Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
Sundown…
Kenna should never have provoked him in front of his men.
She had forgotten how important Uncle Angus’s pride had been to him, and the scowl of her laird and master told her he was no different.
She now hoped he would not attempt to beat her, for even though she felt horrible for insulting the giant, she would fight to the death anyone who dared raise a hand to her again. Man or priest.
“Come here,” he growled, somehow appearing fiercer without his armor, with the linen gaping open below his throat. Shadows and smooth bulges hinted at the danger hidden just beneath.
How much closer did “here” mean? She was only a forearm away from him now. The stares of the other men made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, but she ignored them. And thinking to smooth out that scowl, she pretended to grovel. “Yes, Laird and Master.” Then smiling, she stepped closer.
He reached down as if to speak privately to her then grabbed her arm with one hand and the back of her gown with the other.
He hauled her across his muscular thighs.
Before she could voice her outrage, her buttocks stung with the sharp bite of the flat of his hand.
His horse bolted as if it, too, had felt the blow.
And a heartbeat later she and her captor flew down the road in a mass of flailing limbs, the low thunder of galloping hooves following close behind.
After what seemed a duration, the stinging in her backside lessened to an angry throb and Kenna realized her ribs were in danger of breaking.
She may as well have been bouncing on a pair of tree trunks as two thighs, they were that hard.
One pounded across her hips and the other knocked the air from her lungs, over and over again.
And Satan’s natural sons were laughing!
So much for fighting to the death. By the time they slowed, she would be a boneless doll. Her only hope was to get this aggravating man’s attention, and the only part of him available to her was his leg, just above his boot, and it was far too firm to risk her teeth on.
So she pinched. Hard.
Tearloch felt the clamp of what he thought was the woman’s teeth on the side of his knee, but he could not kick her away for fear of damaging her face.
He tried to wrench the leg free but only succeeded in slowing his horse and causing the confused beast to rear.
He dropped the leads, grabbed the saddle with one hand and her backside with the other, but the reckless fool bucked against him and slid to the ground.
“Idiot,” she spat as she stalked off in the correct direction, wrapping her arms around her body as if cold. “Not man enough to beat me with his hands, he has to use a horse!”
Tearloch’s rage erupted, settling like a hot flag on his face. He moved to dismount and oblige her, but the others were smiling and shaking their heads as they turned their horse toward home yet again. Had they not noticed? She could have been killed!
He looked back at the woman and noticed how she clutched her ribs. Instantly he turned his disgust on himself. He certainly hadn’t intended to damage the bloody Princess of Scotland.
But he also had no intention of slowing their progress. They wouldn’t be able to see the road in half an hour. And the closer they got to Malcolm, the better!
He scooped up the reins to her own horse and led it close enough to toss the leads at her feet. She looked surprised and then suddenly too pleased as she turned her back on him to climb into the saddle.
Once she was mounted, he reached over and covered her hand tightly to get her attention.
She jumped at his touch. He looked into her eyes and he inhaled slowly.
She did the same. Her petite nostrils flickered, as did the sunset mirrored in her eyes, and alarms sounded throughout his body.
A weak voice inside his head warned, “Hold fast! Hold fast!”
Tearloch waited for the heaviness that rendered his tongue immovable, but it didn’t come. Instead of his mind seizing, his thoughts ran smoothly to his lips. He could easily have told her how her own mouth called out to his, how his hands ached to lift her back to him.
Words he had never conjured before now.
He looked at his hand covering hers. That magical touch could ruin him if he wasn’t careful.
Instead of putting voice to those thoughts, he said, “If ye fail to keep pace, or if ye run again, I will find a new way to horrify ye, Milady.” And with that, he released her hand, turned, and galloped away.
She wouldn’t dare disobey me now.
Kenna prodded her mount to follow. She had the horse she needed. If she weren’t around to tie up, she wouldn’t need a knife, and the fools were riding away.
Behind her lay freedom.
The last man looked back to check her progress, so she kicked her horse into a gallop. That seemed to please him enough to return his attention to the road. After he and the others crested the hill, she reined in her horse and turned in the opposite direction.
Apologizing to the poor confused animal, she slapped it with the reins until they were flying down the road. She only had a short time to gain a lead before they realized she was not the broken spirit they assumed her to be.
