A Runaway Bride for the Highlander

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A Runaway Bride for the Highlander Page 9

by Elisabeth Hobbes


  ‘Take your hands off me!’ Her voice was a horrified gasp.

  ‘Hush, lass,’ Ewan whispered. ‘I’m not going to harm you. I’m trying to stop you freezing to death.’

  She turned her face to his. For a moment her breath was teasingly warm on his cheek and the scent of rose oil in her hair sent him dizzy. The curves of her breasts and thighs were so tantalisingly obvious even through the layers of plaid.

  Kiss her!

  Don’t kiss her!

  Sense and lust fought for dominance. Ewan swallowed.

  ‘You’ll stay warmer this way,’ he muttered. ‘And you’re less likely to keep me awake wriggling. Or you could go sleep on the other side of the fire.’

  She did not protest, but her body remained stiff and she twisted her head away from him. She was still lying rigid when Ewan fell asleep, his mind whirling with what on earth he was going to do with the troublesome woman in the morning and what he was resisting the urge to do now she lay so close.

  It was just as well he was a man of his word.

  * * *

  Marguerite woke feeling warmer and more rested than she had gone to sleep with any expectation of. The dappled sunlight on her face had woken her and with that sensation came a lingering feeling of disorientation. The air smelled sweet and earthy, with an undertone of musk that she identified as belonging to the cloth she was wound in.

  ‘I’m on the floor of the forest,’ she murmured. Saying it out loud helped to make it feel more real. At least it was not raining and after two days of being soaked to the skin it was an improvement on her circumstances beyond expectation.

  I’m lying in the arms of a man I barely know.

  She was in no danger of forgetting that! She had stayed awake long into the night, trying to keep her body rigid in Ewan Lochmore’s embrace. She had been determined to stay awake longer than him and had not been aware of exactly when she passed from exhausted drowsing to true sleep, but it had been only after the arms around her began to slacken that she dared close her eyes and lower her guard enough to fall asleep herself.

  She tried to move away from him, but the cloth she was wrapped in was pinned beneath him and she was unable to pull free. She had no choice but to wait for him to wake up and free her. In truth, she did not object now he was asleep. It was barely light and she was still very tired. True, her feet and nose were icy and painful with cold, but the rest of her was warm and comfortable inside the cocoon the Earl had made for them from his cloak and the sheepskin, and the length of cloth he had called his brat.

  She lay with her eyes closed, trying to keep perfectly still so that she would not wake the slumbering man in whose arms she lay pinioned. The Earl had been so irate the evening before and Marguerite was uncertain how he would respond. Her sister Françoise’s husband hated to be roused from sleep. His wife received most of his ire, as wives so often did, but the entire house suffered his wrath if he was woken before he was ready. If all men were like Pierre as Marguerite feared, she could expect Lord Glenarris’s tolerance to be stretched even further.

  With her eyes still closed she concentrated on each part of her body in turn and received a shock. She had gone to bed lying straight, but in sleep she had drawn her knees up, presumably as her body tried to keep as much warmth as possible, and slept half-curled up. Her legs were pinned between Lord Glenarris’s and his body was pressed against hers with his arm wrapped tightly around her. Her skin prickled from head to icy toes at the realisation that she was lying with him as if they were husband and wife. She was wound tightly in the thick brat with no part of her flesh meeting any part of his, but it was impossible to ignore the way his body had moulded to fit the shape of hers in the night. She tried to reassure herself that there was nothing improper in the way they had slept together and straightened her body until the insipid sunlight fell on her face and Lord Glenarris began to stir.

  He unwound his arms from her waist and rolled on to his back, taking the cloak and warmth with him. She shivered and squealed in protest. With a groan he opened his eyes and looked at her in confusion. It was the first time she had been close enough to notice that his blue eyes were flecked with hints of cornflower. They reminded her of the sky in spring when the sun rose over the distant mountains.

  ‘Of course. You.’

