“True,” Jaime agreed. “And I’ve seen no remorse from the lass.”
Ellenor’s eyes widened and quickly looked away. All afternoon she had been returning Donald’s evil glares, believing her violent reaction had been justified. He had grabbed her from behind and she had wanted him to let go and never think about touching her again.
“The damn mùrla is no more capable of remorse than she is of shame. No woman should allow herself to smell the way she does.”
Jaime took a last bite, licked his lips, and threw the bone in the fire. “Come on now. I’ve smelt worse. Hell, you’ve smelled of worse.”
“I’m not a woman.”
“And you’re not sick in the mind, either.”
Donald stood up and pointed in her direction. “If that woman is mad, I’m a married monk.”
Jaime glanced in her direction and caught Ellenor staring at them. “Aye, I wondered myself. She avoids our company, but not the commander’s. Doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s because she’s the last person in the world he wants with him and she knows it. Wench actually takes comfort in the knowledge.”
“Wonder why,” Jaime murmured, ignoring his friend stalk around the campsite to where he’d placed his things earlier.
“Don’t know and don’t care,” Donald mumbled as he grabbed his rolled plaid. “I just want to get back to my woman, a woman of quality, who happens to know how to take care of herself.”
Jaime adjusted his own saddle and leaned back, chuckling. “Better prepare yourself, friend. Your Brighid seems to get along with the English. They just might become fast friends.”
As Donald sharply denounced any possibility of Jaime’s prediction coming true, Ellenor slipped off the large log and headed toward the thickest part of the brush surrounding the campsite. Relief went through her when she made it to the other side without any sounds of her breaking brittle branches, notifying them of her exit. She doubted they would have stopped her, but she didn’t want to take any chances. Not even to get the bag, which held her few remaining possessions.
As she moved deeper inside the dark brush, very little light from the partially veiled moon was getting through the thick branches. Ellenor waited for her eyes to adjust and then began to look for something that could free her from the leather straps binding her wrists. Spying a fallen tree with a broken narrow branch protruding from it, Ellenor straddled the log and pulled both wrists as far apart as she could. Then she carefully began to saw the exposed leather back and forth against the sharp edge of the break. What felt like an eternity later, the leather snapped, and for the first time in months, she felt truly and completely free.
There was no Ainsley, no threat of marriage, no pretense of madness…nothing. And based on what that Highlander had said to his men, she was also free from him.
Cole watched in fascination as the woman trudged on through the ever-darkening woodland. She had been fighting her way through some difficult foliage for over an hour and had fallen several times. Still, she had forged ahead. He had no idea where she was going based on the wild path she was taking, but the woman was heading toward the deepest part of the forest. The region was full of prey, but with all the noise she was making, he had seen more than one animal scamper away in fear.
It was a calculated risk to let her try and run, just as it had been a tactical decision where to camp. Normally, he would have ventured closer to the River Teviot for the night and let her bathe, but then he would have been forced to keep her bound another day. Access to the shoreline would have only fueled the dogged determination to get away he had seen in her eyes. This forest was difficult to navigate in daylight. At night, it was near impossible, and Cole needed her to succumb to the idea that she was safer with him than on her own.
The constant cracking sound of twigs and branches suddenly ceased. Apprehension flooded him. The noise the woman had been making could have led the dead to her location, and consequently, he had felt comfortable keeping his distance to prevent her from accidentally seeing him.
Cole started moving quickly to the last place he heard her, praying he had been the only one stalking her movements. His fears dissipated as he soon as he saw her huddled form. She was sitting on the forest floor with her arms locked around her knees rocking back and forth…crying.
He stepped into the small area and the crack of twigs breaking immediately caught her attention. Instinct caused her to grab the closest thing to her and leap to her feet.
Waving the half-rotted stick around, Ellenor demanded, “Who goes there? Tell me now or I will scream. I have three enormous Highlanders traveling with me, so I suggest you think your plans over again before you take another step.”
