“The cave,” I said.
He eyed me skeptically, that hint of amusement still lingering in his eyes, despite our circumstance. “Which cave is this, lass?”
I motioned toward the cave, and he moved to help me sit up. The scent and heat of him seemed to swirl all around me and inside me. The heat of his solid thigh burned through the layers of our clothing as he supported me. Feebly, I led him toward the cave, and he, too, for all his size and ferocity, swooned slightly as we walked.
“There,” I said, not at all sure I wouldn’t black out and crumple helplessly to the ground at a moment’s notice.
I crouched onto my hands and knees at the entranceof the cave and crawled into its interior, sliding onto the welcome warmth of the bed I’d laid. The bloodied warrior crawled in after me, lying down beside me. We held each other’s gaze, and the blue of his eyes seemed to pour into me; it fed me a comfort the likes of which I had not known for a very long time, or maybe ever. I was profoundly grateful, if death was upon me, that I could at least die in the glowing presence of this glorious warrior.
“I’m Wilkie Mackenzie,” he said.
Sothiswas Laird Mackenzie’s notorious brother. I could now understand why it was said that women fell at his feet.
Emboldened by his confession, I told him my name. “I’m Roses.” I had been an Ogilvie for most of my life, but now, I had severed myself from that clan irrevocably. I was on my own.
“Roses,” he said, as though wholly satisfied by my introduction. He did not prod me for more. “An unusual name.” His eyes glimmered in the half-light. “The pleasure is mine, Roses.”
“You exaggerate, warrior,” I whispered. “I’ve hardly given you pleasure.”
“If we live,” he said, his eyes drowsy now from his blood loss, “that is something we will have to remedy.”
“Aye,” I heard myself reply. “It is.”
And darkness overcame me.
CHAPTER TWO
WHENIAWOKE, it took me several seconds to figure out where I found myself. My body felt trapped under a heavy weight, and my arm throbbed with a dull searing ache.
I blinked, letting my eyes adjust to the dim interior.
The cave.
Vivid light seeped through the narrow door opening. Late afternoon light. I had been asleep for several hours.
The warrior lay next to me, so close I could see the stubble on his now-peaceful face, framed by the long strands of his dark hair. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out to touch the thick silk of it, smoothing it back from his strong brow, fingering the braids that knotted back from his temples. His features were bold and striking, hardened by work, war and sun, softened only slightly now in this dark haven. Or tomb. Time would tell.
His arm was slung over me, pinning me against the bulk of his huge heated body. I tried to move, but he grasped me tighter, causing him to grimace and groan even in his unconscious state. I tried again but could not budge him.
Should I attempt to sneak away from him, to take my bag of food and flee northward?
I dismissed the option almost instantly. I was tooweak. I had no idea as to the extent of my injury. Or his. And I had no intention of leaving him to die. I remembered the look on his face when he’d removed my helmet. The direct fascination in his eyes, the impact of his blue gaze. The new, tingling awareness of my own heat and my own skin, and more than that: my ownlife.
I would take my chances.
“Warrior,” I said, trying to rouse him.
No response.
“Wilkie,” I attempted. “You must let me go, so I can tend to your wound, and my own. I’ll fetch water for you to drink.”
His eyes opened, blue even in the semidarkness.
“Roses,” he mumbled.
“Aye. ’Tis me. Release your grip on me, warrior.”
“Kiss me, angel. Before this life leaves me.”
