by Eliza Knight
Strath would bow to her father, kiss the back of her hand, and lead her gallantly to his mighty steed. When he lifted her up, his hands would wrap possessively around her waist, and he’d look deep into her eyes.
“Are ye all right, lass?” Strath asked from behind.
Eva’s eyes shot open, and she blinked into the darkness, letting the cover of the night hide what she was certain was the cherry-red of her cheeks. “Just fine, aye.”
“Ye were breathing hard.”
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. If he only knew.
“What were ye thinking about?”
“A lady doesn’t divulge her fantasies.”
“Aha, a fantasy. Let me guess…was it about a handsome prince or delicious cherry tart?” Every word was laced with mirth, but not taunting.
“Well, if you must know, it was the cherry tart.”
“I dinna blame ye. I often dream of cherry tarts.”
“Do you really?”
“Aye. The sweeter the better.”
“And does your cook gift you with sweet cherry tarts?”
He snorted behind her, and she couldn’t help but feel she’d missed out on some sort of joke. “Oh, nay, lass, not my cook.”
“Then who?”
“I only accept cherry tarts from lassies who intrigue me.”
“Hmm. Do you often find lassies lining up to gift you with their cherry tarts?”
This time his bark of laughter caught the attention of Tomaidh who said, “Only on days that end with Y.”
“What?”
Now Strath was laughing almost uncontrollably, and Eva narrowed her eyes, certain there was a jest she was not privy to.
“Tomaidh,” she said, “Have you seen the lassies giving Strath their cherry tarts?”
The warrior beside her snorted so loudly his horse mimicked the sound. “How many lassies have given Strath their cherry tarts?” he called out to the other warriors. “Lady Eva would like to know.”
The line of warriors laughed so hard some of them were doubled over their horses and looked in danger of falling.
Eva tucked her forehead beneath Strath’s chin. “What is the jest?”
He grinned down at her, mischievousness in his eyes. “A warrior doesna divulge his fantasies.”
Eva pursed her lips. “I suppose that is fair. If I share mine, will you share yours?”
“Alas, I am not in possession of a cherry tart to share.”
“I see you want to make this a game. A guessing game. Fine, I’ll play.”
He chuckled behind her, his chest rumbling against her back and sending shivers racing over her skin.
“If I’m right, say aye, and if I’m wrong, say nay,” she continued.
“How about if ye’re right, I say aye, and if ye’re wrong, ye have to kiss me.”
“Kiss you?” Her belly flipped at the thought.
“Ye’re right, that was entirely too forward of me.”
“Aye, it was.”
“But I could tell ye liked the idea from the hitch in your breath,” he whispered against her ear.
Her breath hitched again, but she quickly got a hold of herself. “You’re a rogue.”
“I’ll never deny it. But ye wanted to play a game, and this is how rogues play.”
“Well, if you get a kiss if I’m wrong, I need something if I’m right.”
“What do ye wish for?”
“My lower back is sore from all this riding and sleeping on the ground. If I’m right, you have to rub my back.”
“Och, my lady, how verra forward of ye.”
“Desperate times.” This time it was her turn to laugh.
“Why do I get the impression that ye’re a bit of a saucy wench?”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Oh, dear heavens, what had gotten into her? She was being incredibly brazen in her flirtations. Never before had she acted in such a way, and she found…she rather liked it. There was no way she would have ever flirted with Belfinch in this way, and in the past two years, her father had not let any other men near her. Perhaps because he’d known all along Belfinch would require her for a bride.
But thinking of such things put a damper on the good mood she was in, and she wanted to continue being happy with the man who helped her achieve it. How ironic that with Strath, fun was easy?
“I accept your terms,” he said.
“All right. Then let us begin this guessing game. I am going to guess that when you say cherry tart, you don’t actually mean an actual cherry tart.”
“Aye.”
“One point for me.” She bent forward. “And a rub please.”
He pressed a large palm to the small of her back and began to massage with the heel of his hand. At once, the tension started to ease, and she had to bite the tip of her tongue to keep from moaning.
“Now, lass, ye must guess what it means.” He ceased rubbing.
Eva sat back up and focused on the dark line of warriors in front of them. The gently waving trees they passed looked as though they were inviting the group into their midst.
“Hmm,” she said. Each man had laughed without question about the gifting of cherry tarts. Not having grown up with brothers, she wasn’t particularly knowledgeable to what jests might pass between lads, but given she wasn’t aware of one with tarts among ladies and the uproar of laughter, she had to guess it was likely a vulgar sort of jest.
And then, all of the sudden, she knew exactly what it was. She gasped, her hands flying to her cheeks.
Behind her, Strath barked a laugh. “Bend over for the rest of your back rub.”
“But I didn’t say it,” she said.
“Aye, but I can tell from your reaction that ye’ve guessed just what the roguish jest was.”
“Oh my,” was all she could say. “I can’t believe I asked Tomaidh…”
Strath laughed all the more, so hard she was certain he probably had tears running down his face. But bend over she did, delighting in the massage.
“You really are a rogue.”
