“There are supplies back at the castle.”
She bit her bottom lip, and Fergus wanted to thumb it from between her teeth. She wrapped the makeshift bandage around his waist, tying off with a grunt.
“That will stop the bleedin’. Now that I see ye are all right, I should get back to me father,” the woman said, turning to leave, but something in Fergus made his hand shoot out to grab her wrist.
He pulled her against him, hard, and her ample chest brushed against his, making his manhood twitch in his kilt. She was small, but the curves of her hips and breasts were ample, making Fergus’ hands ache to touch her.
“Ye’re nae goin’ anywhere. Nae until I ken who ye are and what ye are doing here,” he murmured, close enough that he could smell the scent of roses coming from her white-blonde hair.
The pain brought him back to reality and broke him out of his lustful thoughts, white-hot pain seeming to radiate from the wound as she struggled against him.
He stood firm, his hand wrapped tightly around her wrist but not hard enough to bruise. He would not let her escape so easily.
“Ye daenae need to worry about yer father. I need a healer.”
“Aye, but I need to get back. Me father?—”
“I will deal with yer father,” he said dismissively, keeping her flush against him. He could simply lean down and kiss her if he wanted to, claim her right here, but he held back. “I need ye.”
The lass looked up at him with bewilderment on her face.
“If ye need a healer, perhaps I can help, but right now, I need to get back.”
Fergus shook his head.
He didn’t know where this girl came from, but she could be a trap. She could be one of the Leary clan, come for revenge. She might be there to kill him for all Fergus knew.
But there was another part of him, something primal and deep in his chest, that didn’t want to let her go for other reasons. If he let her go, she would flee, and he would never see her again. The very thought made his stomach clench and made his throat feel tight. He needed to know more about this lass, and God knew he already wanted her. And he wanted her not just for selfish reasons. He needed a healer, both for Lottie and for Aiden’s younger brother.
“Me sister is ill,” he explained. “And the castle is short a healer. Ye’re comin’ with me.”
“I’mnae,” the lass said, struggling against his hold, but he was much stronger.
“I will throw ye over me shoulder like a sack of potatoes, lass. Daenae test me.”
She wilted in his grasp.
He led her over to his horse which was tied to a tree nearby.
She tried to sit sidesaddle, but Fergus snorted.
“There’s nay need for that fancy ridin’,” he told her. “Sit properly. I will get on behind ye.”
“But me dress—” she started, and he gave her a stern glare. She narrowed her doe-brown eyes at him but did not protest.
She mounted the horse, bunching her skirts up slightly, and Fergus was granted with a flash of long, pale legs that made heat rise in his blood. Her legs were thick, muscled instead of shapely, like she might run about in the woods more than she let on. He wondered what those legs would feel like wrapped around his waist. He tried to ignore those tantalizing thoughts and moved to get on the horse.
He grunted in pain as he mounted the horse behind her, putting his arms around her and taking the reins. She stiffened, trying to resist, wiggling to and fro, and he settled back against her, his chest against her back. She wiggled back against him again, and his manhood stirred.
“Careful, lass. Ye’ll get more than ye bargained for if ye keep doin’ that,” he teased.
“Crude,” she accused, and he barked out a dark chuckle.
He urged the horse forward.
“Are ye goin’ to tell me yer name, lass?”
“Nay,” she said stubbornly, and Fergus’ mouth twisted in a smile.