The sun was long gone. It would be full dark in moments, and she still had one major problem. She was wearing the equivalent of a ship’s sail while trying to escape into the night. The blasted gown would fairly glow in the dark.
But the shift she wore beneath her clothes was deep blue!
Relying on childhood riding skills taught by her brother, she instinctively shed her precious boots to gain more control.
She put the leads between her teeth then, leaning forward, she pressed her hands down on the rim of the seat and cautiously shifted her weight to them as she lifted her body into the air.
Hoping the blessedly dark beast beneath her would cooperate, she placed her feet in the saddle, one ahead of the other, and slowly rested her weight back on them and stood.
So far, so good.
While talking soothingly to the horse, she fell into the rocking rhythm of its gait.
She twice tested her balance then dragged her hated gown up over her head.
She stripped it off her arms and encouraged the animal again.
Although the wind against her was no longer warmed by the sun, the feeling of near-flight was exhilarating and it took a moment before she could force herself to ease down onto the saddle once more.
The beacon of her dress was forgotten on the road behind her, and she held her cooled legs against the deliciously warmed leather of the saddle.
Freedom was going to be wonderful.
She tried to anticipate what the men would do next.
Though she knew they were much more fatigued than she, she expected that her commander was just as diligent as she was determined.
It would not be easy besting him, and though his men may wish it, he would hardly bid her good riddance after fighting so hard to keep her.
No. He would anticipate exactly what she had done—try to outrun them.
If she left the road now, in the welcome dark, they would hopefully charge right past her.
She slowed her mount and urged it to the left, barely hesitating before plunging into the darkness beyond.
Deep into the trees, she decided she had gone far enough.
She dismounted and laid her head against that of her horse, the hard skull a familiar anchor in the unfamiliar world.
Patting its nose, that soft smooth fur that gave every horse its charm, she discouraged any nickering…
Moments before…
Tearloch and Duncan stopped their horses at the top of the rise. Outrage had spurred them back this far, only to have their seething dissipate like so much steam as they watched the sight before them.
Their prey, this vexing fairy disguised as a woman, was clad in white and standing atop a galloping horse, stripping her clothes off in the gloaming.
By the time they watched the garment drift to earth, they were both bewitched.
Only when they noticed how she was vanishing into the night did they shake themselves free of the spell and move on.
Duncan shook his head. “Do ye reckon Malcolm taught her that trick?”
Tearloch shouted over his shoulder, “Or she taught him!”
They rode hard. Duncan only slowed to scoop up boots and again to gather the discarded gown while Tearloch continued to keep the woman in sight. He expected her to leave the road soon and he didn’t want to chance losing her.
He gave her due credit for choosing to return on her own the first time, but he had yet to discover why.
She’d come very close to slipping away! He should be proud to have earned the hand of one so clever and brave, but at the moment, it only terrified him.
Indeed, the likelihood of reaching Lochahearn with her still in his grasp grew less and less by the minute!
She rode like the devil had taken the spurs to her horse, and her commotion was enough to drown out their own.
Her mount slowed suddenly and with a quick motion to Duncan, the two of them sprang off the road.
They slid silently to the ground and left their horses in the shadows to edge back to the roadside to take a look.
She was gone.
“She’s left the road on this side,” Tearloch whispered.
“Agreed.”
“I doubt myself she will go far. These woods are dark enough to scare even the likes of her.”
“Surely.”
He snorted. “Possibly.”
They never took their gaze off the road as they spoke.
Tearloch mused. “Shall I just run her down and beat her?”
“Could you?”
“Almost. I swear I am sorely tempted. And Malcolm might even be forgiving if he’s told the whole of it.”
“We could let her go.”
Tearloch finally looked at his friend. “And tell the king….”
“That she violently didnae wish to be found.”
“No,” Tearloch said, and took a deep breath. “She’s mine.”
Duncan grabbed the other’s shoulder and tipped his head, speaking softly. “Ye should bed her, Tearloch. She will nae run from a man she falls in love with. And ‘tis yer right, after all.”
“Aye? Ye think she’d fall in love with me that easily?”
“If ye do a fair job of it, aye. Otherwise, she’ll run us into the ground along with our beasties.”
“Dinna worry, auld mon. I’ll keep her under my thumb once we’re home.”
“If we ever get home.”
A moment later, Tearloch stopped frowning. “I have an idea…”