The MacKinnon’s Bride(60)

“I’ll be damned if she isna, son,” he agreed, and urged Kerr to come forward. He handed Malcom to him, directed them to return to camp and await him there, and then he spurred his mount after her.

“Bluidy obstinate wench,” he muttered to himself.

So why the hell didn’t he simply let her go?

He could easily sacrifice a mount for the sake of her safety, and appease any guilt he might feel over leaving her to fend for herself. If she had any sense of direction at all, she’d soon enough be ensconced within her father’s walls. Nor had he retrieved all the scraps she’d discarded. She’d come upon them soon enough, and they would serve to guide her...

If he let her go...

So why didn’t he?

Because he bloody well didn’t want to, that’s why! It wasn’t only because he feared for her safety at the hands of her father. He just didn’t want to.

Something within him snapped as he watched her race away—some twist of emotion that felt like fear.

She was slipping away, shadows creeping in. A heavy door clanging shut. Darkness.

He leaned purposefully over his steed, urging his mount faster, closing the distance between them, coming at her from the left flank, and drawing alongside her. Preoccupied as she was with the naked mob pursuing her, he took her by surprise. He didn’t think in that moment, merely acted, reaching out with an angry bellow to pluck her from her saddle. She shrieked in alarm, and for the instant was too startled to fight him. He drew her against him, holding her imprisoned.

“Let me go!” she demanded, regaining her wits at once. “Let me go! Let me go!” Realizing who had captured her, she squirmed against him furiously, soaking his tunic and breacan.

“Nay, lass,” he growled. “I told ye I wouldna! I willna!”

“You lunatic Scotsman!” she railed at him. “Do you not realize you might have killed me!”

He didn’t respond. In truth, he didn’t know what to say to that bit of logic, for he’d not thought about anything at all, save stopping her. Some dark fog had enveloped him, some undeniable sweep of emotion that left him trembling still. Empty in a way that was painful. The same way he’d felt after Mairi had flung herself from his window.

Only, that he understood.

This, he did not.

“You might have warned me!” she added furiously.

Aye, he might have, if he’d been brainless enough to do so. “So ye might lead me upon a merry chase? I dinna think so!”

He didn’t bother to return as yet, instead rode on, trying to determine what the hell had come over him. A backward glance told him that her mount had slowed enough for his men to overtake. At any rate, he sure as Christ wasn’t going to allow her to remain in her wet gown and catch her death, and neither did he intend to have her undress before his men.

She needed privacy.

He wanted to hold her.

“Why can you not let me go?” she asked him furiously.

Would that he had the answers to her questions.

Christ, but he didn’t know. It somehow went far beyond the simple fact that he wished to save her from her father. In truth, that had been the last thing on his mind as she’d been flying away from him. The one thought that had spurred him more swiftly than any other was that she was slipping away... this woman who somehow banished shadows with her sultry sidelong glances.

Like a lad with his coveted prize, Iain held her securely against him, letting the black fog lift, relishing the feel of her warm flesh beneath the cold, wet gown she wore. His hand splayed at her belly and he could scarce keep himself from noticing the tiny waistline, the delicate outline of her ribs. His fingers traced them higher, until he could feel the weight of her breasts rest upon his hand. His loins quickened.

“Let me go!” she pleaded.

“I canna, lass,” he answered her. “I canna.” And he shuddered at the desire that gripped him so fiercely of a sudden. Just so easily she aroused him to the point of madness. Without even trying. This woman who vexed him unto death. She plagued him by day, and tormented him by night. And God help him, it was such pleasurable torture.

“Aye, but you can!” she argued desperately. “You can!” she reasoned with him. “If only you wished to!” She began to sob as his fingers continued to explore, but she didn’t stop him.

If she asked... he would.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her breath caught on one last sob and she whimpered softly, arching backward, thrusting her head against his shoulder.

At her innocent response, Iain’s body convulsed with a hunger so keen, it cast all thoughts from his head, save for those of the woman within his arms. Sucking the sweet scent of her into his lungs, he dared to lift a hand, skimming her breast, going to her throat, caressing gently, reverently. Unable to resist, he bent to bury his face against the curve of her neck, once again inhaling the beguiling scent of her.