To Dream of a Highlander(8)

Sand ground under the hull, making Catriona wince. They had made it through the surf and now the waves fell weakly about the boat. She released a breath, relieved to be on land once more. She did not intend to get soaked again. Once her feet touched the sand, she would consider her next move. Without her garments, she could hardly escape. However, being on the mainland made her chest expand with hope. If she could find a moment to run there would surely be shelter somewhere.

She hoped.

The man jumped deftly over the side and another three men followed. Together they worked to pull the boat fully ashore. Catriona tried to keep her gaze from tracking the tug of his shirt against his muscles but failed repeatedly. He should not, but for some reason the Norseman fascinated her. His features were partially hidden in the gloom of the night but his profile begged her to trace her gaze over it, to follow the sharp lines and dips.

She hunched down when he released his grip on the bow and took a step forward. Gone was her fascination. Now she recalled he had taken her against her will, and there was nothing to prevent him from doing what he wished with her. He offered a hand and she glanced around as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. She had to get out of the boat. Had to cooperate for the moment. If she played the meek captive, mayhap they would let their guards down and she could escape. She frowned and slipped her hand into his. Once she got her gown back that was. Catriona squeezed the furs tight at her neck, aware of the breeze swirling about her nude legs.

Feet sinking into the damp sand, she almost groaned aloud. Her slippers were gone, lost in the fight to keep the other attacker from between her thighs. How would she escape without anything on her feet? She eyed the Viking’s boots briefly and when she lifted her head she caught him studying her bare legs and feet.

“Ach, ye’ll no’ get far like that.”

In one swift movement, he swept a hand under her legs, the other around her back and scooped her into his arms. Catriona gasped and frantically readjusted the pelt to preserve her modesty.

“Ye dinnae need to....”

“Aye, yer my burden now, lass. Have no fear. I’ll no’ let ye come to harm.”

Allowing her brow to crease, she gaped at the man. Have no fear? His burden? Did he mean to marry her mayhap? Use her for a political alliance? If he was an important man, a marriage to one of the laird of Bute's daughters would certainly be beneficial.

But, did she believe he did not intend to harm her? Something in his manner was strangely reassuring. The man was a warrior, through and through. Large in stature, strong and sure, but something softer simmered beneath. The way he looked created a tiny fluttering sensation in her chest. She shook her head to swipe away foolish thoughts. She would do well to remember he’d just killed a man and taken her from her home. Whatever he wanted with her did not matter. She had to get away. If he truly meant her no harm, she would be safe until she decided on a way to escape. For the moment, she would be wise to keep her thoughts—and real name and identity—to herself.

“We will make for the hills,” he told her, “and set up camp away from the beach. Ye’ll get yer gown when it’s dry.”

She nodded slowly, unable to form any words. His firm hold warmed her cold skin and the thud of his heart against her cheek soothed her. This disconcerted her most of all. In his arms, her shields were down. The flex of his muscles around her body as he took sure steps across the gravelly sand sent heat coiling through her. What a fool she was. She’d heard of lasses being taken and falling in love with their kidnapper. Was this what was happening to her?

The ache in her head forced away any further worries. Little could be done now. She certainly would not be the kind to fall for her enemy and she could ill afford to.

He called to the men behind him, directing them to leave the boat for the owner. The rest of his orders were fuzzy to her ears. Fatigue took its toll, leaching into her limbs and mind. She yawned and was rewarded with a rumbling chuckle. He must have seen it.

“Rest now, wee lass.”

Her stomach flipped at his words. What sort of a Viking kidnapper spoke with such tenderness? She failed to supress another yawn. Well, hopefully she would not find out. Once she had rested, she’d get back her gown and make an escape. She would likely never meet the man again.

***

Tèile had watched the boat come into shore. She winced as it tossed about. The seas were calm enough but the wash never made it easy for small boats to land on the beach. There was little to be done about it. If her last experience at matchmaking taught her anything, it was to be more careful with her magic. It would not do to create yet another mess. She huffed to herself and fluttered over them, having to adjust her wings to deal with the slight breeze. Dropping down, she settled on the bow of the boat, using both wings to keep her balance as it rolled with the waves.