good.
And his.
Chapter Five
Eva awoke with a gasp. A low muttered oof quickly followed her flailing arm as she connected with hard muscle. The sun beamed through the trees, momentarily blinding her. She prodded where her hand had connected. Wool scratched her fingertips, and beneath that, solid muscle strained with power.
What is that?
A sense of dread enveloped her in a suppressing cloud.
She bolted upright and jerked to the side, yanking her hand back as she took in the sight of the Laird of Dornoch beside her. She’d been molesting his thigh. Even sitting he was larger than life and broad. So broad. Muscles strained against the linen of his shirt. How did a man get so big? What did his mother feed him? Did the cows in the Highlands produce magical milk?
As her gaze roved from his long legs, the breadth of his torso, thick neck and face, she realized his stormy eyes were open and locked on her. He stared intently at her, and in that dark-gray gaze, the memories of all that had happened came flooding back to her, and with it a hard knot in the back of her throat.
She was his prisoner. And now she’d just openly groped the man. Good heavens, what if her hand had landed somewhere else when she’d jolted awake?
Swallowing, she said, “I’m sorry.” What in blazes? Her voice had come out throaty. She’d never heard it that way before.
His penetrating eyes darkened, and the muscle at the corner of his jaw flexed. “Do ye often wake like that, lass?”
Eva cleared her throat. “Only when I’m startled.”
He winged a brow. “What could have possibly done that? We’re in the middle of the most tranquil woods surrounded by people sleeping.”
“Aye,” she muttered, glancing around at the lumps of sleeping warriors. The gentle breeze blew through the trees, and the horses munched grass nearby. It was tranquil. Beautiful even. “’Tis true, but even the most tranquil settings and quiet people cannot quell the torment in my head or quiet the fear in my heart.”
Dear all the saints in heaven, why did I just admit to that?
Eva rubbed at her eyes and threaded a hand through her hair, which was wild and unkempt. The wind from their desperate ride over the border had not done her hair any favors. And it had clearly also rattled her brain.
“Have ye ever slept outdoors before?”
Taken aback by the question, Eva returned her gaze to his. Memories of her childhood assaulted her. Had she ever slept outdoors? Was the sky blue?
Eva shook her head and moved to stand. She wasn’t certain why she’d lied, only that for some reason it seemed like she needed to protect herself and what she might know. If he knew she was comfortable sleeping outdoors, he’d ask why, and then she’d have to reveal parts of her past she’d rather keep close to her heart. Sweet, tender memories of her youth with her mother that she rarely brought out because the pain of loss was too much.
“I need some water. And I can go by myself.”
The laird nodded. She was surprised he readily accepted her answer, perhaps because she knew she wasn’t telling the truth and had expected him to call her out on it. She stared at him a moment longer as he studied her, wishing she could see the thoughts going on behind those intense eyes, but he kept them well hidden.
At last, he did speak. “Do ye know how to swim?”
“What?” Eva cocked her head, completely taken aback by his question and wondering if she’d heard him correctly.
“I but wonder if ye’ll be trying to swim away?” There was a teasing glint to his eyes that almost made her smile back, but her mind was whirling, and the cobwebs of sleep made her unable to trust her own instincts.
She should hate her captor. Fear him even. But time after time again, he was proving himself to be of higher morals than the man her father had intended for her to marry. Under different circumstances, he was a man she might have admired. His men respected him, even if they distrusted her. He’d not tried to ravage her; in fact, he’d protected her and kept her safe, caught her when she almost fell off the back of a horse. When she argued, he argued back but didn’t gag her as he’d warned he might, which she now realized had been an empty threat. He teased and flirted, and she didn’t feel in danger with him, which was at odds with everything.
Aye, he’d then dropped her on her arse, which had stung her ego, but turnabout was fair game wasn’t it? Why did that thought make her smile?
How was she turning an abduction into a flirtation?
Ugh, why was she even contemplating all this nonsense? Why was she trying to make light of her situation?
He was a conundrum. Rough, yet caring. Rude, yet sweet.
But she must remember he was also a murderer—wasn’t he? A heartless warrior who killed people and burned down their village. That thought had her immediately chilling. Part of her mind rebelled against it. How could he have done such a thing? Besides riding his horse into a church and raising his sword to Belfinch, she’d not seen a violent streak in him at all.
And yet it would appear that he had one.
Aye, it wouldn’t do for her to forget just who the man was.
“I know how to swim, but I’ll not be swimming away, as my gown would only end up drowning me, and I’ve no intention of swimming unclothed.”
At the mention of being unclothed, his gaze boldly raked over her, slowly skimming her form and lingering on her hips, her breasts, and then her mouth. A shiver of heat washed over her with the intensity of his stare. She was both shocked and appalled that her body would react so viscerally to a look from a man. And not just any man. This man, who should scare the wits out of her.
