“Ye’ll ride with me, to even out the weight on the horses,” he told her.
When she did not refuse, he rested his hands on the curve of her waist, his fingertips almost meeting. Her hands, in turn, settled on his shoulders. Their eyes met and Owen’s hands squeezed gently, wanting to feel the movements of her quickened breath through her bodice.
“If it is for the horses,” she gasped: her considerable bosom heaving with tempting fullness.
With that, he lifted her up onto the saddle, her hands bracing against his strong shoulders. Once she was seated sideways, Owen climbed up behind her and slipped his arms around her to take hold of the reins. She had not taken her eyes off him, though her breath caught as he adjusted her legs, shifting them over his own thigh.
“So ye daenae fall,” he murmured in explanation.
She nodded slowly. “I would not want that.”
“Hang on to me if we have to move quickly.”
As if already concerned about slipping, she put her arms around his waist, tucking her head up against his shoulder. Satisfied that she would not fall, Owen squeezed his thighs and urged his horse into a lope.
Yet, he could not ignore the glare that burned into the back of his head. Peering over his shoulder, he noted Brandon’s sour expression. Either the fellow was annoyed by Owen’s brazenness, or he was irritated that his scheme had gone awry.
Were ye told to follow us, Brandon, or are ye the ally that ye say ye are? Are ye friend or foe? Spy or savior?As with all Englishmen, Owen would not trust the fellow until he was given undoubtable reason to. Until then, he could only hope that this was not merely another part of the trap.
11
“Ishall never sit upon a horse again, for as long as I live,” Heather grumbled, her entire body stiff from the last four days of endless riding.
Owen chuckled. “Are ye sufferin’, Lass?”
“Am I suffering?” she scoffed. “There is no position in which I can feel comfort, Owen. My bones have turned to ice, and I fear that every jolt of this blasted beast will shatter them to pieces. It already feels as though there are fragments jabbing into my… um… my skin.”
She had wanted to say her buttocks, but that had seemed rather too intimate a confession. Thighs and legs had not seemed particularly proper, either. Of course, she understood the ridiculousness of choosing her words so carefully, when she had spent four days within his embrace… and mostly in his lap. Whenever she had managed to fall asleep in the saddle, she woke to find herself cuddled into his chest.
More than that, there had been moments when she had felt something rather unfamiliar against the swell of her backside. A hardened length of flesh that she knew she should distance herself from, but when she felt it, she gave into the whisper of her mind, telling her to move closer to it.
How would such a thing feel? How am I to know, when no one has ever told me?She had daydreamed a little, using the sketches from the dungeon as her guide. Hot in the face and thrumming with new vibrations of desire, she often awoke with a gasp, in his arms, where it took her a few moments to realize that she had dreamed it.
“You should be careful of your integrity, Heather,” Brandon had warned her, when they had halted to make camp a couple of nights ago.
She could not confess that she enjoyed Owen’s proximity, and the wondrous pleasure of being held by him. Nor could she mention that she rather liked the way he shifted his position, so that there was no gap between them. Occasionally, he would shuffle back, looking uncomfortable, but she did not understand why. All she knew was that it coincided with the moments in which she felt his hardened length.
“What would you have me do instead?” Heather had replied to Brandon, helplessly. “I cannot keep distance between us when we must ride together.”
Brandon had not had an answer to that, but she had felt his watchful eyes throughout the lengthy journey. Moreover, whenthey had made camp each night, he had insisted on standing guard over her. As such, he now looked very tired indeed. So tired, she feared he might topple from the saddle at any moment.
Owen peered down at her. “Would ye like me to rub ye? Ye just need to move the blood around yer body, after sittin’ so still for so long.”
“Pardon?” Heather gaped at him.
“Like this.” He let go of the reins and took her hands in his, pressing into her palms with his thumbs. The pressure was firm yet gentle, though she was too stunned to enjoy it or push him away. Indeed, her astonishment only increased as he moved the intense circles up her forearm, rubbing up to her shoulder.
There, given her sideways position, one of his hands skirted perilously close to her bosom as he brought his fingertips to the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Her breath lodged in her throat as his arm came to rest against the swell of her breast, while his hand made an oddly pleasant gripping and releasing motion. Meanwhile, the side of his thumb brushed up and down against her throat, sending a peculiar thrill through her. Was that part of the rubbing? Was that supposed to happen?
This is too much. This is much too much.Her heart fluttered wildly: her traitorous eyes closing in enjoyment of the sensation. It felt as though he was unraveling all of the tense knots that her body had twisted itself into, during the last few days.
“I will nae do the rest of ye, with eyes watchin’,” he murmured, close to her ear. “Daenae mistake me, Lass. I only wish to relieve yer discomfort.”
She did not know whether to slap him or thank him as he stopped, stealing away the joyous sensation of relaxing muscles.
“Och, there she is!” Sawyer chirped, riding up to Owen and Heather.
Heather frowned. “Whatever do you mean? I have always been here. Did you forget I was one of your company, now?”
