Page 7 of The Beast of the Highlands
“Aye.”
“I would not be a particularly good spy, for I say precisely what is on my mind,” she replied, smiling awkwardly. “Nor would anyone seek to enlist me, for I reside so close to the border that many believe we are Scottish.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do ye have any dealings with the English Army?”
“Aside from this evening’s unpleasantness… No. And, as you might have realized, I am not particularly fond of the English Army for that.” Her tone hardened and though he hoped he would not come to regret his instincts: he had a feeling she was telling the truth.
He nodded. “Are ye armed?”
“Armed?” Her eyes flew wide. “Goodness… my dagger! I dropped it when those wretches shot at my horse. It was a gift. Oh dear, do you think I might be able to return for it, or will it be too late? It had rubies in the hilt… Someone must have stolen it by now.”
He saw a glimmer of sadness in her eyes, and though he knew precisely where her dagger was, and wished to bring her comfort, he could not do that yet.
“And why did ye have a dagger about yer person?” He was accustomed to interrogating vagrants who were caught wandering in his territory, acting suspiciously. But they were never this pretty, nor so hard to read.
She sniffed at him. “You were the one telling me I ought to be aware of the dangers of riding alone. Iwasaware, which is why I had a dagger.” She paused. “I confess, I do not know how to wield it, which is likely obvious, but it had great sentimental value.”
“Ye were nae seekin’ to use it to slit me throat in the night?” he probed, adding a hint of humor to his voice so she would not balk at the question. Though she did so anyway.
“You can choose to believe me, or we can continue to speak in circles, Laird MacLennan,” she said curtly. “I am no spy. I am under no orders but my own. My dagger was for my personal protection, not some tool for a covert assassination. Indeed, at present, I am probably more vexed by the English Army than you are.”
A smile turned up the corners of his lips. “Ye’re fiery enough to be one.”
“A spy would not be fiery. They would be discreet and meek, so as to gain proximity to you, and alert no suspicions. If Iwerea spy, I would have attacked you along that stretch of road, leading up to the castle, when your men went ahead to have the portcullis lifted,” she shot back.
Impressed, he sank back on his haunches. “Aye, true. But I’d be a fool nae to be thorough in makin’ sure ye’re nae here to kill me.” He paused, satisfied that she was who she said she was. “Stay here a moment. I’ll fetch yer dagger for ye.”
“You have it?” she gasped.
“One of me lads found it. They’ll be mighty sorry to see it taken back, with all them shiny rubies, but I willnae have ye callin’ anyone thief,” he replied, as he stood to leave.
* * *
Ten minutes later, he returned to the guest bedchamber, dagger in hand, and froze on the threshold. Autumn had removed her bodice, hooped skirts, billowing sleeves, and the shift she had worn beneath, leaving them in a pile on the floor. All she wore were her stays and a pair of thin drawers, as she trailed the soaked cloth across her bare arms and over her shoulders.
If this was some kind of spy-ordained distraction technique, it was certainly effective.
“What are ye doin’, lass?” Flynn’s throat constricted. With little to conceal her bosom, he could see the full roundness of her small, perfectly formed breasts, and knew there was nothing more he could do to stop the heat burning in his loins.
She shrieked and grabbed her shift, bundling it against her chest to protect some of her modesty. “Do you not know it is polite to announce yourself before you enter a lady’s bedchamber?” Her cheeks turned red with embarrassment. “Please, if you would avert your eyes for a moment.”
He did as she asked, only to spot her reflection in the mirror behind him. He knew he should not look, but he could not draw his eyes away as she pulled her shift back over her head, removing the divine view of her pert breasts and slender silhouette.
“You may turn around now,” she said, as she twisted in the chair, so she had her back to him.
He hesitated. “Ye missed a scratch on the back of yer neck. If ye daenae mind, I can clean it for ye?”
“I… suppose that would be for the best, as your healing woman has likely heard I am an Englishwoman, and has decided to let my wounds fester,” she remarked.
Flynn laughed, constantly surprised by her sharp sense of humor. “Then I’ll do what I can in her stead.”
Using the basin to conceal his arousal, and praying Autumn did not turn around, he soaked a fresh cloth into the water and lifted it to the nape of her neck. The precise spot he had longed to touch before. She shivered slightly as he pressed the fabric to her skin, and a quiet gasp escaped her lips, sending a different kind of shiver through him.
It’s all nay good, lad,he told himself.Ye can look, ye can admire, but ye’re to keep her at arm’s length. Ye’re destined for a different fate.
And yet, he could not deny that it seemed as though they had been brought together for a reason. There were too many variables in the way the night had panned out for him not to believe that. For him to be in the right place, at the right time, to save the woman who had already been on her way to him… How could it not be something akin to fate?
The trouble was, his fate had already been decided long ago, and there was nothing he could do to change it. No matter who fell into his path.
