Iain cursed under his breath and gathered the edge of the sash that hung around his shoulder. He dried the tears pooled in each eye, then traced the fabric down where tears streaked her face. His manhood pulsed in sudden awareness to the agitated rise and fall of her breasts.
Her eyes widened and he consigned his lust to hell when she jerked her head aside. This woman was no serving wench to be bedded without preamble. Still…he released the breacan and, with a finger to her chin, brought her to face him again. Her gaze dropped to the leather wristband as he slid fingers around the nape of her neck and into soft tresses. No doubt a mistake to kiss her again so soon, but the quiver hovering on the edge of her lips was more than he could resist. He lowered his mouth to hers.
Her lips remained closed, but the promise of a soft response was evident in the tremor he sensed. Iain released her. She righted herself and threw her head against his chest in an obvious attempt to discomfort him. He answered with a low growl and hugged her closer.
An hour later, Iain commanded a halt. He dismounted and reached for his captive. She shoved his hands away.
Iain gave a weary sigh. “Come, sweet. I am too tired to do battle tonight.”
He pulled her from the saddle. She threw her arms around his neck, hugging herself to him. His loins sprang to life. Blood roared through his ears and a mental picture leapt up of her beneath him as he pounded into her gloved warmth. The haze of desire evaporated with her cry of pain. Murky clouds hovering over ash and pine trees snapped into focus and understanding hit.
“Christ,” he muttered. He hadn’t considered the possibility she wouldn’t be accustomed to so many hours in the saddle. He reached around and rubbed the knotted muscles in her back. “The pain will pass in a moment.”
Her hands slid down his chest. Iain stifled a groan at the thought of those fingers continuing downward. She batted at him and he released her.
“There is a stream within the trees,” he said. Suspicion formed in her eyes.
“You need not worry, lass. No one will bother you.”
Her gaze shifted to the sword strapped to his horse. “Mayhap I should be allowed protection?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say he’d give her use of his sword from now until eternity, but he squashed the impulse. “I give my word that no one, least of all me, will venture near you until you ask.”
She hesitated, then turned. He winced when she reached to massage the small of her back as she limped across the rocky ground toward the trees. Tomorrow, he would be sure to halt throughout the day so she could rest from the saddle. If she—a thought struck.
“Lass,” he called.
She halted, her back to him. “What is your name?”
An instant of silence passed, then she turned. “You should have asked Father Brennan before you stole me.” She whirled and disappeared into the trees.
Iain stared, openmouthed. Was the wench refusing to tell her name? He swung his gaze to where his comrades sat, only to discover they looked just as dumbfounded as he. Iain took a step after her, then broke into a broad grin. So, the doe would revenge herself on the hunter.
*
Victoria burrowed within the surrounding warmth. Vague recollections seeped past the unfamiliar smell of damp wool and fresh pine. She stretched her arms in a slow, lazy action, bringing a rush of cool air down along her limbs. She lowered her arms to her sides and her left elbow hit something hard. In a flutter, the night sky met her startled eyes and she froze. The warmth she nestled against was her captor.
Her body shook and Victoria concentrated on the night sky, forcing her eyes to locate the Summer Triangle. In the westernmost point lay the blue-white star of Vega, the main star of the constellation, and Lyra, the brightest of all the stars in the triad. Lyra, the lyre. She fought the tears that stung her eyes and followed Vega to the east to Deneb, the dimmest of the stars. To the south was Altair.
Might these old friends yet guide her home? Loneliness assailed her at memory of home, the home she had known before Montrose Abbey and long before Richard. Victoria forced back tears and traced a mental line from the familiar Lyra to Cygnus the Swan to Aquila, then the Eagle, and still farther west to Hercules. She located the Dog Star, Sirius. Judging by the constellation high in the sky, a hard ride would bring her to the abbey before her jailer woke.
Victoria looked at the guard. He leaned against a tree at the edge of the clearing, wrapped in the blue and red plaide of his clan, head slumped against his chest. With a final glance at the MacPherson lord, she wriggled down the length of the pallet onto the wet grass. Dew penetrated her dress and chilled her knees. She paused, but aside from soft snoring, all remained quiet. With shaky hands, she pulled her skirt to her thighs, and slithered away.