Cole grabbed the waving stick and, with a single twist, plucked it from her grasp. “So it is now we three who are traveling with you, is it?”
He had been prepared for a spicy retort or to chase her if she chose to run away, but he had not expected the woman to throw herself—weeping hysterically—into his arms.
“Cole, thank God, it’s you.”
An unexpected shudder went through him. His name echoed in the black stillness as she mumbled it again and again. The sound of it seemed to ease her fears. He tried to remain indifferent, telling himself that she didn’t know what she was doing or saying, but found it impossible as her slim body melded to his.
“Aye, lass, it’s me,” he whispered, threading his fingers through her thick, tangled mane. Had he really forgotten how wonderful a woman’s body could feel, or was Ellenor’s embrace so very different from every other he had known?
“I…was so scared. I was lost and…” Ellenor’s voice caught in her throat as she became aware of their tight embrace. She was clinging to him and he was comforting her. His hands were in her hair and his huge frame practically engulfed her own, holding her gently to him.
And the last thing she wanted was to pull away.
“You were running away,” Cole finished for her.
“No,” Ellenor mumbled into his tunic, followed by a sniffle. “I was at first, but I haven’t been for some time. I was trying to get back to you.”
Cole could not recall a single time a woman had ever come to him, let alone embraced him, for comfort. He had been told he was cold, menacing. Yet, this woman—someone who feared men—was crushing herself to him, burying her head into his shoulder.
The fiery, hot-blooded creature from this afternoon had a vulnerable side Cole was sure she let very few see. He had no idea why Ellenor trusted him, but for some reason she did. The resulting abrupt need to protect her was so strong, so unexpected, his mind floundered and his body took over.
His arms stole around her and gently held her to him, rocking her, soothing her. In return, her soft feminine curves arched into him, seeking his touch. The rapid rise and fall of her chest pressed her breasts against him, and he could feel the pulse in her neck pounding against his skin.
And then the warmth of her body was gone.
Ellenor pulled away, startled by her reaction…and his. The man hated her, didn’t he? She hated him, didn’t she? Unconsciously she smoothed back her unruly tawny curls as if her hair were brushed and styled and frantically sought for something to say. “I…could use some water.”
Cole told himself the feeling that had swept over him when she broke off their embrace was relief. Comforting women was not something he had practice with, and if asked, he would say proudly he hoped never to be as well versed in the activity as his two older brothers. And yet…it was she, not he, who ended their contact and that needled him. He was tempted to pull her back into his arms just so he could prove to her and himself he was just as impervious to their touch.
Instead, Cole reached out and took her hand in his. “Come with me. There’s a small stream by the campsite.” She didn’t resist and he pretended not to notice how delicate her wrist was.
A half hour later, Ellenor cursed as she stared into the moonlit water trickling through her fingers. The s
tream was barely deep enough for her to cup her hands. Just as she had been warned, bathing was out of the question. This pitiful brook was probably the very reason the infuriating man had chosen where to camp. Thick woods and a stream that was no more than ankle deep. He wanted her dependent upon him and too afraid to run away.
And damn, if she wasn’t just that.
She had actually jumped into his arms, whispering words of gratitude, uncaring that he was a man, that she was demonstrably afraid, that she wanted…no, needed to be comforted. She had allowed herself to become the worst thing ever to be…vulnerable. Well, never again, Scot, Ellenor vowed. Never will I need you or anyone else ever again.
“Did you say something?” Cole called out.
Ellenor’s head snapped up, realizing he might have heard her. “Yes, I did,” she barked and pulled off her slippers. “I said damn. Damn this so-called stream, damn these impenetrable woods, and damn you, Scot, for ruining any chances I had at a life.”
The chuckle rising in Cole’s throat was suddenly stifled as he quickly moved to dodge two slippers being hurled surprisingly close to his head. “You have a strange way of thanking someone.”