Eva let out a resigned sigh. It didn’t matter how much she told herself he was dangerous, she just couldn’t believe it. With a roll of her eyes, partly at him and partly at herself, she said, “Oh, do get your mind out of the chamber pot.”
“Och, I assure ye, my lady, my mind is nowhere near a chamber pot.”
Fisting her hands at her sides, she let out a frustrated groan, whirled around, and marched toward the water.
On the way, she nodded and smiled at the men on watch, but they only returned her acknowledgment with blank stares bordering on hostile. Like men made of stone. Cold and unmoving.
With a shiver running down her spine, Eva hurried the last few steps to the water’s edge, jumpy at their obvious distaste for her. Their laird might be treating her with more kindness than any prisoner in the history of prisoners, but it was clear that if it were their choice, they would not do so. And how could she blame them?
She could see the deep respect the men had for their laird. And she was almost entirely certain that none of them would go rogue and seek to do her harm. Almost.
She�
��d expected him to follow her, perhaps assuming she was tricking him about not swimming away or trying to escape some other way, but he didn’t, which was surprising and frustrating.
He didn’t think she would try to make an escape because she’d failed so miserably at it before. Truthfully, escaping would put her in more danger than she was already in.
Eva knelt before the water, cupping her hands and pulling sips of water up to her lips. She sat a moment at the trickling burn, watching a squirrel on the opposite bank running up a tree. He might have thought her story about the squirrel was crazy, but she knew she’d been bitten by one.
Eva shuddered, sat back on her heels, and pulled her mother’s necklace from between her breasts. Clutching it to her heart, she sent up a prayer for her own safety, and that soon she’d have some answers. She tucked the necklace back into her gown and rose, reluctantly making her way back to camp.
The men on first watch had been relieved, and Laird Dornoch now stood on the perimeter of camp. He spotted her and began to approach.
“Eat,” he ordered, handing her a strip of dried venison and a bannock cake.
She wondered if he felt the gazes of his men on him too, hence his shortness with her.
Eva took the food gratefully, her belly rumbling. She sat on the plaid he’d laid out for her, eating slowly as she observed all the men in the camp. Those who’d stood watch quickly fell asleep. Most of them slumbered quietly, but there was one man in the group whose snores carried on the wind, rivaling a thunderstorm. The man nearest to him reached out a long leg to nudge him with his foot, but to no avail.
She tried not to laugh at the noise. More than once, Strath met her gaze and raised a questioning brow, as though this was normal and not funny at all. Each time, she ducked her head, not wanting him to think she was laughing deliberately at his men. But honestly, the sound of the snoring was so incredibly loud. If they were trying to hide out from their enemies, this man should never be allowed to sleep. That thought made her laugh all the more, perhaps a bit manically, because all she could imagine were enemy warriors pausing mid-step to listen for the sounds of troops and the snores confusing them.
Eva curled up again after eating, pulling the blanket around her and tucking her hands under her chin. The plaid smelled like Laird Dornoch. Earthy, spicy. She breathed in deeply, feeling a level of comfort she shouldn’t.
Go to sleep, she told herself. Because when they set out again, she’d not get much sleep on his horse, and who knew when he would stop again.
A short time later, she was woken by his gentle shake on her shoulder. The largeness and warmth of his hand was a welcome way to wake, and she did not startle. She blinked and found him kneeling beside her.
“Time to go, Princess.”
Princess. His nickname for her. He knew her name now and was still using it. Eva gave him a sleepy smile and then rose, rolled up the blanket, and followed him to the horse. The rest of the men were also getting ready to head out. She excused herself for a moment of privacy, certain he’d not want to stop shortly after they got going. The brightness of the sun had dimmed, leaving a purple-gray haze everywhere. When she returned, the men were moving silently toward their mounts.
The wind rustled in the trees, and she watched as Laird Dornoch stopped to listen, his head cocked to the side, as though he spoke the language of the wind. Then he continued forward. He moved to lift her, but then paused, and instead held the stirrup steady.
“My lady,” he said, a sweep of his hand toward the held stirrup.
“You do not prefer me to ride behind?”
He shook his head. “Not this time.”
She didn’t argue. It was less work for her to ride in front and hold on to the pommel rather than his muscular middle. The movement of his rear as they’d ridden had sent shivers she didn’t want to think about surging through her insides. So, aye, she would much rather sit before him and not have all the distractions.
Then he mounted behind her, put his arm around her waist, and hauled her backward. Her spine aligned against his sinew sent a shiver coursing through her. When she tried to sit straight, to put distance between them, he hauled her back against his firmness, and this time, she didn’t fight it.
