said. “I willnae resort to torturing an injured woman—though I will remind ye that ye dinnae ken what awaits ye tomorrow or the next day.”
Colin doubted the Bruce would torture her either when he turned her over—Robert had seen what had happened physically and mentally to his sister Mary and Isabella MacDuff. The two had been captured by Longshanks, King Edward II’s father, and held captive in cages outdoors and far above the ground for four long years. The Bruce loathed the use of women and children in warfare.
Still, Colin would not admit just yet that he didn’t have a plan for her beyond dragging her with him to Ireland and then handing her over to the Bruce. Let her stew a bit. Mayhap then she would reveal something useful.
“I…I don’t understand that,” she murmured.
“What? That the English—and most Lowland Scots as well—think we Highlanders are savages?” he asked.
“Nay, I’ve heard that enough,” she replied, one side of her mouth lifting even as she kept her gaze lowered. “But I have always been told…I’ve always known what would happen to me if I was ever caught.”
“And who told ye that? The one ye work for?”
She stiffened slightly, and he knew he’d uncovered a small kernel of truth.
“Aye,” she said softly, surprising him. “The man I work for…he raised me from childhood, trained me. He’s been the only one who has ever—”
Her voice pinched off suddenly. She shook her head as if in warning to herself, her sable hair sliding down around her pinkened cheeks.
For one long breath, Colin’s chest squeezed with a strange ache. What had this wee slip of a lass been through in the short score of years she’d been alive? Who was this man who had taken her in? And what had he done to turn an innocent child into a deceitful spy?
A distant alarm bell rang in Colin’s mind. Aye, the lass was up to something. The old unhealed wound left by Joan and her deviousness throbbed anew.
Inwardly, Colin smiled as realization dawned. Was this the lass’s scheme, then? To pull at his heartstrings, make him feel sorry for her, and then when his guard was down, slip away with the King’s missive?
It was what she’d done to Osborn, wasn’t it? She’d spun some sob story about being sent to a nunnery, carefully tugging on both Osborn’s sympathy and his lust. Without even trying, Sabine had already stirred Colin’s desire—and now she was angling for his pity.
Sabine was watching him with those wide hazel eyes. He carefully let a minuscule ripple of compassion flicker across his face before smoothing his features once more. Those keen, bottomless eyes registered the flash of emotion, he was sure.
“I do not wish to speak of it, though,” she said, drawing her dark brows together. “My shoulder aches badly this morn, and if we are to be in the saddle another day, I will need to save my energy.”
“Do ye wish for me to massage it again?” Colin murmured.
Relief washed her delicate features, followed by another pretty pink blush. “A-aye, if you wouldn’t mind. It helped greatly yestereve.”
Colin stood slowly and stalked toward her. She craned her neck to watch him approach, looking all the world like a wounded doe gazing at an approaching wolf.
He crouched behind her, letting his knees open to encase her between them. By God, this was becoming an all-too-familiar position—her gently curved hips and bottom tucked against his manhood, their bodies pressed together, his blood pumping hotly despite his brain screaming at him to keep away.
When his hand closed around her left shoulder, she moaned. As he worked his fingers into the tight, slim muscles there, her head fell back onto his chest. Those plump lips parted on a half-groan, half-sigh. Her brows unknitted and her eyelids fluttered closed, her dark lashes resting against her creamy cheeks.
Though his manhood had already stirred to life at their first contact, when Sabine sank her teeth into her lower
Colin doubted the Bruce would torture her either when he turned her over—Robert had seen what had happened physically and mentally to his sister Mary and Isabella MacDuff. The two had been captured by Longshanks, King Edward II’s father, and held captive in cages outdoors and far above the ground for four long years. The Bruce loathed the use of women and children in warfare.
Still, Colin would not admit just yet that he didn’t have a plan for her beyond dragging her with him to Ireland and then handing her over to the Bruce. Let her stew a bit. Mayhap then she would reveal something useful.
“I…I don’t understand that,” she murmured.
“What? That the English—and most Lowland Scots as well—think we Highlanders are savages?” he asked.
“Nay, I’ve heard that enough,” she replied, one side of her mouth lifting even as she kept her gaze lowered. “But I have always been told…I’ve always known what would happen to me if I was ever caught.”
“And who told ye that? The one ye work for?”
She stiffened slightly, and he knew he’d uncovered a small kernel of truth.
“Aye,” she said softly, surprising him. “The man I work for…he raised me from childhood, trained me. He’s been the only one who has ever—”
Her voice pinched off suddenly. She shook her head as if in warning to herself, her sable hair sliding down around her pinkened cheeks.
For one long breath, Colin’s chest squeezed with a strange ache. What had this wee slip of a lass been through in the short score of years she’d been alive? Who was this man who had taken her in? And what had he done to turn an innocent child into a deceitful spy?
A distant alarm bell rang in Colin’s mind. Aye, the lass was up to something. The old unhealed wound left by Joan and her deviousness throbbed anew.
Inwardly, Colin smiled as realization dawned. Was this the lass’s scheme, then? To pull at his heartstrings, make him feel sorry for her, and then when his guard was down, slip away with the King’s missive?
It was what she’d done to Osborn, wasn’t it? She’d spun some sob story about being sent to a nunnery, carefully tugging on both Osborn’s sympathy and his lust. Without even trying, Sabine had already stirred Colin’s desire—and now she was angling for his pity.
Sabine was watching him with those wide hazel eyes. He carefully let a minuscule ripple of compassion flicker across his face before smoothing his features once more. Those keen, bottomless eyes registered the flash of emotion, he was sure.
“I do not wish to speak of it, though,” she said, drawing her dark brows together. “My shoulder aches badly this morn, and if we are to be in the saddle another day, I will need to save my energy.”
“Do ye wish for me to massage it again?” Colin murmured.
Relief washed her delicate features, followed by another pretty pink blush. “A-aye, if you wouldn’t mind. It helped greatly yestereve.”
Colin stood slowly and stalked toward her. She craned her neck to watch him approach, looking all the world like a wounded doe gazing at an approaching wolf.
He crouched behind her, letting his knees open to encase her between them. By God, this was becoming an all-too-familiar position—her gently curved hips and bottom tucked against his manhood, their bodies pressed together, his blood pumping hotly despite his brain screaming at him to keep away.
When his hand closed around her left shoulder, she moaned. As he worked his fingers into the tight, slim muscles there, her head fell back onto his chest. Those plump lips parted on a half-groan, half-sigh. Her brows unknitted and her eyelids fluttered closed, her dark lashes resting against her creamy cheeks.
Though his manhood had already stirred to life at their first contact, when Sabine sank her teeth into her lower
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