Chapter Ten
When Willow returned to Christian’s table, she carried a bag full of cheese and bread. It was a gift from her new friends. She set it down on the table victoriously.
Christian’s arms were crossed over his chest, and his lips were tight.
Her grin faded, and she innocently blinked as she sat beside him. “You look angry.”
“We should be on the road searching for your sister,” he said firmly.
“It’s dark. We can’t see. We might miss one of the parchment pieces. Besides, none of those men have seen her.”
He shook his head.
“You’re angry. What have I done besides getting us supplies and asking about Sage?”
Christian leaned toward her across the table. “Those men could have been dangerous.”
She smiled gently. “Were you worried about me?”
“Of course,” Christian said, his irritation growing. “You took a big chance interacting with them.”
Willow dismissed his statement with a wave of her hand. “They are friendly. They pose no threat.”
“Too friendly,” Christian grumbled.
Willow narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Are you jealous?”
Christian’s mouth dropped open, and he shifted uncomfortably. “No. I just don’t want you in trouble.”
“I think you’re jealous,” she said and reclined back in the chair, gazing at him in amusement.
He half-turned away from her. “I’m not jealous.”
“You have me to yourself all day, and the moment I spend any time with other men, you become angry.”
“You’re twisting this. That’s not why I’m angry. And I’m not angry. Just annoyed. You could have been hurt.”
She grinned, hiding her true emotions. No one could hurt her more than he had by leaving. “Do you have the flask of ale?”
Christian nodded and patted the strap around his shoulder. “We should find a place to camp for the night.”
She stood, liking that he was jealous, even though he wouldn’t admit it. She trailed him out of the inn, watching his rounded, firm bottom in a moment of secret appreciation.
It was a cool night, and a gentle wind blew through the branches, rustling leaves. But Christian was anything but cold. The way those men had looked at Willow scorched through his mind. The way they had touched her, actuallytouchedher! One of them had laid a hand on her arm.
He paced at their camp, from one tree to the other, trying to get control of his anger. Was it jealousy? Willow had called it jealousy. He had called it an annoyance.
“Are you eating?” Willow asked from near the horse. She had checked the steed’s hooves and bridle and was now eating cheese.
“No,” he snapped with little effort and too much force.
She stepped closer to him, chewing a bite of cheese. Her eyes were narrowed and glittered in the moonlight. “Are you still jealous?” she asked playfully.
“I’m not jealous,” he insisted. But his fists clenched. “You don’t know what you’re asking for by interacting with men you don’t know.”
One side of those lovely lips quirked up. “I wasn’t asking for anything.”
“That’s not what those men thought.” He shook his head, and his lips thinned. “The way you move…”