  It was not the most civil reception she could imagine and she had to remind herself that it was her doing. He rubbed his eyes and sat up.

  ‘Have you been awake long?’

  ‘A little while.’

  ‘And you didn’t wake me?’

  ‘I did not want to disturb you and cause you further irritation,’ she admitted.

  ‘More than you already have by being here at all?’ His words confirmed her fears, but his eyes smiled. ‘Did you sleep well?’

  Marguerite ached more than she had first realised, but had no intention of telling him that.

  ‘Much better than the night before. It was nice to stretch out rather than curl up.’ She raised her arms high and rolled her head from side to side, but stopped when she noticed how his eyes followed the movement keenly. He had said she was safe with him and he had been true to his word, but she knew he was attracted to her. His restraint would only last so long. Remembering how their bodies had become entwined, she lowered her arms slowly and crossed them.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll get some food when we get to the inn at Druinunn. The quicker you dress, the sooner you’ll eat.’

  Marguerite pulled her petticoat from the bush and slipped it over her head. Her precious bag of clothing and the jewel casket were where she had left them beside her. She considered changing her linens, but that would mean unwrapping them and possibly revealing what she had with her. She was startled to see her companion watching her with an intent look on her face. Perhaps she was not as safe as she had thought. She pulled the bodice into position and laced the neck, aware of his eyes on her as her fingers worked the ribbons.

  ‘You don’t like me.’

  He grimaced. ‘It isn’t a matter of like or no’. I find you an...’ He stopped. ‘An inconvenience I could do without. You’ll bring me trouble.’

  ‘I will do my best not to.’ The sooner they parted company, the happier they would both be.

  Her dress and cloak were still damp, but much more bearable than they had been. Lord Glenarris gave her no more attention while she dressed, which gave her the opportunity to secrete her money away without him noticing. She would need every penny she had now she had further to go. The dire circumstances she was in crashed down upon her. She was further from France than when she had started out. She gave an involuntary sob that caused her companion to jerk around to face her.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she said.

  He looked doubtful, but began to dress. His shirt was long and loose, reaching almost to his knees, and the slashed neck was open deep enough to show his collarbone and the hollow at the base of his neck. He shrugged a padded jerkin over the top and laced it loosely. He then lay on top of his brat and gathered it around his waist, stood and draped the ends over his body, gathering and belting it, bunching and folding with a deft hand. Marguerite watched, fascinated by how the cumbersome fabric obeyed his hands. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to the elbows. He had good arms, lean but toned and with a light feathering of fine hair on his forearms that made her fingers twitch at the thought of stroking them.

  He stopped midway through tying a curious-looking dagger to his front with a leather belt and glared at her. ‘Is there something wrong with what ye see?’ he asked brusquely.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Marguerite breathed. That sounded unbecoming and far too honest. ‘Your clothes are different now. You look...’

  She ran her eyes over him. A light beard had grown in the two days since he had left Stirling and his hair was uncombed. Seeing him now she would have sworn he was not the
same man. She stopped, unable to express the words in his language and unwilling to speak them in her own.

  ‘Aye, well, ye ken we’re wild men up here. The pomp and glamour of a royal court is of no use to us in the Highlands.’

  He sauntered over to her and leaned against the trunk of a tree so that he towered over her, one arm raised. She had to crane her head to look at him properly. He was tall and she had assumed when she first saw him that he would be sinewy beneath the doublet and high-collared shirt, but the body that had pressed against her in the night had been lean but muscular.

  ‘You’re not in Stirling any more, my lady.’

  His eyes glinted with danger, but, far from terrifying her, a thrill rushed through her that she was unprepared for. His words opened a door and let in the reality of her situation that she had refused to think about the night before. She was further from home than when she had started out. If she thought too hard about the task facing her she would crumble and cry, and that was the last thing she intended to do in front of Ewan Lochmore.

  ‘How fortunate I won’t be here much longer.’

