Claimed by a Scottish Lord by Melody Thomas Page A

wore.

    ―Where are my clothes?‖ she demanded.

    ―You will get them back when we are ready to leave. After your defiance yesterday, I can see removing your boots was not enough. I will take no chances. Not with that injury you have on your leg.‖

    She looked around the glade. ―How long have I been asleep?‖

    Strangely, her ire only served to confirm his admiration of her. ―Long enough to decide it is far more perilous for me at this moment than you.‖

    Alarmed, she peered past him. ―Have you seen dragoons?‖

    ―Oh, aye.‖ He laughed, in good humor. ―Dragoons are everywhere.‖ She observed his warm scrutiny with a frown. ―You have been asleep for five hours,‖ he said on a more sobering note. ―We traveled through the night. I stopped because the horse needs rest, as do you. How is your leg?‖

    ― ‘Tis attached,‖ she murmured.

    He crouched beside the fire with his elbow against one knee. She stole a closer look at him only to discover him staring at her.

    ―That wound needs to be sutured,‖ he said.

    She looked as if she wanted to tuck her leg somewhere safe from his scrutiny, but knew he was correct. ―How will you do that?‖

    ―I took an officer‘s field kit along with that horse. There will be a needle and thread inside. Or I could cauterize it.‖

    He considered the pain either procedure would inflict, and looked away to tend to the meal. McBain had sutured more than one injury on his body. He had more scars than years .

    ―Have you ever mended flesh?‖ she asked.

    ―I lived on a ship for nearly thirteen years. I can mend anything.‖ His gaze suddenly softened. ― ‘Tisn‘t that difficult, love.‖

    She sighed. ―Then I have not dreamed this nightmare about ogres, magic spells, and fire-breathing dragons,‖ she said. ―You are real.‖

    ―Aye, I am real, Sassenach.‖

    ― Sassenach . ‖ His tone as much as the single word caught her attention. ―Do you despise the English or just Lord Hereford? Did you not yourself hire out to the Crown? Were you not allied to his Royal Navy?‖

    ―Only in so far as it proved profitable.‖ And until his father died.

    ―The authorities would hang you if they knew you were a smuggler.‖

    ―Aye, they might, if such crimes could be proven.‖ He spoke with no small amount of amusement, considering that Friar Tucker could be hanged for the very same transgressions, along with half the borderland lords with him. ―My conscience has already settled the fact in my mind that I am a criminal at heart.‖

    He gave her what was left of a stale oatcake from the knapsack he‘d stolen along with the horse. ―You are not eating?‖ she asked, hesitantly.

    ―I ate while you slept.‖

    If she‘d been less starved, he suspected she would have denied him the satisfaction of accepting his hospitality. But she was so hungry she even ate the crumbs that fell on her lap. Accepting his generosity should have been the worst of her sins, he realized, as she swallowed the last bite and he met the awareness in her eyes.

    So she feels it, too .

    He offered her the whisky flask and was surprised when she took it. He watched as she carefully sipped.

    Sunlight cast a golden glow over her skin and hair and her impossibly full mouth, over the full mounds of her breast visible beneath the thin cloth of her shirt. He did not understand the connection between them and his lasciviousness began to irritate him.

    And she was a virgin, no less.

    ―Thank you,‖ she rasped.

    Hardly expecting the sentiment, he laughed. ―For what exactly am I being thanked?‖

    Her attention paused on his mouth where she had knocked him with her elbow last night. He could still feel the tenderness. ―For saving me in the river last night. I hope you were not too wounded.‖

    The corner of his mouth turned up at the blatant lie. ―What is a bit of blood shared between intimate enemies? Hmm? I still have my tongue.‖

    ― ‘Tis a shame. Tongues can be rather