Christ. This is nae the time fer such thoughts.
"This is ridiculous," Liliane muttered as she found herself pressed between the two men, the cloak wrapped around her shoulders. "There's nay room tae breathe."
"There's plenty of room if ye stop tryin’ tae climb that tree," Tòrr pointed out. "Sit still."
She tried to pull away from him, but there was nowhere to go in their small circle of warmth. "Could ye just... move further away?"
"Where? Into the forest? We'll all freeze if we lose what heat we have."
"Freezin’ would be better."
"If ye stopped squirmin’ like a trapped wildcat, we might find a way tae sit comfortably," he said.
"I'm nae squirmin’, I'm trying tae maintain some distance between us."
"Me hand and yer waist? Me knee and yer leg?" His voice roughened with frustration. "We're sharin’ heat, lass, nae couplin’ in the bracken."
She went rigid at his blunt words. "Ye dinnae need tae be so crude."
"And ye dinnae need tae act as if I'm about tae ravish ye by firelight. I may have bought ye, but I'm nae an animal."
She glared at him, but said nothing more, her cheeks warm despite the cold. The fire crackled low, and silence wrapped around them like another layer of wool.
Cameron’s quiet snoring carried across the camp, leaving the two of them alone in the shrinking circle of heat. Despite her earlier protests, she edged closer without seeming to realize it, her back brushing against his chest.
Tòrr stilled. He could feel the soft rise and fall of her breathing against him, the faint scent of her hair. His jaw clenched. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did. Far more than he liked.
“I still hate ye,” she murmured, her voice drowsy now.
“I ken.”
“And I’ll never forgive ye.”
“I ken that too.”
“Good. As long as we understand each other.”
Her breathing evened out soon after, but Tòrr lay awake a while longer. The heat between them had nothing to do with the fire. She fit against him far too easily, and that was going to be a problem.
It was, he reflected grimly, going to be a very long marriage. If she didn’t kill him first.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tòrr kept his own breathing steady and deep, his eyes closed but his senses alert. Something had changed in the way she lay against him, the tension in her body had shifted from exhausted resignation to coiled readiness.
A soft rustle of fabric confirmed his suspicions as she moved slightly, testing his response. Her elbow brushed his arm in what could have been accidental contact, but Tòrr recognized it for what it was, a gentle probe to see if he was truly asleep.
He kept perfectly still, fighting the urge to tense his muscles. Let her think she'd fooled him. Let her believe she had a chance.
Minutes passed in careful silence. Then, so gradually he might have missed it if he hadn't been waiting, she began to ease away from his side. The movement was achingly slow, designed not to disturb the cloak or create any sound that might wake her captors.
Clever lass.
If he hadn't been expecting it, she might have managed it.
When she was clear of the dying fire's glow, Tòrr opened his eyes and watched her silhouette against the trees. She paused for a heartbeat, looking back toward the camp, then gathered her skirts and broke into a run.
He was on his feet before she'd gone beyond ten steps into the thick trees.