  She placed her hand on the same tree trunk, close to his. He shifted slightly and his hand dropped downwards a little. If she reached her fingertips up Marguerite would be able to touch his thumb. What would he do then, this surly creature that sense told her she should run from, while every instinct told her to do the opposite?

  ‘And how exactly do you intend to solve this problem, given that you’re not where you thought you were?’

  Last night he had laughed when he told her how badly she had gone wrong. There was no hint of laughter now as she searched his expression. There was little concern for her plight either. He might have been enquiring how she would fix a broken basket.

  ‘Take me to the town you sent your men to. I shall find servants—a maid and a groom will suffice—and make my way back and I won’t have to hide between boxes and sacking while I do it.’

  ‘You’ll return to Duncan?’

  ‘No. To France.’

  ‘You’ll never get that far safely. How do you know you’ll hire someone trustworthy?’

  ‘I got this far,’ she snapped.

  He craned his head, looking at their surroundings with exaggerated slowness. Dappled sunlight glimmered through the dense leaves and played across his face and hair, mingling the brown with gold.

  ‘Yes, you’re doing very well at getting to France.’

  ‘I do not want your opinion,’ Marguerite said. ‘This is not your business.’

  He pushed himself away from the tree and folded his arms, fixing her with a look of pure annoyance. ‘It became my business when you stowed yourself away my cart, my lady.’

  His point was a fair one and he had been remarkably calm about what she had done. He could have shouted or beaten her, or left her to freeze in her wet clothing, but he had done none of those things. He walked away, but twisted round with an odd expression on his face.

  ‘How did you know how to set a fire?’

  It was not what she had been expecting. ‘My brother taught me when we were children. We used to make dens in the woods and stay in them until the stars came out. You see, I am used to being outdoors.’

  She smiled faintly at the happy memory. Lord Glenarris’s eyes crinkled at the corners and he grinned.

  ‘I used to do similar with mine.’

  He had a nice smile. It lit his usually serious face and lent him an appeal that was often absent. The solution to Marguerite’s problem suddenly became as clear as mist lifting over the glen.

  ‘Lord Glenarris?’ She took a hesitant step towards him. If she had imagined a saviour it was not this crude Highlander whose unconscious touch stirred her so alarmingly, but her choices were severely limited.

  ‘You told me I should make friends. I think I can trust you.’

  ‘Why do you think you can trust me?’

  If she thought about it too hard she didn’t know. He’d been rude and surly and didn’t bother to hide the fact she irritated him. It was a feeling in her belly rather than her head. She looked him in the face. ‘Because you gave me that advice. And because you didn’t attack me last night.’

  His brow knotted. ‘You have very low standards if that is all it takes to earn your trust.’

  ‘Low, or realistic?’ she asked. ‘My point is that I was going to hire a man and maid, but I think I would prefer someone I can trust. Will you take me to where I need to go?’

  He looked incredulous.

  ‘To France?’

  ‘Not that far, just to somewhere I can board a ship. I’ll pay you.’

  ‘I don’t need your money and even if I did I’m not traipsing halfway across Scotland with you! I have responsibilities I must perform.’

  His expression became careworn. Marguerite, who had spent so many months offering solace to her mother, could not bear to see him looking so sad. Forgetting her own predicament, she reached out a hand and placed it on his upper arm.

  ‘I can see you are troubled. I am deeply sorry I have added to them.’

  He gave a start as she touched him, but recovered and placed his hand over hers. He gave it a brief squeeze.

  ‘You didna’ mean to, my lady. I do know that. If I took you all that way back—which I won’t—it would be to return you for your wedding. You have your duty, too, however unpleasant it might seem. We can’t run away from what we’re bound to do.’

  Tears smarted in Marguerite’s eyes. Instead of blinking them away, she let them well up in the vain hope that it might stir Lord Glenarris’s heart. They had some effect because his face softened. ‘Won’t you change your mind?’

  He raised a hand to her cheek, but drew back at the last moment.

