Chapter Nine
Lillianna’s thighs were on fire, but she’d eat dirt before she admitted it. She wanted to strip off the bandages and cleanse her wounds with cool water, but she knew if she told Angus, he would insist on accompanying her. She glanced back over her shoulder, glad to see both men had their backs to her, and they appeared to be in deep discussion. She shoved a low-hanging branch out of her way, and then she hesitated, to see if she could hear water. The faint rush of a stream met her ears. Angus had taught her that. She smiled but quickly tried to force it away. It would be far too easy to fall for the man, and she could not be so foolish.
Yet, as she walked toward the sound of the water, she could not help but think of the anger on Angus’s face moments before when Grant had offered to marry her. Angus had almost seemed… She stilled for a moment, searching her mind for a word to describe what she was thinking. Well, he had almost seemed jealous, but that could not be, could it?
When her belly fluttered with the thought of Angus being jealous over her, she shook her head. She needed to concentrate on the most important matters at hand and shove the image of the too-handsome Scot out of her mind.
As she continued to walk, her thoughts turned to what the men had said in regard to her needing a husband. What if they were correct? What if taking a husband was the only way to protect herself from unscrupulous men who would kidnap her? She sighed softly. There had to be another choice. She could not risk repeating her mother’s fate.
She took a deep breath to settle the storm brewing inside her. She refused to tie herself in knots with speculation. The men could be wrong, and she did have another choice. She would protect herself!
She was not helpless. She just needed to think more like a man. Determined to do so, she bent down, took her dagger from the holder at her ankle, put it between her teeth, and hoisted up her skirts to unwrap the bandages from both her legs. Then she removed her slippers, tied her skirts into knots at her waist, put her dagger in her left hand, and waded into the moonlit glistening water.
The cool temperatures provided immediate, much needed relief. She stood for a moment, the water gently lapping against her legs, and stared up at the moon. To her dismay, her mind wandered to Angus once more. Try as she might, she could not block her thoughts of him. She’d never known a man like him—a man of complete honor and total bravery, a fierce warrior more than willing to die for what he believed was right, who could be ruthless one moment and gentle the next. He was also a man capable of great love for his family and, she thought with a twinge of jealousy, for a woman. He’d given his heart to someone, by his own admission, and she’d somehow betrayed him. She’d wounded him so greatly that he did not want to give his heart to another again.
It occurred to her suddenly that they had such fear in common, only for different reasons. She had told him that he simply needed to look for the signs that he had chosen a good woman before giving his heart. Could her advice to him be applied to herself?
No, no! There she was being weak again. She could not risk being used merely for the legend.
The sharp point of something cool at her neck snatched her thoughts, and fear exploded within her.
“Hello, Lady Lillianna,” a familiar deep voice with a heavy English accent whispered in her ear.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the sound of Donovan’s labored voice. Shock held her silent for one breath, and when she opened her mouth to scream, he clamped a hand over her mouth. “Now, now. I cannot have you bringing your companions to us,” he wheezed. “I regret that I’m in bad shape since my last encounter with you and that nasty Scot. I’m going to remove my hand from your mouth, but if you scream, I vow to you, I’ll manage to kill at least one of your companions when they come for you, preferably the one who left me for dead,” he finished, panting.
She swallowed. She could not risk screaming and getting Angus or Grant killed. She would have to see if she could take him down herself. At least it was clear he was fighting his injuries. She nodded that he could remove his hand, and he did so, transferring his hold to her upper arm once more. As he slowly started to turn her, she lowered her dagger to her side and prayed he’d not seen it. Her heart pounded and thoughts raced. She had to wait for a good opening to use her dagger. Trying to do so with his weapon at her throat was not the time.
When she faced him fully, she saw the pain that twisted his features, and she regretted that it gave her hope. He glared down at her, his dagger piercing her skin. The sting of her flesh being cut made her eyes water and tightened her throat with fear. “You,” he said, his voice filled with obvious hatred, “have proven harder to return to your uncle than I imagined, but return you, I will.”
Her skin prickled at his words. She tried to pull back a bit, to give herself space to bring her dagger between them when the time was right, but Donovan gripped her tighter. She grunted at the pain, and he smirked. “That is but a small sample of what I will do to you if you cause me one more bit of trouble. You’re going back to the castle with me now.”
His words seeped into her mind and set true terror in her heart. She jerked back, but he surprised her with the strength he still wielded and yanked her hard against his chest, his dagger digging even deeper into her skin. She clenched her teeth against the need to cry out in pain. Warm blood trickled down her neck, and her heart pumped blood through her veins with such force, she could feel the rapid movement of her pulse.
Something brushed her foot under the water, causing her to startle, and she yelped involuntarily. The sound echoed in the silence of the night, and birds flew from the thick trees that surrounded the stream, squawking as they took to the sky.
Donovan’s lip curled back, and even in the darkness, she could see the anger erasing the pain from his expression. When he lifted his free hand to hit her, she brought her dagger up, but instead of planting it in his gut as she intended, it grazed his arm. He howled with the contact and then knocked her dagger out of her hand. The weapon splashed into the water, and she lunged for it. But before she could even fully bend down, she was yanked back up by her hair. The dagger hit her foot underwater and then she no longer felt it.
