Jolene looked at a sleeping Reynard and sighed. The boy was already very weary. It was but one short step from there to a fever for a child. She would like to race far ahead of Harold, but Sigimor was right. Such a small child could all too easily suffer from such a travail.
She was trying to think of some compromise when the maid arrived to clear away the remains of their meal. It was time to sleep and Jolene was sharply reminded of the fact that there was only one bed. The look upon Sigimor's face told her there would be no compromise here, either, but she felt compelled to make her objections known to him.
"You could bed down on the floor,” she said.
"When there is a clean, soft, big bed at hand? Nay,” he replied, then shook his head when she looked ready to argue. “Harold is nipping at our heels, lass. Ye and the bairn cannae be left unguarded. Nay, nor can ye be left unguarded in this place where all ken ye are an English lass and are nay too pleased about it. Now, get into bed. Ye need your rest, as do I. I will sleep on top of the bedcovers and ye can sleep safely beneath them."
Although she was still displeased with the arrangement, she walked to the bed and stripped down to her shift. It was very modest, revealing little more than her gown, but she still felt a blush heat her cheeks as she scrambled beneath the covers. Modesty, she told herself sternly, had little place under such circumstances. Until they got to Dubheidland, Sigimor and the other men had to stay close to her and Reynard. Bowing to a woman's well taught and, perhaps, excessive modesty was a foolish thing to expect of them.
She inwardly grimaced and quickly closed her eyes when Sigimor stripped down to his braies. Seeing him in nearly all his strong, male glory only reminded her of the real reason she did not want to share the bed with him. The temptation to touch the fine body was strong. Giving in to that temptation would bring her a whole new set of problems. She was just wondering if this was some sort of divine test of her morals when she felt him move close to her. Jolene opened her eyes to scold him only to find him leaning over her, his handsome face very close to hers. There was a look in his rich green eyes that caused her insides to clench with what she very much suspected was lust.
"Was there something you needed to tell me before we sleep?” she asked, pleased at how calm and polite she sounded.
"Nay. I will just take a wee goodnight kiss first.” He grinned when her eyes widened, then kissed her.
Jolene put her hands against his shoulders, intending to push him away, only to be distracted by the feel of his smooth, warm skin beneath her palms. She started to curl her arms around his neck, feeling a little desperate to hold him close, when he pulled away. He gave her a brief smile, wished her a good sleep, then turned away onto his side with his back toward her. It was a lovely back, she thought as she struggled to ease the pounding of her heart, cool the fire in her blood, and cease panting. Broad, strong, and unmarred. When she saw how it moved as he breathed evenly and calmly, she decided that, at this precise moment, that beautiful, manly back would look even lovelier with the hilt of her dagger protruding from between his shoulder blades.
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Chapter Five
A yawn so mighty it caused a twinge in her jaw and made her eyes water escaped Jolene as she stumbled through the trees and brush in search of a place to relieve herself. It was all Sigimor's fault she was so tired. After giving her a kiss that had made her feverish, he had turned over and gone to sleep. Tense with needs she did not fully understand and all too aware of how blithely she could give the man the virtue so well protected for three-and-twenty years, she had been unable to sleep until close to dawn. Jolene doubted she had gained more than a few hours of sleep before a far too cheerful Sigimor was rousting her out of bed. She did not understand how the man could stir her hitherto unawakened passion one moment and, in the next, have her fondly thinking of how many ways she could torture or kill him.
After seeing to her needs, she looked around and felt a tickle of alarm. She could neither see nor hear the Camerons. Worse, she had been so tired, so thoroughly caught up in her thoughts, she had neglected to watch where she was going, or how far. Glancing up at the sky, she tried to recall Peter's lessons and guess which way was north. Since they were riding into the Highlands, Jolene felt north was the direction to go in. Praying she had chosen correctly, she started to walk.
It was a long while before she accepted the fact that she was going in the wrong direction. The trees were growing thicker, but the wood had been sparse where she had left the others waiting for her. Taking a deep breath to calm her growing fear, she moved on, telling herself that she must have gone deeper into the wood than she had realized or, perhaps, was only a little off the path she had taken.
Just as she began to think it might be wise to stop walking and start bellowing for help, the trees began to thin out. She heard the faint jingle of a horse's harness and the low murmur of men's voices. Relieved, she hurried toward the sounds, ignoring a voice in her head that warned her to be cautious. That warning grew more strident as she trotted toward the clearing she could see just ahead of her, but she refused to heed it. It was just the remnants of her fear of having gotten lost, she told herself. A faint smile curved her mouth as she thought that her unease was probably caused by the thought of the lecture Sigimor would surely give her for having taken so long.
The smile on her face disappeared abruptly as she trotted into the clearing. She should have heeded her instincts. Some part of her had obviously been alert enough to notice that there was something wrong, something alarming about the voices she had been running toward. They were English.
Later, she told herself, she might be able to laugh over the way she and the three men in the clearing gaped at each other in astonishment. She had a brief, inane thought that someone needed to teach a few Scots how to count. There were only two men with Harold, not twelve. Then the frantic call to flee that howled through her mind finally reached her body. Cursing, she bolted, but Harold and his men had obviously shaken free of their shock a heartbeat faster than she had.
Jolene had the strong feeling she could not win this race, but she had no intention of surrendering meekly. She intended to make Harold sweat hard for his prize. Her only consolation was that Reynard was still out of Harold's reach.
Harold and his men proved to be a lot quicker than she would have guessed them to be. They kept blocking her chosen route of escape or turning her away from it. Jolene soon found herself doing little more than running in circles. Then, for one brief moment, she saw a clear path into the wood. Just as she charged for it, Harold threw himself after her. Jolene cursed as his body slammed into hers from behind. She hit the ground so hard she was surprised she was still concious. She wanted to throw off Harold, but found herself struggling to breathe instead.
"I cannot believe you simply walked into my hands,” Harold said as he took her dagger from its sheath at her waist and stumbled to his feet.
Unconcerned with her dignity for the moment, Jolene flopped onto her back and drew in several deep breaths of air. “It was not quite that simple,” she managed to say.
"Where is Peter's little bastard?"
"Peter'sheiris well out of your murderous grasp.” Her breathing more normal at last, Jolene slowly sat up.
"Is he? I have you now. That will make it much easier to deal with the problem of the boy.” Harold grabbed her tightly by the arm and yanked her to her feet. “Where are your cursed guards?"
"Do you truly think I would be here if I knew? I got separated from them, lost in the woods.” She gave him a cold smile. “Shall I call for them?"
"You do and it shall be the last sound you ever make for I shall cut out your sharp tongue. In truth, ‘tis something to consider, for, although I could certainly find some pleasurable use for your tongue, permanently silencing you holds a great appeal."
The chill of that threat would take a minute to shake off, she thought as he dragged her toward a small fire. He pushed her down and she bit back a curse as her backside hit the ground hard. Two rabbits roasted on a spit over the fire and Jolene realized the men had intended to pause in this clearing for a while. That could prove to her advantage for she felt certain the Camerons would soon start looking for her.
"M'lord,” said one of the men, a tall, thin man with a badly pockmarked face, “should we not move from here?"
"Why?” asked Harold as he sat down close to Jolene.
"Those Scots cannot be far away."