She didn’t answer him directly back, but the words “colossal-sized lout” and “cave dweller” were hanging in the air.
In less than a day, she had given him more nicknames than had been bestowed upon him in a lifetime. She used his proper name when frightened, called him a hulking giant or lout when exasperated, Highlander when she was being sarcastic, and Scot when her frustration was morphing into anger. And if he wasn’t mistaken, he was fairly certain she had called him an ass at least twice while setting up camp, each time after she realized he had tricked her.
Any one of these less than flattering labels should have given him reason to take offense and possibly retaliate on some level. Nevertheless, Cole felt no compunction to do either. Just the opposite. Her outbursts made him feel something that he had no longer thought possible. Simple happiness. Not pleasure from accomplishment. Not satisfaction as a result from some deed. Just a strange kind of contentment.
Ellenor picked up a nearby rock and threw it at him. A second later, she heard it bounce off a tree. She had missed. “Thanking you? Why, you…you…big, hulking, inconsiderate…giant. For months, I have gone without regular baths and behaved irrationally to the point I offend even myself, forgoing all that I enjoy. And for what? To be picked up and dragged away by a towering Scot and his two faithful companions days away from escape.” Ellenor picked up another rock. This time she threw it into the stream, watching the water splash and settle back down as the pebble sank the short way to the bottom.
She reached down for a third pebble and glanced behind her shoulder to see if he was watching her. The moonlight revealed that he was. More than that, he was grinning. This time it was a full-fledged grin. This afternoon she hadn’t thought his cheeks were capable of a real smile. And now, Ellenor wished fervently they weren’t.
The man had dimples. Deep ones.
If she had been told about them, rather than having witnessed them, she would have thought the idea ridiculous. Warriors as large he was, who had the ability to make a man quake with a single look, didn’t have dimples. And this Highlander was definitely a warrior. His strong and rigid face was not made to be soft and welcoming, but that was exactly what it became when he smiled. Warm and unguarded, and disturbingly disarming.
His broad and firm mouth suddenly became generous and his compelling blue eyes sparkled with life in the moonlight. Tousled dark brown hair, overly long and slightly curly, recaptured into a ponytail only added to the transformation. The man oozed masculine charm, but at the same time, maintained whatever it was that spoke of his subtle, but substantial power.
In total, Cole McTiernay was exactly what Ellenor had dreamed all her life a man should be. He was tall, strong, and surprisingly gentle. And when smiling…almost too handsome.
She was in the presence of one of the most masculine, physically intimidating men she was ever likely to meet. Incredibly, he was also the most honorable. With him, she was safe. And with this man, that knowledge was dangerous.
Since the moment her eyes had met his and felt a jolt of connection, a sense of awareness she could not put into words, had come over her. With every word, every touch, it had only grown.
The night her father died, she lost a piece of herself. Since then, Ellenor had not thought it possible to feel connected to anyone or anything again. But here she was, bending over a small brook, stealing glimpses at a Highlander who supposedly hated her, feeling not dead inside, but very much alive.
Drying her hands off on her bliaut, Ellenor rose and was about to return to his side when her right foot slipped off the smooth rock upon which she was standing. Instinctively, she tried to correct her stance and regain her balance but the uneven ground seemed to reach up and grab her other foot, dragging her down.
With a gurgled exclamation, she fell in the brook with her hands and rear taking most of the painful landing. Cold water lapped around and over her legs sending shivers down her spine. Her cheeks were already flaming from embarrassment when she heard it.
Laughter.
Not small giggles that could easily be stifled, but the kind of laughter that incapacitated one, nearly choking them because of a lack of breath. Cole McTiernay’s head was completely thrown back and he was roaring with laughter. At her.
Ellenor suddenly felt a desire to end his smug expression with one of her own. Smile, Cole McTiernay. Laugh. But you are about to learn a lesson you will never forget. Never challenge an Englishwoman. Especially this one.
