Chapter Five
Camille attempted to crawl away from the outlaw stalking her, but he grabbed her ankle and yanked her back. When her hand slid over the rock her knee had hit, she took it in hand and smashed it against his temple. His eyes crossed and he flopped sideways.
"Ha!" she yelled and shoved to her feet, leaping out of his way should he decide to wake up. He lay still, thank the saints. Though her hands shook from the fear and excitement, she felt elated. She had stopped a man from murdering her.
"M'lady." Dugald hurried toward her. "Are you hurt?"
"Non. Are you?" She looked him over and was thankful she didn't see any cuts.
"Nay." He eyed the man on the ground. "You bashed his head in good."
Anxiety crashed in on her. Her heart still pounding hard, she was unsure how she felt about killing a man… again. Even if he did deserve it. "Is he dead?"
"Nay, not yet anyway. His chest is moving. If he awakes, he will have a most god-awful headache."
"I'm glad. The knave!" Both she and Dugald could've been killed, for heaven's sake. "What were they about?"
"Most likely stealing horses, weapons and whatever valuables they might find on us."
"They must have been spying on us and noticed your shiny weapons."
"Aye."
The MacKerrick clansmen rushed back into camp, their swords drawn.
"What the devil happened, m'laird?" Owen asked, his gaze running over the downed and bloody highwaymen.
"They attacked."
"I told you I should've stayed!"
"Aye, you were right, Owen."
The man stared wide-eyed at his chief as if he'd grown two heads. "I was?"
"Aye, have a dozen men search the area for more thieves. I think this is the only one who still lives. Tie his hands afore he awakes and relieve him of his weapons." He nudged his toe against the one Camille had bashed upon the head.
"Aye, m'laird."
While the clansmen dealt with the outlaws, Dugald turned to her. "Are you certain you were not injured?" The concern in his gaze and in his husky voice warmed her heart.
She nodded, though her knee smarted from where it had struck the rock. 'Twas only a bruise, and he need not look at her leg now. He'd already seen too much of her body.
"You impress me greatly, m'lady."
Camille was shocked into silence for a moment. "Why?"
"Knocking a man out cold. And you do not seem the least bit upset over what just happened. Most women would be crying and wailing."
She shook her head. "'Twas not so terrible, was it? I've survived worse."
"You have?" He frowned. "Another attack?"
"Indeed. My cousin and I. In France, more than a year ago. We learned to survive."
His curious gaze searched hers. "What happened?"
"'Tis a long story." She was unsure whether she wanted to tell him she might have caused a French lord to drown when she'd pushed him off a bridge.
But that had been Pierre's own fault for trying to kill her.
She'd but defended herself. She did not think she could get in trouble for it now, but who knew?
It was not something she discussed with anyone except Angelique and Lachlan.
Pierre's companion, Girard, had been in Scotland last fall to avenge his friend's death and to reclaim a diamond necklace from Angelique.
He had not been successful at either and had been killed instead. Camille had felt safe since then.
Though she was uncertain of her safety now, she was not terrified. She knew she was capable of things most people would not expect from her.
"Is your knee hurt?" he asked, startling her from her thoughts.
She found herself unconsciously rubbing her sore knee, then straightened. "It is nothing. Only a bruise."
"Let me see. Can you walk to the log?" He took her hand.
"I am well. 'Tis naught to worry over." She strolled to the log and sat.
"Does it pain you?" He pushed the blanket and long shirt upward and bared her knee.
"Non. I told you." Heat rushed over her, though she didn't know why. After all, he'd seen a lot more than her leg earlier. But this memory only served to embarrass her more.
His warm, strong hands upon her calf sent chills up her thighs and to regions she should not be thinking of now, with him knelt before her.
He lightly stroked a gentle finger over a small reddish spot. "Aye, 'tis a bruise, but you might have hurt the joint. Let me know if it pains you. I'm sorry I was not closer to protect you from the beasts. 'Tis my fault you're out here in danger," he said.
"Oui, that is true." She smirked, unable to believe that he actually seemed to regret abducting her. "But I defeated the bastard myself."
Dugald gave a short laugh, admiration shining in his eyes. "Indeed, you did. And, back in Perth, you nearly flattened my nose like a bannock." He rubbed a finger over the purplish spot. "All I ask is that you don't bash me on the head with a rock."
