Because it was instinctive, not because he thought there was any real threat of being followed, he did what he could to avoid leaving tracks, but with the recent spate of spring thunderstorms, the soft ground made it nearly impossible. However, the rain would hide what he could not. In the time it had taken to retrieve his horse and “persuade” Sister Genna to ride with him, dark clouds had gathered across the sky, the wind had started to ruffle the leaves, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees.
But it wasn’t the brewing storm that made him dread the miles ahead. No sooner had he settled her in the seat in front of him, and slid his arms around her slim waist to take the reins, than he realized he might have been too hasty to dismiss her plea to walk. Having her body nestled against his was making it difficult—bloody difficult—to remember that she was a woman of the cloth.
Now admittedly, he didn’t have much experience holding a nun in his arms, but he couldn’t recall ever coming across a nun that smelled like the bluebells that blanketed the hillside near his home in Ardlamont. The soft floral fragrance infused his senses, teasing him and making him draw her closer, lean down, and inhale.
Damn it, he needed to do something. Perhaps say a prayer. “Lead us not into temptation and deliver us from evil” seemed appropriate.
He bit back a groan, the prayer forgotten, when her body slammed into his again.
God, it felt good.Shefelt good. And his body was noticing.
He tried to keep some distance between them, but the movement of the horse over the difficult, uneven terrain made it impossible. It seemed as if with each clop of the hooves, her bottom slid back into his groin, her back into to his chest, and the soft weight of those breasts that he couldn’t forget bounced against his arm.
No amount of prayers, no amount of saying “nun” over and over in his mind, could prevent his body from responding to the intimate contact. He was hard as a rock, though thankfully, due to the thick leather of his armor, he didn’t think she was aware of the big column of flesh riding against her.
But God sure as hell knew that every time that softly curved bottom slid against him, Ewen thought about swiving. He thought about it until he could almost imagine what it would be like to wrap his hands around her hips and sink in and out. The sensual rhythm was driving him half-crazed with lust. He was hot, bothered, and so distracted that he nearly missed the turn he’d been looking for.
He cursed, furious with himself. Control and discipline were seldom a problem for him—especially regarding women who were off limits. Lately, it seemed like every other member of the Highland Guard was marrying a beautiful woman, and not once had his appreciation for their beauty veered into an inappropriate flash of lust.
Hell, Christina MacLeod was one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen, with just the sort of lush, well-curved body he liked—the nun was a little on the slender side—but he’d never had one impure thought about her. Of course, having the greatest swordsman in Christendom watching every man who came within a hundred yards of her served as a rather effective deterrent. But if there was anyone who could strike fear in the heart more than the chief of the Highland Guard, it was God.
He felt her shift against him as she turned her head to glance back. “Is something wrong?”
Other than the slow, torturous descent into hell that was the soft curve of her bottom pressing against his turgid cock? He gritted his teeth together. “Nay, why do you ask?”
“You cursed.”
His eyes narrowed. “I thought you didn’t understand our language.”
“I don’t. But I didn’t need to understand Gaelic to know that it was a word I should not wish to hear.”
His mouth twitched with amusement. He supposed that was true enough. Sometimes tone said it all. “There is nothing wrong.”
“I thought you might have been confused about which way to go. Are you sure you know where you are going?”
This time he couldn’t resist the full smile, even though she had no idea how amusing her question was. He was the best tracker in the Highlands; he didn’t get lost. He’d built his reputation by focusing on every detail of his surroundings. A reputation that had led to Bruce selecting him for his team of elite warriors. “Don’t worry, I know where I’m going. We aren’t going to get lost.”
A little furrow appeared between her brows. No doubt she’d sensed his amusement but didn’t understand the source. “You seem quite confident.”
“I am.”
“It’s just that it looks like it’s going to rain, and with the mist—”
“We’ll be fine.”
She tilted her head back a little to study him for a moment. Their faces were so close, it was hard for him to resist doing the same.
She really was quite pretty—for a woman of God, he reminded himself. The lines of her face were simply but classically drawn. Wide-set almond-shaped eyes framed by delicately arched brows. High cheekbones, a small, straight nose, and a tiny pointed chin. The only extravagances were those ridiculously long lashes, the brilliant sea-blue of her eyes, and that sensually curved mouth. Her lips were too pink, too lush, and too damned tempting—especially with that wanton freckle distracting him.
He shifted his gaze back to the road ahead of them, where it was safe.
He was relieved when she did the same. Until she shivered a little and settled back against him. He nearly groaned, and his voice came out a tad gruffer than usual. “Are you cold?”
“A little.”
With one hand holding the reins, he reached back and unfastened a plaid from the roll on the saddle. “You can use this,” he said, handing it to her.
The smile she gave him was almost girlish in its delight and so out of keeping with the serene nun, his heart jogged a beat or two.