Waiting until his eyes locked with hers, Ellenor favored him with a blindingly bright smile and stood up. Ignoring the steady drips from her drenched state, she reached down, flicked the emerald folds of her bliaut aside, and grabbed the bottom of her chemise. The sopping, tattered material easily tore as she ripped a sizable chunk from the hem.
The laughter stopped.
“Just what the hell do you think you are doing?” Cole demanded.
Ellenor blinked and pasted on what she hoped to be an innocent expression. “I believe I am about to take a bath, Highlander. Was it not you who said I could take one this evening?”
“You can’t bathe there. It’s barely ankle deep!”
Ellenor looked down. “Yes, that does make it more difficult.” She paused and took an exaggerated breath. “And I agree this is far from ideal, but I refuse to sleep with grime all over my skin for another evening. So just stand over there and face the other way. I will try to be quick.”
Cole opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. She was already beginning to work the knots of her bliaut loose and any moment would be standing only in her shift.
Ellenor eased the last loop free from its bonds, shimmied out of the bliaut, and threw it on the bank. With the torn piece of linen still clutched in her hand, she leaned down, dipped it into the cool water, and began to rub her face and neck, washing away the filth and grime. It was as if every smudge represented her life these past few months and she not only had the chance to start anew…she wanted to.
Cole stood with open mouth, frozen, unable to stop himself from staring. With a large chunk of her chemise missing, her shapely legs were now exposed and the moonlight ensured he saw every inch of them. Cole swallowed, feeling more unsure of himself than he ever could remember. She had a slim, wild beauty about her that pulled at him in a way he could not explain.
“You’re staring, McTiernay. That tells me either you have never been acquainted with a woman or that I have just managed to put you into a state of shock. Either answer works for me,” she said with a shrug. Unconcealed amusement laced every word.
Realizing she was right, Cole pivoted and marched over to a fallen log, mumbling curses—all aimed at himself. The damn woman’s soul was not a persevering one—it was unrelenting. She survived on pure stubbornness, enforcing her agenda however and whenever she could. B
efore it was by not bathing, and tonight it was by bathing.
Thump. Splash. Thud. Thud. Splash. Cole resisted the urge to turn around. “Just what are you doing? How long does it take an Englishwoman to simply wipe herself off?”
“Maybe if a certain Highlander had not made it so very clear how bad I smelled, not very long. But as I am going to wash my hair…or at least rinse it, I shall be a bit longer.”
Without thinking, Cole spun around. “How the hell are you…?” His voice caught in his throat as he answered his own question. Thud. Splash. Thud. Two more rocks added to the formation of a crescent-shaped wall cupping the current of the stream. It resulted in about a foot or more of water.
Ellenor pointed at her accomplishment and smiled. “Well, what do you think? Pretty smart, even for an Englishwoman.”
Cole just nodded and turned back around. Seeing the genuine pleasure in her face made his stomach do flips. It had reached her eyes, her voice, her whole body radiated with delight over such a simple thing. He guessed it had been a long time since she had felt true accomplishment, almost as long since he had felt the urge to laugh.
Something white flashed in his peripheral vision, landing on the thicket beside him. It was her chemise. He didn’t know why, but he had assumed she would bathe in the thing. “Are you crazy?”
“You know I am not,” Ellenor replied and lay down in the cool water, letting the current play with her hair. She had no soap, but this was still next to heaven. It had been almost two weeks since she had last washed herself and the experience had been hell, itching constantly, dreaming of warm water laced with rose petals.
“What kind of woman strips down to her skin when a man is just a few feet away?”
Ellenor stared up at the star-filled sky. She had not considered if she should undress or not. It had been instinct. For years, she had slipped out of the house and gone skinny-dipping in the small pond near her home. No one had ever known. Consequently, she had never wondered what a temptation it would be to a man.
Desiring The Highlander Page 6