It might have had something to do with the size of the muscles in his arms and the steely shield of his chest. She’d noticed his strength before, of course. He was so powerfully built and tall it was hard not to. But being confronted with the flexed proof wrapped around her was a different kind of noticing.
She hadn’t expected him to be so warm. His heat engulfed her, making her feel a little funny. All warm and melty.
She turned her head, resting one cheek against his shoulder, not wanting him to see the effect he had on her. She breathed in his warm, masculine scent, thinking it strange again that a brigand could smell so good. He must bathe more than any man she’d ever met. Apparently, he had a strange liking for cold rivers.
Unwittingly, she relaxed. He carried her in silence for a moment, navigating easily through the darkened forest. She peeked up at him from under her lashes. He hadn’t shaved in a few days and his jaw was shadowed with dark stubble. It made him look even more dangerous. Except for his lashes. She’d never noticed how long they were. It was strange to find a hint of softness on the otherwise hard facade. She could see that tic again, and there were tiny lines around his mouth. Maybe it was more difficult to carry her than she’d realized?
She frowned, noticing something else. There were a few fresh cuts and bruises on his face, but nothing as deep as the cut across his cheek. Unconsciously, she reached up to trace it with her finger. She thought she felt him tense, but it was gone before she could be sure. “That must have hurt.”
He shrugged as if it didn’t matter.
“How did it happen?”
She didn’t think he was going to answer her, but he finally said, “I turned my back on someone with a dagger.”
There was something more to the story, but it was clear he wasn’t going to tell her. “Did you get it while you were imprisoned?”
There was no mistaking the tensing of his muscles this time. He tried to erase his reaction with a sardonic lift of his brow, but he was holding her too close: she’d felt it. “I wasn’t aware you knew so much of my history, Countess.”
She tried not to flush under the accusation in his gaze. “It’s hardly a secret.”
“Is that right? And what do you know about it?”
His words were cool, but she sensed the emotions simmering under the surface. Suddenly she knew exactly how Mary had felt when she’d confronted her about spreading rumors: guilty and defensive. “That you betrayed your brother-in-law, John MacDougall, Lord of Lorn, in battle, and that he caught you and had you imprisoned.”
“That’s what they say?” He laughed, but the sound was harsh and without humor.
“Do you deny it?” She realized how badly she wanted him to.
Without her realizing it, they’d reached the tent. He set her down carefully. “If you want to know something, ask me. But you shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Countess.”
The subtle taunt in his voice pricked. Did nothing matter to him? “You mean things like did you kill your wife?”
He stilled. Something raw flashed in his eyes, and she immediately wished her question back.
“Nay,” he said evenly. “That’s true.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. He’d shocked her, as was obviously his intent, but she sensed there was something he wasn’t saying.
Before she could question him further, he gave her a slight mocking bow. “Good night, Countess. Get some rest. We have a long day tomorrow.”
And with that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the shadows.
Six
Lachlan had never been so glad to see battlements in his life.
The distinctive shield-shaped curtain wall of Kildrummy Castle rose out of the mountainous landscape like the warrior’s paradise of Valhalla.
With its ashlar stone walls and six massive towers, Kildrummy had been built by the Earls of Mar not only as a defensive stronghold, but also as a magnificent testament to the wealth of the earldom.
It wasn’t because the castle was considered one of the finest in Scotland that Lachlan was happy to see it. Nay, he was glad to see it because the last two days of riding had been torture.
Of his own damned making. What the hell had he been thinking?
God’s blood, even through the thick leather of hiscotunhe could feel her softness burning against him. Every shape and curve of her back seemed imprinted on his. And that bottom. He groaned. Two days of having that soft, round bottom nestled against his groin was more than any man could be expected to bear.
He couldn’t even breathe without being aware of her—the air around her seemed infused with the faint scent of roses.
