Page 40 of Abducted By the Highlander
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she assured him, tracing her fingers along his day-old, beard-roughened jaw. “I was the one who kissed ye first, remember?”
He grinned and gave her another, way too fleeting, kiss. “I’ll remember it always.”
“I hope ye do.” For she always would.
He straightened. “I all but forgot. I got ye this at the market.” From one of his pouches he pulled out the inkwell she had so admired, and she gasped. It was a beautiful piece of art, and she knew well how expensive these imported goods were.
“Ye shouldn’t have.” She couldn’t resist tracing a finger along the delicate lines of Danu’s gown. “It is too much, Hugh.”
“It’s impractical, I know.” He sighed. “But I hope ye’ll find use for it once ye are back where ye belong.”
He was right. It was impractical here, in the camp, and she would never be able to use it. A magnificent sculpture such as this wassomething to be admired on a grand desk and it was certainly something she’d use every day.
Once she was back home.
But the only home she wanted was one where Hugh was, too.
“I love it,” she said softly. “And I shall treasure it always.”
“I’m glad.” But his smile was sad and tugged at her heart. Then he took a great breath and took a step back. “I’d best be going before either of us are missed.”
With an oddly formal nod, he turned and left the tent, and she hugged the inkwell against her breasts. It was obvious Hugh was still convinced he could never return to his home but she wasn’t giving up on her dream.
She wasn’t sure how she would manage it, but if it was the last thing she did, she was determined he would return to his rightful place in Clan Campbell.
Chapter Fifteen
They had beentraveling for four days, going deeper into the mountains but although they traveled farther away from Creagdoun with every passing hour, he knew they were heading in the general direction where the earl had one of his manors.
The previous day, Hugh had managed to send another message to the earl from a small town they had bypassed, under the pretext of buying a few essential supplies for the camp. Surprisingly, Darragh hadn’t objected nor insisted another man accompany him, but Hugh always worked under the assumption that he was being watched and hadn’t taken any chances.
He just hoped the earl had received his first message already and was aware of the situation regarding Roisin. Because until he did, Hugh couldn’t expect to receive word from him at any of the towns or villages he managed to visit on the way to wherever the hell it was Darragh was leading them.
As he pitched his tent in Darragh’s designated small clearing, he surreptitiously watched Roisin as she helped the women prepare supper. And, as always, whenever he looked at her, a bittersweet ache filled his chest that this was all he would ever have of her.
It had been sheer good luck no one had caught them in the tent the other day when he’d lost his mind and all but made her his. Christ, how close he’d been to taking her. Even now he could scarcely believe he had managed to retain at least a sliver of integrity and resist the temptation.
Every night her face, as she had fallen apart in his arms, haunted his dreams, and every morning he awoke with lust pounding through his veins, frustration hammering at his temples, and an erection so damn hard he could scarcely function.
With grim determination, he tore his besotted gaze from her and concentrated on securing his tent. But his cock thickened, despite his best intentions, and his mind endlessly replayed Roisin’s soft gasps and the way her body had responded to his touch as though the fates drew pleasure from his discomfort.
Yet, as surely the devil himself knew, Hugh would have it no other way.
By the time he’d finished, Roisin had taken the bairns to the edge of the campsite where, doubtless, she was spinning them another of her tales of the mythical fae folk from Eire. Ecne lay in front of her, his head on her satchel that she’d placed on the ground, and her writing case was propped against her knees. On the other side of the camp the men had congregated, and by rights that was where he should head, on the off chance that Darragh might let slip more information on where they were going.
Except Hugh knew the other man would never share anything by accident.
To hell with it. There was never any doubt in his mind that he’d make his way to Roisin, the way he had every day this week since they’d left the plateau. His pledge to keep his distance, and maintain the illusion she meant nothing to him, had crumbled before the masquerade had even begun.
But in the end, it didn’t matter. No one cared that he couldn’t hide his interest in her. The only thing that mattered was no one guessed they’d known each other longer than a few days, and the only reason why Symon knew was because Hugh had shared his secret on that long-ago, drink-fueled night.
He didn’t care if the women made good natured jests, so long asthey were always aimed at him. Which they were. The women appeared to have welcomed Roisin as one of their own. While he still had no idea what had happened to change their minds about her, he was just relieved they had.
As for the men, they could say what they liked, but in the end they were guided by their womenfolk in such matters, and he didn’t give a damn about their mockery. It was a negligible price to pay for the chance to spend a few peaceful moments in Roisin’s company.
He strolled over to her and hunkered down outside the circle of entranced bairns, but close enough to Roisin so he could see what she was drawing. It was a sketch of Rhona, wearing a crown of flowers that weaved through her hair as she danced through a forest, and the breath caught in his throat at the detail Roisin had wrought with her quill.
“The magical lights danced over the dark sea, and the fierce Pict queen led her fearless warriors into the waves.” Roisin paused in her drawing to send a sweet smile his way that instantly reignited the fire in his blood, before she continued with her tale. “’Tis said the lights were the slain monks’ vengeance for the queen and her warriors having slaughtered them, but ’tis my belief the great sea god of the Tuatha De Danann, Manannan mac Lir, rode his mighty horse across the water, calling the queen and her women home to him.”
