Tierney snaked his arm out quick to catch the back of her head before she clunked it on the cave floor in a dead faint.

“I’d not leave ye,” he said, though with her eyes closed and the heaviness of sleep in her limbs, he knew she couldn’t hear him.

He made quick work of wrapping her wrist and then stared at the hem of her gown, scorched in several places. Normally, he’d ask permission before lifting her skirts to be certain she’d not ascertained any wounds about her ankles, but she was unconscious, and to wait until she woke was impossible. The sooner he got her out of this cave and onto The Tower, the better.

Gingerly, he lifted the hem to discover that while the fire had singed parts of her gown, he’d squelched it before the flames had a chance to even touch her hose.

Tierney laid her gently on the ground, checking the cave for anything of value she’d balk at leaving behind and found nothing. Who was she and why had her father left her here? She’d said her sire was returning at any moment, but he sincerely doubted it. The supplies in the crates were full, and fresh, as though they’d only just been left. The chit had been abandoned whether she wanted to admit it or not.

But why?

He didn’t even know her name.

Tierney returned to her, shaking her shoulder and trying not to admire the supple shape of it beneath her gown. Or the way he gently shook her made other more voluptuous parts of her jiggle, drawing his gaze to places he shouldn’t be looking.

The lass did not stir. With a huff, he scooped up one of the wool blankets from the pile that looked to be a makeshift bed and wrapped her in it. Climbing down was going to more precarious than it had been to climb up. Not because she was heavy, but because she would be dead weight secured to his moving body.

Securing the grappling hook in place on a large rock jutting securely from the cave floor, he then lifted the lass over his shoulder, shifting with her slight weight. Blast! He wasn’t going to be able to climb down one-handed on a single rope.

Thinking quickly, he took off his belt, his plaid unraveling, and then he laid her gently on the wool, wrapping her up and around himself, he secured her to him with his belt, feeling very much like a man who’d consumed an entire barrel of ale with her attached to his belly like this. And also very aware of how she’d balk at being so intimately pressed to him while he was only half dressed. He wrapped the rope of the grappling hook behind his hips and said a prayer.

“Hold on to me if ye wake,” he warned, though she would not hear him.

Tierney shifted to the edge of the cave, staring at the water below. He tested the hook, making sure it was still securely latched to the jutting stone. Gripping the ropes tight, he eased backward over the side of the cliff, his arm muscles straining with the added, awkward burden of the lass.

With his feet planted on the craggy cliff-side, he slowly eased his way down the side, walking his feet and shuffling his hands. The lass stirred, moaning slightly, shifting against him and making him hiss.

“Dinna move, lass, else ye fall to your death.”

That jarred her awake. He continued to move down as widened eyes met his, and then scanned the area above his chest to see they were no longer in the cave.

Tierney expected her to become alarmed, to scream, to buck against him, possibly causing them both to fall. But she surprised him with a sigh of relief, and wrapped her long, slim arms around his middle.

God’s bones but it felt good to have a woman’s arms around him. Imprisoned for ten years, he’d not been with a woman since he was just barely a lad coming into manhood. Immediately his body perked to life, blood rushing from every limb and straight to his groin, all too aware of the soft curves, the feminine scent.

What he would like to do with her… Kiss her, touch her, stroke her, and drive her into oblivion as he took her again and again.

He stifled a groan. Out of the question. Tierney needed to concentrate on the rope. On the weight of them both, and landing safely in the skiff below. Not on the pleasures her lush curves promised.

“Thank you,” she murmured against his chest, her breath warm and seeping through his shirt.

“My pleasure,” he said gruffly, continuing his descent, his feet gripping the stones as though he walked backward down the side of the cliff.

When they made it to the skiff, he stepped lightly, feeling the vessel wobble beneath his unsteady feet, hands letting go of the rope to wrap for a brief moment around her body, holding her tight. His heart pounded against hers.

They could have fallen to their deaths. To have climbed as he did was a daring feat. He knew that, she seemed to know it, too, and didn’t mind the way he held her.

But as his heart did not seem to want to calm, and the other part of his body was becoming insistently more urgent that he seek to meet its needs, Tierney knew it was time to put her down. Now.

With a flick of his fingers, he unhooked the belt, letting the lass drop onto the bottom of the boat a little more roughly than he might have intended, but he needed her heat away from him. Needed the relief of space between their two bodies. But, as it happened, she was now eye level with the jutting force of his arousal pressing tightly to his shirt, which covered him just to mid-thigh.

“Oh,” she breathed out on parted lips. Fear melded with desire in a flash of her eyes as she glanced up at him. “Please, have mercy…”

“I’ll not be ravaging ye this day,” he growled, however he could not make promises for the future.

