by Eliza Knight
Sorley brought her a second blanket, placing it over her.
“Thank ye, but do ye no’ need it?”
“There is plenty. Shall I get ye a third?”
Kenna nodded. But an hour later, even with all the extra blankets on her, she was still unable to sleep and felt like crying as she was so very tired.
“Lass,” Sorley said quietly.
“Aye?” Kenna managed to spit out between her teeth chattering.
“Ye’re freezing.”
“Aye.”
“If ye do no’ mind, I will lay with ye. Keep ye warm.”
Kenna’s first instinct was to deny him, but it felt as if she were encased in ice, and without a fire, she wasn’t going to get warmer.
“Aye. Pl-please.”
There was a rustle as he climbed from the cot behind her, and then he was there, lifting her blanket for the briefest of moments before the heat of his body engulfed the length of her back. He wrapped an arm around her waist and tucked her legs between his. The cocoon of warmth she suddenly found herself in was glorious. Kenna closed her eyes, breathing out a sigh of relief.
“Thank ye,” she whispered.
“Ye’re welcome. Canna have ye freeze to death afore we arrive. If the dragoons are no’ going to get ye, canna let a little cold.”
She laughed softly.
Kenna slept soundly then, waking hours later feeling marginally refreshed, and still very comfortable. She rolled over in her after-sleep daze and came face to face with Sorley. His gray eyes were as warm as his body as he smiled at her.
“Good eve,” he said. “Did ye sleep well?”
Kenna nodded, stretching a little. “Verra.”
“Me too.”
“I thank ye again for making it possible. I confess I might no’ have made it if ye’d remained on your cot.”
“I couldna bear to see ye suffer. Besides, your teeth were chattering so much I couldna sleep. Sounded like the jangle of the redcoats’ ever-ready shackles.”
Kenna laughed.
“Ye have a beautiful laugh.” Sorley’s face had turned serious. “’Tis quite enchanting. I’ve never heard anything the like.”
“Ye mean ye dinna think I sound like a donkey?”
“Ye are anything but a jackass.”
She laughed again. “Well, I will take that as a compliment.”
“Definitely do.” He grinned at her, and Kenna had that incredible urge to kiss him again.
Her gaze dipped to his mouth, and when she looked back into his eyes, she found that his gaze too had dropped to her lips.
“I have a confession,” he said in a whisper. “I want to kiss ye again.”
She should tell him no. Climb from this cot where their limbs were tangled in such a way as to be beyond propriety. But she didn’t want to. She liked it just fine where she was—warm, excited.
“I will no’ deny ye, for I want ye to kiss me, too.”
“Och, lass, I wish ye’d no’ said that…”
Kenna parted her lips to ask why, but his mouth was brushing over hers then, soft, warm and sending shivers of a different kind racing through her. She clutched the front of his shirt and returned his kiss, reveling in the exhilaration that his lips on hers brought.
A fire ignited within her when his tongue teased her lower lip and then eased between to toy with hers. His touch on the small of her back increased in pressure as he brought her even closer, his mouth claiming hers.
Desire, passion, intrigue melted into that one kiss and threaded out from there, flames on dry kindling. Every part of her seemed to come alive when he was kissing her, touching her, and she didn’t want it to end. Wished that this tiny paradise was theirs to have forever. A place safe from dragoons and enemies that meant to destroy them.
But it did have to come to an end. They parted, both panting, and not a thought of cold in either of their minds.
“Och, but I liked that too much.” Sorley pressed his forehead to hers, his breathing heavier than it had been before.
“Is there such a thing as too much?”
“Aye, lass. Ye make me forget myself. My duty.” Guilt riddled his tone, and she felt bad for having caused him distress.
“Then I suppose I am also in trouble, Sorley MacLeod, for ye seem to have been sent to retrieve me for safety’s sake, but instead, I find I am in danger of losing myself.” She couldn’t believe that she’d just admitted that aloud. Couldn’t even blame the whisky she’d had while they supped, as it had been hours before.
