On a closer inspection, she saw that most of those men had injuries. Some were limping, despite the good-natured calls to each other. Some lounged around, the very image of exhaustion. They had either traveled long or been in a harrowing attack.
Grace stayed behind the tree for hours, until the sun went down, sitting straight on the horse, until her back felt as though there were ants crawling up and around them. If she went back, those men would be waiting. She looked down at her outfit. Grace jumped down, then tied the small sword to her leg under her skirt. It stretched from her ankle to the tip of her knees. She hugged Minnie’s snout for several minutes, heart thudding erratically.
This must have been the camp she’d been searching for. Infiltrating it couldn’t be hard. She hoped at least. Training or not, this was an uncharted territory. One mistake could lead to her gory death. She hoped that Mr. William’s teachings would help her speak with a believable accent.
Under the cover of dark clouds, Grace collected few of her belongings and walked away from Minnie. She should have allowed her to go home a long time ago, but she couldn’t bear to part with her. As she crept along, she kept glancing back. Part of her hoped that Harris would come charging in out of thedarkness. She knew he would be risking his life and it was the main reason she hadn’t involved him in her plan. Careful not to step on any dry leaves, she made it past the guards and slunk behind the tents.
She had taken a few steps when three men ambled out. She plastered her back on a flapping tent and lost her balance, stumbling inside. She landed on a set of sheets and scrambled, trying to detangle herself.
She rushed to crouch behind the bed, breathing heavily. With only her eyes peering above the thin mattress, she found that she was alone. Her breathing had returned to normal when a big, burly man barged inside. Grace started a countdown to the time of her death as she watched him prowl about the tent.
She was flooded with embarrassment when she realized his intention. Her eyes stayed glued to his hands, as they grazed downwards, to remove his shirt and kilt. Her breath hitched when he divested himself of his undergarments. In the flickering lights from the candles, Grace lost her train of thought. He was magnificent.
When she was little, she’d harbored the silliest affections for Harris. She’d thought that he was the most beautiful boy in the world. Good lord, was she wrong. This man somehow bore the strength of a man and the anger of a beast. She pitied the enemies that would fall under his bulging arms. And insanely, Grace was smitten with envy for the woman who’d enjoy the girth of his manhood.
Her face flooded with color, common sense urging her to lower her gaze. It was the lady-like thing to do. However, she just could not tear it away from the muscled chest matted with soft, curly ginger hair, the ripped abdomen that tapered into a narrow, glistening waist. His skin bore the warm golden color of one who spent much time under the sun. His eyebrows had a sword-like shape, severe and full and straight. His nose slanted up in a proud fashion. But his lips, those betrayed every single male law.
They were full and luscious. He pursed them in thought when he looked toward the disheveled bed, causing Grace to slink further down. But when with lips like that, for just an instant Grace considered tossing her plan and plastering her lips on that mouth, drinking until there was nothing left.
Her body throbbed in places she hadn’t been aware of. Grace shook her head. What was she doing? Lusting after a Scot? The people her father fought so hard to keep away from her? That surely made her daughter of the year. He prowled to the bucket in the corner and washed himself. Despite her internal warning just now, Grace’s throat was parched as she watched from the side.
Abruptly, he straightened. Grace shrunk into herself, praying he’d not noticed her. Light on his feet, he grabbed his sword and dashed toward her. He was so fast that Grace’s brain quit working for precious needful seconds. A terrified scream ripped from her as he bore downwards, his eyes blazing furiously.
He waited for her to stop screaming and then growled “who the hell are ye?”, jerking her upward with the sword at her throat.
CHAPTER THREE
Duncan led the woman toward the light. His body pressed close to her back, and a sword to her throat. Her breathing was erratic, but her gaze remained steady and stubborn. He forced his mind off of her softness for if he did not get this sorted quickly, he would start reacting in the most embarrassing way.
He had a great build, he knew it and was proud of it. But he could be with a woman without running lustfully amok. When they reached the light, he jerked her around until they were face-to-face. Or face to his chest. She was small, with a piercingly earthy gaze. A pair of soft, full brows furrowed angrily at him. She was the one invading his privacy, what did she have to be angry about?
His eyes dropped to her lips, the mold of her cheekbones, the wildness of her full dark hair.
That heaving chest of hers was a constant distraction. “Speak,” he commanded.
She raised her head defiantly, “nae until ye put some clothes on.”
Duncan arched a brow. Her accent stomped him. He had her pegged as an English mistress. Otherwise, why would she be hiding? “Dae ye have nay fear fer yer life? Who the hell sent ye?!”
Her upper lip trembled, and a vein throbbed by her neck. “Clothes,” she bit out, dropping her gaze downwards. “Please, wear some.”
Duncan was amused.. “Ye were watching, earlier.”
Her nostrils flared as her mouth opened and closed. Then she pressed them together and tried to cross her arms. Only for some reason, the flush staining of her face made him want to laugh out loud. Then he saw that flush rush down her cleavage and that urge disappeared. A fool was his name, all right.
“I-I had no choice. If ye’re a real warrior, ye should protect the women and children in yer care.”
Wildly out of patience, with himself and her, Duncan dropped the words one by one. “Who. Sent. Ye.” He dug the sword closer to her throat. Fear sparked in her eyes.
“No one!” she exclaimed. “I dinnae mean tae watch ye. I had naewhere else tae go. Put some clothes on!”
He scoffed. If he had a coin for every time spies had lied to him, he would be wealthier than the king himself. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I make ye uncomfortable?”
She smelled like soap, flowery and sweet. It was strange and out of place with her attire and accent. It curdled his brain and rendered his tease useless. His voice came out hoarse as he breathed in that scent. And then he felt something was prodding his abdomen. Duncan looked down to see the dagger poised there.
“Brute,” she spat. Duncan ducked backward, dropped his sword and twisted the dagger out of her grasp. Then he trapped both her hands behind her back with a hand and held her dagger to her throat. She struggled like a cat in the wild.
She had a glint in her eyes as she gave a half-smirk. Her fear had been temporary and distracting. He gave a dark chuckle, “aye, that is what I am. What are ye?” A line of sweat rolled down her flushed face. She maintained a defiant gaze. Before Duncan could press the matter further, light filled his tent as the flap was lifted.
