Page 12 of The Highlander's Temporary Bride
Emma Wells.
Grant took a moment to gaze at the dark-haired lass sprawled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, her long lashes brushing against her cheeks. He’d suspected it was her name ever since he’d left the woods and began tracking her down, only to learn that others were also on the hunt.
After all, how many runaway brides could there be in England?
And now, this bastard of a bandit had confirmed it. His blood boiled to think of the man saying her name—or threatening her.
She was too lovely for her own good, even like this. He held her easily with one arm, his grip tightening when heard the shuffling of footsteps. Without even looking up, he threw his sword and heard the soft, pained grunt of the bandit—followed by the loud thud of the Shillmoor bandit’s corpse hitting the ground.
So much for killin’ us all, eh?
Though Grant wished that he had been more mindful of the big brute’s threats. That bastard had posed a bit of a challenge, after all—nearly kidnapping the lass and then trying to kill her.
A shudder ran down his spine.
Lifting the errant Englishwoman into his arms, he studied her, brushing the hair from her face. She was still the loveliest woman he’d ever seen—and the most foolish. How had she thought that he’d let her get away again?
Tucking her closer, he tried not to notice how well she fit into his arms, how thick and delicious her form was. He’d always scoffed at the men who rattled off their preferences in women as though they were horses.
But he had to admit now that from the moment he’d seen this curvySassenach, he felt a deep craving burning in his gut. One that he’d never experienced before. If he were to marry, he’d want a bride as full-figured as this strange runaway.
First, though, he had to take care of this nonsense. Eyeing the distant shore, he gently set the Englishwoman down and then went to retrieve his sword, before he lifted the corpse by the back of the shirt.
With ease, he crossed the sand and threw what was left of the Shillmoor man into the water. He sank immediately, and Grant knew that there were enough creatures lurking here that they’d make short work of him. As he walked back, he spotted a bed of seagrass. Thus, he stopped there to clean his sword, sheathed it, and then hurried back to the lass.
His heart skipped a beat, faint surprise that she was still unconscious. Was she ill? Or had she not been eating enough? Either way, he wanted Kyla to examine her as soon as they got back to Banrose.
Squinting at the horizon, Grant knew that if they left now, they could catch up to his ship within a day and then be home at Banrose in another. Staying here any longer meant asking for trouble.
Squatting down, he brushed her dark hair from her face and eyed her. When they’d met in those woods and she had managed to snare him there, she’d twined their fates.
Her blue eyes opened at that moment, and she started up at him, almost causing him to fall back on his behind. Her gaze darted around—searching for her assailant, no doubt—and then went back to him.
“You saved me.” Her ample chest rose and fell. “Again.”
Aye, seems I’ve picked up a bad habit of it, lass. Now, ye owe me doubly.
“Thank you,” Emma said. Her eyes clouded over, and she stared out at the sea, then looked back at him. “You’re not going to let me go, are you?”
Grant felt a stir of surprise and gazed at her for a moment, then he slowly shook his head and stood up, offering her a hand. Emma took it and pulled herself up, shaking out her skirt and hair. Shoulders squared, she gave him a sharp nod.
“Fine. You’ve won this round. But I willnotmarry a Scottish beast, Sir. Mark my words.” She bared her teeth at him. “I will find a way to escape.”
A flash of heat shot straight to Grant’s loins, and he felt the urge to pin her back down to the ground, watch her squirm, trail kisses across her collarbone and up her neck—to drive her so mad that she was forced to take back those words and beg him to never let her go?—
Stop. That way lies madness. The Queen will pick a good laird for her, nae the devil.
That was why the Queen had wanted Emma to marry Laird MacLarsen in the first place, for she knew that even the Beast was preferable to the Devil of Banrose.
Grant gestured ahead of them, and Emma sighed but started walking, her arms folded across her chest. He tried not to notice how that pushed up her ample bosom more or how her hips swayed, even under that ugly frock.
They walked in silence, a muscle occasionally jumping in Emma’s cheek, and Grant suppressed a chuckle.
But when the tavern came into view once, Emma stumbled and then, suddenly, fainted again.
CHAPTER 5
Grant caughther before she hit the ground and touched her forehead. No fever, but she felt clammy. Probably the shock of the day—or so he hoped.