“Saints, lass, but ye have no idea.”
She wanted him to kiss her again, to feel that spiral of passion ready to burst. But thankfully, for both of their sakes, he eased off the cot and held out his hand to her. The coolness of the nighttime air sank into the skin and chilled her heated thoughts as she stood. That, she supposed, was a good thing as they both needed to have their wits about them on the road. And the only thing that wicked thoughts seemed to do was make her mind muddled.
6
While he might have retrieved the lass, Sorley was failing in his other mission, which had been to keep himself from kissing Kenna again.
It seemed just being in her visceral proximity made his mind wander and do strange things. And when she had been close to him, wrapped in his arms all the night through, he’d been completely hopeless to his desire. Kissing her had been wonderful, a little dream away from the violence and danger.
The lass had no idea how much danger they were in. Her Uncle Duncan, siding with the loyalists to King George, would have given her a much-sheltered life compared to the one Sorley had led. Sorley felt he’d been running from dragoons since he could lift his feet as a wee bairn. So, he decided that kissing her was merely a way to distract her from any endangerment. And to keep himself in a delusional state and wave away all the other feelings that seemed to flood him when he looked at her, touched her.
Perhaps he should kiss her every time the enemy was near? Then again, that would be quite mad, considering they’d be in mortal danger if he lost himself in their embrace.
Bloody hell…
Sorley had never been the sentimental type, nor the kind of man who wanted a woman to divert him from his responsibilities. He was a warrior, a hunter. It was what he did so well, what had gotten him a name within the clan, and the reason why he’d been sent on this particular mission. He was very good at what he did—an expert. In fact, he’d never met anyone better.
And he couldn’t let a little infatuation screw that up for him.
“Oh,” Kenna’s soft moan of irritation pulled his gaze, and he watched her swat a small branch from where it had caught in her hair.
“Do be careful,” he teased. “I’m fairly certain Laird MacLeod wanted ye delivered with your head.”
There was a huff of her breath that he was fairly certain was accompanied by an eye roll.
“Then ye’d best warn me if ye duck beneath a branch, as it’s dark as sin out here.”
Sin...what he wanted to do with her.
They’d made it several hours from the croft they’d taken shelter in and had at least another few to go before they reached the Ledgowan Forest. There within the depths of the trees was a rebel camp where he planned for them to stop at and rest during the day. Those in the camp were quite discreet, and more often than not were away during the day on various missions. There would be safety within those numbers and perhaps even fires to keep Kenna warm.
Sorley had no use for outside heat, as he found himself hot enough as it was. He might just break the ice on the nearest stream and shove himself beneath the frigid depths.
A swift, frosty wind blew then, and though Kenna tried to stifle her whimper, he heard her loud and clear. Sorley stilled his horse, waiting for her to ride up beside him.
“Come here,” he said with a wave of his arm.
“Wh-what?” she asked through her chattering teeth.
“Ye’re freezing, and we’ve hours ahead of us. Let’s share warmth for
now, and when we’ve need to ride hard, ye can get back atop your own mount.”
“All right.” She didn’t hesitate, and he was glad, though he’d had several arguments as to why she should ride with him at the ready.
Your uncle will cut off as many of my fingers and toes as ye lose from freezing.
If ye freeze to death, I shall be bound by duty to bury myself alive with your cold body as I promised no’ to leave ye.
If ye dinna listen, I will simply bound and gag ye and toss ye over the back of my horse.
But she held out her arms to him willingly, and he pulled her from her horse onto his lap, wrapping her in the extra lengths of his plaid. She shivered against him, curling her face against his chest. The lass was as frozen as the ground around them.
“Count your blessings it’s no’ yet snowing.” He looked up into the black night sky, dotted with stars. There were a few wisps of clouds hiding the moon, but not enough to warn him of impending weather.
“Than-k-k ye,” she chattered against his chest.
