feet, and they somehow managed to pull the boat from the water. He put his arm about her waist and dragged her along with him as he followed a path away from the water, trudging through wind, rain, and mucky sand, to find the shelter he only half remembered. They had to get warm, soon.
“This way,” he said. “Hang on to me.”
Brianna felt like a fool. She was vastly grateful that Laird Glenloch had come after her, but she’d endangered his life as well as her own. She should apologize, but what would she say? How could she possibly justify what she’d done?
No doubt he thought her a lackwit, though it had seemed such a good idea at the time.
“Move your arse, Miss MacLaren,” he said rudely, provoking her indignation. “We’ve a distance to go.”
“You’ve no need to be vulgar, Laird Glenloch.”
“You think not?” he retorted angrily. “I didn’t risk my neck for you only to freeze to death out here.”
“You needn’t have come!”
“No? And where would you be if I had not?”
The answer loomed between them as Brianna doubled her speed. She tripped and would have fallen, but for Glenloch’s quick move to hold her up.
She was not happy when he kept his tight grasp on her arm and helped her up the path, but her sodden, ill-fitting boots were awkward on the rocky ground. Sheknew his anger was fully warranted, even if she did not care to admit it aloud.
She was freezing, shivering so badly she did not believe she could form the words of an apology, even if she knew what excuse to give him.
They got to the top of the ledge beyond the shore when she saw it, a small stone croft, set among the rocks on the beach. It was a primitive building with a low, thatched roof that did not look promising, but they made their way toward it, since any small shelter would be better than full exposure to the elements.
A small boat lay behind it in the wet sand, tipped bottom up, just as Glenloch’s boats had been. Bree hardly noticed it, not when her arms and legs were stiff with cold, and her eyes burning with the frozen salt water of the sea. Glenloch released her when they reached the door, and he tried to open it, but failed since it was either jammed or locked. Cursing under his breath, he backed away, then crashed his shoulder into it.
The door flew open and he pushed her inside, shoving the door closed behind them. The place smelled. It was dark and there were no windows, but at least it was dry inside, and protected from the wind. Laird Glenloch stepped over to the hearth and knelt before it. When he spoke, his tone was curt and gruff. “Look for a tinderbox.”
Brianna’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and she saw that there was a table, one chair, and a low pallet of straw near a fireplace. She located flint and steel, but her hands were shaking too badly to strike them together to make sparks. She handed them to the laird, who found something to use as a char cloth and quickly lit the small chunk of peat that rested on the grate. Once the fire was burning, he stood, turning to survey their surroundings.
“Get those clothes off,” he said.
Chapter 5
Hearts may agree though heads differ.
SCOTTISH PROVERB
“I-I—”
“Do not even think to argue with me,” Hugh said, the anger in his voice broaching no discussion, no disagreement. He picked up the chair and bashed it against the floor, breaking it into pieces, then fed it to the fire. “Get them off so we can both get warm.” His expression was dark and dangerous, and Brianna did not dare deny him.
With shaking hands, she worked at her ties and fastenings. The heat of the fire penetrated the room, and she could no longer see her breath. What she could see was Laird Glenloch, pulling off his greatcoat, then the rest of his clothes. She eyed one disreputable, thin blanket of plaid lying in a heap on the pallet, the wool looking far too insubstantial to ward off the cold.
“Only a fool would go into the water on a day like this,” he
“This way,” he said. “Hang on to me.”
Brianna felt like a fool. She was vastly grateful that Laird Glenloch had come after her, but she’d endangered his life as well as her own. She should apologize, but what would she say? How could she possibly justify what she’d done?
No doubt he thought her a lackwit, though it had seemed such a good idea at the time.
“Move your arse, Miss MacLaren,” he said rudely, provoking her indignation. “We’ve a distance to go.”
“You’ve no need to be vulgar, Laird Glenloch.”
“You think not?” he retorted angrily. “I didn’t risk my neck for you only to freeze to death out here.”
“You needn’t have come!”
“No? And where would you be if I had not?”
The answer loomed between them as Brianna doubled her speed. She tripped and would have fallen, but for Glenloch’s quick move to hold her up.
She was not happy when he kept his tight grasp on her arm and helped her up the path, but her sodden, ill-fitting boots were awkward on the rocky ground. Sheknew his anger was fully warranted, even if she did not care to admit it aloud.
She was freezing, shivering so badly she did not believe she could form the words of an apology, even if she knew what excuse to give him.
They got to the top of the ledge beyond the shore when she saw it, a small stone croft, set among the rocks on the beach. It was a primitive building with a low, thatched roof that did not look promising, but they made their way toward it, since any small shelter would be better than full exposure to the elements.
A small boat lay behind it in the wet sand, tipped bottom up, just as Glenloch’s boats had been. Bree hardly noticed it, not when her arms and legs were stiff with cold, and her eyes burning with the frozen salt water of the sea. Glenloch released her when they reached the door, and he tried to open it, but failed since it was either jammed or locked. Cursing under his breath, he backed away, then crashed his shoulder into it.
The door flew open and he pushed her inside, shoving the door closed behind them. The place smelled. It was dark and there were no windows, but at least it was dry inside, and protected from the wind. Laird Glenloch stepped over to the hearth and knelt before it. When he spoke, his tone was curt and gruff. “Look for a tinderbox.”
Brianna’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and she saw that there was a table, one chair, and a low pallet of straw near a fireplace. She located flint and steel, but her hands were shaking too badly to strike them together to make sparks. She handed them to the laird, who found something to use as a char cloth and quickly lit the small chunk of peat that rested on the grate. Once the fire was burning, he stood, turning to survey their surroundings.
“Get those clothes off,” he said.
Chapter 5
Hearts may agree though heads differ.
SCOTTISH PROVERB
“I-I—”
“Do not even think to argue with me,” Hugh said, the anger in his voice broaching no discussion, no disagreement. He picked up the chair and bashed it against the floor, breaking it into pieces, then fed it to the fire. “Get them off so we can both get warm.” His expression was dark and dangerous, and Brianna did not dare deny him.
With shaking hands, she worked at her ties and fastenings. The heat of the fire penetrated the room, and she could no longer see her breath. What she could see was Laird Glenloch, pulling off his greatcoat, then the rest of his clothes. She eyed one disreputable, thin blanket of plaid lying in a heap on the pallet, the wool looking far too insubstantial to ward off the cold.
“Only a fool would go into the water on a day like this,” he
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