Why? Because he was warm, and it was starting to chill with the sun setting, and she didn’t have a cloak. Aye, that was a good enough excuse. It might be the height of spring, but that meant nothing the more north they traveled.
From what she’d learned as a lass from her father, the Highlands were always covered in snow and icicles. Much like the lairds who ruled the land, it was stark and cold. She’d better take all the warmth she could get in preparation for the deep chill that would likely settle in her bones once they reached their destination—especially if the laird tossed her in a dank, frozen prison. And how long would it take for Belfinch to come after her? Would he?
Aye. But not because he wanted her.
Nay, he would be coming after her because Laird Dornoch had messed with his pride. Just as he’d said, Belfinch would bristle at both his coin and woman being taken. Not to mention that his being bested by Laird Dornoch had been humiliating. He’d want to make up for being shown as a lesser man. He’d want to retaliate, to hurt the man who’d mortified him in front of his men, in front of her father, even. Because her father had now seen he wasn’t the biggest and baddest out there, and Belfinch would be compelled to prove his strength.
A shudder wracked her.
“Are ye cold?” The warrior’s words were softly spoken by her ear and sent another shudder racing through her.
His voice, so low and sensual and…expectant, caused her to lean farther into him.
“Nay. I was just…thinking?” Oh, but why did her words have to come out a question?
A soft chuckle sent another shiver over her skin.
“About what, Princess?”
Eva shook her head, knocking against his chin. “I’m sorry.”
He laughed. “I’m used to it by now. In fact, ye knocked me so much last night, I’ve lost all feeling in my face.”
Eva smiled and let out a quiet giggle.
“Now, tell me, what are ye thinking about that sends shivers down your spine?” The way he said this against the shell of her ear had her thinking about something entirely different—like his breath on her skin, the hardness of his body that surrounded her…
Clearing her throat, she told him the truth of what had originally made her shiver. “I was thinking about…Lord Belfinch.”
At that admission, he tensed behind her, obviously taking her meaning for something different. Of what, she had no clue. She wasn’t as adept to the workings of men’s minds as he seemed to be with women. But she could tell that her confession bothered him. And not in a good way.
From then on, they no longer spoke as they rode. Stopping every few hours to relieve themselves, stretch their legs and water the horses, he continued to keep his distance from her. As much distance as could be had when two people rode the same animal.
Perhaps that was for the best. It was easier to remember just who had taken her and why she was here when she wasn’t distracted by his heated breath on her skin or the sound of his gravelly voice sending tingles to places she shouldn’t even be considering as a lady, let alone a maiden.
Still, he was wicked, and so she wasn’t surprised he made her think wicked thoughts.
“Are ye all right, lass?” His words jolted her from her thoughts once more.
“Aye.”
“Ye’re breathing hard.”
She glanced down to where his arm was wrapped around her middle. Of course he would be able to feel the way she was breathing.
“I’m fine.”
He grunted but didn’t ask her to expound on her answer.
An hour or two later, they stopped once more for a longer rest as the sun rose. Laird Dornoch found a similar looking spot as the one they’d slept in the day before. This time, he took first watch, and she was forced to fa
ll asleep wrapped in the plaid on her own. She should have been relieved; instead, she was cold and she lurched awake at every sound, including the crunch of boots as the men switched shifts.
The laird settled against a tree behind her, close enough that she could sense him there, but not close enough to touch.
She should have been glad for that. So why did she miss his closeness?
Because she was a fool. And foolhardy.
Gone were the notions of escape. Now, she only wanted to figure out a way to convince the man not to accept any terms when Belfinch approached him concerning her release.
Aye, very foolhardy indeed.
Chapter Six
The next several days were passed in much the same way as the first two. They slept by day, rode by night. After more slices of dried meat than she could count, and hungering for something other than a strip of what was essentially dried leather, Eva was determined to make a semi-decent meal for these men. Perhaps she could even show them she wasn’t someone to be feared or loathed.
Not only had she often helped out in the kitchens at Northwyck, but on the outdoor adventures her mother had taken her on, they’d often cooked together. Her mother used to say the woods were a veritable marketplace, filled to the brim with nourishment if you only looked closely enough.
The men would appreciate her efforts, wouldn’t they? They couldn’t possibly be enjoy eating leather meal after meal.
With her decision settled, Eva approached the laird. “I would like to make a stew for your men.”
“A stew, my lady?” He eyed her skeptically, as though she’d just told him she wanted to eat grass.
“I saw that one of your men carries a large pot.” She nodded toward the horse where a pot was very obviously tied to the saddlebag. “And he’s not making use of it. I could. I saw some wild herbs and greens just over there. Some mushrooms, too. If someone would be good enough to catch a rabbit or the like, I can make a stew for supper, instead of dried meat.”
