“Nae, there’s nothin’ tae worry about,” he said, still staring at her intently, even as she moved to take a closer look at his wound.
“The least you can do is let me have a look at it. You saved my life when you had no real reason to. Please, don’t let your manly pride get in the way.” She raised her eyebrow at him. Damn the minx, he thought, that tightening feeling getting worse with every second that passed.
“Fine, lass, tak’ yer look so I can be on my way,” he grumbled.
She studied his wound, tentatively reaching out to press around the gash.
“Och! Tha’ hurts, Sassenach,” Kieran exclaimed, “What kind o’ thank ye is that?”
She immediately withdrew her hands, a look of utter horror crossing her face.
“I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered, a glint of a tear building in her one eye.
Kieran immediately cursed himself – this was no Scotswoman who was used to the rough ways of their men; she was a delicate English flower. She was probably used to polite words and soft tones, not the brusqueness of a heathen like himself.
“Nae lass, I was only joking with ye,” Kieran said, a little too quickly, he felt, “I’m a lot tougher than I look, I promise ye tha’.”
A beautiful blush crept across the woman’s cheeks, tinting her fair skin a light pink. It only served to drive Kieran further over the edge of fascination with her. He couldn’t understand how she could have such an effect on him; he barely knew her, and she wasEnglishfor goodness’ sake, he thought, wanting to roll his eyes at himself.
“Right, well, I need to see the wound properly,” she recovered herself quickly.
“An’ what does tha’ mean?” Kieran raised his eyebrow at her, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
The woman’s eyes widened as she inhaled sharply, her blush deepening.
“It means I need you to remove your shirt, please,” she said, seeming to struggle with keeping her voice steady.
“Ye dinnae need tae find an excuse tae ask me tae tak’ off my shirt, Sassenach. I’ll dae tha’ happily enough for ye without a reason,” Kieran winked at her, watching that blush spread further across her face and down her neck.
Kieran’s willpower was fading fast on him; he didn’t know if he’d be able to resist her if she touched his bare flesh. He sat up slowly, wincing slightly at the pain it caused him. He tried to pull his shirt away from the wound, only to find himself cringing in pain. The next thing he knew, delicate hands were working the shirt away from the gash.
* * *
Vivien took a deep, steadying breath as she began to slowly pull the Highlander’s shirt away from the wound in his side. She worked as gently and quickly as she could, trying to avoid causing him pain as much as possible.
The man was a rogue; he had her blushing like a young maiden from the tops of her ears to the tips of her toes.
There was something utterly masculine and wild about the man that set Vivien’s heart to fluttering in her chest.
He was beautiful in a wild, completely foreign way to her. There was no doubt in her mind that he was a skilled warrior, adept at the art of combat. The way he had moved, the way the muscles in his arms had rippled as he worked his sword had set her pulse to racing. While Vivien was by no means a woman who enjoyed violence, there was something magnetic in watching the man wield his weapon so effortlessly while he had moved so gracefully for a man his size.
She was completely captivated by him – not only physically but mentally, too. Seeing him fight for her life the way he had, had enthralled her, body and mind. Vivien knew without a doubt Reginald could and would never stir her emotions in such a way. That she could be so fascinated by this man in the minutes that she had been in his company completely baffled her.
He was strong, not just physically, but emotionally as well, Vivien thought to herself. Reginald would have been a crying mess on the floor if he had sustained so much as a pinprick to his finger. This man barely winced as she gingerly continued to pull his shirt away, exposing his abdomen.
Something akin to a kitten’s mewl escaped Vivien’s lips as the Highlander’s incredibly muscular abdomen was revealed. She felt she could die of embarrassment at that moment and hoped he hadn’t heard her.
“Wha’? Have ye never seen a man’s belly ‘afore?” he laughed, a twinkle of something not quite wholesome in his eyes.
Vivien pursed her lips, trying her best to look stern as she replied, “Of course I have. One man’s stomach is much like another’s.”
“Och, ye break my heart, lass. I work hard tae maintain these muscles. A warrior should have a well-built chest and abdomen tae his name, eh? How else will I be able tae hold my sword an’ look good doing so?” he said, a naughty grin spreading across his face.
As Vivien’s eyes strayed back to the man’s gloriously muscled stomach, she could not help but lick her upper lip covertly. She wondered what his chest looked like, then started at her own desire to see the man unclothed. It was improper of her – she was a married woman with no room for such scandalous thoughts.
But she knew she couldn’t stop herself any more than she could deny that she was attracted to him.
The man was quite beautiful in his wild, strong way. The smile he threw her hinted at so much more than just plain kindness or joy – there was a hunger deep within it. A hunger she felt she returned, no matter how improper it was.
