They got to the bed, and Ewan collapsed full-length upon it with a great sigh. “What is it ye have tae tell me that’s so important?” Isla asked, holding her breath in anticipation as she helped him arrange his long limbs comfortably and plumped the pillow for him. She did not expect him to reach up and grab her and pull her down on top of him, pinning her whole body against his with his arms, their faces a hairbreadth apart.
“Ewan, what are ye doin’?” she cried, struggling to get loose. But her efforts were in vain because he merely hugged her closer.
“I’m givin’ ye a cuddle. I’ve wanted tae give ye a cuddle fer ages, but, well, ye ken…” he replied sleepily, his deep voice resonating all through her.
“Well, now ye are. What was it that ye wanted tae tell me?” She still had hopes of hearing something useful before she persuaded him to release her.
“Hmm?”
“Ach, never mind!” She gave up asking, realizing she would get no sense out of him. A little exasperated, she wriggled and tried to free herself again, but it was no good. Drunk he may be, but he clearly had no intention of letting her go, and now he was nuzzling at her neck and stroking hair again, running his fingers through it, sending thrills chasing all over her.
“Ewan! Will ye stop that!” she protested, trying to get away from his questing lips for fear of what might happen if she did not.
He stopped and let his head fall back on the pillow, regarding her with dazed eyes. She could smell the whisky sweet on his breath. “I’m sorry. I cannae help it, Annie. Ye smell so good,” he tightened his hold, “I’m gonnae hold ye next tae me like this all night long while I’m sleepin’.”
“But I can hardly breathe!” Suddenly, there was an infinitesimal decrease in the pressure of his hold, and she could breathe more easily. “Thank ye,” she said, taking in a lungful of air gratefully.
Just then, he opened his eyes and looked deeply into hers. “I havetae tell ye how beautiful ye are, Annie. Ye’re the most beautiful lassie I’ve ever laid eyes on. Ye have beautiful hair, and ye have beautiful eyes. Sometimes they’re the color of the sea, and when ye’re angry, they’re the color of a storm. And yer skin, aye, yer skin… I dinnae have words for that…” He trailed off, his dark eyes glittering in the candlelight, intent upon her.
“Annie, d’ye remember what happened at the pond?” he suddenly whispered close to her ear again. Isla stiffened, caught completely off-guard. A hot flush ran over her entire body as the embarrassing, yet tantalizing memory popped into her mind with shocking clarity.
“What about it?” she muttered, squirming inwardly, still deeply ashamed of her behavior that night. She trembled to think of why he had brought it up.
“D’ye ever think of it?” His voice was deep and thick in her ear, his warm breath tickling her, teasing her.
“Are ye nae tired? I’m tired,” she replied, flustered. She was afraid to admit she thought about it at least once, maybe two, and sometimes three times during the day, but especially during the nights spent crammed in the one-man cot next to him.
“I think of it, Annie. I think of it…often.”
She held her breath, unable to move or speak, lest the truth come bursting out. She felt once more the same strange tendrils of heat that had snaked between her legs and wound through her belly that night when he had held her naked body next to his in the moonlit waters of the pond. The same powerful urge to kiss him, to give into overwhelming physical desire gripped her. But this time, there was nowhere to escape to. Choking back a helpless sob, she fought it down, finally succeeding in getting control of herself again.
When she saw his eyes close and his head loll to one side, she slowly let out the breath she had been holding. When he started snoring softly again, she let relief flow through her like a cooling breeze. But though he appeared to be asleep, when she tried once more to extricate herself from his arms, there was no slackening in his grip on her.
She had to lift her head—practically the only part of her she could move—to look at him. She was about to try to rouse him and beg him to let her go or at least loosen his hold a little more. But when she saw his expression, her heart melted, and she stayed quiet, watching him. His eyes were closed, and he had a beatific smile on his face. In the shadow play of the candlelight, he was so heartbreakingly handsome, Isla could have wept.
With a sigh of surrender, she laid her head on his brawny shoulder, carefully avoiding putting pressure on her wound. She wound her arms around his neck, accustoming herself to the pleasing sensation of being pinned against his warm, powerful body while she waited for him to eventually fall more deeply asleep and relinquish his hold. After a time, lulled by his breathing and the steady beat of his heart against her ear, she fell into a doze.
The birds woke her at dawn with their choral twittering. Feeling wonderfully comfortable and secure, her former headache reduced to a bearable ache above her brow, she opened her eyes… and saw Ewan’s face right next to hers. He appeared to be fast asleep, his long, dark lashes fanned out below his eyes. She was amazed to find that she must have fallen asleep on top of him and lain like that all night, caught fast in his embrace.
For a while, she did not move except to lift her head and study him. With her eyes, she traced his strong, chiseled features one by one, admiring the way they came together in such a harmonious whole. Every aspect of his face was endlessly pleasing to her. She could not imagine she would ever get tired of looking at him.
The warm rush of affection…love?… she had felt for him the night before, when he had been drunk and so vulnerable, declaring her beautiful and talking of their intimate encounter at the pond, seemed to have lodged in her heart. It manifested in concern for him. Although she had never been drunk herself, she had witnessed it in others many times, Gregory for one. She knew that when Ewan finally awoke, his head would be splitting,and he would feel like death. Unfathomably, she did not want him to suffer like that, and she immediately thought of Ella.
Aware that he usually woke up if she moved an inch, she relied upon the after effects of the whisky to keep him unconscious as she began stealthily extracting herself from his arms. It took some time, but she eventually managed it. When she at last stood on the floor, she had a scare when he stirred. Afraid to breathe—she wanted what she was about to do to be a surprise—she waited, motionless, until he turned over on his side and carried on sleeping.
With a small sigh, she quietly slid into Harris’s guise, pulling on her trusty cap to hide her hair. Carrying her boots in her hand, she slipped silently from the tent. Outside, she paused to put them on, listening to the birdsong and looking at the sky as she shoved her stockinged feet into them. The sun was yet a hard line of lemon on the horizon, slowly expanding, its light tinting with gold the blazing banners of pink, peach, and blue painted across the heavens, sending the night fleeing. A beautiful day.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Warmed by that realization and her desire to save Ewan from unnecessary suffering, Isla set off across the camp to the open-air stables, noticing only a very few other early risers on her way. Even the small pack of dogs that had gradually made itself at home among the soldiers was still sleeping peacefully, it seemed. There was not a single bark to be heard.
But as she neared the open-air stables, she could hear the horses snuffling and snorting softly. She petted the beasts, rubbing their velvety noses as she passed by to fetch her mare. There was another reason for her early morning excursion which slotted neatly into her plans. She intended to ride to Ella’s cottage and ask her friend for something to ease a bad hangover as well as speak with her again.
It had been wonderful to see Ella and confide in her all that had been happening since the siege started. It was almost a month now since she had seen or spoken to anyone familiar. To be able to see her dear friend, by pure chance, had made her injuryworthwhile. She was just tightening the girth strap on her mare when a familiar voice came from behind her.
“And where d’ye think ye’re sneakin’ off tae at this hour?”
Colin. She noticed with curiosity that his voice had an unusually hard edge to it. She swung around to greet him with a smile. Over the last few weeks, they had formed a friendship, for they both loved horses. They often discussed their care and welfare when Harris helped out at the stables.
