She whacked him on the bare back for his flippant response. It stung like a whoreson’s mother, but Broc didn’t give her the satisfaction of yelping.
“I’m going to keep screaming until we’re found!” his twisting burden assured him.
“Och, lass,” he answered calmly, “My ears would thank ye not to.”
Her answering shriek nearly rendered him deaf.
He managed to ignore it, but his teeth hummed at the shrill sound. He was feeling generous. They were near their destination with no sign of her companions’ pursuit, so she could scream all she wanted to.
Seana’s abandoned home—the one she’d shared with her drunkard father—was hidden so deep within the woods and was so completely in union with its natural environment that he doubted anyone would discover them. It would be safe enough to keep her there until he had assessed the situation better.
She was lean—not so lean that he could see her bones, but he could damned well feel them as she squirmed over his shoulder and he thought maybesomeone aught to feed her more. Her fists continued to pound his back in protest.
Getting desperate, she pressed her teeth into his shoulder, and Broc squeezed her leg—painfully, he knew.
“That wouldna be a verra good idea, lass,” he advised her, gripping her right thigh more firmly still.
He’d be damned if she was going to take a chunk out of him so easily.
“I don’t much care what you think is a good idea!” she countered, but she didn’t bite him, and he loosened his grip upon her leg as a reward. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded haughtily.
“Somewhere safe.”
“Safe! Hah! The only safe place is somewhere far from you!”
And then her mettle seemed to falter, because he heard her breath catch. “Oh, God—John!” she cried, and went suddenly limp over his shoulder and began to sob.
He was glad she had finally stopped battling him, but he felt guilt-stricken that she was worried for her brother.
“The worst he’ll suffer is a headache,” he reassured her.
Either he had swooned, or Broc had managed to hit him just right to knock him out. In either case, Broc knew for certain the lad was still breathing when they left him. He’d reached down to feel his breath. His frantic sister had simply been too distraught to notice.
“Isawyou fell him!”
“Aye, lass, you saw me hit him with the butt of my dagger.”
They reached Seana’s abandoned hovel, and he set her down in front of the door. It took her a moment to regain her footing.
“We’re here.”
“Wonderful!” she replied and Broc recognized both fear and anger in her tone. He admired her for standing up to him. She was nothing like her milksop brother. In fact, he decided she had more courage than most men.
Her brows collided and she seemed to be considering whether to believe him. “You hit him with the butt of your dagger?”
Broc nodded, watching her expression.
Much of her copper hair had worked itself free from her thick braid and fell in disarray about her face. He brushed it aside to reveal a pink nose, evidence of tears, and eyes so stark a green they seemed almost unreal. She had the look of a Highland lass about her—and attitude as well. She shrugged away from him.
“Ye have my word, he’s fine.”
Her eyes glazed with unshed tears.
“Och, dinna cry.” He reached out to wipe away her tears, unsettled to see them.
She slapped his hand away and averted her gaze.
Damn, but he was glad she had done that. He almost forgot himself—almost forgot she was a peevish English wench. Still he wanted to tell her not to worry, that he wouldn’t harm her, but his tongue was suddenly too thick to speak.
