Chapter 11
“Ishall never sit upon a horse again, for as long as I live,” Heather grumbled, her entire body stiff from the last four days of endless riding.
Owen chuckled. “Are ye sufferin’, Lass?”
“Am I suffering?” she scoffed. “There is no position in which I can feel comfort, Owen. My bones have turned to ice, and I fear that every jolt of this blasted beast will shatter them to pieces. It already feels as though there are fragments jabbing into my… um… my skin.”
She had wanted to say her buttocks, but that had seemed rather too intimate a confession.
Thighs and legs had not seemed particularly proper, either.
Of course, she understood the ridiculousness of choosing her words so carefully, when she had spent four days within his embrace…
and mostly in his lap. Whenever she had managed to fall asleep in the saddle, she woke to find herself cuddled into his chest.
More than that, there had been moments when she had felt something rather unfamiliar against the swell of her backside. A hardened length of flesh that she knew she should distance herself from, but when she felt it, she gave into the whisper of her mind, telling her to move closer to it.
How would such a thing feel? How am I to know, when no one has ever told me?
She had daydreamed a little, using the sketches from the dungeon as her guide.
Hot in the face and thrumming with new vibrations of desire, she often awoke with a gasp, in his arms, where it took her a few moments to realize that she had dreamed it.
“You should be careful of your integrity, Heather,” Brandon had warned her, when they had halted to make camp a couple of nights ago.
She could not confess that she enjoyed Owen’s proximity, and the wondrous pleasure of being held by him.
Nor could she mention that she rather liked the way he shifted his position, so that there was no gap between them.
Occasionally, he would shuffle back, looking uncomfortable, but she did not understand why.
All she knew was that it coincided with the moments in which she felt his hardened length.
“What would you have me do instead?” Heather had replied to Brandon, helplessly. “I cannot keep distance between us when we must ride together.”
Brandon had not had an answer to that, but she had felt his watchful eyes throughout the lengthy journey.
Moreover, when they had made camp each night, he had insisted on standing guard over her.
As such, he now looked very tired indeed.
So tired, she feared he might topple from the saddle at any moment.
Owen peered down at her. “Would ye like me to rub ye? Ye just need to move the blood around yer body, after sittin’ so still for so long.”
“Pardon?” Heather gaped at him.
“Like this.” He let go of the reins and took her hands in his, pressing into her palms with his thumbs.
The pressure was firm yet gentle, though she was too stunned to enjoy it or push him away.
Indeed, her astonishment only increased as he moved the intense circles up her forearm, rubbing up to her shoulder.
There, given her sideways position, one of his hands skirted perilously close to her bosom as he brought his fingertips to the curve where her neck met her shoulder.
Her breath lodged in her throat as his arm came to rest against the swell of her breast, while his hand made an oddly pleasant gripping and releasing motion.
Meanwhile, the side of his thumb brushed up and down against her throat, sending a peculiar thrill through her.
Was that part of the rubbing? Was that supposed to happen?
This is too much. This is much too much. Her heart fluttered wildly: her traitorous eyes closing in enjoyment of the sensation. It felt as though he was unraveling all of the tense knots that her body had twisted itself into, during the last few days.
“I will nae do the rest of ye, with eyes watchin’,” he murmured, close to her ear. “Daenae mistake me, Lass. I only wish to relieve yer discomfort.”
She did not know whether to slap him or thank him as he stopped, stealing away the joyous sensation of relaxing muscles.
“Och, there she is!” Sawyer chirped, riding up to Owen and Heather.
Heather frowned. “Whatever do you mean? I have always been here. Did you forget I was one of your company, now?”
“Nay, ye dobber.” Sawyer chuckled, gesturing ahead. “There she is. That sweet place, like nay other. The only lass I need after being at war, gettin’ locked up, and makin’ a darin’ escape. Home.”
Owen flashed a knowing grin at his man-at-arms. “Aye, the only lass ye need. Ye will nae be sayin’ that when ye see poor Rosie.”
“Och, the lass I’m goin’ to wed. I will nae be exchangin’ the warmth of her in me bed for a cold, cramped gaol again,” Sawyer replied, clasping a hand to his chest. The frankness of his speech shocked Heather into silence, for she had never heard men speak so coarsely before. Certainly, not in her presence.
“Ye want to be leavin’ poor Rosie alone. She’s refused yer proposal twice already. I’d say that means she’s nae waitin’ for ye,” Owen half-teased. “She’s probably hopin’ ye will nae come back.”
Sawyer shook his head. “She kissed me before we left. I’m takin’ that as a promisin’ sign that she’s startin’ to thaw to the notion of marryin’ me.
” He paused. “Either that, or ye’re right, and she hoped I’d die fightin’ the English, so she wouldn’ae have to deal with me anymore.
