Page 32 of Kilted Abduction
“That’s fer us tae worry about.”
“Magnus—”
“It’s late and we need some rest,” he cut her off. “We’ve got a long road ahead of us once this storm breaks.”
Ciara opened her mouth to speak but the words would not come. There didn’t seem to be any swaying the man. Not yet anyway. She had planted the seed and now, and she just needed to give it a little time to grow. Ciara drained the last of her whisky, grimacing at the burn, then set her cup aside. A peal of thunder shook the lodge and a cold blast of wind chilled Ciara to the bone. Magnus finished his cup of whisky then set his cup down and stood up.
He threw more wood into the hearth then laid down on the ground and pulled her down beside him and pulled the furs over them. Her entire body stiffened, and her heart raced. She was appalled by the familiarity but had to admit, if only to herself, that like the whisky, the sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She swallowed hard.
“What dae ye think ye’re doin’?” she asked.
“We need tae help keep each other warm,” he replied. “Get some sleep.”
Though they were lying next to each other and their bodies weren’t intertwined, it still felt wrong to be so close to a man she not only didn’t know, but a man who had abducted her. She had to admit though, being so close to him under the furs did generate more warmth than when she’d been under them by herself. Magnus rolled over, putting his broad back against hers.
Ciara closed her eyes and shifted around, trying to get herself into a comfortable position. It wasn’t easy given that her hands and feet were still bound. She knew though, that wasn’t the only thing that would be keeping her from sleeping.
It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The day dawned clear but cold. The storm had blown itself out during the night. Magnus’ eyes fluttered open and he slowly came to consciousness after a long and fitful night of sleep to find his body entangled with Ciara’s. He had no recollection of anything that had happened but somehow, although both were still fully clothed, they embraced the way lovers might. He had just a moment to reflect on the fact that her body was warm and soft, and he didn’t hate the feeling of her in his arms when her eyes opened wide, alarm painting her features.
“What in the bloody hell are ye doin’?” she shrieked.
Before Magnus could answer though, Ciara thrust her leg upward, her knee connecting with his groin. He felt his eyes widen as his body exploded with pain. He shambled to his feet and staggered across the room, his eyes on his injured parts, fighting off the waves of nausea that followed the initial shock of pain.
“Think ye can ply me with whisky then take advantage of me like some common barmaid, dae ye?” Ciara shouted.
One hand still on his groin, he raised the other and shook his head. “’Tis nae what happened.”
His voice was a hoarse croak, and he had to swallow down the vomit that rose in his throat as she advanced on him. Ciara’s face was twisted with outrage and indignation, her eyes narrowed to slits and her lips curled back over her teeth.
“You’re a scoundrel. A foul beast. A?—”
“I didnae touch ye,” he gasped.
“Ye certainly looked comfortable enough with yer foul hands on me!”
“I woke up like that,” he protested. “Same as ye!”
Ciara reached back to deliver a stinging hit to his face, but Magnus caught her hands before they connected and still holding onto her, swept her feet out from beneath her. She landed on her back with a grunt and he straddled her, pinning her to the hard packed earthen floor beneath her. Ciara struggled to break his grasp and snarled.
“Let me up!” she shrieked.
“Nae until ye calm down.”
“Calm down?” she snapped incredulously. “Ye take advantage of me and ye expect me tae calm down? Ye’re worse than a beast. Ye’re a?—”
“I dinnae touch ye! I swear tae ye, I dinnae touch ye!”
Ciara continued to struggle, her face still twisted with rage. He had to admit, it had been shocking to wake up wound around her body that way, but he was certain nothing untoward had happened. He’d had just a cup of whisky.
“Get off me,” Ciara grunted as she squirmed.
Still grimacing in a fair bit of pain, Magnus got to his feet and stepped back, helping Ciara to stand as well. He held his hands up, palms facing her.
“I dinnae touch ye, Ciara. I give ye me word on that. Ye’ve still got yer bleedin’ breeches on, fer God’s sake. Dinnae ye think if I’d taken advantage of ye that I’d have put yer breeches back on ye? Or that ye wouldnae have woken up while I was doin’ it? We didnae drink that much last night. Whatever ye think happened last night didnae happen,” he said.
