Page 83 of Highlanders for the Holidays
The thought of them being lovers sent a surge of lust through his veins and made him suddenly aware of every inch that their bodies touched. He would swear he could feel her heart beat against his.
When she nodded beneath his hand, he paused a moment too long before releasing her. Then he sat up and glanced around the camp. The others were still asleep,praise God. He drew in a deep breath.
“Quickly now,” he whispered, “go take care of your needs before the others are up and about.”
He pointed to the thick shrubs that grew along the burn and watched her disappear into them. If it would not cause the Douglases to suspect some sort of treachery on the part of his chieftain, Roderick would steal away with her while they still slept.
The other men soon began to stir, so he got up and rekindled the fire. What was taking the lass so damned long? After nearly dying yesterday, surely she would know better than to run off on her own. But could she have gotten lost? The burn was only a few yards away, but the lass obviously had an abysmal sense of direction.
The Douglases were all up and ready for breakfast when he finally saw Lily’s small figure appear through the bushes. The tension between his shoulders eased until he noticed the distinctly feminine way she walked, swaying her hips and minding where she put her feet to avoid the mud, rather than charging ahead like a lad. When she joined him by the fire, she looked up and gave him a bright smile.
Ach, she had scrubbed her face clean. No lad of thirteen would do that. Worse still, her face looked even lovelier without the dirt to hide it.
* * *
“For the love of God,” the Highlander hissed at her, “why did ye wash your face?”
What had she done wrong? To cover her confusion—and an unexpected stab of hurt—Lily spun away from him and sat on the plaid blanket that had served as her bed. Roderick could not truly be angry with her for washing, could he? No, that was ridiculous. He must still be upset about waking with his arms wrapped around her. Obviously, he blamed her, as men always blame women, though it was his fault entirely.
She would have pointed this out to him, if she were allowed to speak around the others.
As she watched the men line up for scoops of porridge from the pot on the fire, she wondered who Roderick had been dreaming about when he pulled her against him. Evidently he was accustomed to sleeping with someone. Poisonous tendrils of envy squeezed her heart.
She would never admit it to a living soul, but she had awakened long before he did this morning and lay still, barely breathing, so as not to wake him and end the embrace. Given the Highlander’s size and overbearing nature, she should have felt suffocated, trapped. Instead, she had felt truly safe for the first time in weeks.
What must it be like to wake in this warrior’s arms every day? To feel protected. Wanted. Even cherished.
Someone nudged her, startling her from her reverie. When she turned to find Roderick seated beside her and peering at her as if he could read her thoughts, her cheeks flamed hot. Her embarrassment gave way to hunger, however, as soon as she noticed he was holding out a steaming bowl of the porridge.
Her body had not yet recovered from going without food for so long, and the smell made her ravenous. Only after she had scraped the last spoonful from the bowl did she notice that Roderick was not eating. Traveling alone, he would carry only one bowl, and he had given it to her first. The kindness of the gesture made her immediately forgive him for snarling at her about washing her face, and she offered him a smile as she handed him his empty bowl and spoon.
Now why in heaven’s name was the man glaring at her again? She felt around the edge of her cap to make sure no long strands had escaped. Nothing was amiss. She glanced around the circle of men around the fire to find that a big brute with mean eyes was staring at her. From what she had overheard of the men’s conversation, his name was Harold, and he was the leader of the Douglas group.
“As soon as ye can slip away without being noticed,” Roderick said in a low voice without looking at her, “I want ye to hide until this is over.”
Until what is over?
“The lad has a pretty face,” Harold said. “A man with imagination could pretend he was a lass.”
“Let him be.” Roderick spoke in a lazy tone and leaned back on one elbow. “If you’ve that much imagination, go bother the sheep.”
Harold tossed his cup onto the ground and sprang to his feet.
Panic jangled through Lily’s limbs. The hulking Douglas warrior had murder in his eyes. She hoped Roderick would quickly apologize for insulting the man. Instead, he looked bored.
“By now,” Roderick said, “I suppose the poor sheep hide when they see your ugly face coming.”
“I don’t fook sheep!” Harold shouted, clenching his fists.
“Call it lovemaking, do ye?” Roderick said, and laughed.
Harold’s face turned a deeper shade of scarlet, and he charged Roderick like a bull. Before he planted his first step, the Highlander was on his feet wielding his huge two-handed sword. He blocked Harold’s first jarring blow with time to spare. Lily blinked, not quite believing anyone could move that quickly.
The other men gathered around, shouting encouragement to Harold. “Stick your blade in him!” “Knock him on his arse!”
Lily remembered Roderick’s warning to hide and scurried into the bushes. Her heart was in her throat as she watched the two men go back and forth across the grass, swords clanking. She had witnessed plenty of fistfights and stabbings, but she had never watched two skilled warriors do battle. It was utterly terrifying.
Harold was a giant of a man, with a barrel chest and grotesquely thick arms and legs. Fueled by rage, he swung his sword with a blunt force meant to pound his opponent into submission.