She gave him a cunning look.
"Or stick me with that wee dirk."
"You saw that, did you?"
"Aye. Why didn't you stab me at the first opportunity?"
"I thought about it. But what good would it do? I could not fight two dozen men."
"I'm glad you're so reasonable, but I would wager, you still would like to stab me and gain your freedom."
She shook her head. "If I were going to stab you, I would've already done it… back in that tent, when all your men had gone into the wood and you were naked." But stabbing him had been the last thing on her mind at that moment.
He lifted a brow, watching her, assessing her. Until that moment, she had not realized green eyes could be so… heated. A knowing light entered his eyes. "Did you like what you saw, m'lady?"
Heat scorched over her, but she refused to lower her gaze. "Did you?"
He grinned wickedly. "Oh, aye, indeed. What red-blooded male doesn't like a buxom lass with creamy, smooth skin and hard, dusky pink nipples?"
Before she could think, her open hand flew toward his face, but he caught it an inch from her intended target.
He grinned, but there was little humor in it.
A feral grin, that's what it was, as if he wished to bite her.
Mayhap she wanted him to. Her heart skipped a beat and excitement raced through her.
Parbleu! He had turned her into a lusting wanton.
She yanked her hand but he would not release it.
Instead, he watched her closely and drew her hand toward his mouth.
Her breath halted as she waited to see what he would do.
Her hand fisted of its own accord. He inhaled against her skin and drew the back of her hand across his smooth lips and the scratchy stubble, his warm breath heating her.
A thousand chills raced up her arm toward her breasts.
Finally, he pressed a wee kiss to her knuckles.
Saints, his lips were so hot, so sensual.
Her heartbeat thumped against her throat.
"Chief!" One of the younger men on horseback raced into camp and leapt to the ground.
Releasing her, Dugald stood and faced him.
"There were more highwaymen, but they must have fled when they realized their cohorts were killed."
"How many?"
"At least ten. Mayhap more."
"Saints." He glanced at Camille, then addressed the guard. "'Twill not be safe to camp here. We should be able to reach Rornoch by dark if we leave now. Round up the other scouts and tell them we're leaving."
∞∞∞
After riding several hours, they stopped near a different loch and dismounted to relieve themselves while the horses drank from the loch and eagerly picked grass.
As Camille crouched to wash her hands in the icy water, Dugald told Rufus to watch her while he talked to some of the scouts.
Clearly, he no longer trusted Owen to keep her under control since she'd borrowed his horse earlier in the day.
But surely Dugald would not suspect her of fleeing here, so far from home and with highwaymen on the loose.
Rufus's scraggly red beard and his roving eyes annoyed her, but she tried to ignore him. She was glad for the bulky plaid blanket tied around her waist and pinned together over her chest. As clothing went, 'twas ugly as beggar's rags, but she did not need to look appealing out here.
"Are you hungry, m'lady?" Owen called.
Standing, she spotted him kneeling in the weeds and high grass near the edge of the loch. What was he doing? Frowning, she headed toward him, Rufus following. Owen's mouth was already smeared with something red.
"What are you doing?" Camille asked.
"Eating strawberries, of course. Do you want some? Since we didn't get to roast our grouse, these will have to suffice until we reach home."
"Oh." Indeed she was hungry. "Are you certain there's enough for me?"
"Aye. I'm not such a pig." He chuckled.
Crouching, she picked a ripe strawberry and popped it into her mouth. "Mmm, delicious and sweet."
Owen nodded. "Wish it was strawberry preserve on hot buttery scones instead."
"Oui, that would be good." But she was just as happy with the fresh berries, a rare treat.
They were small but she picked a handful and ate them quickly. Dugald was in a hurry to get home, regardless of who was starving, and 'twas doubtful they would be here long. After finishing the first handful of berries, she picked more and devoured them. Saints, they were scrumptious.
"Time to mount up!" Dugald ordered, farther up the hill.
'Twas just as she'd expected. She ground her teeth while his men ran to do his bidding… all but Rufus, who regarded her with a frown.
What would the bossy chief look like picking berries and eating them? Grinning, she motioned to him.
Muttering—no doubt cursing her—he headed toward her. "'Tis time to leave, as I said."