Tierney grasped his plaid, whipping it out from beneath her, and trying not to smile as she rolled with it. The skiff wobbled from his movements and she gripped the side, staring anywhere but at him, giving Tierney a momentary reprieve from her prying eyes. He wrapped the plaid around his waist, not bothering with pleats for the sake of her wide eyes returning to his engorged middle. He strapped on the belt and then slammed his arse down onto the waiting bench, picking up the oars and slapping them into the water. It felt good to move with such purpose. Such savagery. He attacked the water, not saying a word as he rowed her toward The Tower.

“Where will you take me?” she asked, arms wrapped around herself as if cold. A flush covered her cheeks and neck causing his thoughts to return to the lusty variety.

“I am headed to Scotland.” Aye, his voice was harsh, but it was best that way.

“Scotland,” she said, almost wistfully. “So far from England.”

“’Tis my home.”

She tucked locks of wild, golden strands behind her ears. “Which part?”

“Oban. I intend to take it back.”

“Someone has stolen it from you?” With that, her eyes flitted back toward the cave.

“Ye could say so.” He did not want to share anymore of his past with her. Hell, he couldn’t look at her without his cock twitching, without remembering her parted lips so close to his tight arousal. Lord help him, but he was going to need to find a way to burn off the drowning lust coursing through his body. Mayhap, leap into the cold waters of the sea, or take himself in hand, either way, he could not continue to gaze at the way her breasts pushed up as she crossed her arms over herself, or recall the feel of her arms wrapped around him and those plush globes pressed to the front of his chest. “Blast it,” he grumbled.

“What?”

“Hush, lass,” he said through gritted teeth.

They arrived at the waiting ship, a rope ladder hung down ready to take them up, and a sailor at the base of it jumped into the skiff to attach the pulleys that would bring it back to the top.

“Welcome back, Laird MacDougall,” the sailor said with a nod.

Tierney grunted. “Up with ye,” he ordered the lass.

“Laird?” she asked.

Ignoring her, he jerked his head toward the rope.

He had a feeling that watching her climb was going to be pure torture. And he was right.

The gentle sway of her hips had her skirts swishing around her ankles, revealing her hose—which he’d already seen—and making his mind wander up those hose to the silky thighs he was certain resided there.

At last she was over the rail and he behind her.

Samuel grinned widely, his gaze dropping to the haphazardly gathered plaid about Tierney’s hips. The man had the audacity to raise a brow.

“’Twas necessary to carry her down. She was…unconscious.” He realized that sounded exactly the opposite of which he’d hoped.

“Unconscious?” Samuel mused.

“You’re English,” the lass blurted out.

“As are you. Samuel de Mowbray at your service, and you are?”

The lady moved to swipe the hair from her face as the wind gently fought against her, then winced as she remembered the burns at her wrist and stared at the wrapped wound. She thrust it forward, showing Samuel the makeshift bandage. “This Highlander saved me.”

“You were attacked?” Samuel asked, narrowing his gaze. “Someone already in there?”

“A rogue flame.” Rosamond giggled as if what had happened in the cave was a grand jest.

Tierney worked not to laugh since clearly she was overwrought. “She brandished a blazing log at me.” He shook his head, so Samuel would not further question the lass’ mental capacity. “Afeared I’d come to do her harm.”

“And now?” Samuel asked, his gaze on the lass.

“I asked him to take me to Scotland.”

Tierney stiffened. She’d asked him to do no such thing.

“And he agreed,” she added.

’Twas hard to keep his mouth from falling open, but the bite to his cheek kept his jaw clamped firmly closed—that he certainly had not agreed to.

“Oh,” she breathed out, ducking into a curtsy. “I am Lady Rosamond de Warenne. Daughter of the Earl of Surrey.”

At that, both men’s eyes widened, as did the sailors surrounding them. Beyond widened eyes, Tierney felt a burning rage and a crushing hallelujah. The daughter of his enemy stood before him. Both a gift for his hunger for revenge and a desperate need to protect what the bastard had obviously thrown away. Which path would he take? Could he torture his enemy’s daughter as he’d been made to suffer?

Even as he thought it, he knew it to be false. There was no way he could torture anyone the way he’d been abused, let alone a lass. Well, there was one man he might consider abusing so violently, and that was John de Warenne, but in all likelihood, if he ever crossed the man, he would simply run him through rather than prolonging the death Tierney so desperately wanted for his enemy.

So, nay, he could not make her suffer. But perhaps, in her he could find a way to torture his oppressor. Perhaps in the lass, he might find a common ally.

“What were ye doing in the cave?” Tierney growled, unable to keep the anger from his voice. “Lord Surrey left ye there?”

While the men on the ship took a step back, as if they could sense he may soon strike, Samuel took a step closer, and Rosamond held her ground. She studied him, eyes squinting as she took in his visage.

