Page 26 of Kidnapped By a Highland Shadow

“I’m still limping from that kick you got in my groin, lass. I’m not sure I’d call you helpless. Loud and annoying, perhaps, but not helpless.”

“You should be grateful I don’t have my knives.”

“Well, you couldn’t hit me last time when I was standing stock-still in front of you.”

Pippia let out a surprised burble of laughter as if she hadn’t expected to laugh at something Arran had to say. Arran smiled to himself. Perhaps their journey wouldn’t be as hellish as he had thought.

“There.” Arran pulled the knot tight with something close to triumph. “Try wriggling out of that one.”

Pippia favored him with an unimpressed stare. “That was the most complicated knot I’ve seen. Was that really necessary?”

“Yes, considering that you’ll run for the hills—and probably get yourself killed—every time I turn my back.”

“I could give you my word of honor.”

“Aye, yes, you could. Or I could just tie our wrists together, like so.” Arran lifted his wrist, forcing Pippia to lift hers too. “Now, wherever I go, you go too.”

Pippia swallowed. “This won’t work, you know. My father will come for me. My clan won’t forget me.”

Arran nodded, remembering the adoring glances Pippia had received from her people, and the way everyone, even the greasy innkeeper, knew her name.

“I’m sure they will. But until then, it’s late and you must be tired. It’s time to sleep.”

“How exactly are we going to do that with this?” Pippia demanded, tugging her tied wrist.

Arran had not quite considered this. Still, the solution was fairly obvious, if not particularly comfortable.

“We’ll have to lie side by side.”

“I’d rather freeze to death,” Pippia shot back.

“I’m sure you would, but we’re tied and together, and that’s that. Here, lie on your side, and I’ll lie behind you. You’ll hardly know I’m there.”

Pippia reluctantly lay on her side, and Arran curled up behind her, their wrists awkwardly joined together above their bodies.

“See? It’s not that bad,” Arran said.

“Don’t touch me!” Pippia snapped.

“I won’t, I promise. Now, for God’s sake, lass, go to sleep.”

Despite her insistence that she could never sleep with Arran so close to her, Pippia was clearly asleep and snoring gently within half an hour, despite the cold, hard ground.

Arran did not drop off so quickly. He had to stay alert anyway in case they were attacked during the night. Staying awake would be trickier when lying down, with the fire crackling merrily.

Or so he thought. Arran found that his proximity to Pippia was keeping him awake. Every fiber of his body thrilled with the awareness that Pippia was no more than a hand’s breadth away from him. Her hair, mostly loose from its braid by now, tickled his nose. Almost tentatively, Arran reached out to touch those silken strands, only to whisk his hand away at the last moment. He imagined Pippia’s expression of horror, disgust, and even fear if she caught him doing something as strange and foolish as stroking her hair.

Arran tucked his free hand against his chest and willed himself to calm down. It was difficult to do so when a faint, delicious scent of apples wafted from Pippia, tempting him to lean close and breathe deeply.

He did no such thing, of course. Arran squeezed his eyes closed and tried to ignore his feelings. It was going to be a long night.