Page 8 of The Highlander Steals a Virgin
“Lass,” he quietly warned, noting the defiance in her eyes as she made to step away from the tree and undoubtedly take off sprinting again.
Rhys grabbed her arm purposefully as he made to help her to her feet, but she immediately tried to jerk out of his hold. His grip tightened until a gasp escaped her lips, but he was having none of it and practically drug her to his horse.
Without a word, he hefted her atop his stallion then mounted quickly in front of her, not giving her a chance to jump off and escape. Amara sat stiff and straight behind him, until his horse took off at a light jog and she instinctively wrapped her arms around him to keep from losing her seat.
The new position had her breasts pressed against his back and Rhys swore he could feel her nipples poking through her gown, his tartan, and his shirt, all the way to his skin.
He glanced down to his waist, where her hands were wrapped tightly around him. Such small hands, but so strong. God above, the grip she had on him almost hurt. In more ways than one, he thought ruefully as he felt lust stir at her touch.
“Well, I suppose we’ll need to get a wee bit creative if we’re goin’ to get Finn back,” Myles said sarcastically, distracting Rhys from Amara’s touch.
“How do ye suppose we do that, Myles?” William asked playfully.
“We could disguise ourselves as monks,” Myles said, and William snorted. Rhys rolled his eyes but said nothing. “Get inside the castle with robes and righteous purpose.”
“And do what?Blessthe guards into submission?” William quipped.
“We could seduce the cook then. Aye, Billy?” Myles continued, undaunted. “I’ve always said I’ve got a monk’s face and a harlot’s charm.”
He laughed humorlessly, the sound echoing through the forest as they rode. “William.And the last time ye tried to flirt with a kitchen maid, she near set ye on fire.”
“’Twasonetime,William,” Myles grumbled. “And she misunderstood me compliment about her buns.”
William gestured his hands lewdly behind Myles’s back, and Rhys’s lips twitched. His clansmen were trying to distract him from Finn’s capture and failed release, and it was starting to work. At least a little.
“Aye,” William chuckled. “She misunderstood right after ye touched herbuns.”
Myles lowered his voice as if in a conspiratorial whisper. “We could sneak in as minstrels. I’ll play the lute and ye pretend to have a tragic past and sad eyes.”
Rhys couldn’t help himself. He glanced backward at Myles to see his mournful expression. He did chuckle then and shook his head at their playful antics.
“Do I look like a bleeding poet to ye?” William demanded.
“Nay, but ye right smell like one, Billy. Unwashed and full of self-pity.”
A low growl came from William. “I swear, I’ll knock ye from that saddle and beat ye with yer own arm.”
Myles laughed. “Then I’ll have to play the love song of yer bruised arse and me broken pride.”
Rhys realized their distraction had worked too well when he felt a shift behind him. Next, he heard a thud on the ground and saw Amara had slid from his horse and was sprinting straight for the trees.
4
Amara hit the ground with teeth-jarring impact. Her breath lodged in her throat, but she jumped up and ran for the closest corpse of trees. The branches whipped past her face and ripped at her clothing. Her breathing was sharp and shallow as her heart pounded wildly beneath her breast.
She didn’t get far.
Amara let out a scream of frustration when a large hand gripped the back of her neck an instant before an arm snaked around her middle, effectively halting her escape. She was pulled back against a hard chest, a powerful, unharmed muscled arm holding her in place.
“Let me go!” she ordered furiously. Amara leaned forward, intending to take a bite out of Rhys’s arm, but another heavy arm rose and landed right at her throat. Not enough to cause pain, but definitely enough to keep her from bending her head.
“Nay, ye willnae be takin’ a chunk ofthisflesh,” Rhys said, his mouth close to her ear. His breath was warm as it floated by her skin. Amara sucked her breath in sharply, feeling his breath and deep voice travel all the way to her toes. She repressed a shudder of awareness and started thrashing in his arms, trying to break his hold.
“Enough, lass,” he said. She was a bit surprised that his voice was so calm, almost gentle. But she wasn’t fooled. She was his prisoner, and she had to keep that uppermost in her mind. “Ye’ll hurt yerself, or worse, runnin’ around blind like that. Now stop thrashing!”
“Better than bein’ dragged around like a sack of grain by the sorry likes of ye!” Amara retorted a second before he turned her to face him. She got a brief glance of his handsome, determined face, before he tossed her over his broad shoulder.
“P— put me down!” she shrieked, her voice muffled as her forehead hit his lower back. He grunted as her thrashing landed a blow to his side, but he didn’t pause as he strode back toward his stallion.
