Hell, he wasn't even supposed to be here.
Let her go.
His heart hammered as she drew closer. He didn't get involved. He stayed in the shadows. It wasn't his problem.
Sweat gathered on his brow beneath the heavy steel of his helm. He had only a fraction of an instant to decide ...
Bloody hell.
He stepped out from behind the trees. He'd been playing a knight for so long he must have started to believe it. He was a damned fool, but he couldn't stand by and let an innocent lass go to her death without trying to do something. Maybe he could intercept them before they came into view. Maybe. But he couldn't be sure where all of Bruce's men were positioned.
He moved stealthily through the shadows, coming on her from behind. In one smooth motion, he slid his hand around to cover her mouth before she could scream. Hooking his arm around her waist, he jerked her hard against him.
A little too hard. He could feel every one of her soft, feminine curves plastered against him--particularly the nicely rounded bottom saddled against his groin.
Roses. He smelled them again. Stronger now. Making him feel strangely lightheaded. He inhaled reflexively and noticed something else. Something warm and buttery, with the faint tinge of apple. Tarts, he realized. In her basket.
Her struggles roused him from the momentary lapse. "I mean you no harm, lass," he whispered.
But his body was responding to her in a manner that might be construed otherwise, crackling like wildfire at her movement. A hard shock of awareness coursed through him. She had a tiny waist, but he could feel the unmistakable heaviness of very full, very lush breasts on his arm. A rush of heat pooled in his groin.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a woman.
Hell of a time to think about it now.
Her guardsman must have heard the movement. The knight spun around. "M'lady?"
Seeing her in Arthur's hold, he reached for his sword.
"Shhh ..." Arthur warned softly. He kept his voice low, both to avoid being heard and to disguise his voice. "I'm trying to help. You need to get out of here." He relaxed his hold on her mouth. "I'm going to let go of you, but don't scream. Not unless you want to bring them down on us. Do you understand?"
She nodded, and slowly he released her.
She spun around to face him. In the tree-shrouded moonlight, all he could see were two big, round eyes staring up at him from under the deep hood of her cloak.
"Bring who down on us? Who are you?"
Her voice was soft and sweet, and thankfully low enough not to carry. He hoped.
Her gaze slid over him. He'd traveled lightly tonight as he always did when he was working, wearing only a blackened habergeon shirt and coif of mail, and gamboissed leather chausses. But they were fine, and from his helm (which he'd lowered to cover his face) and weaponry, it was clear he was a knight. "You're not a rebel," she observed, confirming what he'd already guessed of her sympathies. She was no friend of Bruce.
"Answer the lady," her companion said, "or you'll feel the point of my sword."
Arthur resisted the urge to laugh. The knight was all brute strength and moved about as deftly as a barge. But cognizant of the situation, he didn't want to take the time to prove the soldier wrong. He needed to get them out of here as quickly and quietly as possible.
"A friend, my lady," he said. "A knight in the service of King Edward."
For now at least.
Suddenly, he stilled. Something had changed. He couldn't describe how he knew, other than a disturbance in the back of his consciousness and the sensation that the air had shifted.
Bruce's men were coming. They'd been discovered.
He cursed. This wasn't good. No more time to convince her gently. "You must leave now," he said in a steely voice that brokered no argument.
He caught the flare of alarm in her gaze. She, too, must have sensed the danger.
But it was too late. For all of them.
