Male breaths.
She wrenched open her eyes and the throb in her head increased. Dark damp wood surrounded her. A brown fur covered her body and... and a large arm encircled her waist. Breaths growing rapid, she fought the rising surge of panic and forced herself to consider her surroundings properly. The day had turned to night at some point and only slivers of moonlight seeped into the small boat. She could not view the men rowing without drawing attention to herself but she heard the odd low mutter between them and the splash of their oars.
Whoever had her restrained was a large man. Was it the Viking who had taken her? His thighs pressed up against the back of hers and his head rested near her neck—intimately. Her chin wobbled as the haze in her mind cleared. Her clothing was gone. Only the pelt separated her naked body from the warrior. Had he undressed her? Or…or done something else to her? A sound of anguish scrabbled up her throat and she fastened a hand over her mouth.
Catriona considered her body. Aside from the ache in her head and cheek from where the other man had hit her, she did not hurt anywhere else. It was unlikely he had ravished her. Something to be grateful for at least. But now what? She was naked, most likely in the middle of the ocean and trapped in the hold of a vicious warrior. She’d seen the way he’d run that Norse invader through. If he would do that to his own people, what would he do to her?
It was odd for even though she’d studied him momentarily, his eyes had reflected warmth, so very unlike that of the man who’d tried to rape her. No doubt that man would have killed her once he’d had his way. This man, however, had done nothing yet.
Yet.
Just because he had kind blue eyes and an oddly comforting way of holding her, did not mean he wasn’t as vicious as the rest of the Norsemen. Enough tales of their barbarity circulated the castle prior to their invasion. He probably didn’t want to ruin her so he could sell her off.
Catriona chewed her lip and concentrated on the waves splashing the hull. Visions of the man against her, his clammy hands pawing her thighs kept threatening to invade her mind. The last thing she needed was her thoughts to be further muddled. And the thought that confused her most? Why did this man’s hands upon her—albeit with the furs as a barrier—not send revulsion through her?
A shout brought her kidnapper to his feet and Catriona bunched the furs in one hand, tightening them around her. The boat rocked wildly as the waves swelled beneath them and surf spattered over the boat. Here the scent of salt and seaweed hung strong in the air. They were near the coast, but surely not Norway? She would have known had she been sleeping for that long.
Scooting into a sitting position, she arranged the pelt around her bare legs and peered over the edge of the vessel. Sure enough a beach loomed. Moonlight picked out the hills above them, dusting their tips with silver streams. Catriona scowled and gripped the wood with her free hand. It was the mainland. She knew this place. They must have taken the shortest crossing from Bute to Scotland. But why kidnap her only to bring her to the mainland?
Soon the waves had turned into a seething mass, breaking on the shoreline with a crash. She saw the foamy tips and braced herself as they came closer to the beach. Though the sea was not as rough as some days, bringing a small boat into land was difficult for it was easily tossed about.
She turned and gazed up at the fair man as he directed the men confidently. He stood, legs apart, assured and steady. It seemed as though he was the master of the seas, his confidence unshakable. Surely men bowed to his will. Mayhap he thought the ocean would too?
His deep voice, smooth yet exciting, just reached her ears and she pondered his Gaelic tongue. She had spoken with Norse-Gaels before and many had their own distinct way of speaking but she had never heard any so… so Scottish sounding as he. Catriona blinked as she took a proper study of him. Gone was his fur. Now it likely hung over her shoulders, brushing her bare skin. But what disconcerted her most was his manner of dress. He looked as Scottish as any highlander. Only his shoulder length fair hair made him stand out. And when she looked to the other men, she realised they too wore plaids. Mayhap they always had. Mayhap she had been too horror stricken and disorientated to notice. But for what purpose?
Was she to be part of some great deception? The attack on Bute was the first after months of discontent on the Norse peoples’ part. Bute once belonged to the Norse but the King of Scots wanted the Western Isles back and the King of Norway would have none of it. That did not surprise Catriona. For as long as she had understood men, she had known greediness. But the invasion took them by surprise. None expected the keep to fall.