“Three,” he amended.
“Three. Of course. Pray, forgive me for putting a knife to your back, and for causing you to weary of me. I will not deceive you again. You have my word.”
“No more chamber pots?”
“No more chamber pots.”
“No more setting yer horse on me?”
She laughed, still relieved that it hadn’t been a wolf sneaking up on her in the darkness. “No more.”
“A truce, then, milady.”
“And Duncan?”
“Aye?”
“I will escape at some point.”
“Yes, Milady. I will be waitin’ near the horses.” He winked before turning away, likely stifling the same giggle as she—both of them wondering how long it would take Tearloch to realize he still had one free hand with which to remove the cloth from his mouth.
When she turned back to her captive, he was still using his free hand to hold himself up, the kerchief still tucked between his open, shocked lips. Since he showed no signs of catching on, Kenna showed pity and removed it herself.
Tearloch rolled to wipe his mouth against his shoulder. “So, ye’re tryin’ honesty today, aye?”
“Aye. I promise I will gain my freedom—to do with what I will—even if I have to make you so weary of me you beg me to leave.”
“Fine. And now I promise ye, my lady…” His low, menacing words sent chills through her blood. “Once I get ye home, ye will have a beating like no other in yer life. And every time ye make me angry enough to send ye away, I will beat ye again.”
Kenna moved close enough to see her own reflection in his eyes. With a tone equal to his, she promised one last thing. “No one shall ever beat me again, Tearloch, King’s Champion. Not you or any other, so long as there is breath in my body. And you have just made me doubly certain that I must remove myself from your company.”
The change in his face was so immediate she had to blink and ask herself if he had ever been angry at all. His brow furrowed deeply with sincere concern.
“Auch, my lass. My precious… Who was it? Who beat ye?”
Kenna looked away before she weakened. “The priest. My aunt would send me—” She shook the memories away. “It no longer matters. Just know that I have more than one reason to eschew your Christ.” She turned back and saw the pity in his eyes, pity she would have gladly reveled in days ago, but not now. She no longer needed pity. She needed to put a greatdistance between her and this man who held so much power over her.
His ragged breath was warm against her cheek, and she realized she’d leaned in too close. His lips were inches away. And for the moment, she had all the control.
She inhaled deeply, wishing to stamp the flavor of him into her memory in any way possible.
“Go get Duncan.” His words vibrated in her bones. His voice rumbled down the length of her arm where it lay against his ribs. Only her shoulder was between them now and she rotated it slowly out of the way.
“No,” she whispered. “You are still my captive.”
“’Ware, lass. Whatever ye do to me, I will do the same in return.” Daringly, he stretched toward her, his attention on her mouth.
Caution be damned. It only meant he would kiss her back.
Slowly, she lowered her mouth to his and the magical connection she’d felt in just his touch was multiplied. She pressed into him over and over again, enjoying the fact that he did not use his tongue like an animal, as the Englishman had. Tearloch’s lips were perfect and soft, and…welcomed.
She felt tremors rack Tearloch’s frame just before he retreated. “Get Duncan. Ye must.” His voice sounded far away, his whisper coarse but gentle.
Kenna sat with her eyes closed for a moment, feeling her heartbeat in every extreme of her body. The experience lingered like a ghost on her lips, and she touched them to prove his mouth was no longer pressed against them. When she opened her eyes, he faced the wall of the tent. It might have insulted her had she not noticed his ragged breathing.
To have any power over such a man was immensely satisfying.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
