Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Kenna stood shivering next to her warm horse. Somewhere along the road, she’d lost her sack with the precious blue gown, and she paid for it now.
The darkness was deepening fast, and time was doing the opposite. Surely, if they were coming for her they would have passed by now. If they didn’t, they might have realized she was not worth their time. The thought shouldn’t insult her, but it did.
She should have kept her clothes on and stayed on the road.
Her shift would do little to keep her warm now and would do much to put her in jeopardy on the morrow.
She would need to ride swiftly past any travelers before they realized she wore no clothes.
She had nothing with which to buy another gown—her earbobs were in her boots, but those were lost to her now.
Would she ever learn to think through her plans before it was too late?
No matter. She could trade her fine horse for a cheaper beast and simple clothes. The more she looked the peasant, the less likely Leith MacPherson would notice as she came up behind him and—
Her horse shivered and its ears began flipping forward and back. It snuffed quietly against her hand, but the message was clear, even before it stamped nervously.
“Here they come,” she whispered, then strained to hear the rumble of hooves.
A large, sturdy twig snapped in the darkness behind her and she froze, as did every wee animal and insect around her. Dead silence saturated the shadows, black on black, but she didn’t turn. Instead, she pulled down on the horse’s bridle and steered its hindquarters toward the threat
A menacing growl began, far too near, slowly growing louder, closer. With its head lowered to Kenna’s knees, her horse had no other defense but to launch its back hooves up and away. They connected. A powerful smack. And the snarling ceased.
Kenna dropped the reins, and a squeal escaped her as she ran toward the road, ignoring the uneven ground beneath her feet.
Her legs carried her faster than she thought possible, and the trees whipped by in a shadowed blur.
She lunged over a thick bush of heather and onto the moonlit road without missing a step, only to have a huge form clasp her arm and swing her around.
Her chest thumped against the solid trunk of a tree, and she was immediately embraced by its warm smooth branches.
Warm branches!
Kenna looked up to find the monstrous tree was simply her laird and master, and relief flooded her from head to toe. Clouds parted and a flash of moonlight made him look younger. His youthful smile rippled in whiskers and dimples.
He bent forward, then paused. His smile faltered and his eyes searched hers. But for what?
Whether he found what he sought, she couldn’t tell, but his mouth descended on hers, and she breathed in the sweet and musky taste of him.
This, she remembered. The combination of fear and moonlight had not conjured him.
He was here and she was safe from whatever creatures dwelled in the shadows behind her.
Whether from relief or because she had suffered one surprise too many, Kenna surrendered to the second blissful faint of her life.
“Duncan! She’s fainted again!” Tearloch called toward the trees. His chuckling washed over his oblivious captive as he laid her on the grasses beside the road, then hurried to capture her panicked horse.
A weak growl came from the darkness.
“Duncan?”
More growling answered him and the horse skittered around to face it.
“Are ye hurt, auld mon?” Tearloch quickly secured the nervous beast and walked into the trees with his sword drawn.
“Yes, I am hurt,” his friend groaned as he was pulled to his feet, one hand clutched to his chest. “She set her horse on me.”
“Ye’ve scared the beast is all.”
“Nay, she set it on me. ‘Twas the damnedest thing. She pulled its head down and the rear came up. She did it a’ purpose. I say we leave her behind and tell the king we ne’er found her.”
Tearloch half-expected Duncan to spit on the now quiet lass as he looked her over. The poor man had taken the brunt of her fight all day. But looking down on her angelic face it was difficult attributing the last hellish hours to her.
“What an innocent face.” Tearloch teased.
“Innocent, me arse.” Duncan did spit, but he turned to the side first. “And even so, she won’t be for long, aye?”
“But innocent, still the same, I reckon.”
“I’ve reconsidered. I think ye should stay clean away from this’n. She’s dangerous, and it’s not just because I have hoof-shaped dents where my ribs once were.”
“I cannae give her up, my friend. She works magic on me. If I’m touching her, I can speak to her as normally as I speak to you. That’s passing strange, is it not?”
“As no one else kens of yer problems with women, I suggest ye keep her bit of magic to yerself, laddie.”
“Aye. I will. All to myself.” Looking down, he said, “Lass. Lass! Wake yourself.” When a nudge from his boot brought no response, he squatted beside her and patted her cheeks with the backs of his fingers. “Wake, lass.”
When still she did not rouse, he took a moment to look down her long sleek legs exposed by a twist in her thin shift. His eyes traveled slowly up her body as he memorized the curves of her. He turned his hand to stroke down the side of her face and found her eyes had opened, and his fingers froze.
Was the sudden warmth there from her blush or his?
He pulled his hand away then helped her to her feet. She straightened her shift and offered only a sigh.
“I will not let ye go. So, stop runnin’.
” He pulled her gown and boots from Duncan’s saddle and offered them back.
“I shall allow ye to ride yer own horse, but I’ll hold the reins so as not to tempt ye.
I forgive ye for tryin’ for I made it impossible to resist. But I’ll not leave ye on yer honor again because, spoiled child that ye are, ye canna be trusted. ”
Once she was dressed, he led her to her horse and grabbed her waist to lift her up, only then noticing her mouth hanging open, her fists again on her hips.
“Spoiled chi…? Why you great pile of…”
His warm hand across her soft lips cut her words short. He liked touching her mouth and paused a little too long in uncovering it. He couldn’t help it. He had no difficulty speaking—or kissing—while she was in his arms. She had turned him into nothing less than a poet.
“I have done it again, made it impossible for ye to behave. I vow to stop tempting ye, for now.”
Duncan’s suggestion suddenly had more merit than his friend knew. If he were so unfettered just from her touch, surely he could cure his affliction all together if he were to lie with her, flesh to healing flesh.
He was decided. Tomorrow, he would take Duncan’s original advice and bed her. Tonight he had barely the strength to make camp, let alone seduce a hellcat.
He was almost sure of it…