“And they have missed ye. For who would not?”
Katelyn raised a quizzical brow and gazed up at him. “Ye are an unusual man.”
“How so?”
“Ye speak softly of the stars, yet ye kill with ease.”
“I do what I must.”
She nodded slowly, her gaze turning back to the sky and he released a breath. “Aye, as do we all,” she replied.
Something about that statement caught him. Did she speak of her betrothal perhaps? A noblewoman doing her duty was no strange thing. Indeed his sister had married the man of their father’s choosing, but he’d never considered how a lass might feel about it. He had loved Alice, and she him. What would it have been like if neither of them cared for one another?
He flexed his fingers against Katelyn’s delicate shoulder. Less painful, for certain. Five summers and he no longer recalled Alice’s voice or what her kisses felt like. For that, guilt jabbed at him. But the cries of pain as she tried to bring their daughter into the world—they echoed through his mind as if it were yesterday.
Soft breaths filtered in and he studied Katelyn’s face in the starlight. She had fallen asleep. Her closed lashes against her swollen cheek eased the tension in his chest. He sighed. Soon enough, another man would be enjoying the sight.
***
Catriona awoke alone. She peered around. Nay, not alone, but no longer wrapped in the embrace of the Viking. Her muscles screamed in protest as she shuffled to sitting, fur clutched around her shoulders. The ache in her cheek seemed to have subsided at least. She glanced at the men. Still they slept on. She did not like her chances of evading all of them so surely now was the time.
A hand touched her shoulder and she swallowed a cry of surprise. Following the line of his body, silhouetted in the dawn light, she was confronted by a broad grin and even broader shoulders.
Escaping him, however, would prove difficult.
“Did ye sleep well?”
Catriona fidgeted, aware of his gaze tracing her body. No matter how she positioned herself, something peeked out of the pelt. A calf or her thigh. Even the curve of her shoulder, or the top of a breast. Interest sparked in his blue eyes, making her stomach flip.
She should be scared by him, not excited. Had she not already seen what a Norseman could do?
“Well enough, thank ye.”
He knelt and handed over her gown. She gripped the wool in her free hand and offered Finn a tentative smile of thanks.
“’Tis dry now.”
For some unknown reason, she failed to stop her smile from expanding at his obvious statement.
She stood, fighting to ignore how he followed her movements closely. “Will ye excuse me while I dress?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, making her feel as though sprites might be dancing in her stomach. How did a barbaric Viking look so… so tender? She swept aside the notion she would miss the fair warrior. This was for the best. Whatever his plans for her, they could not be good.
“I shall turn my back,” he offered.
Catriona nodded and motioned to an outcrop of rocks. “I will be but a moment.” Furs clutched about her shoulders, she waited until he turned and scurried behind the rocks.
She fought the stiff fabric of her chemise and gown. Salt from the sea crusted upon it and the ties would be almost impossible to do on her own.
Once her chemise was on, she tugged the gown over her head and grimaced at the feel of the rigid garments against her skin. But at least she was no longer naked. She shook her head. Everything she had been taught about the Norsemen was wrong. Why had he not ravished her when given the chance? Did he not find her enticing? Catriona touched the swelling on her cheek. Mayhap the hit to her face had spoiled her looks. She never normally dwelled long on her appeal to men. It was an encumbrance and most thought her conceited when she dismissed them but, in truth, the attention made her uneasy. Katelyn and her father never understood why she did not use her looks to manipulate men, but she only concluded she had to take after her late mother, who knew little about plotting and scheming. Manipulation did not come naturally to Catriona.
So why did she care what her kidnapper thought? Sweet Mary, she really was turning into one of those women who fell in love with their abductor. She stretched her arms against the fabric to loosen it and tutted at herself. Not love, nay. She had not meant to say love. But certainly her feelings were far from fear. Which was a very foolish thing indeed.
Darting a peek over the grey rocks, she sighed as her gaze landed on the large man, his back still to her. The hills and valleys were all cast in muted colours, their splendour not yet allowed to shine through. If she travelled south she would come across one of the villages scattered across the countryside. In theory, returning to the coast would bring her close to civilisation but she was not sure she wished to risk such a venture. More Norse might have crossed from Bute by now.