his face, but she slipped out of his distracted hold and slid down the side of the horse. It was much farther to the ground than she had thought, and her ankle collapsed when she tried to make it take her weight. The stallion let out a snort as she struggled to regain her footing so close to its flank.
“Don’t be foolish, woman,” Broen growled. The stallion turned in a circle as Broen fought to command the strong-willed creature. When he brought the animal around, his knuckles were white from the grip he used to control the beast. “This is a full stallion, Clarrisa. Ye ride well enough to know better than to slide down its side like that. He could crush yer skull with his hooves.”
“It would have been more foolish to remain atop him.”
She turned her back on him but whirled back around when she heard his curse. There was a warning in his tone, as sure as the night had closed around them.
“Let me be, Broen MacNicols. Maybe you’re thinking I’m free with my favors, but I’m a maiden still.”
He smothered another word of profanity. “That’s plain enough.”
The man was furious, his tone condemning. Clarrisa propped her hands on her hips. “You don’t need to sound like it’s something I should be ashamed of.”
He tilted his head. “Cannae ye just be content with the fact that I believe ye are pure?” He muttered something else in Gaelic while looking to see where her mare had gone.
Frustration was shredding her. “I don’t know what I want from you,” she explained.
“A solid truth if ever I heard one,” he groused. “Come back here. Yer mare is out of sight.”
Part of her wanted to obey, but the sheer intensity of what his kiss had unleashed inside her made her shake her head. “I’ll walk.”
“Are the pair of ye finished?”
Shaw’s voice hit her like a blast of winter wind. She turned to look up the hill, where the burly retainer sat on his horse. He was sideways, looking away from them, but he’d obviously noticed they were no longer embracing.
Broen kneed his stallion forward until the animal stood near her. He leaned down, his shoulder-length hair falling low enough to brush her shoulder.
“’Tis for sure we are nae finished, lass. No’ finished even by half.”
He reached down and grasped the wide leather belt that secured the Chisholms plaid around her waist. With a hard tug, he pulled her off the ground and sent her halfway over the back of the stallion. She shrieked, but he paid her no mind, pressing her down in front of him.
“We’re just getting started, and that’s me promise to ye, lass.”
Hard and determined, his voice carried a promise.
***
“The little lass has daggers in her eyes for ye.”
Broen shot Shaw a deadly look, but amusement sparked in Shaw’s eyes as he grinned.
“I thought ye wanted to warn me away from her and her scheming ways. Ye’re sounding like a woman with all yer mind changing.”
Shaw shot him a look Broen wasn’t interested in suffering, but Shaw was right.
“This business irritates me.”
“I’ve noticed, Laird,” Shaw replied. “As a matter of fact, so have the lads.”
Broen looked over his men. Most were sleeping; the only ones still awake were set to watching Clarrisa and the road. Broen felt his chin tingle. He’d just wasted precious time that he could have spent sleeping to shave—for a woman.
For an English woman.
There was no way to ignore the fact. It frustrated him and rubbed his temper, but the three-day growth of beard on his face had left the faintest of pink abrasions on Clarrisa’s delicate skin. Fatigue was pounding in the back of his head, and what was he doing? Preening for a female. And not even for Daphne.
He stopped for a moment, his temper cooling. He could recall Daphne MacLeod’s dark eyes but hadn’t thought of her during the days he’d been away from his land. Somehow her memory had slipped aside. He’d believed he couldn’t live without her, but obviously he could.
“Don’t be foolish, woman,” Broen growled. The stallion turned in a circle as Broen fought to command the strong-willed creature. When he brought the animal around, his knuckles were white from the grip he used to control the beast. “This is a full stallion, Clarrisa. Ye ride well enough to know better than to slide down its side like that. He could crush yer skull with his hooves.”
“It would have been more foolish to remain atop him.”
She turned her back on him but whirled back around when she heard his curse. There was a warning in his tone, as sure as the night had closed around them.
“Let me be, Broen MacNicols. Maybe you’re thinking I’m free with my favors, but I’m a maiden still.”
He smothered another word of profanity. “That’s plain enough.”
The man was furious, his tone condemning. Clarrisa propped her hands on her hips. “You don’t need to sound like it’s something I should be ashamed of.”
He tilted his head. “Cannae ye just be content with the fact that I believe ye are pure?” He muttered something else in Gaelic while looking to see where her mare had gone.
Frustration was shredding her. “I don’t know what I want from you,” she explained.
“A solid truth if ever I heard one,” he groused. “Come back here. Yer mare is out of sight.”
Part of her wanted to obey, but the sheer intensity of what his kiss had unleashed inside her made her shake her head. “I’ll walk.”
“Are the pair of ye finished?”
Shaw’s voice hit her like a blast of winter wind. She turned to look up the hill, where the burly retainer sat on his horse. He was sideways, looking away from them, but he’d obviously noticed they were no longer embracing.
Broen kneed his stallion forward until the animal stood near her. He leaned down, his shoulder-length hair falling low enough to brush her shoulder.
“’Tis for sure we are nae finished, lass. No’ finished even by half.”
He reached down and grasped the wide leather belt that secured the Chisholms plaid around her waist. With a hard tug, he pulled her off the ground and sent her halfway over the back of the stallion. She shrieked, but he paid her no mind, pressing her down in front of him.
“We’re just getting started, and that’s me promise to ye, lass.”
Hard and determined, his voice carried a promise.
***
“The little lass has daggers in her eyes for ye.”
Broen shot Shaw a deadly look, but amusement sparked in Shaw’s eyes as he grinned.
“I thought ye wanted to warn me away from her and her scheming ways. Ye’re sounding like a woman with all yer mind changing.”
Shaw shot him a look Broen wasn’t interested in suffering, but Shaw was right.
“This business irritates me.”
“I’ve noticed, Laird,” Shaw replied. “As a matter of fact, so have the lads.”
Broen looked over his men. Most were sleeping; the only ones still awake were set to watching Clarrisa and the road. Broen felt his chin tingle. He’d just wasted precious time that he could have spent sleeping to shave—for a woman.
For an English woman.
There was no way to ignore the fact. It frustrated him and rubbed his temper, but the three-day growth of beard on his face had left the faintest of pink abrasions on Clarrisa’s delicate skin. Fatigue was pounding in the back of his head, and what was he doing? Preening for a female. And not even for Daphne.
He stopped for a moment, his temper cooling. He could recall Daphne MacLeod’s dark eyes but hadn’t thought of her during the days he’d been away from his land. Somehow her memory had slipped aside. He’d believed he couldn’t live without her, but obviously he could.
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