“Ye dinna know the half of it,” he teased, giving her back her own words.
She sighed into the massage, already feeling so much better from his ministrations. “You are much better at this than my maid.”
“Do ye often have need of a back rub?”
“Nay, not often.” She sneezed, her entire body bouncing. And then she sneezed again.
“One more to come?” he asked, humor in his tone.
“Aye—choo!”
“Bless ye, lass.” His hand ran up her spine, and she sighed with pleasure.
“Nay, bless you and your talented hands.”
Beside them, Tomaidh snorted once more, and she realized too late just what she’d said and how it could be implied.
For the next two nights, Strath and Tomaidh procured meats for stew while Eva foraged for different vegetables and herbs. One of the warriors even gave up a stash of dried herbs and salt his wife had packed in his satchel. Each time Eva came back from the water’s edge with the vegetables washed and the pot full of water, someone had built the fire for her. Nobody admitted to it, and so she gave her thanks to the air surrounding the men since no one wanted to be acknowledged.
This new change was proof that either the men were starting to trust her, or they were just as tired of eating what tasted like strips of leather as she was. But she preferred to think it was the former. It had been so long since she’d felt a sense of camaraderie with anyone. Ever since the cherry tart incident, the men had been more apt to smile at her. No more statues. Even her own worries were starting to ease.
Secretly, she wanted to thank Strath for having laid siege to Northwyck. For if he’d not done so, where would she be now?
Broken. Bruised. At the mercy of a monster.
Instead, here she was on an adventure in the woods, laughing with the men, and even sharing secret smiles with Strath. The way he looked at her was different, changing every day, and she felt
herself wanting to preen a little more, to find something funny to tell him so she could hear his laughter.
But not only that, being on this journey had brought her closer to her mother than she’d been since her disappearance. Though Eva, her sister, and the village girls had continued the ritual of presenting gifts to each other they found in the wild, they had not resumed the wilderness excursions. Being outside the castle walls, touching the grass with her hands, and lying beneath the stars were ways to relive all over again the things she now missed.
What she did not miss was the looming and menacing presence of Lord Belfinch, nor did she miss the shifting eyes of the people who’d once loved her. Even the friends she’d grown to love so much, the girls she’d grown up with, had started to distance themselves from her at their parents’ request. Come to think of it, the last wildflower or batch of herbs left for her had been months ago, even though she’d continued the tradition.
Slowly, Lord Belfinch’s hold on her father, the demand for coin that her father had then turned on his people, had affected her, and she’d hardly seen it coming until it was too late.
Despite that, she couldn’t help but wonder how they were all faring now. Because no matter how much they’d distanced themselves from her, she still cared. That made her wonder if Strath was a good leader. Was he good to his people? The men of the camp appeared to respect him a great deal, which made her think he must be good to them. Good to their families.
The fact that he’d taken her prisoner and then treated her as anything but was enough to convince her he had a kind heart beneath his hardened exterior. And he’d not been the one to set those fires. A tear slipped over her cheek. She swiped it away and curled into the plaid he’d given her to sleep in on the wooded floor.
Oh, Father, what have you done?
As she drifted into a fitful sleep, she thought how the happiest she’d been in a long time was lying beneath the stars surrounded by men she should hate.
There’d been no sign of Belfinch following as yet, but Strath had told her the man would need a few days convalescence from the gash on his head. There was also the fact that Belfinch had no idea where to look for her. That notion gave her comfort. While she worried over her father’s safety—the last tie she had to her mother—she hoped Lord Belfinch had been gobbled up by the devil himself. Maybe her father had found the strength to stand up to Belfinch after she’d been taken. Then it wouldn’t be that blackguard coming after her, but her father, intent on apologizing for all the wrongs of the past two years.
Strath woke her with a gentle shake of her shoulder just before the sun set to continue on their journey. She jolted upright, almost crashing her head against his. When had she fallen asleep?
“Whoa, lassie, ’tis all right.”
She laughed. “I’m sorry. I must have been in a deep sleep.”
“Ye were mumbling.”
“What did I say?” She stretched the kinks from her body, feeling the ache of so many hours on horseback and sleeping on the ground.
“Nothing that I could make out, but ye did seem quite concerned.”
Eva wiped at her eyes and blew out a breath. “I’m worried about…everything. Even my father.”
Strath frowned, and even though she tried to read the expression, she came up empty.
“I know he is your enemy, but he is still my sire. Despite all he’s done, I can’t forget that. I owe him loyalty.” She hoped to appeal to his own relationship with his father, and it seemed to work, because his frown ebbed a little.
“I understand, my lady.”
“I hope you know he is not as bad as Belfinch.”
Strath gave a curt nod. “I believe ye.”
“You do?” She was a bit surprised to hear it.
“Aye. I wish ye could tell me more about their connection.”
Eva moved to her knees, inching closer and pressing her hands over her heart. “If I knew more, I would.”
Strath regarded her with warrior’s eyes, but she wasn’t afraid; rather, she tried to open herself up and let him see she was indeed telling the truth. He nodded, though the frown didn’t quite leave his face, and then he changed the subject. “Tonight, we ride to Glasgow Castle.”
