Grace hung her shoulders, the very picture of resignation. “Aye.” The men nodded at each other. Duncan grabbed her arm and ledher to a corner, where he pointed at the ground, asking her to sit. Grace swallowed her pride and did as she was asked. The three stepped out, and Duncan took his sword along.
A wild thought occurred to Grace. She was assuming that these people would know something, but that may have been her mistake. They could have been from a different clan. They maybe knew nothing. Crestfallen, Grace hung her head. She straightened her leg, feeling the weapon’s metal cool her flesh.
She was in deep waters. She was driven by bitter revenge, joining a war that was not hers to fight. Still, for the satisfaction of drilling that sharp sword through her father’s killer, she was willing to venture forward. A mistake was unthinkable. She straightened her back, deciding on another path. She would escape. Especially because of their intention to take her “home”.
Hearing movement, she dropped her head in a sleepy pretense. She could see Duncan’s bare feet. He stood for a while, considering her. Then he cussed softly under his breath. Grace’s heart thumped as his big, yet surprisingly gentle hands lifted her. He placed her on the elevated bed, placing a cape around her neck.
A moment later, he brushed off a wisp of hair from her face. Almost painfully, Grace forced her breathing to be slow and level. His gaze drilled into her, but he didn’t say a word. He just stared at her. An eternity passed before she felt the space beside her dip. He lay down and turned his back on her.
Grace allowed her lashes to fall completely shut after that. In her head, she counted down until the man’s breathing softened into gentle snores. Grace’s blood surged, pounding in the wake of her attempt at an escape. She hadn’t forgotten the brutish solution he’d suggested earlier, or the promise in his eyes that he could be that savage.
Kicking off the cape, Grace shifted. She could hear the chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs and the stilted voices of the people in the tents surrounding them. She would go through the back. She moved off the bed. A desperate sweep of her surroundings informed her that Duncan indeed slept holding her dagger. She would have to sort her tied hands in the woods, after her escape. Holding her breath, she took a step.
A hand whipped out from under her. For the umpteenth time that evening, Grace toppled to her back with a muffled scream.
“As I thought,” came Duncan’s coarse voice. Grace’s heart nearly slammed out of her chest in fright. He turned, his eyes blazing in anger. “I told ye nae tae dae that.”
“Well, ye gave me nay choice. I dinnae want tae be captured by another man,” Grace spat, somehow managing to conceal her fear.
He bore down on her, his face a mere inch from hers. “Ye dinnae want tae be considered a spy in these camps. Nae Highlander lass will try to escape me camp.”
Grace felt the heat from the contact of their bodies. “Ye dinnae ken much about lasses.”
A dark mocking chuckle lifted his lips. It sent shivers all over her body. His grip on her wrist turned into a soft caress as he leaned closer to her left ear. Grace’s lashes fluttered shut, involuntarily.
“I ken me lasses quite well,” he murmured, inuendo heavy in his tone. Helplessly, warmth flooded Grace’s belly and it churned with an intensity she’d never experienced before. His lips caressed her earlobe, “And they like me just fine.”
“…uh,” Grace wanted to slap her face for that unfortunate sound, but her hands were tied, thank goodness in this case.
That caressing hand traced up her arm. Even though it was over her clothing, her skin tingled as if he was holding a match to it. “I reckon ye have nae met a real Highlander,” he drawled lazily, against her cheek.
Grace was a proud woman. Everyone said so. In fact, many taunted her with the possibility of remaining an old maid, due to her cold and aloof behavior toward men. She would never initiate a kiss. Was that not part of the reason why her father arranged a marriage for her?
Yet, the aloof queen had her eyes shut, her heart pounding achingly in expectation. Her body was not cold toward this man at all and it scared her. Shame warring with lust, Grace admitted that she wanted this brute to move a little closer. Then, suddenly, her eyes whipped open.
In her distracted state, she’d missed the rope being untied in one hand. The Highlander was now her wrist to him.
Grace cussed using vocabulary that’d she’d just thought and never dared to speak in all her years. He arched a brow, muttered “sleep well” and turned his back, yanking their joined hands with him.
Grace was forced to press into that wide back, with no chance of escape. If she struggled, her wrist hurt, but her legs were free, so she used them, pounding into his harder legs with all the malice darkening her disappointed heart.
“Keep that up, an’ I will really have tae tie ye outside.”
Grace kept her legs to herself. Assaulted by his soapy scent, she could hardly sleep. Her thoughts remained scattered, and between her craving for the enemy and her thirst for revenge, she was on the edge of madness.
Finally, Grace allowed her eyes to fall shut. There was nothing to do but wait.
“Good lass,” he muttered with that same amused, mocking tone as she settled. Grace stared at his back, seriously considering sinking her teeth into it.
CHAPTER FOUR
The fiery cat woke with a start, jerking his hand sideways. Duncan felt her tug on the rope and opened his eyes. Her brief panic was palpable. Duncan yanked their joined hands down, and once she seemed to realize where she was, she settled, and the warmth he had felt on his back all night returned.
Duncan was reluctant to start the morning. He accorded it to the previous long day, rather than the woman by his side. His complacency was soon cut short. Craig ignored his warning to stay in bed and came to the entrance of his tent and hollered, “Sir, Bryce wants a brief meeting. We might have tae march north.”
Duncan sighed. “Aye.” Tiredness ground his bones. The initial plan had been to attack the celebrating English, but on a second scout, it was found that the celebration was abruptly cut short and the soldiers had dispersed. The scout could not pinpoint why. As Duncan and his men longed to return to their clans, he saw no reason to endanger their lives further.
The battle had been won, in a sense. That commander had been killed and Bryce’s lands were safe. He turned and met Jo’s eyes. They held a drowsy defiance.