"Have some berries, Dugald. They're delicious," she offered merrily, curious as to how he would respond.
"I don't want berries. I want to get my hostage behind my walls as soon as possible."
His hostage? She narrowed her eyes. Of course, that was how he regarded her. His concern over her possible injuries earlier was merely to appease his own guilt.
"I'm hungry and your men are hungry," she told him firmly. "You could at least allow us to eat our fill, since you cannot provide us food this day."
He released an annoyed breath. "I'm not to blame for the outlaws attacking and disrupting our meal of grouse and rabbit. Either walk to my horse or I'll carry you."
Ignoring him, she continued to pick and eat strawberries. She liked to think of him as a beast but, in truth, she did not fear him. He was mostly bluster. She sucked the strawberry juice off her finger and glanced up into his eyes.
His glare darkened and a muscle jumped in his jaw.
When she went back to picking berries, he stepped in behind her, clasped her arms, and pulled her upward. The next thing she knew, he turned her to face him, bent and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of oats.
Her head upside down, she screamed. "You mad brute!" She pounded her fists against his back.
Walking with her, he slapped her derriere hard. Twice.
"Ouch! Batard! Connard!"
He laughed and swung up into the saddle, then lowered her to his lap. The man was too strong by far.
Glaring around at him, she was tempted to punch him in his sore nose, but at the same time, excitement rushed through her.
Why? He was as annoying as the devil, and…
most likely just as wicked in the bedchamber.
When the memory of what he'd looked like naked invaded her mind, heat consumed her entire body.
She knew his muscles looked as if they'd been sculpted by a master and were just as hard as marble.
After all, she'd felt most of them while sitting before him on the horse.
Was she mad dwelling on such a thing? Oui! She had to be.
Staring at her lips, he narrowed his eyes. "By the looks of your mouth, you had plenty of strawberries. No more complaints."
"I have been abducted by a knave! I have much to complain about."
∞∞∞
By the saints, Dugald wished he could lick that red strawberry juice off her lips. Not because he was hungry for food either. He found he was hungry for a French tart.
But she was no tart. She was Lindsay's wife.
To seduce her would be asking for war. Dugald's yearning for her had only gone from bad to worse as the day wore on, deteriorating his mood.
Especially with her sitting on his lap! There was only so much temptation a man could stand before he lost his mind.
She wiped her red-stained hands over her lips but this only served to make matters worse, for the juice smeared onto her cheek. She looked like a wee precocious lass who'd been crawling about the fields, grazing on wild berries. Unable to help himself, he laughed.
"Stop laughing at me!"
Her demanding words spoken in that silky French accent only made him laugh harder. Finally, he managed to ask, "Why?"
"'Tis rude."
"Do you not know knaves are rude?"
She muttered French words he didn't understand. Although he'd studied French a bit, he had not done well.
Damnation, she smelled like strawberries and beguiling woman. He had grown hard again the moment he'd picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder and smacked her round arse. She had lovely curves he was enjoying pressed against him.
She wriggled against him as if trying to get comfortable. Hell, couldn't she feel his erection? He wanted to press it more firmly against her. But he couldn't.
She's married. She's married. She's married, he recited silently to keep his mind off what he wanted to do to her.
But it wasn't working!
Lust besieged him, sending a barrage of wicked memories and images through his head… all of her pale skin bared to him… her generous breasts. Her sweet body sprawled upon him in his bed.
She glared around at him, her blue eyes darkened.
Was that desire written on her face? He muttered a curse under his breath.
He knew she'd intentionally peeped at him from inside the tent as he'd been changing clothes.
The wee minx. Much as he didn't want a married woman to be attracted to him, part of him was exceedingly fired-up, knowing she'd seen him naked.
Her lips were still stained red and tempting. Yearning to taste her, he gritted his teeth.
Blushing, she faced forward again.
"Hellfire," he growled. His erection was not going away. How could it with her sweet arse pressing against it with every movement of the horse?
But he saw no alternative. He certainly wasn't allowing her to ride with one of his men.
He could create a pillion cushion and put her behind him, but he didn't trust her that much.
She could easily jump off and disappear into the wood.
Or pull out her wee dirk and stab him. Nay, she was too unpredictable.
Although it would test his patience and his sanity, he would have to keep her right where she was until they rode through the gates of Rornoch.