one arm beneath her shoulders. He could have slung her over his shoulder like a sack of oats and been done with it but he saved her the indignity. Much to her dislike some moments later, he borrowed her dirk. The thing was bloody convenient to have, and he didn‘t know when he‘d have use of a weapon. He wouldn‘t have allowed her to keep it otherwise.
An hour later, he had secured himself a fine black horse belonging to the officer in charge, and a pair of boots that actually fit. He had also acquired a knapsack and a cloak, which he gave to Rose when he returned to where he had left her, gagged and tied to a thick exposed tree root. He hadn‘t trusted her not to crawl away while he hunted down a horse and food, and the moment he‘d come across rope, he‘d used it. As he knelt in front of her, he warned her again of the consequences if she should cause him any more strife. Then he lifted her onto the saddle and climbed behind her. Only after they‘d ridden a distance from the Sassenach camp did he remove the gag, which was all that had been left of his other sleeve.
―You are an ogre, Roxburghe. The French pox is too good for you!‖
He laughed and gathered her closer with one arm, liking the warm feel of her between his thighs. ―What do you know about the French pox?‖
―I know that nothing cures it.‖
With that pronouncement, he grinned. A faint clink of the bridle and her firm bottom pressed intimately between his legs, he turned the horse south. ―You are a lot of trouble, Lady Roselyn.‖
Chapter 6
R uark carefully finished binding the wound on Rose‘s thigh as she slept. She laid on her back perfectly still, her hair spread around her head like a sunset halo and, despite himself, he lifted a strand and rubbed it between his callused fingers. She wore only her white shirt and the cloak beneath her that he had unwrapped from around her unclad form to tend her injury. She may as well have been naked.
Aye, she was temptation itself.
Full breasts crested with dark nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt, the kind of breasts that fit perfectly into a man‘s hands with nothing left over to waste, flat stomach, the beckoning flair of her hips and narrow tuft of pale hair between impossibly long legs. The whole of her nothing but softness and curves. He‘d already spent half the morning watching her as she slept, and reluctantly, he edged the cloak over her. He hadn‘t liked where his mind was heading and didn‘t know what to do about it. He had sworn no oath of protection to her, owed no one but his people his allegiance.
But it was not just her beauty that had kept him by her side contemplating the daughter of his Sassenach foe. Not for the first time did he wonder how Friar Tucker had kept her hidden all these years. Or why Lord Hereford had ever stopped looking for her. Tucker had not told him everything.
Perhaps had she shown less courage, he would be less invested in her and more inclined to ignore the extent of his desire.
He wanted her. And he did not think he would.
For desire it was, like watching Venus in the nighttime sky so close he‘d oft stood on the deck of his ship and wondered what it would be like to touch that light. But he‘d always had the power to temper his wants with restraint.
A whisper of movement alerted him that Rose was awake, and it was as if something warmed inside him as she stirred. Her lashes fluttered open and he was caught in her verdant gaze. Still half asleep, she stared up at him, before she blinked as if in confusion. She peered around her at the mist-soaked glade, slowly becoming aware of a crackling fire and a shelter of pine covering her.
Her hand went to her hip to find her dirk gone. Noting her lack of apparel, she pulled the cloak around her and sat up, spilling her hair around her shoulders. The amused light in his eyes caused her to frown. She should feel grateful he‘d allowed her to keep the shirt she still
An hour later, he had secured himself a fine black horse belonging to the officer in charge, and a pair of boots that actually fit. He had also acquired a knapsack and a cloak, which he gave to Rose when he returned to where he had left her, gagged and tied to a thick exposed tree root. He hadn‘t trusted her not to crawl away while he hunted down a horse and food, and the moment he‘d come across rope, he‘d used it. As he knelt in front of her, he warned her again of the consequences if she should cause him any more strife. Then he lifted her onto the saddle and climbed behind her. Only after they‘d ridden a distance from the Sassenach camp did he remove the gag, which was all that had been left of his other sleeve.
―You are an ogre, Roxburghe. The French pox is too good for you!‖
He laughed and gathered her closer with one arm, liking the warm feel of her between his thighs. ―What do you know about the French pox?‖
―I know that nothing cures it.‖
With that pronouncement, he grinned. A faint clink of the bridle and her firm bottom pressed intimately between his legs, he turned the horse south. ―You are a lot of trouble, Lady Roselyn.‖
Chapter 6
R uark carefully finished binding the wound on Rose‘s thigh as she slept. She laid on her back perfectly still, her hair spread around her head like a sunset halo and, despite himself, he lifted a strand and rubbed it between his callused fingers. She wore only her white shirt and the cloak beneath her that he had unwrapped from around her unclad form to tend her injury. She may as well have been naked.
Aye, she was temptation itself.
Full breasts crested with dark nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt, the kind of breasts that fit perfectly into a man‘s hands with nothing left over to waste, flat stomach, the beckoning flair of her hips and narrow tuft of pale hair between impossibly long legs. The whole of her nothing but softness and curves. He‘d already spent half the morning watching her as she slept, and reluctantly, he edged the cloak over her. He hadn‘t liked where his mind was heading and didn‘t know what to do about it. He had sworn no oath of protection to her, owed no one but his people his allegiance.
But it was not just her beauty that had kept him by her side contemplating the daughter of his Sassenach foe. Not for the first time did he wonder how Friar Tucker had kept her hidden all these years. Or why Lord Hereford had ever stopped looking for her. Tucker had not told him everything.
Perhaps had she shown less courage, he would be less invested in her and more inclined to ignore the extent of his desire.
He wanted her. And he did not think he would.
For desire it was, like watching Venus in the nighttime sky so close he‘d oft stood on the deck of his ship and wondered what it would be like to touch that light. But he‘d always had the power to temper his wants with restraint.
A whisper of movement alerted him that Rose was awake, and it was as if something warmed inside him as she stirred. Her lashes fluttered open and he was caught in her verdant gaze. Still half asleep, she stared up at him, before she blinked as if in confusion. She peered around her at the mist-soaked glade, slowly becoming aware of a crackling fire and a shelter of pine covering her.
Her hand went to her hip to find her dirk gone. Noting her lack of apparel, she pulled the cloak around her and sat up, spilling her hair around her shoulders. The amused light in his eyes caused her to frown. She should feel grateful he‘d allowed her to keep the shirt she still
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