“I but do my duty, lass.” And perhaps a wee bit more, for he liked her nestled against him, and not just from the sheer enjoyment of her lush feminine body pressed to his, but because for some reason when he held her, he felt oddly at home. It made no sense, of course, but he wasn’t about to argue with himself, as he was clearly deranged, and everyone knew there was no point in arguing with a madman.
Within minutes, her chattering and shivering ceased, and her soft breath blew warm against his chest as she slept. She was a tough lass, or at least tried to be, and yet she was still fragile enough that he had an intense urge to protect her. From dragoons, the elements, whatever might come their way.
Sorley let her sleep, going as fast as he dared with two of them on the horse. He did not want to injure his mount, for they were still a day and a half at least away from their destination of the ferry that would take them across to Skye, where her uncle’s men waited for them to arrive. They’d then be escorted to Dunvegan Castle, and she’d be presented before the man she was inclined to despise. Sorley hoped she would forgive her uncle, for the man had thought his choice best when he didn’t claim her after her parents’ death. And Sorley himself knew the MacLeod to be a generous laird and father figure. Where would Sorley be if he’d not been taken under the laird’s wing when he too lost his family?
As planned, when the sun started to rise, they meandered a tangled forest of pines, then passed through the bare oaks and elms free of leaves in the winter. He knew these woods by heart, could traverse them blindfolded whether it was spring or the dead of winter. He lifted his hand to block a branch, and the movement caused Kenna to stir.
She sat up, her cheeks slightly red from the warmth of being buried beneath a plaid and against his chest.
“Good morning,” he said. “We’re nearly there.”
“Oh.” She scrubbed her eyes with her fingers that no longer trembled, nor were they blue with cold. “Ye were supposed to wake me.”
“Ye looked so comfortable, and we did no’ run into trouble, so it seemed only fair.”
“Aye, but it couldna have been comfortable for ye.” She shifted, sitting up higher, the wind rustling her hair enough that it tickled his neck.
Sorley cleared his throat. “Trust me, lass. ’Twas verra comfortable.” Too comfortable.
A sharp whistle rent the air, and Sorley stilled the horses.
“What was that?” Kenna jerked her head about, looking for the source.
“The scouts. They keep an eye on the forest to alert the camp of anyone’s approach.” Sorley scanned the trees for signs of the rebels.
“Do they know ye?”
Sorley spotted a man hidden well above them, , his bow trained on them. “Most do, but even still, I’ll have to give the signal.”
“What is it?”
“Ye can help me. I will call out, ‘God save the king,’ and ye will say, ‘And his bonnie prince.’”
“What if the scouts are no’ the rebels ye think they are?”
“There is no one else that would dare enter these woods. Even the dragoons know to step foot in here is tempting a slit throat or an arrow through the heart. This is rebel country, lass.”
Kenna gave a tentative nod. “After ye, then.”
“God save the king,” he called out loud enough for anyone spying on them to hear.
“And his bonnie prince,” Kenna said in a sing-song voice.
“Rather pretty of ye.” He winked at her.
She grinned up at him. “Seemed a good way to show them we are friendly. I do no’ know many that have no appreciation for song.”
Sorley chuckled as they edged forward, taking note that the rebel in the tree had lowered his bow.
“Let me back on my horse. I dinna want to show up at the camp looking like an invalid or a weak woman.”
“No one who had any words with ye would think ye are.”
“All the same.” She wiggled against him, and Sorley groaned as her arse rubbed enticingly against his groin.
“All right, all right. Sit still before I die.” His hands clamped down on the swell of her hips to halt her movement.
“Die?” She wrinkled her nose up at him.
“Aye, lass, ye’re killing me with your arse.”
She looked perplexed, and he had half a mind to show her exactly what she was doing to him, but that would probably be a bad idea. Instead, he lifted her, extra plaid and all, and placed her on her mount.
