To Steal a Highlander's Heart(8)

However the years had certainly fed her courage. He couldn’t imagine her fighting him off before. Now it seemed she was a determined lass. Unfortunately she was determined to evade him and put herself in mortal danger.

The mountainside proved to be slippery underfoot and he had to snatch out at the protruding rocks to keep his footing as he surveyed the land. A flash of blue fabric snared his attention and he hurried over to it.

Hell fire, Alana’s plaid.

At least he was on the right track. But if she was out in the wilds barely clothed, she was bound to catch a chill. The thought pushed him to climb faster until his breathing grew ragged and his limbs began to ache.

And then his heart juddered to a stop.

Morgann clambered up the hillside, dropping to his knees beside her. She lay on her front, caked in mud, face ashen and serene. As he reached out to her, he noted his hands shook. Lord, he’d only just found her again, he couldn’t lose her now.

Cannae lose her? She isn’t even mine.

Never mind that his heart threatened to burst in agony.

He pressed his fingers to her neck and the agony dissipated as he felt the faintest of beats. Releasing a long breath, he rolled her tentatively over and used his plaid to wipe the worst of the grime from her face. As he studied the curve of her cheek, he shook his head. Damn everything to hell. This was all his fault.

Too used to keeping secrets, that was his problem. He should have confided in her when he had the chance. The lass he’d known would never have doubted him. But how could he have told her the truth about her father? It would have broken her heart.

One hand under her head, he gathered her into his arms, tamping down on the tremor of pleasure rolling through him. Aye, he did not deny he enjoyed having Alana in his arms but what he would not give to have her in his arms under different circumstances.

Once, all those years ago, mayhap that would have been possible. He’d always clung to the hope that in another life that may have come to pass.

A faint tease of a breath blew across his neck and she mumbled as she buried her head into his neck. He uttered up a prayer of thanks and tried to ignore the shiver it sent through him as he carefully made his way down the mountainside.

Morgann found another decent sized rock once he reached the bottom that would provide enough shelter from the cold. Clicking to Caraid, it pleased him to note the mare’s jumpy countenance had calmed and she obeyed him instantly, coming to stand beside him.

Morgann bent down and gingerly pressed Alana under the rock. Lying beside her, he attempted to warm her with his body. Her eyes fluttered open and she grinned sleepily at him as he leaned over to study her head. A tiny dribble of blood seeped from under her hair but it was too wet to tell where she’d hurt it. He prayed it wasn’t a deep cut.

“Morgann?” she whispered.

“Aye, ‘tis I.”

“I am glad ye’ve come for me.” She sighed. “I’ve missed ye.”

He swallowed heavily. God’s blood, she must have fallen hard. “I’ve missed ye too.”

She beamed up at him. “It pleases me to hear ye say that.”

Delicate fingers began creeping up his arm and hooked over his shoulder, holding him closer. He frowned. “What are ye playing at, lass?”

“Dinnae ye want to keep me warm, Morgann?”

Aye, of course he did. He wished to do more than keep her warm. He hungered to strip her of her clothing and kiss her from head to toe. He wished to plunder her mouth and see if her kisses were like he’d always dreamed they would be. He wished to make her his.

But he would not take advantage of her and he needed to remember exactly why he’d taken her. If he handed her back to Laird Dougall ruined, there would be hell to pay. The fates somewhere were playing a cruel trick indeed, placing this wet, sensual woman in his arms.

He huddled up to her, tucking her head into the crook of one arm. The light rain still soaked his back but the discomfort was nothing compared to the agony of having Alana flat against him. Highly aware of her slender legs twining with his, he gritted his teeth and tried to picture something less enticing.

But nothing came. All he thought of was Alana.

She tilted her head up and nuzzled into his neck, breath heating his skin. It sent a shudder through him.

God help him.

As if to torture him further, her lips tickled over his neck and he stiffened, trying to hold her at bay.

“What’s wrong, Morgann? Dinnae ye want me?” she whispered against his skin.

“I dinnae want a lass who’s had several knocks to the head. Yer brain is addled. Ye dinnae know what ye want.”

“Are ye, the brave Highland warrior, afeared of a harmless lass?”

Harmless? He could hardly believe sweet Alana was carefully threading her leg between his and pressing her juncture against his thigh. Her knee brushed against his arousal—aye, he was insanely aroused—and he held back a groan.