“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…
CHAPTER TWELVE
Tearloch had just pulled Kenna’s horse onto the road when Jamie found them and led them to camp. Thankfully, it wasn’t far. While trying to reach the king’s sister before she reached Gowry Keep, Tearloch and his company hadn’t slept for two days, and it took effort not to slump off his horse and crawl under the nearest bush to lose consciousness.
He was sure Duncan, sore from a fresh kicking, felt the same. Men were scattered around two campfires, cleaning weapons, cooking. Some were already asleep, preparing for a late watch, with nothing but a folded elbow to cushion their heads.
As the trio rode into their midst, the rest of them jumped to their feet.
He followed their gazes and was not pleased to find them studying Kenna’s bare calves and feet. Her seat astride her horse kept her lower extremities from cover and he had an urge to snatch her to the ground. Her boots were tied together and hung over Duncan’s saddle, where they would remain, otherwise she would not have been so exposed. He hoped that without reins or boots, she would not get away again.