The loss of her heat and her delicious arse was felt immediately, and he regretted not being a stronger man capable of withstanding the torture of her wiggling bottom.
They rode a mile or so into the forest, the scents of smoke and roasting meat rising to greet them. This particular wood was teeming with deer, providing the rebels with plenty of food.
“Smells delicious,” Kenna said. “Do ye think they’ll let us have some?”
“Aye. For the right price.”
“And what price is that?”
“Coin or trade.”
“What will ye pay?”
“I’ve coin. Though ye may get a few offers to trade.” He winked at her.
“Trade what?” She cocked her head, curious and confused.
“Let me just say there will be more than one willing rebel that wishes to trade pleasure.”
“Oh…” Her mouth formed a little O, and her cheeks reddened in a way that made him want to haul her back onto his lap and claim her mouth.
A group of men and women appeared as if from the morning mist to greet them.
“G’morning to ye.” Sorley recognized the man as Dirk, cousin to Mistress J. “I was just on my way out but glad to see ye once more.”
Sorley dismounted and greeted the other man with a hearty arm shake. “Good to see ye again. This is Kenna Forbes.”
Dirk raised a brow. “Forbes?”
“Aye, niece of Laird MacLeod.”
Dirk crossed his arms over his chest, feet planted on the ground. Though he wasn’t holding out his fists, he was certainly letting on that he was ready to fight if it came to that. “What relation to Duncan Forbes?”
“Niece,” Kenna answered for herself, having jumped down from the horse to join them, not liking that they were talking about her as if she couldn’t hear. Or that the other man seemed immediately on alert. “But I can promise ye I am a Jacobite loyal, just as my parents were.”
“Good to know. My condolences.”
He knew her parents...or at least knew of them.
She had a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but the man made a slight bow and then said, “I’ve go’ to be going, or Mistress J will have my head.”
“Travel well, friend,” Sorley said. He turned to her with a grin and a wink and grabbed her hand. “Shall we eat?”
“I’m starved.”
They went to the fire then. They were offered seats on logs, and a woman handed them each a slice of slightly stale bread topped with roasted v
enison. “We canna offer more, but hopefully this’ll do.”
“’Tis more than we could have dreamed of,” Kenna said, sinking her teeth into the hearty meal and closing her eyes as she chewed. They’d only eaten the jerky and bannocks the day before, and she found her stomach turning in on itself.
“Ale?” A man passed them a jug, and they both drank heartily, Kenna gasping as a not-so-feminine burp escaped her.
Sorley laughed, a twinkle in his eye. “Got to say, Kenna, ye’re my kind of lass.”
“That was an accident.” She frowned.
That made him snort. “Do it again. It shows how much ye trust me.”
“Or that I dinna care at all what ye think.” She sniffed, thrusting her nose up in the air.
“Oh, ye care, lass, that much is evident.”
Heat rose to her face, and she ducked her gaze away from his, tucking into the bread and meat to keep herself busy.
They ate and drank and enjoyed some of the music played by the rebels who were awaiting orders or there for a rest as well. Everyone seemed to feel safe this deep into the woods.
“Why do the dragoons no’ bring an army in here?” she asked. “Sure, ’tis unsafe for a small horde of them, but what if they joined forces?”
“The redcoats seem only to have a talent for battle when the lot of them are lined up with the enemy in sight. To be honest, Highlanders scare the devil out of them because we’re no’ opposed to tactics that involve ambushing. Or hiding in trees.”
She nodded. “That makes sense.”
“Whisky?”
Kenna glanced down at her hands, encased in wool gloves. Being near the fire was nice with food in her belly, but the whisky from the day before had cut a bit of edge off her chill, and she was not going to get any warmer unless she climbed back onto Sorley’s lap. That wasn’t a sad prospect. She would have very much enjoyed curling up on him again, but considering how much she liked it, doing so was probably a bad idea.
After all, wasn’t one not supposed to enjoy such things? Restraint was next to saintliness, wasn’t it?