Her lips quivered now, but not from cold. Ciaran sat mutely beside her, acting as if nothing so monumental had just happened—at best! At worst, it was possible that the interruption of her accidentally grabbing his arm had brought reason to him, and now he regretted what he'd done.
Claire wondered if the ground beneath her would be so kind as to open again, and this time swallow her whole.
Curling back into the heavy folds of the plaid, stung but silent, she wrestled with the spark and fire of the kiss—God, could he kiss!—and with a silent but enthusiastic wish that hehadn’tjust kissed her.
***
Shite. I’m an eejit.
Ciaran sat rigid against the damp wall, the plaid pulled close again, cursing himself in silence.Jesu, what madness had seized him? He’d meant only to give her warmth, a small kindness for the shivering she couldn’t hide. But one long look in the dark, the feel of her pressed against him, and his restraint had splintered like rotten timber.
It had to be excused, of course; he could not be held fully and solely accountable, not when there was something so compelling in her trusting gaze, something so arresting in the delicacy of her features. Having raked his gaze over her face dozens of timessince she’d come to Caeravorn, having seen that same face a thousand more times in his memory, he still could not have said, not under the threat of a sword, what had compelled him to kiss her. Aye, she presented herself in contrary measure—fragile and yet stubborn, ethereal and yet so earthly, frightened and then so strong—but, truth be known, 'twas in part those lips of hers that tempted a man beyond reason.
So...how could he not have kissed her?
But aye, he was an idiot, to have been driven by desire, sharp and restless, when discipline should have ruled.
He dragged in a breath through clenched teeth, his right hand fisting and relaxing over and over again, trying not to recall her lips beneath his, the small sound she’d made, the way she’d leaned into him. 'Twould haunt him, he was sure, worse than battle and its scars.
And now? Now there was nothing he could say that would not worsen it. He could no more apologize than he could unsay a vow; words would be futile, clumsy, an insult to her dignity. He had yielded to weakness, and there was no apology to cover that.
Fortunate it was, her having clutched at his arm. The jolt of pain had saved him from himself. Better that than to have gone further, to have lost himself entirely in her, a woman either from another time or mad enough to believe she was.
Even as he told himself that, and the silence stretched heavy and awkward around them, he couldn’t definitively decide if the gnawing regret he felt at the moment, sharper even than the ache in his ankle, was because he’d kissed her or because he’d stopped.
Damnable eejit.
With a near violent determination, he shoved it from his mind, turning his thoughts to their predicament, over which he’d stewed and dwelled before he’d lost his mind and kissed her. He had imagined that—hoped, actually, and would betaking someone to task if he were wrong—that a search was under way by now, mayhap for several hours already. Ivy knew he’d gone after Claire; though she might not be waiting onhim, or might not noticehisabsence, he knew for certain she would be concerned yet about Claire being missing still. She would have brought her worry to Alaric when he returned to the keep, or to Mungan if she feared too much time had passed but Alaric was not yet returned.
Aye, even now they were out there, units of his army, maybe MacKinlay men as well, he was certain of it. Alaric or Mungan would have organized them efficiently, the search party.
He looked again to the sky through the open hole above his head as he had over the last several hours, looking for the slightest orange glow, expecting they’d have brought torches. He strained his ears, listening for the sound of his name, shouted through the dense trees.
The hours crawled, marked only by the steady drip of water into puddles all around them and the dull throb of his ankle. Claire dozed again, her head against his shoulder once more, her breath soft and even. He envied her the escape of sleep, though he suspected it was more exhaustion than ease. For him, there would be no rest. He kept his eyes fixed upward, watching the black sky lighten by degrees to the faintest grey, then vanish again beneath thick clouds.
At last, when his patience was near to fraying, he noticed a faint glow, orange and shifting, not moonlight but firelight. Frustration eased in his chest, so acutely it might have been the glimmer of cavalry banners cresting a hill after all hope had thinned. Rescue was near.
“Claire,” he said, nudging her by flexing his shoulder.
“Hmm,” she murmured sleepily.
“Wake, lass. They come.”
“Who?”
“Rescue.”
“Oh.”
She rubbed sleep from her eyes, and yawned through a “Thank God,” and seemed only then to recall the kiss and the uneasiness that followed. She stiffened, easing herself away from him without so much as a glance.
“Up,” he instructed, his tone brisk. “I dinna want to call out into your ear.”
She pushed to her feet, not hastily, and stumbled once as if her joints were as stiff with cold as his own.
“Here!” His shout rang up into the night. He braced against the wall and forced himself upright, biting back a curse at the pull in his ankle.
Claire added her own call, her palms flat against the wall, her face tipped up toward the opening and the forest and sky above.
