“I know that nothing cures it.”
With that pronouncement, he grinned. A faint clink of the bridle and her firm bottom pressed intimately between his legs, he turned the horse south. “You are a lot of trouble, Lady Roselyn.”
Chapter 6
Ruark carefully finished binding the wound on Rose’s thigh as she slept. She laid on her back perfectly still, her hair spread around her head like a sunset halo and, despite himself, he lifted a strand and rubbed it between his callused fingers. She wore only her white shirt and the cloak beneath her that he had unwrapped from around her unclad form to tend her injury. She may as well have been naked.
Aye, she was temptation itself.
Full breasts crested with dark nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt, the kind of breasts that fit perfectly into a man’s hands with nothing left over to waste, flat stomach, the beckoning flair of her hips and narrow tuft of pale hair between impossibly long legs. The whole of her nothing but softness and curves. He’d already spent half the morning watching her as she slept, and reluctantly, he edged the cloak over her. He hadn’t liked where his mind was heading and didn’t know what to do about it. He had sworn no oath of protection to her, owed no one but his people his allegiance.
But it was not just her beauty that had kept him by her side contemplating the daughter of his Sassenach foe. Not for the first time did he wonder how Friar Tucker hadkept her hidden all these years. Or why Lord Hereford had ever stopped looking for her. Tucker had not told him everything.
Perhaps had she shown less courage, he would be less invested in her and more inclined to ignore the extent of his desire.
He wanted her. And he did not think he would.
For desire it was, like watching Venus in the nighttime sky so close he’d oft stood on the deck of his ship and wondered what it would be like to touch that light. But he’d always had the power to temper his wants with restraint.
A whisper of movement alerted him that Rose was awake, and it was as if something warmed inside him as she stirred. Her lashes fluttered open and he was caught in her verdant gaze. Still half asleep, she stared up at him, before she blinked as if in confusion. She peered around her at the mist-soaked glade, slowly becoming aware of a crackling fire and a shelter of pine covering her.
Her hand went to her hip to find her dirk gone. Noting her lack of apparel, she pulled the cloak around her and sat up, spilling her hair around her shoulders. The amused light in his eyes caused her to frown. She should feel grateful he’d allowed her to keep the shirt she still wore.
“Where are my clothes?” she demanded.
“You will get them back when we are ready to leave. After your defiance yesterday, I can see removing your boots was not enough. I will take no chances. Not with that injury you have on your leg.”
She looked around the glade. “How long have I been asleep?”
Strangely, her ire only served to confirm his admiration of her. “Long enough to decide it is far more perilous for me at this moment than you.”
Alarmed, she peered past him. “Have you seen dragoons?”
“Oh, aye.” He laughed, in good humor. “Dragoons are everywhere.” She observed his warm scrutiny with a frown. “You have been asleep for five hours,” he said on a more sobering note. “We traveled through the night. I stopped because the horse needs rest, as do you. How is your leg?”
“ ’Tis attached,” she murmured.
He crouched beside the fire with his elbow against one knee. She stole a closer look at him only to discover him staring at her.
“That wound needs to be sutured,” he said.
She looked as if she wanted to tuck her leg somewhere safe from his scrutiny, but knew he was correct. “How will you do that?”
“I took an officer’s field kit along with that horse. There will be a needle and thread inside. Or I could cauterize it.”
He considered the pain either procedure would inflict, and looked away to tend to the meal. McBain had sutured more than one injury on his body. He had more scars than years ...
“Have you ever mended flesh?” she asked.
“I lived on a ship for nearly thirteen years. I can mend anything.” His gaze suddenly softened. “ ’Tisn’t that difficult, love.”
She sighed. “Then I have not dreamed this nightmare about ogres, magic spells, and fire-breathing dragons,” she said. “You are real.”
“Aye, I am real, Sassenach.”
“Sassenach...” His tone as much as the single word caught her attention. “Do you despise the English or just Lord Hereford? Did you not yourself hire out to the Crown? Were you not allied to his Royal Navy?”
“Only in so far as it proved profitable.” And until his father died.
