The MacKinnon’s Bride(29)

He squatted upon his haunches, and reached out to take into his callused hand the disheveled plait of her hair. “Aye, lass,” he whispered. His fingers skimmed the length of the braid. “Ye are bonny. Christ, but ye’ve eyes so dark a mon could lose himself in them. And hair...” He came forward, falling upon one knee, reaching out with his other hand to tug free the ribbon that kept her plait bound. He nudged his thumb into the weave of her hair, working the soft strands loose with his fingers. “‘Tis lovely,” he murmured as he stroked the unbound locks. “Fine silk against flesh that’s ne’er felt the like.”

For an instant she seemed unable to respond, hanging on his every word like a woman starved, and then she blinked, as though regaining her senses, and wrenched her head back, tugging the lock free from his hand.

She “glared up at him. ’Twill take more than pretty words to move me, Scot!” she swore. She lifted a brow in challenge. “If you mean to woo me, you might better begin by unbinding my wrists! They hurt!”

Iain considered her request, thinking it a well founded grievance. And yet... he didn’t intend to stay awake all night guarding the troublesome wench. Her chin lifted and she held his gaze, her eyes burning with indignation and ire.

“I’m no animal to be kept fettered!” she persisted.

“Nay,” Iain agreed, “you are not, lass.” He sighed. “Verra well.” He leaned forward and reached about her, stretching his body across hers as he groped blindly around the tree for the ropes at her wrists.

It was a mistake, he realized. He should have gone around her. Certainly it would have been the sensible thing to do.

As it was, he found himself embracing her, his chin resting upon her shoulder and his lips too near the warmth of her neck. Her gasp was almost inaudible. He felt it more than heard it, and then she went wholly still beneath him.

Iain, too, froze, utterly aware of the woman within his arms.

Christ, but it had been much too long since he’d been this close to any female... He could feel the peaks of her breasts rise with her breath, teasing his chest and his physical reaction was immediate. It was all he could do not to lean into her, inhale the essence of her—that glorious scent that was purely female and wholly intoxicating.

He had to remind himself who she was—who he was—that they were not alone.

And still he couldn’t help himself; he lowered his body in an effort to reach the bindings and leaned into her. Trying for a lighthearted tone, he asked, “You’re no’ busy planning your escape, are ye, lass?”

She said nothing, and he persisted, though he hadn’t the least notion why he should care. “Promise me you’ll no’ try to escape.” His hands arrested at her back, awaiting her response.

For an instant longer, she said nothing, and then she asked, “If I cannot promise? Will you still release me?”

So she was a woman of her word, was she?

Iain smiled.

He didn’t know why he felt driven to protect her, but he knew with a certainty that he’d not let her go. “Nay, lass,” he whispered against her hair, nudging it away from his face with his chin. A few strands stuck to his lips, and he tasted them, closing his eyes as he imagined the silky curtain unbound and cascading into his face as she rode him. The scent of her taunted him, aroused him to the point of pain. The image made him shudder. God, but she was an innocent not to know how she could affect a man... how she affected him. “I’ll not,” he murmured, clearing his throat. “I’ll not release you if you cannot promise.”

Though he knew it was impossible, she seemed to shrink away from him, into the ground beneath him. “In such case,” she answered, somewhat breathlessly, and more than a little flippantly, “I promise not to try!”

He smiled at her cunning. “You promise not to try?” he repeated, disbelieving her audacity.

“I believe ‘tis what I said, Scot!”

He couldn’t see her face, but imagined her saucy expression, and chuckled. He nudged aside her hair with his lips, and whispered against her ear, “Swear you’ll not escape.”

She made some keening sound as he brushed her neck with his mouth and wrenched herself away. “Very well, Scot! I’ll not steal away! Untie me now!”

He chuckled.

“Get yourself off me!” she demanded. “I cannot bear for you to touch me!”

Iain smiled, for her quiver gave lie to her avowal. She was affected by him no less than he was by her. He’d wager his eyeteeth over it.

Still she sounded quite desperate, and he didn’t wish to upset her any more than she was already. “You’ll keep your word?” he persisted.