“Accost your feelings?” Now he looked confused; she could see the questions flashing in his eyes.
“Aye, by teasing me.”
“Och, lass, ye have the wrong of it.” Ian shook his head once, twice. “I never tease.”
Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “And you expect me to believe that after the conversation we’ve just had.”
“I do.”
“You are much less intelligent than I thought you were.”
“Oh? Ye thought me intelligent before?” He batted his eyelashes and pressed a hand to his chest.
She wanted to burst out laughing. Ian was obviously trying to diffuse the situation. But she was stubborn and was going to hold on a few minutes longer.
“Nothing more than a fleeting thought,” she said. “An opinion that was quickly proven false. Do not get a thick head about it.”
“Do ye think my head thin now?” Ian pressed his lips together in an obvious attempt to keep from laughing.
Rhiannon let out a grown. “You are impossible.”
“I assure ye, my lady, I am verra possible.”
“Then I am impossible.” This time, she did push to stand, but right as she did, a rustle in the brush ahead gave her pause.
“We have company,” she said, pulling out the dagger from her boot where she’d returned it after their encounter with the outlaws earlier.
Ian tossed off his plaid blanket and stood. He maneuvered himself in front of her, which was damned annoying, and then drew his sword.
Neither of them spoke nor breathed. Waiting as the rustling grew louder and louder still.
Rhiannon’s heart pounded; she feared whoever lurked would hear it and know exactly where to go. The darkness of the wood only made their visibility of whoever was about to sneak up on them zero.
A second later, a loud “mrarw” sounded, and Goosie jumped from the brush toward them, instantly putting their guard down.
“Oh, you silly cat,” Rhiannon said, while Ian opted for something a little more colorful.
Rhiannon stuck out her tongue at Ian, then turned back to cooing at her cat. She re-sheathed her knife and bent to pick up Goosie. “Where were you hiding? Too scared to stay there? Well, you are a sight for sore eyes and more than welcome to ride out this storm with us.”
But it wasn’t just the cat rustling in the thicket. The very real sound of boots on the ground, of something hard and sharp hacking at the brush, sent a chill up Rhiannon’s spine.
All the blood drained from her face, leaving her lips to tingle as she stared at Ian, fear clutching her heart. He held his fingers to his lips as he silently re-drew his sword.
A whistle sounded from somewhere far off in the distance, and there was a curse from no more than a dozen paces beyond their little hideout from the rain. Footsteps retreated, an answering whistle, and then silence.
Still, Ian stood, sword raised and ready to blot out the life of anyone who dared come through.
The seconds ticked and ticked into minutes, and then, at last, he lowered his sword and faced her. “Time to go, lass. Wet or no.”
6
Bloody hell.
Ian cursed over and over again in his head, and sometimes aloud, as he pushed his horse into a pace he wouldn’t normally require with this kind of weather, but he had no choice. All he could do was pray George didn’t catch his hoof on a lifted tree root or step into a foxhole.
With the pace they set, Rhiannon sat pillion, and he leaned over his loyal steed’s neck and begged him not to break his own neck.
Between curses and prayers, he held tight to Goosie, nestled inside his shirt. Just beneath his hand was Rhiannon’s, cool to the touch but not trembling.
