Her head snapped up, green eyes widening. “One?”
“Aye. It’ll be quicker to the village and back.” He kept his voice even, clipped, even as the thought of having her pressed against him for the entire ride sent heat coursing through his veins. “The roads are muddy, and I’ll nae have ye strain the beasts.”
“And if I say no?”
He leaned an inch closer, voice low. “Then ye’ll still ride with me.”
Her chin lifted, green eyes sparking. “You’re so frustrating.”
“Aye. And ye’re ridin’ with me, lass.”
Declan swung himself into the saddle first, then reached down to help her up. The moment his hands closed around her waist, and he felt the heat flood his entire body, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake.
He lifted her easily, settling her sideways in front of him on the saddle. The position forced her to lean back against his chest, her body fitting against his like she’d been made to rest there. The scent of lavender and something uniquely Francesca filledhis lungs, and he had to clench his jaw against the urge to bury his face in that braid and justbreathe.
It took all his willpower to push his desires back.
“Comfortable?”
“As comfortable as one can be in such close quarters,” she shot back, her spine rigid as she tried to maintain distance that didn’t exist.
He urged the stallion forward, acutely aware of every point where their bodies touched. Her hip pressed against his thigh. Her shoulder blade rested just below his collarbone.
The horse jolted over a rut, and Francesca’s hand shot out, clutching his forearm.
“Steady, lass,” Declan murmured, tightening his hold on the reins. “I’ve got ye.”
“So it seems. Though you might’ve warned me before charging over every stone on the path.”
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Would ye rather I cradle ye like a bairn and trot the whole way?”
Her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary before she released him. “Don’t tempt me. At least then I wouldn’t risk falling at your feet.”
He glanced down at her profile, lips twitching. “Ye’d fall into me arms, Francesca, and daenae think I’d complain.”
He shifted in the saddle, trying to adjust his position to hide his reaction, but the movement only made things worse, pressing her more firmly against him, making her gasp softly at the sudden contact.
This was a mistake. A colossal, monumental mistake.
She said nothing, but he felt the slight tremor that ran through her frame. She could feel it too, this awareness crackling between them like summer lightning. His restraint, carefully maintained since their second kiss, was crumbling with every breath she took that made her body shift against his.
“Tell me about Fraser,” she said suddenly, her voice slightly breathless. “How did you become so close?”
The question caught him off guard, providing a welcome distraction from the torture of having her in his arms. “Fraser? We grew up together. His mother and my father were siblings.”
“But you said he’s more like a brother to you than his actual brother.”
“Aye.” Declan guided the horse around a fallen log, using the movement as an excuse to tighten his arm around her waist. “Fraser’s brother Malcolm inherited the lairdship of Clan McArthur when their father died. Malcolm is… dutiful. Honorable. Everythin’ a laird should be.”
“But?” she prompted.
“But we never understood each other. Malcolm sees the world in absolutes, right and wrong, duty and pleasure, strength and weakness. Kind of like me. But Fraser sees the spaces between.” He paused, surprised by his own candor. “He reminds me there’s more to life than obligations.”
“You are clearly fond of him,” Francesca teased gently.
Declan huffed a laugh. “Daenae tell him that. He’d lord it over me for the next ten years.”
“You’re fortunate to have him.” Something wistful colored her tone. “I envy that kind of relationship.”
