Good. The priest understood no MacPherson would set foot on holy ground today.
The woman’s muscles tightened in another attempt to throw off his leg, and Iain gave the flesh a warning squeeze without breaking eye contact with Father Brennan. The priest ran the back of a forefinger in a slow line along each side of his mustache. Iain understood his shrewd look, but the curiosity in his eyes was a surprise. He strode toward them, and the warriors who had ridden in with Iain drew up alongside as the priest neared.
“It doesn’t seem she is taken with your charm, Iain,” Father Brennan said.
“Charm?” his captive snapped. “What madness is this?”
“Patience, lass. It is a simple mistake.” The priest looked pointedly at Iain.
“Aye,” she blurted, “and this barbarian would do well to release me before he discovers just how grave a mistake.”
Iain glanced at his companions when someone unsuccessfully stifled mirth.
Father Brennan clicked his tongue with impatience. “Iain, you cannot take her.”
Iain responded with a raise of his brows.
“Aye, then,” Father Brennan muttered, “you can take her, but ’tis not fair play. I had not informed her of this tradition. A tradition long dead,” he added with asperity.
“I believe it was you who said ignorance of the law is no excuse,” Iain reminded him with a low laugh.
Father Brennan hesitated. “You must know she is English. Are you sure you want her?”
The lady gasped. Iain started to demanded explanation for the slur, but forestalled at something unknown in the priest’s demeanor and replied in an unruffled tone, “If I did not want her, I would not have taken her.”
Relief flickered in Father Brennan’s eyes, but his voice remained insistent. “This is wrong. She did not know it was unsafe to step from holy ground.”
“Unsafe?” Iain echoed.
Father Brennan’s expression darkened. “You heard what I said, Iain MacPherson, unsafe.”
“Is she entering the convent?” Father Brennan’s frown deepened, and Iain added, “It is, no doubt, a grievous sin to lie about such matters.”
“By the saints. Nay, you scoundrel, she has no such intentions.”
“Why is she here?”
“Sweet Jesu,” the lady cursed. “What concern is that of yours?”
Iain shifted his gaze to her. Fury ruled her gaze, but it was the challenge in the lift of her chin that gripped his heart. “Where is your husband, lass?”
Silence hung thick in the air, and every nerve stood ready for the answer he dreaded, hadn’t considered, until this moment.
“In a grave in England,” she answered at last.
That was unexpected and Iain wasn’t sure whether to praise God she was free or feel compassion she had lost a loved one. Guilt surfaced with the realization that he gladly chose the former. He wheeled his horse around.
“Nay!” She kicked the stallion’s belly.
The beast reared. Iain yanked back on the reins, but she kicked again. The stallion reared a second time. Iain seized the pommel, but felt their bodies slipping from the saddle. He rolled, hugging her close so that she landed on top of him as they crashed to the moist ground. She shoved away from him. He held tight, laughing in spite of the dull pain in his shoulder when she growled. She jabbed an elbow into his ribs. Pain lanced through his gut. His grip faltered and she broke free. The closest of the warriors shot after her and was upon her in a few short strides and grabbed her.
Iain leapt to his feet and lunged after her. “Release her!”
The man dropped her. She jumped up, tripped on her skirts, and barely scrambled up again as Iain brought her down like a wild animal.
He flipped her over and straddled her. “I should have let you break my fall.”
She grabbed his shoulders and dug nails into the hard muscle. Iain seized her wrists and shoved them above her head. He slid his body along hers until he covered her length and his face was an inch from her mouth. She continued to struggle.
His groin thickened. “At least you might have been knocked senseless long enough for me to get you to my bed and shackle you there.”
She stilled, eyes wide. Regret stabbed at him. He had enjoyed the thrust of her slim hips against him.
The lower edge of Father Brennan’s scapula came into view beside them. “Let her up, Iain.”
Iain shook his head. “Nay. I am enjoying this more than anything else this morning.”
A round of approving grunts and laughter went up from his men. As an afterthought, Iain lowered his mouth on hers. She stiffened, but the scent of rose water mingling with the heather crushed beneath her assailed his senses and he breathed in the arousing scents. Shifting, he found the curves of her body held the expected promise. He couldn’t help a glance in the direction of the forest where privacy lay but a moment away.
“MacPherson,” the priest growled.
Iain jerked his gaze back onto her. Fear tinged her expression. A twinge of guilt gave way to the desire to kiss away the small tremor on her lower lip.