“It was a dream.” He said the words aloud, compellingly, to convince himself.
He was sweating, gasping for air.
It was a dream. It did not happen.
Amelia cradled his head on her lap and pushed his hair away from his face. “It’sallright now. It’s over.”
It took a long time for his heart to stop pounding, and when it final y did, he stared up at the sky but quickly closed his eyes and struggled against the unbearable memory of the dream.
Chapter Thirteen
Thefollowingmorning, Duncan said very little. Amelia looked across the fire at him and felt as if she were looking at a stranger. He was exactly that, she supposed, regardless of the fact that he’d held her and kissed her and almost made love to her the night before. She wished she could push it from her mind, but the desirestilllingered in her blood this morning like a treacherous fever, which made no sense.
How could she feel such pleasure with this man, who had kidnapped her and refused to restore her freedom by delivering her to safety? Despite her protestations, hestillhad every intention ofkillingRichard, and she could not understand such a hunger for violence and bloodshed. That was why the civilized world had courts of law—to decide whether a man was guilty of a crime, and to assign the proper punishment. This hunting and stalking approach—ending in the bloody slaughter of another human being—was barbaric. It was outside the realm of her understanding.
Nevertheless, her insidesstillburned with something. An eager, aching lust that shamed her. She swore to herself that she would do her best to conquer it.
* * *
That night, Duncan decided it would be best to keep his distance from Amelia. As a result, they ate in silence around the fire and when she tried to make conversation, he told her he had no interest in pointless talk. The truth was, it was simply too difficult to listen to the cadence of her voice, nor did it do him any good to watch the enticing movement of her lips when she spoke.
Later, however, not long after shefellasleep, he moved closer to the bed of fur and looked down at her. She lay on her stomach, with one long slender leg bent at the knee and drawn up into the thick tangle of her skirts. Her wavy hair was splayed out on the fur, shining like wild flames of fire. Herecalledtoo easily the honeyed flavor of her lips and the soft texture of her tongue, swirling freely around his own. Growing agitated and resentful, he backed up a few steps and sat down on his haunches.
The moon was high in the sky. Cloud shadows moved swiftly across the quiet glen. There was a strong perfume of late-summer blooms in the air. In the far-off distance, thunder rumbled softly over the mountaintops.
He sat for a long time watching Amelia sleep while the curve of her hip played tricks on his mind.
With a soft moan, sherolledover onto her back and settled into a flauntingly feminine, seductive pose. Her breasts—too tightly confined by the stays, which she refused to take off, even at night—seemed to reach out and beckon to him lasciviously. Sexual hunger overwhelmed him, and he wished he could unlaceallthose constricting articles of clothing, slide her skirts down over her hips, and run his hands across her naked flesh. She lay before him like the embodiment of human sexuality, and he realized this was more a test of his strength than any violent swordfight on a battlefield.
* * *
Thefollowingday they stopped by a river to water the horse and eat a light lunch.
“Are you going to talk to me atall?” Amelia asked when Duncan sat down on a low boulder across from her.
“Nay.”
“Not even if I get down on my knees and beg?”
He shoved a piece of bread at her. “Do you want me to stuff a gag in your mouth?”
“No.”
“Then don’t be saying things like that.”
* * *
They made camp in the forest that night, and Amelia was surprised when, after supper, Duncan lay down on the bed of fur next to her—for he had kept his distance the night before and had treated her with hostility through most of the day. “What happens next?” she asked, hoping that tonight would be different. She had not enjoyed the tension between them, or the loneliness she felt, knowing he did not even wish to talk to her. “We’ve been traveling for two days. Whenwillwe reach Moncrieffe? Surely we must be close.”
He covered her with his tartan and looked at her grimly.
“Aye, lassie. This very ground belongs to the earl. We’re an hour north of the gatehouse.”
She leaned up on an elbow. The tartanfellaway from her shoulder. “A mere hour? Then why have we stopped? We could be there by now.”
His eyes were dark and indecipherable. “I wanted one more night with you, lass.”
She took a moment to comprehend the meaning behind those words and thought again about how silent and brooding he had beenallday. She had thought it was because he resented her for the things she said about Richard the other night and was surprised that he wouldstallthe ultimate achievement of his victory.
