“Yer mounts, me Laird, me Lady.” Hamish’s eyes danced with barely suppressed amusement as he handed over the reins. He leaned in close to Murdock, his voice pitched low. “Try to keep yer hands to yerself on the road. Wouldnae want to scandalize the villagers.”
“Hamish,” Murdock growled in warning.
“Just saying.” His man-at-arms grinned, then turned to Rufus with a much more serious expression. “Come on, lad. Let’s get ye to the trainin' yard. We have much to cover today.”
Rufus handed Nyx to Skye, who immediately cuddled the cat close despite its protesting meow. “Be safe,” he said to Leona.
“Always.” She kissed his forehead, the gesture so natural it made Murdock’s chest tighten. “Take care of our beast.”
“She’s nae our beast; she’s his,” Rufus said, nodding toward Murdock with a grin.
“I didnae agree to that,” Murdock said flatly, which only made Rufus’s grin widen.
He helped Leona mount first, his hands spanning her waist as he lifted her into the saddle. The contact was brief, proper, necessary. But feeling her warmth beneath his palms, hearing her breath hitch when he touched her, made heat spike through his veins.
Their eyes met as he released her, and the hunger he saw in her gaze nearly undid him.
Control,he reminded himself savagely.Ye need control.
He mounted Thunder in one fluid motion, settling into the saddle with practiced ease. The destrier shifted beneath him, eager to run, but Murdock held him steady.
“Ready?” he asked Leona.
She nodded, her hands tight on the reins. “Aye.”
“Da!” Skye called out as they turned toward the gates. “Daenae forget the sweets!”
“I willnae forget,” Murdock called back.
As they rode through the gates, Murdock glanced back once. Skye stood in the courtyard, waving enthusiastically, Nyx draped over her shoulder like a small, furry cloak. Hamish had his hand on Rufus’s shoulder, already talking animatedly about something. His home. His clan. His life.
And beside him, riding toward the village, was the woman who’d somehow become part of it all in the span of days.
The woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.
The woman who was supposed to be temporary.
Murdock faced ahead, his jaw set with determination. Today, they’d play their parts. Smile for his people. Convince everyone that this betrothal was real.
And he’d try very hard to remember it wasn’t.
Even as every fiber of his being wished otherwise.
They rode in silence at first, the morning sun warming their backs, the fields stretching before them in shades of green and gold. The clip-clop of hooves on the packed earth was the only sound, rhythmic and soothing.
But the silence between them was anything but peaceful. It crackled with tension, with unspoken words, with the memory of what had happened in his study.
Murdock kept his eyes on the road ahead, acutely aware of her presence beside him. The way she sat her horse with natural grace. The way the morning breeze caught strands of her dark hair, making them dance. The way her dress clung to her curves with every movement.
He was in so much trouble.
And the worst part? He was beginning to think he didn’t want to escape it.
Not anymore.
12
Stop it, he ordered himself. Stop looking at her. Stop thinking about her. Stop remembering how she’d felt pressed against him, how she’d gasped his name, how close he’d come to…