Och, well, she should ken I’m more determined than that.
I was never goin’ to die with the memory of her kiss on me lips. ”
“She’s goin’ to get a surprise when ye come ridin’ back with a third proposal on yer lips, instead.” Owen chuckled.
Sawyer nodded proudly. “Aye, that she is.”
Heather watched the exchange with a mixture of curiosity, disapproval, and the tiniest hint of something like envy.
Did Owen also have a “Rosie” waiting for him in the castle?
He was a Laird, after all, so it would be stranger if he did not have a wife or a betrothed or a lover.
Yet, he had not mentioned such a woman to her.
Was he toying with me, so I would help free him? It appeared that jealousy could be as potent as grief when it came to conjuring up foolish notions.
“I just hope they daenae think we’re cowards,” Owen added with a sigh.
Sawyer shook his head vehemently. “Ye’re nay coward, M’Laird. There are lads already safe at home, like we’re goin’ to be, who wouldn’ae be alive if it wasnae for ye. Is it nae time ye also found a more pleasin’ pastime for them healin’ hands of yers?”
A sharper pang of envy cut through Heather’s chest. Sawyer’s words seemed to suggest that Owen was not the sort of man who had his bed warmed by countless ladies, but she did not like the thought of his “healing hands” upon another, and in a different capacity.
“Aye, but there are towns and villages throughout Scotland who will nae be seein’ their lads again,” Owen replied solemnly.
“Nae soon, anyway, and that’s only if those lads survive whatever torture Cromwell has in mind.
They will nae be able to find space in their gaols for six-thousand men, and ye ken what that means—”
Heather did not, but Sawyer nodded with a more serious expression upon his face.
It bemused her, for though she had indulged in her share of hating the Scottish, she had not thought that they might hold a similar view against the English.
Nor had she realized the enormity of the loss that the Scots must have suffered at that awful battle.
“Well, we should be grateful that we’ve escaped by the skin of our teeth,” Sawyer declared, after a moment. “I ken yer maither would be glad of yer freedom.”
Owen mustered a small smile. “Aye, she would, though I daenae ken how the rest of the Clan is goin’ to look at me.”
“Why, because ye brought two Sassenachs with ye?” Sawyer cast a pointed look at Heather, that seemed to say, “Just because M’Laird trusts ye, that disnae mean I do.”
Heather swallowed thickly. “Will they be unkind?”
“Nay unkind, but… it might be best if ye daenae say anythin’ to begin with.
I’ll need to explain what’s happenin’,” Owen replied, giving her shoulder the gentlest squeeze.
She assumed it was supposed to be reassuring, but, faced with a castle and a clan in enemy territory, she did not know if anything could quell her nerves.
“You have not thought this far ahead, have you?” she whispered.
He smiled back at her. “I wasnae sure if we’d make it this far, but I’ll see to it that ye’re treated well and ye’re made comfortable. As soon as ye’re settled in yer chambers, I’ll have the maids draw ye a bath. That’ll take the aches from yer bones, better than any rub me hands could give ye.”
“I would rather like a bed,” Brandon chimed in, visibly delirious with fatigue. His face looked gray and the hollows beneath his tired eyes were almost skeletal.
Owen brightened. “It will nae be long now. Ye can rest at yer leisure, for as long as ye please.”
“Gratitude, Laird Dunn,” Brandon wheezed.
As Owen set the horse back into a lope, Heather tried to spot what Sawyer had seen.
She could not see a castle of any kind, but perhaps castles in Scotland were different to those of England.
All she saw were thick forests and towering mountains, capped with snow, and an eerie sort of fog drifting out of nowhere.
What else were you expecting, you dolt—a beautiful castle with glistening spires and peacocks running wild in the manicured gardens? She had rather let her imagination get the better of her.
As such, when they emerged from dense woodland, ten minutes later, she was not expecting the majesty that awaited her.
The most remarkable castle she had ever seen stood nestled in the shadow of the vast mountains, with a glittering loch spilling away to the right and snaking around the base of the mountain.
The castle had the very spires that Heather had dreamed of: gleaming white limestone, peaked with a roof of black slate that tapered to a sharp point.
High walls surrounded the castle grounds on every side, made of that same beautiful limestone. It teased the eye, in a way, for she longed to see beyond the fortifications to find out if the rest of the castle matched her vivid imagination.
“Welcome to Dunn Castle,” Owen said softly, nudging her a little closer to his chest.
Yet, fear lurked behind Heather’s awe, for she had not thought this far ahead, either.
Indeed, she realized that she had only Owen’s word as proof that he was a good man.
He might not have been her brother’s killer, but what if he harbored resentment against her father for imprisoning him?
What if he sought revenge? If that turned out to be true, then she had just willingly followed her father’s enemy to his own castle.