“Iwill!” the boy replied. “And thank you for the biscuits!”
Duncan walked the horse for a few minutes, then stopped.
“Push forward, lassie,” he said to her. “It’s time I joined you.”
He slid a boot into the stirrup and swung up behind her, then gathered the reins in both hands.
Amelia had mixed feelings about his close proximity in the saddle with her again—with those strong hands gripping the leather reins and resting on her thighs.
They would move faster now, she told herself, trying to ignore his distinctive male scent as he kicked in his heels and urged the horse into a gal op. They would reach Moncrieffe sooner, and she would be one step closer to safety and the return of her freedom.
That wasallshe wanted. To be safe and free. To that end, she would continue doing what she’d been doingallalong.
She would stay close to Duncan in order to reach Moncrieffe Castle and find a way home. She would be brave until the moment when he final y let her go. And she would not think too much about his masculine appeal, or his maddening arrogance, or his teasing, tantalizing flirtations. Nor would she reflect upon how kind he had been to the boy and the drover, or how he had saved her, most heroically, from those horrid English soldiers on the beach.
No, she would not think of any of that. She would push those thoughts away. They were heading toward Moncrieffe Castle. That wasallthat mattered.
* * *
Late in the afternoon, when the air was humid and warm, they stopped at ashallowsection of the river to cool themselves. Duncan was perspiring. His loose linen shirt was sticking to his back. He crouched down, dipped his hands into the water, rubbed them together vigorously, then splashed some cool droplets on his face.
A short distance away, Amelia removed her shoes. She picked her way barefoot over the pebbles, gathered her skirts up in a tangled bunch, and waded into the river, stopping when it reached her knees.
Duncan sat back. He stretched his legs out and leaned on both elbows, watching her bend forward and splash handfuls of water on her face and neck, as he had done. When she straightened, she closed her eyes and tipped her face toward the sky. Her copper-colored tresses reachedallthe way down to her sweet, tempting bottom.
She brushed her damp fingertips lightly down the length of her throat and across the tops of her breasts, seeming to delight in the featherlike sensation. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat, her skin dewy with perspiration. She parted her lips and wet them with the tip of her tongue. It was a slow, sensual, erotic gesture, and Duncan began to lose himself in an idle daydream.
In the quiet recesses of his mind, Amelia was standing nude in the river, while he was on his knees before her, half-submerged in the water,rollinghis tongue around her pink nipples and probing her sweet navel. He relished the saltiness of her skin and the sweet perfume of her body, whichfilledhis head with pulsating yearnings. Running his hands down the curve of her waist, he laid open-mouthed kisses across herbellyand hip. His cock shifted and grew, and he closed his eyes on the pebbled riverbank, tipped his head back toward the sun, and inhaled deeply. The heat warmed his face and legs.
Abruptly he opened his eyes and shook himself.
“Fook,” he whispered, and stood up. She was the Duke of Winslowe’s daughter. He shouldn’t be thinking such things, nor should he be wasting time here in the middle of nowhere when Richard Bennett wasstillwreaking havoc in the Highlands.
“Get out of the river!” Duncan shouted. “It’s time to go!”
Startled, Amelia turned to face him. “So soon? But the water feels so good.”
“Put on your shoes,” he said irritably. “We’re leaving.”
He did not look at her again until after she had mounted the horse. Then Duncan led Turner by the reins for at least half a mile before he final y swung up into the saddle to ride behind her.
* * *
At dusk, they set up camp near a single standing stone, high on ahilltop under the stars. It was a rare clear night without a single breath of wind. The moon wasfull—almost toobrilliantto behold—and the mountains were sharp, pointed silhouettes against the deep twilight beyond.
Duncan started a fire and cooked the smoked pork Beth had packed for them, which they enjoyed with a hearty rye bread and a bag of juicy whortleberries he had picked in the forest.
When they finished eating, he reclined back against thetallstone and withdrew a pewter flask from his sporran.
“This, lassie, is Moncrieffe whisky, the very best in Scotland.” He looked at it for a moment. “And Lord knows I need a good, deep swig of it tonight.” He raised it in an informal toast, tipped it back and drank, then pointed the spout at her. “Maybe you should take a swig yourself, feel its arousing vigor, and then you’llunderstand why we’re so proud to be Scotsmen.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Awell-made spirit is going to show me that?”
“Aye, lassie, and a whole lot more.”
She looked at him withchallenge. “I see what you are trying to do. You are trying to frighten me, and make me nervous about being here alone with you.”
“You should most definitely be frightened,” he said. “I’m a strapping hot-blooded Highlander with an axe, and I have needs.” He paused and narrowed his enticing blue eyes at her.