Aside from arresting and then tormenting Tierney for the past decade, he’d witnessed Surrey at court on the occasions he’d been brought to stand before all those fools with their heads shoved so far up the king’s arse. Surrey was a bully at court, and rightly mad. Even in the Tower, they’d heard the rumors of Surrey having kidnapped Lancaster’s wife as retribution against some crime done to him. And this was his daughter? Her shoulders squared, and her beautiful face fell, void of emotion as her eyes, as troubled as his own, locked on his and held him steady. The lass seemed so poised. So strong. So sensible—minus the burning log. He would have never guessed that she was the daughter of his enemy.

“Aye.” But she irritatingly offered nothing more. “I am tired. And thirsty.”

He thought to argue with her. To demand she tell him what he wanted to know. Then he thought better of it. If he were in her position, he would not share even a taste of information.

“Ye can have my cabin,” Tierney said. “I’ll sleep with the men.”

Samuel nodded and ordered one of the swabs to bring her a hot meal. Tierney offered his arm. Courtly manners were not lost on him even with being imprisoned for so long. He led her across the deck to the stairs.

“Steps are steep, slim and often slippery. Be wary with your gown, ye’ll not want to get your feet caught.” He let go of her arm, stepping in front of her to lead the way down.

Just in case she fell, she’d land on his back and not at the bottom. Why should he care? The question was strong, intense, and his answer was to shove it away, lock it up.

The lass was not her father. He had to remember that.

And from where he’d found her, she’d suffered enough at the man’s hands. To cause her further suffering would only make Tierney a monster.

They walked single file along the passageway until coming to the cabin assigned to him for the journey. The space was small, but comfortable. A bed was bolted to the ground, covered with a slim mattress, pillow and blanket. A small, round table was equally bolted to the floor and two chairs were tucked beneath it. A single porthole on the right side gave off a view of the caves they’d just left, and on either side of the window, the walls were lined with barren shelves. He’d not been given the opportunity to pack up before he’d left Scotland, and hadn’t accumulated much in the Tower worth taking. His clan had provided him with the clothes he wore now, along with the boots.

Rosamond turned in a circle before she faced him again. “Thank you for giving up your sleeping space for me.”

Dryness permeated his mouth, made his tongue feel thick. “I’d not have ye sleeping on deck with the swabs.” He stayed at the door, watching her as she examined the room and then sat down wearily on the mattress.

“Swabs?” She touched her wrist.

“The lads who swab the deck, bring your meals.”

“And in thanks for their hard work they get no bed?”

He shrugged. “They’ve spots below, or up top. Most of them prefer to be on deck.”

She glanced up at him, trembling. Dark shadows smudged beneath her beautiful, green eyes. “I can’t thank you enough, Laird MacDougall. You’ve saved me more than once this day. Please, tell me how I can repay you.”

Oh, let him count the ways…

What was the matter with him? Ten years of celibacy. The lass could have been covered in warts and taken a mud bath and he’d still desire her. At least, he kept telling himself that.

Tierney worked to tamp down the rush of desire coursing through him as his gaze greedily took in the curve of her breasts, the length of her legs tucked up against the bed. How he could take two strides and simply press her down into the mattress. How bedding the daughter of his enemy would feel so right and justified, except he’d not be able to use her in such a way, not when she was looking at him like that. Not when she was innocent of his tormenter’s deeds.

Unless this was a trap, and she’d been placed there in the cave to draw his attention. To lure him into doing something he shouldn’t so Surrey could imprison him again. The bastard had said on more than one occasion Tierney was his favorite for the amount of pain he could withstand. Barbarous whoreson. But even as he thought it, he knew it was not a plausible machination. There was no guarantee that Tierney would have seen the light, let alone known it was a woman, or had the interest in saving anyone. A ruse, as much as the idea was intriguing, was inconceivable.

He cleared his throat. “There is no need. I told ye afore, and I meant it, I couldna let ye remain behind when any vagrant could come along and do ye harm. But I will ask ye again, what were ye doing in that cave? Were ye…” At the risk of sounding mad by asking if she were a ruse, he clamped his lips closed.

“Was I what?”

Saints but his throat was tight and his wrists ached. He wasn’t going to show her how much this situation affected him. “Never mind. I’ll have the ship’s healer come take a look at your wrist.”

She nodded, her gaze moving toward the porthole. There was something so vulnerable about her at that moment he felt a tug in his chest. The lass was in real trouble, for all her joviality on the deck with the men, and how much she was trying to hide from him. A sudden need to comfort her gripped his gut, but he dared not take one more step in her direction, lest he do more than give her comfort.

In fact, with a glower, he retreated, slamming the door closed, putting a barrier between them, when he turned to catch one last look at her. Pressing his face against the wooden impediment, body heated, he took measured breaths to calm himself.

Hell and damnation, he wanted her. More than he could recall ever wanting another. But perhaps that was only a decade of celibacy talking. Tierney palmed his cock through the thick layers of his plaid, ready to burst from one single stroke.

“Ballocks,” he ground out, letting himself go. Control. That was what he needed to regain.

Rosamond de Warenne was not going to unravel him. No matter how pitiful she appeared, or how gorgeous.