* * *
John watched Gillian walk across the hall for the evening meal. As of tomorrow, she’d be in his charge and under his protection.
The MacLeod clansmen leaped to their feet as she passed the table where they sat amongst the Sinclairs. She stopped to exchange a few brief words with them, no doubt receiving their pledges of protection for the trip. They surrounded her like a forest of oak trees, long of limb and broad of trunk. They made Gillian look all the more feminine and fragile.Delicate, Fia had said. John wondered if she was capable of long days on horseback, nights spent wherever they could buy or beg accommodation, meals taken in the saddle.
She left her clansmen and came to take her place beside him. “Good evening,” she murmured formally, politely, and in English, too. She waited while a servant filled her cup and set a plate before her. John watched as she sipped the wine, knew she was aware of his attention, though she didn’t turn. He watched a blush bloom over her cheek, saw the pulse point at her throat begin to hammer. Her lashes swept down against her cheeks.Shy, delicate. . .
He must have groaned softly, because she looked at him at last, her eyes luminous.
It was going to be unbearable.“We need to get a few things straight before we leave tomorrow,” he said through gritted teeth.
She scanned the room, probably checking to see if anyone was listening.
“No more—” He paused. He could hardly tell her to stop making him crave her every time she entered a room.
“We mustn’t think about the—the night of the masquerade,” she said quickly.
“Yes. I mean, no. It’s best forgotten.”
Something different stirred in the depths of her eyes now, something that told him that she would not forget so easily. He made the mistake of letting his gaze drop to her mouth. Desire stirred.
“And no touching,” he said, his voice thick. “I mean, beyond the necessary.”
“Necessary?” she asked.
“Aye—if you need assistance mounting your horse, or dismounting, or . . .” He broke off, remembering the way his hands had spanned her waist, slid upwards over sleek pink silk to cup her breasts. He kept his eyes on her face, though his mind was a dozen inches lower.
“Perhaps it’s best if we leave that to Callum.”
He found he hated that idea. “Who’s Callum?” he asked, frowning.
She nodded toward one of the MacLeods, a man with a mop of dark hair and keen, sharp eyes to match. He was built like a stone cott, with shoulders like a prize bull. He was willing to bet that Callum MacLeod could do more than lift Gillian into a saddle—he could probably carry her—and her horse—all the way to Edinburgh without the slightest inconvenience.
“The others are Keir, Lachlan, Tam, and Ewan,” she said. “They are my father’s best warriors, all fine men.”
He looked at her sharply. “Is that a warning?”
She sent him a patient look. “They are names. You’ll need to know them, won’t you? Besides, Fia has informed me you’re a perfect gentleman and very charming when you wish to be. She says I’ll be quite safe in your company.”
“Like a toothless dog—companionable, loyal, and harmless,” he quipped.
“Not to me,” she said so softly he wondered if he’d heard her right. Her hands were tight on her eating knife, though she’d yet to take a bite. He moved his hand, reached for his cup, hoping she’d look up at him, but she kept her gaze fixed on the table.
He took a long drink. “I shall endeavor to be chivalrous, gallant, and brave. I shall lay down my life to protect yours if it comes to it. My sword and my hands—should the doughty Callum MacLeod fail you—are yours to command,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.
“Are they?” she asked breathlessly. He saw something dangerous shimmering in her eyes.
“Until the very moment I place your fair hand into your husband’s before the altar.”
She lowered her eyes again, speared a piece of rabbit, and ate it.
“We’ll leave tomorrow at first light.” The sooner the journey began, the sooner it would end. “Are you an early riser, Mistress MacLeod?”
She swallowed her food and glanced at him. “Call me Gillian, if you please. I think—I think it would be silly to have such formality between us, considering—”
“Considering we once shared a kiss on a moonlit night?” He waved his hand. “Let us consider that forgotten and begin again. I am Dair’s captain, your sister’s friend, and your servant for this journey.”
“Then what shall I call you?”
