Page 57 of Abducted By the Highlander
She gave a soft gasp, transfixed by the savage gleam in his eyes. A fierce, untamed tension swirled in the air between them, and heat suffused her, fiery tendrils that scorched her blood and caused sparks of lightning to collide between her thighs. For countless moments, she was caught in his seductive web, as purple and orange shadows painted the sky and unfurled across the distant mountain peaks.
This was not the courteous Hugh she’d first known in Sgur Castle. Nor yet the menacing outlaw who had saved her from the brigands. This Hugh was a raw, contradictory enigma who radiated a primitive air of lethal authority and bewitching allure, and a chilling fear gripped her that if she didn’t retreat, his compelling intensity would consume her utterly.
She took a stumbling step backwards, fighting against the overwhelming compulsion to remain where she was and silently agree with whatever Hugh might command. Because if she allowed herself to fall completely under his spell, she would lose herself forever.
Swiftly, she spun about, but even as she hastened away, her mind was filled with his unforgiving blue eyes, and she could feel his unrelenting gaze boring into her as she made her way back to the far cave.
Since the day he had brought her into the camp, she’d placed her own, Grear’s, and Ecne’s wellbeing in him, so certain he was formulating a plan to get them safely to Creagdoun Castle. She’d never questioned him. Never pointed out that with each passing day they traveled farther away from William and Isolde.
Because she had trusted him.
His confession hovered in her mind, like an angry wasp intent on retribution, and she shivered. Maybe Darragh’s veiled accusations were correct, and the truth was Hugh had never intended taking her to Creagdoun, not from the first moment he’d caught her fleeing in the forest.
She reached the cave and put Ecne on the ground before straightening and catching Grear’s anxious gaze. She could no longer rely on Hugh, Darragh couldn’t be trusted, and the prospect of arriving at Fergus’s camp sent cold dread through her very soul.
It was time she took control of her own destiny.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hugh watched Roisinturn and walk away from him without a backward glance, and the insane notion hammered through his head that all he had to do was follow her, sweep her into his arms, and refuse to ever let her go.
And everything would be all right.
He huffed and fisted his hands, as though that might quell the raging torrent that flooded his body with the need to do something, to show her, unequivocally, that she belonged with him and that there was nothing in this world that could keep them apart.
Except God knew, everything in this world conspired to keep them apart.
That damn letter. He should have destroyed it, and yet he’d been unable to because Roisin had created it. How dearly they’d been forced to pay for such foolishness on his part. If Fergus hadn’t found it and passed it onto Darragh, Roisin would never have discovered how he’d needed to deceive her.
To keep her safe.
But he hadn’t managed to keep her safe at all.
At least she was no longer in any danger from Fergus MacGregor. He’d dragged that bastard’s body farther into the forest and heaved it into a ditch, before covering it with debris. He doubted it would be long before the body was found, but it would be long enough for him to get Roisin to the earl’s manor and that was all that mattered. No one would connect the extra horse he’d tethered outside the inn toFergus. And if they did, it would be too late to do anything about it.
“Sergeant.”
Symon’s voice dragged him brutally back to the present, and he gave the other man an abrupt nod. The last thing he wanted to do was discuss what had just transpired between him and Roisin and he made to march off. But Symon, damn him, stepped in front of him.
“Ye heard what happened?” Symon’s voice was low, and Hugh gave him a sharp look. That didn’t sound as though Symon referred to Roisin. And it wasn’t possible news had reached the camp of Fergus’s death. It could take months, if ever, before even his own close kin discovered what had become of him.
“What about?”
“Innis and her kin are leaving for Eire in the morning, and more than half of the others are going with them.”
Darragh had said something about that, but Hugh had been too caught up in everything else to give it any attention, but now the chieftain’s words came back to him.
“Ye can accompany me, and continue protecting yer precious noblewoman, or ye can join the others heading to Eire.”
Tomorrow, he needed to ensure Roisin arrived at the earl’s manor. If the clan split, it meant Darragh would have far fewer men on hand to command, but it also meant his absence—along with Roisin and Grear—would be more noticeable.
“Will ye go to Eire or follow Darragh?”
Symon shrugged. “I’ll go wherever ye lead, Sergeant. Ye know that.”
A thread of guilt twisted through him. If Symon knew the truth about him, he’d plunge a sword through his heart, and that was a fact. He sucked in a great breath and pushed the notion to the back of his mind. There was nothing he could do about it, even if he wanted to. He and Symon would always be on opposing sides. All he could do was hope they never met on a battlefield, should the earl one day call him home.
“I’ll go with Darragh for now,” he said. “I’ve pledged to protect Lady Roisin, and I’ll see her safe if it’s the last thing I do. But afterwards—” He paused, as the prospect of a bleak future without her unfolded in his mind. He wouldn’t be able to return to Darragh, once he’d ensured Roisin was safe. The chieftain would never allow him to return after such a betrayal. If he didn’t receive instructions from the earl to the contrary, there was nothing keeping him in the Highlands. “I’ll go back to Eire.”
