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Chapter Three

The worst and longest minutes of Broden’s life passed as he battled to stay conscious. If he succumbed to the tempting blackness beckoning at the periphery of his mind, Kendra wasn’t strong enough to keep him before her.

She, of course, would chew hot coals before admitting that truth, stubborn lass.

Even now, he could feel her arms straining to help support him as she steered Sheik, Pandora docilely keeping pace beside them.

A low groan escaped Broden despite his effort to smother the sound, and he gritted his teeth against another vision-blurring, gut-wrenching stab of scorching pain.

He’d feared Kendra would faint dead away when she’d first spotted the bloody front of his cloak. He remembered well her penchant for swooning if she saw anything remotely gory.

Yet, she’d rallied valiantly. Brilliantly, in fact. Like a warrior, she’d set her mind to the task, ignoring her discomfort.

Even in his miserable state, he couldn’t help but admire her stoicism.

Her determined chin and set jaw. The way she’d cleverly dealt with her horse before clambering onto Sheik’s back. Her remarkable ability to control her fear and see to the task at hand.

Namely, saving him.

At that precise moment, Sheik stepped into a slight rut, thrusting Broden’s and Kendra’s bodies forward. Her shapely thighs flexed against his hips as she balanced herself and him, sending a jolt of incinerating desire straight to his groin.

A half-hiss, half-oath escaped between his gritted teeth.

“I’m verra sorry, Broden.” She cinched her slender arms tighter around his waist, which also caused her luscious breasts to press into his back—the damned firm nipples teasing and taunting sensuously. “I’m tryin’ to be careful. I ken ye’re in much pain.”

She believed his groans and oaths were pain-induced. Some were, but the torture of his body responding to her innocent touch nearly drove him mad with carnal desire.

Desire? Nae.

Nothing so timid.

What bubbled inside him was raging lust. Pure unadulterated, unappeased, unrequited lust. For the impossibly frustrating, undeniably exquisite KendraMacKay.

Siren. Sorceress. Forbidden fruit.

“Dinna fash yerself,” he managed through clamped teeth.

They’d crack along with his entire jaw if he clenched them any harder. But he’d not show weakness before this courageous lass. Neither would she ever know how much he wanted her.

He sent a thankful prayer heavenward she hadn’t clambered onto the saddle before him, or the very hard, very aroused, and very noticeable cockstand bulging at his groin would’ve swiftly apprised her of his true condition.

Not that he didn’t feel awful as hell from the bullet hole to his chest.

Or was it his shoulder?

Somewhere between, was his best guess without stripping his clothing to take a look.

If Kendra hadn’t warned him, he wouldn’t have had time to shift his stance at all. He very well might’ve taken the ball in the head. In point of fact, he hadn’t even had time to ponder who would’ve attempted to kill him, yet. And, by God, had been stupid enough to do so with a witness.

Those questions could be answered later.

When he could cobble together more than one thought. When every bit of his fuzzy focus and every ounce of his waning strength wasn’t on staying awake and atop his horse.

Christ on the blessed cross.

Was Kendra in danger now, too?

She’d seen the gunman. Broden hadn’t.