Page 56 of Bride of Mist
Her earnest eyes blazed into his with fierce silver fire. From the resolve in her words and the ferocity of her gaze, Dougal came to one instant revelation. Everything he’d heard about the magnificent warrior maids of Rivenloch was true.
For the first time in days, he sensed that truth might prevail.
That justice was possible.
That he was no longer alone in this fight.
He sensed something else in her eyes. Something that went beyond the camaraderie of their newfound alliance. A soft spark that emanated from the smoldering depths of her gaze. Igniting his affections. Forging a connection. Warming his heart.
Before he could fully explore what he perceived there, she released his hand, blushing and lowering her eyes to her lap.
He immediately missed the warmth of her fingers and her gaze. Which was absurd. He barely knew the lass. How could he have tender thoughts toward a warrior maid who had just tried to murder him?
Yet there was no denying he felt…something…for the beautiful Rivenloch lass who had just vowed to brandish her avenging sword on his behalf. And it was more than mere gratitude.
He still held onto her wrist, ostensibly to keep her from fleeing. But now he fought the desire to bring her forearm to his lips, to press a kiss on the delicate inner flesh where her pulse raced with fervor.
Feiyan didn’t know what was wrong with her.
Her heart was pounding against her ribs, and she couldn’t draw in a decent breath.
For one mad moment, she thought the Westlander meant to kiss her.
Of course, that was ridiculous. She’d just tried to assassinate him. And while he might feel grateful for her offer of aid, he still didn’t trust her. He certainly couldn’t feel affection for her.
Worse than imagining he wished to kiss her, however, was confessing that she mightwanthim to. Which was even more ludicrous.
Only moments ago, she’d had her blade at his throat. If he hadn’t been asleep and dreaming, she would have slain him. One small twist of fate, and she would be watching his blood spill all over the ground instead of averting her eyes from the heart-melting warmth of his gaze.
Where he held her wrist captive, her pulse throbbed under his fingers. Not with fear. But with a strange longing.
What had they been talking about? She couldn’t remember.
As the silence dragged on between them, her nerves stretched tighter and tighter, like the string of a drawn bow.
What would have happened after that, she didn’t know. In the next instant, the charged clouds burst forth in a heavy hail, taking her breath away as the forest suddenly clattered to life in the downpour.
Dougal immediately released her, and she exhaled a sigh of relief. But her wrist still tingled where his fingers had pressed into her flesh. And it would be a long while before her heart calmed.
Enfolding her in his cloak, he shielded her from the worst of the icy nuggets. They huddled with their heads together, watching the pellets fall through the firelight to bounce off the shivering branches and mossy rocks.
As if hurled by the warring Frost Giants of her Viking grandfather’s stories, the shards of ice began to strike with angry force. Rattling the bones of the pines. Gouging the floor of the forest. Pummeling mac Darragh’s woolen cloak. Spitting on the sizzling fire.
Eventually the hail won that battle, extinguishing the flames. They were left in the dark while the shattering destruction went on and on. Yet even in the blackest, bleakest moment, when the last spark died and the storm raged all around them, Feiyan found curious comfort in Dougal’s arms.
As he clung to her, sharing his warmth, keeping her safe, she forgot about ever wanting to kill him. Forgot about the melee. And Hallie. And vengeance.
She forgot everything but the way she felt next to him right now, as chaos crashed down all around them.Thatshe would remember forever. The damp, musky smell of his wool cloak. The soft caress of his wet hair as it brushed her cheek. The strength of his body as he tucked her against his chest. The moist heat of his breath across her face.
It was those sensations that calmed her thoughts, soothed her spirit, and gradually made her drift off to sleep, dreaming of staying forever in his arms.
Chapter 15
Dougal was afraid to move. The lass seemed so comfortable, cradled in the crook of his shoulder.
She’d slept there all night. Amid the maelstrom of hail, in the relentless dark, whether from overwhelming fear or mere exhaustion, his wee captive had surrendered to sleep in his arms. Soon after, the hail had ceased, and he’d succumbed to slumber as well.
He smirked. If his captive was truly an assassin, she’d failed miserably at the task.