  ‘I’m sorry, but, no. I’ll see you safely to Druinunn and help you find someone I trust. That’s all I can do.’

  It would have to suffice, though now she had thought of the Earl acting as escort and protector it would not be banished. She wanted no other companion on her journey home. She nodded reluctantly.

  ‘I’ll settle for that.’

  Chapter Nine

  Half the morning had gone before they reached the town. It was not actually raining and the hills were purple and green in the insipid sunlight. Druinunn was small. Hardly deserving of the description of town. The road wound lazily down into the glen, giving Marguerite an excellent view of the long, main road that ran through the centre and beyond. A scattering of buildings on the outskirts grew denser as they neared the centre of the town where four streets met at a market square. The only buildings of any size were a small church and the inn at the furthest end of the street, where Lord Glenarris should have spent the night.

  Marguerite was not optimistic about finding the servants she needed, but Lord Glenarris had said he would help her and she believed him to be a man of his word. He might even change his mind about taking her to Leith if she could not find someone who met his approval. He had remained silent since refusing Marguerite’s proposition and she had been happy to ride behind him lost in her thoughts.

  It was market day. The square was filled with stalls and carts. People and animals milled about the square.

  ‘Good news, we’ll break our fast well and find you a servant quickly,’ Lord Glenarris said. His tone was brighter than Marguerite had heard for some time. She wasn’t sure whether the thought of food or being rid of her caused him the greatest happiness and truly she didn’t care.

  Four horses stood out incongruously among the working animals. They waited outside the inn in the custody of a small boy with bare feet. The best was a young chestnut gelding with a white blaze and a pale mane that Marguerite knew by sight. The blood drained from her body until she felt hollow and faint.

  ‘What ails you now?’ Lord Glenarris asked impatiently. ‘Let go.’

  She looked down to
discover that her hands were gripping tightly on to his waist.

  ‘The horse. It belongs to Duncan.’

  To his credit, Lord Glenarris didn’t try persuade her she was wrong, or argue the fact.

  ‘How did he find you here?’

  ‘I don’t know. He boasts of having ears in England and France as well as Scotland, but I thought I had been so careful to slip away. Someone must have told him.’

  There was no sign of Duncan. He must be inside the inn. All was not lost. Marguerite freed her leg and attempted to struggle down from the horse, but Lord Glenarris seized her around the waist.

  ‘Be calm, you’ll get hurt if you hurl yourself off like that.’

  He held her close to him, preventing her escape.

  ‘Let go!’ Marguerite pleaded. ‘He mustn’t find me. Is this your doing?’

  ‘It is none of my doing. How could it be when I only discovered you last night? Now, stay still.’

  Caught at an awkward angle and sliding sideways, she had no choice but to wrap her arms around his neck. They were face to face, for all the world like a pair of lovers about to kiss. Marguerite raised her eyes to his and noticed how his eyelids flickered, pupils growing wide. His fingers spread wider at her waist, causing shivers to spread out along her sides and back. She held his gaze as he stared back at her, intending to appear brave, but could feel her legs quaking.

  ‘Please, I beg you not to reveal me to him.’

  He glanced towards the horse, then back to Marguerite and his expression grew hard. ‘Don’t fret. I won’t let him find you.’

  He lifted her back into the saddle with ease and walked his horse into an alley before lifting her down. He did not release her immediately, but bent in close, bringing his face close to hers. She licked her lips nervously and gave him a smile. He brought his hand to her cheek so that his fingers brushed the hair that fell across her ears and tilted his head to the side. Their lips were within kissing distance and she wondered if this was the price she would have to pay for his silence. She would do it if she had to. His lips curved in a smile that was dizzyingly sensuous. Marguerite found herself imagining what they would feel like. Hard and bruising as he crushed her mouth, or soft and tender, slowly drawing her lips between his? Whatever he did, she decided it would be more pleasant than when Duncan had forced himself upon her. She felt an unexpected pang of disappointment when he simply released her.

 

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