She heard movement and opened her eyes to see Darach standing over her. Before she could stop herself, she smiled up at him.
He dropped to his knees beside her and smiled back. “Are ye cold, lass?”
She shook her head. “Are ye injured?”
“Nae, just winded. After I dispatched the one followin’ us, I thought there might have been one, closer to ye, that I’d missed, but there was no one.”
Her smile on him didn’t diminish, but widened. “Are ye saying ye raced back here fer me, Mr. Grant?”
“If someone needs to save ye, Miss Buchanan, I’d have it be me.”
He loved to rile her.
Mayhap she loved letting him. She plucked the two weapons off the plaid and held them in her hands. “Would ye like to see how I can fight off one man with two knives, then?”
He looked quite amused and she had the urge to slap him… with a dagger.
“Ye assume ye’ll have to fight me off.” He looked into the flames while he felt around in his bag. “Ye think rather highly of yerself, lass…” Not feeling what he was looking for, he shook the bag.
“Are ye looking fer this, Darach?”
He slid his gaze to the bitten apple in the hand she held up. When he reached for it, she snatched it away. “I figured since ye went through my things, I could go through yers.” She sank her teeth into the red fruit and pulled her lips away, catching a drop of juice on the tip of her tongue as it rolled down her bottom lip. His eyes dipped to her tongue. What the hell was she doing? Tempting the beast was pure lunacy, here, alone in the firelight with him, the damp forest everywhere around them. She wouldn’t survive an encounter with him like the ones she dreamed about.
But though he looked like a big cat about to devour her, she risked her heart and brought the apple back to her lips. “Thank ye fer yer generous…”
His laughter trickled across her ears as he pounced, catching the apple and her in both hands. He looked down into her eyes for a moment, then tossed the apple over his shoulder and dragged her closer, locked in his embrace.
Clutched against him, she could feel the thunderous clang of his heart against her chest. Did he care for her? Was she only another notch on his belt?
“Darach?” She slowed her laughter and gave him a serious look.
“Aye, lass?” he asked, then devoured her neck.
“Did ye think of me at all after ye left me in Killiecrankie? Speak plainly. I can take the truth.”
His mouth paused on her throat. She could feel his warm breath along her pulse. Could she really take the truth?
When he lifted his head and stared at her with firelight in his eyes, she didn’t think she could and wanted to get up and run from embarrassment.
“Janet,” he whispered, sounding unsteady and hoarse. “Ye never left me. I penned songs aboot ye that I’m certain will someday get my arse thrashed by m’ kin.”
She wanted to smile. He penned songs about her? But…
“Then why did ye not return to me?”
Chapter Twelve
Darach stared into Janet’s smoky eyes and wished he could disappear into them. How was he to answer her query? He didn’t want to tell her that he’d been a coward. He tried to turn away, to move away from her, but her fingers along his jaw stopped him.
“D’ye truly want a wife, Darach?”
Och hell, what was it with her and these questions? “Claiming ye is the only way Roddie is goin’ to leave before I’m forced to kill every one of his men,” he said, supposing he should answer at least one.
“So ye’re hoping he’ll leave before we must marry.” This time, it wasn’t a question.
Nae, he wanted to tell her. The thought of marrying her was altogether, shockingly pleasant. And that’s what scared the shyt out of him at night. He was already lost to the spell love cast over otherwise rough men. He reveled in the way her soft, curvy body trembled in his arms and made him hard as iron. How the hell was he going to stop himself from having her? Worse, how was he going to stop Roddie from wanting her without having to kill him, or most of his men?
“I willna’ let Roddie have ye, Janet.”