“Glasgow?” Her heart skipped a beat. “Will they let us in?” What she really meant was would they let her in?
“Aye.” He winked. “Laird Montgomery is my uncle.”
“Ah, then you would know.” She smiled, though questions still whirled in her mind. “He is your father’s brother?”
“Nay, he is married to my father’s sister, Lorna.”
A Scottish lady… Oh, how she hoped the woman wouldn’t judge her based on her English blood alone.
They finished packing up the camp, and she waited for Strath to mount the warhorse and pull her up onto his lap. She’d gotten very used to riding this way, to the warmth of his body behind her, the strength of him, and how safe she felt.
“Will your uncle give me a horse?” she asked, not because she desperately wanted one; quite the opposite, in fact.
“Aye.” Was it just her, or did he sound just as disappointed as she was?
“You’re not afraid I will ride away?”
“With the way ye sleep while riding?” He chuckled. “I’m thinking ye’ll not get far afore ye fall off.”
Eva laughed and playfully pinched at his forearm where he held her around the middle. “You’re only saying that because you want me on your lap.” She bit her lip when she realized just what she’d said. Who was this brazen woman she’d become?
Over the past couple of days, they’d grown a lot more comfortable with each other. While the sense of prisoner versus captor had never been very strong between them beyond that first night, it had now all but disappeared. One day, she hoped to repay the kindness he’d given her by taking her away. If only she could figure out just how to do that.
Strath urged his horse out onto the road, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “What’s wrong with that?”
A shiver of excitement raced through her, a tightening in her breasts and a warming in her core. Never before had a man elicited that kind of a response from her. And she found she liked it. With it, an intense desire to kiss him assaulted her. Longing warred inside her with propriety, causing her to question her own morals. Was there a question on morals when it came to attraction? Desire between a man and woman wasn’t a sin in itself. Only if acted upon in a way that brought shame to one’s self.
Well, Eva wasn’t ashamed. So what was wrong with these feelings? What was wrong with him wanting her on his lap?
“Everything.” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it came out in a breathy whoosh all the same.
Fortunately, he seemed to think that was funny, and he laughed and tucked her closer against him.
The sun set as they rode, and even though she’d napped throughout the day, Eva found herself drifting comfortably off to sleep once more. She slept hard but fitfully, dreaming of home, fearing for her father’s safety. If only there was a way to find out if he was all right. What might Belfinch do to him? Drag him to Scotland? Lock him away? Worse?
A gentle stroke along her jawline and a pinch on her nose woke her fully. Eva sneezed violently. Not once, nor twice, but three times.
“Always in threes,” Strath murmured, then laughed and handed her a strip of linen.
She nodded, using the linen. “Aye. Why did you wake me?”
“See there?” The shadow of his arm lifted as he pointed toward twinkling lights in the distance that broke through the darkness of night. “Glasgow.”
“We’re nearly there.” The vast spread of lights showed the city was large in comparison to any she’d seen before.
“Aye. Before this night is through, ye’ll be able to sleep in a real bed.”
“That will be divine. It is a grand city.”
“Mhmm. One of the reasons the English have come to take it over the years. Stirling Castle, just a day’s ride no
rth of here, has seen many battles. My father was at the battle for Stirling Bridge. In fact, ’tis where he met my mother.”
Eva perked up, interested to learn about his past. “What was she doing there?”
“She’d come to marry the English lord who’d taken it over. That day, my father and his men took the castle, and he stole my mother away.”
Eva couldn’t help but see how their two stories paralleled.
“And what happened?”
“He married my mother to keep her safe, but theirs has always been a marriage of love.”
“From the beginning?”
“I think partly. She teases him about how terrifying he was, but my father has never been anything less than sweet to her.”
Eva smiled, loving a good romance. “I’m glad they found one another.”
“As am I,” he chuckled, “else I wouldna be here.”
“And neither would I.” She bit her lip.
“I’m sorry, lass, for having taken ye away from your home. Your family.”
An apology from him was the last thing she’d expected. “Thank you for that.” She chewed her lip, recalling what she’d been thinking about the day before. “And thank you for interrupting the wedding. I know you didn’t come for me or to put a stop to it, but I must express my gratitude all the same.”
He was silent a long time, and Eva could hear her heart pounding; even the sound of her breath seemed loud.
“I would not wish that bastard on anyone, my lady. And especially not ye.”
His words, spoken with such depth, touched her. They were not meaningless. And that was the part that really got her. To truly mean the words was different.
“Why not me?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“Ye’re special, Lady Eva. Anyone can see that. And ye were raised with a spirit that inspires. Not like some of the lassies I’ve met, and certainly none of the statue-like English wenches I’ve come across. A man like Belfinch would have broken ye.”
Heavens, how well he knew her. And yet, he didn’t know she was part Scots. The fact that he’d come to those conclusions believing her to be full English warmed her heart. How she admired him all the more. “You are right, he would have.”
