To Dream of a Highlander(18)

Damnation, now what was he thinking? He did not want the lass in his arms, let alone regarding him as some magnificent hero. Still mayhap it rankled his ego that she had not swooned with gratitude. Most women he knew would take any chance to be in the arms of the fair haired warrior and protector of the clan at Glencolum.

The sound of a slight intake of breath dragged his attention back to Katelyn and he cursed himself again. This rescue had gone nothing like predicted. They were to go to the isle, take Katelyn with ease and place her in the hands of her betrothed.

Instead he had been embroiled in two battles, had a fragile yet strangely strong woman in his care and a Norse army searching for them.

“Ye should rest,” he murmured to Katelyn when another yawn wrested free from her.

She shook her head. “I cannae.”

“We have a long journey ahead of us. I will protect ye, have no fear.”

“I dinnae fear for my safety, Finn. Ye seem a bold and brave warrior.”

He grinned at her assessment of him. “Aye, bold indeed. Some would say too bold. It has brought me much trouble at times.”

“Aye, but if ye hadnae been bold, I would probably be dead at the hands of that Viking.”

His grin dropped. The thought of Katelyn—a woman he barely knew—coming to harm made his gut clench. When the rush of bloodlust had dimmed, he had no doubt the image of her attacker attempting to rut against her would linger.

Katelyn touched his chin, the lightest of touches that sent an odd tingling sensation through him. He forced a smile again. How odd that even in the dark night she could make out his mood. Few people saw past his ready smiles and teasing wit.

“I am very grateful to ye.”

“Ye may save yer gratitude, Katelyn, for yer betrothed.” He didn’t know why, but he needed to remind her of Laird Gillean. Or was he reminding himself?

“I shall surely thank him too, but it was ye who took the risk of dressing as one of the enemy and infiltrating the keep mid-battle.”

“Ach, ‘twas no huge risk. I’ve been mistaken for a Viking many a time.”

“Aye…”

She sighed and tilted her head up toward the heavens. The moonlight that invaded the sky shone brightly enough to allow him to make out her profile. He swallowed. He had not noticed her true beauty until then but with her dark hair streaming down her back, even with the swelling on her cheek, he surely had a handsome woman beside him.

Ach, moonlight and a beautiful woman. Fate was playing a cruel trick indeed on him.

***

Finn pressed a coin into the hand of the villager who had stabled their mounts for their journey. There had been nowhere to leave them by the coast and knowing of their need to cross the sea, Finn had made the decision to stable their horses in the village.

He rubbed a hand down Dìleas’s flank and grinned. “Ye look well, lass. I think ye’ve been enjoying yer break too much. Ye shall have to ride hard now.”

“This is yer horse?” Katelyn’s asked as she approached from behind.

“Aye, this is Dìleas—my faithful companion. She shall see us safely to Kilcree.”

Katelyn blinked. “I shall ride with ye?”

“Aye, we didnae bring an extra mount. Dinnae fear, she is a strong horse and can easily bear the burden.”

Her throat bobbed lightly. What disconcerted her? The thought of riding with him? Mayhap it was the impropriety of their situation but it could not be helped. He had to admit the idea of having her pressed up against him sent a thrill through him in spite of himself.

Mounting the brown horse, he offered her a hand and settled her up behind him with ease. She released a tiny gasp as he lifted her and the sound made him clench the reins hard.

They set off at a steady pace, wary of tiring out the horses. Passing by the ramshackle cottages, smoke seeping from their straw roofs, Katelyn wriggled to get comfortable. Her slender legs rubbed his thighs and her fingers touched tentatively at his waist. Dìleas wandered to one side slightly, struggling against her added—wriggling—burden. By his reckoning, this journey would be a long, long one.

“Ye have a fine steed, Finn.” Katelyn lifted her voice over the steady beat of hooves.

“Aye, she is indeed fine.”

“Ye have had her long?”

“Aye, some ten years.”

“Was she yer father’s?”

Finn scowled. He’d forgotten how much women like to talk. When he spent time with lasses, it was rarely for conversation. He shoved aside one idea he had for keeping her quiet. Placing his mouth over her lips and—damnation. “Nay, my father died many years ago.”

“Forgive me.”

“’Twas a while ago and I have many kin around me,” he replied stiffly. His father had died of a battle wound—an honourable death, everyone assured him.