He waited for the fear. For the horror. For her to look at him and see what he truly was—a weapon forged in violence, a man who killed without hesitation when threatened.
The Beast of Ainsley.
But she just stood there, trembling slightly, her hands clasped together to stop their shaking.
“Leona.” He dropped his sword and moved to her, his hands gentle despite the violence still thrumming through him. “Are ye hurt? Did they…”
“I’m fine.” Her voice wavered. “I’m fine, me Laird. Just a little shaken.”
His hands moved over her again, checking for injuries he might have missed the first time. Her arms, her shoulders, down her sides. Looking for blood, for bruises, for any sign that she had been harmed.
“Truly,” she said, catching his hands. “I’m unharmed. Ye caught me. Ye…” She swallowed hard. “Ye protected me.”
Something about her voice, about the way she looked at him, made his heart flip. It was not fear or horror, but something else entirely.
Gratitude. Trust.
Things he didn’t deserve.
“Yer horse ran off,” he said roughly, needing to focus on practical matters before he did something foolish. Like pull her into his arms and never let go. “Ye’ll have to ride with me the rest of the way.”
“Oh.” Color bloomed in her cheeks, and he watched her realize what that meant. Sharing a horse. Her body pressed against his for the remainder of the journey. “I… aye. Of course.”
Thunder stood waiting, patient as stone. Murdock guided Leona to him with a hand on her lower back. The destrier didn’t evenshift as Murdock swung himself up into the saddle and then reached down.
“Take me hand.”
Leona hesitated only a moment before placing her smaller hand in his. He pulled her up effortlessly and settled her in front of him, her back against his chest, her body cradled between his thighs.
The contact was immediate, overwhelming. He could feel every curve through the layers of fabric. Could smell heather and cold sweat and something uniquely her. Could feel the rapid beat of her heart through her back, pressed against him.
His arms came around her to hold the reins, caging her in. She fit perfectly against him, like she’d been made for this exact spot.
“Comfortable?” His voice came out rougher than intended, his lips close to her ear.
She shivered. “Aye.”
He urged Thunder forward, leaving the bodies behind. Someone would find them, eventually. Would carry word back to Ragnall that his men had attacked Laird Ainsley and paid the price.
Good. Let him know. Let him understand exactly what would happen to anyone who threatened what was Murdock’s.
They rode in silence, Thunder’s powerful strides eating up the distance. But this silence was different from before. It was heavier. More intimate.
Leona’s body swayed with the horse’s movement, pressing against him, and Murdock had to grit his teeth against the surge of desire that accompanied every motion.
This was torture. Sweet, exquisite torture.
“Murdock?” Her voice was quiet, almost lost beneath the sound of hoofbeats.
“Aye?”
“What ye said earlier, about me belongin' to ye for the next year.” She paused, and he felt her take a deep breath. “Did ye mean it?”
His arms tightened fractionally around her.
Did he mean it? Christ, he meant it more than he should. More than was safe or wise or sane.
“Aye,” he said roughly. “For the next year, ye’re mine to protect. Mine to defend. And nay matter how hard they try, nay matter what Ragnall sends, they willnae get to ye. I swear it on me life.”
