His lips curved in a half-smile. “I suppose 'tis a chance I'll have to take.”
They both knew his secret was safe with her. No matter how angry she was with him, Lizzie did not have a bloodthirsty bone in her body. Hers would not be the hand that spelled his doom. But she was right. When it was discovered that she was missing, there wouldn't be anywhere in the Lowlands for him to hide.
“And what if your brother has picked up our trail?”
“We'll take the high road through the hills. Gregor won't be able to track us as easily over the rock, and we've enough of a head start to stay well ahead of him. But at this time of year, venturing into the mountains can be dangerous.”
“Why?”
“The weather changes quickly.” At least it was still too early for snow. He slung the skin back around his shoulder. “Which will work in our favor today. The rain will slow them down.”
“Rain?” Lizzie looked up to the sky and frowned. “What rain?”
Lizzie swore she wouldn't complain. No matter how exhausted, no matter how hungry, no matter how miserable she felt. She would prove to him that she was not some fragile piece of porcelain ready to crack at the first sign of difficulty.
And then as he predicted it started to rain.
Not a light, misty rain, but a full Highland downpour with icy gusts of wind that cut to the bone.
So now in addition to being tired, hungry, and cold, by the time they reached the area where Patrick decided to shelter for the night, she was also drenched.
And when she realized there would be no cozy cave to sleep in this night, she wanted to cry.
But it appeared she had underestimated Patrick's resourcefulness. He showed her to a fallen tree for her to sit on while he set about gathering the materials—tree limbs, pine bows, and moss—to build a shelter. Using part of the fallen log she was sitting on for a base, he cleared away the ground of leaves and rocks and built a tentlike structure with branches. Then he wove the bows between the branches to create a roof and laid moss on the ground to provide a buffer from the wet ground.
At the open end of the shelter, he built a small fire. It would be smoky, perhaps, but warm. And a few minutes later, when he settled her underneath, she realized it was also dry.
“You've done this before,” she said wryly.
His mouth twitched. “Perhaps once or twice.” He paused. “It's not what you are used to.”
“No,” she admitted. Far from it.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“Famished,” she replied before she could think to lie.
“I might be able to catch a mountain hare. I can try to fashion some twine from vines or …” He gave her an odd look—almost as if he were embarrassed.
“Or?” she asked.
“If we had some kind of string.”
She tilted her head, perplexed.
“Such that might be a part of a lady's undergarments.”
“You want the tie from my stays? Why didn't you just say so?” He'd seen her naked, but he was flustered by talk of undergarments. It was … adorable. If a heavily muscled Highland warrior of well over six feet could be characterized as such.
He turned to give her privacy, and she quickly went to work removing the plaid that he'd given her and the heavy woolen jacket that she wore underneath, then loosened the ties of her kirtle enough to slide it down to her waist. With all the walking and climbing they were doing, it would be nice to be able to move a little easier. When she got to her stays, however, she had to stop. She'd forgotten. They tied in the back.
She bit her lip and looked at his broad back, debating.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“I'm afraid …” She took a deep breath and started again. “I'm afraid I need some help.”
She covered her breasts, fully visible beneath the damp linen of her sark, with her arms as he turned. His eyes heated for an instant, lingering on the bare skin of her arms and neck, before he bent and placed his hands on her back, slowly working the ties of her stays. She held her breath, painfully aware of the warmth of his hands, of every stray brush of his fingers on her back. Of his breath on her neck. Of his body so close to hers.