“Lillianna!” Angus cried out in the night.
“Do not call back,” Donovan commanded. “I promise you I still have the strength to kill one of them.”
“I won’t,” she assured him, her scalp screaming with pain. Her blood roared in her ears as she tried desperately to think what to do. She had to get that dagger, and she had to get Donovan to release his hold on her in order to do so. “Let me go, and I vow to run with you. You cannot defeat them both, and I’ll not chance one being killed. I can even tend your wounds,” she lied.
“If you do anything…” he threatened, desperation heavy in his voice.
“I won’t,” she insisted.
The moment he released her, she brought her knee up between them, connected it with Donovan’s groin, and shoved him while he was off-balance from his pain. She fell to her knees, water splattering in her face as she frantically swept the moist sand of the streambed for the dagger. As her fingers curled around the hilt, water splashed beside her. She glanced up and gasped as Donovan shoved her head underwater. Liquid filled her lungs, and she kicked and clawed at the air.
Pressure seemed to come at her from everywhere. Sound was muted, and everything was a silvery-black color. The blood pounded in every part of her skull. He was going to kill her.
Angus barreled through the trees, cursing himself inwardly for not realizing that Lillianna had wandered off from their campsite. Moonlight glinted across the stream and made the silhouette of a man clear. He was bent over holding something under the water. Angus’s blood froze.
Behind him, Grant said, “There.”
“Aye.” Angus grunted, closing the distance to the water as fast as he could, yet it seemed to be the slowest he had ever moved in his life.
Lillianna’s thrashing echoed through the night. She was fighting for her life, and he had to save her. Suddenly, the man howled in pain, and a loud splash brought Lillianna up and out of the water. Coughs wracked her body, but as Angus splashed his way toward her, she raised her arm, and the moonlight shone off the blade of her dagger. Hope and pride expanded his chest.
His leg, his leg, Angus thought. Go for his leg.
The man would not expect it. It also would not kill him, but it would give Angus time to reach them and then finish the man.
When she brought her dagger down and plunged it into the man’s leg, Angus roared his approval. The man cried out and lifted his hand to hit her, but Angus barreled into him with a thud, sending himself and the man crashing backward into the water. They went under as one, freezing water and blackness enveloping them. Rage was Angus’s heartbeat, fear for Lillianna, his breath. He brought his dagger up through the water, and struck the man in the gut, plunging his blade deep and yanking it up to pierce the lung, which would kill the man quickly.
The body in Angus’s arms went limp almost instantly, and as he shoved the enemy away, he felt a hand close around his arm. His battle instincts took over, and he drove his elbow up as he gained his feet and surged out of the water. His elbow connected with what felt like bone. Understanding he’d gained an opportunity over his opponent, he took hold of his sword, arced it up, and started the swing of death, but at the last moment, Lillianna’s shriek cut through his red haze and he realized he was not fighting an enemy, but Grant.
All noise around him crashed in at once. Grant cursing. Lillianna screaming. The rush of his blood in his ears. His heavy breathing. “Dunnae ever grab a man in the heat of battle,” Angus ground out by way of an apology.
Grant swiped a hand across his bloody nose and nodded. “Aye, I ken that. It was a fool’s mistake.”
Angus nodded. He did not need to say more. Grant would not forget he’d almost died; he’d not make such an error again. Grant was already reaching for Lillianna, who was visibly trembling, and without apology or explanation—and not totally knowing what he was going to do—Angus stepped between them, scooped her up and out of the water, and enfolded her in the protection of his arms.
She trembled violently, but between chattering teeth, she said, “My dagger. Please. I must have my dagger back. It’s, it’s in his leg.”
Angus thought she might be in a bit of shock. His gaze met Grant’s, and Grant silently responded to the unasked question by nodding. “Grant will retrieve yer dagger, lass,” Angus said. “Let’s get ye to the fire and warm yer bones.”
She did not speak or truly acknowledge him. Instead, she buried her head into his chest, put her arms around his waist, and clung to him as if he were her lifeline in a violent storm. Something in him ignited, but before he could even analyze it, she said, “It was Donovan.”
“What?” he asked, shocked, and looked to the body, now bathed in moonlight. He motioned to Grant, who took Lillianna by the arm, and Angus released her, splashed his way to the body, and turned it over. Donovan’s face was slack in death. Devil take the man. Angus could hardly believe the knight had survived the previous fight and managed to follow them here. How long had he been tracking them?
Angus looked to Lillianna. She had almost been killed, and it would have been his fault. He was supposed to protect her, but clearly, his desire for her was a distraction that was making him less vigilant and less effective than he should be. He had to do better.
Leaning over, he felt for a pulse to ensure the man was dead, though clearly he was. Nothing. If Donovan came for them again, the man would have risen from dead to do so. Angus yanked Lillianna’s dagger out of the man’s leg and sheathed it. Then he walked back to her and, without a word, took her from Grant and led her out of the water, down the path he had taken to get to her, and to his horse.
Her wide eyes met his. “Can ye stand?” he asked.
“Yes, of course,” she said, her voice cracking to reveal the depth of how what had occurred had rattled her. He set her down but slid one hand around her waist, as much to ensure she could stand as to keep her near. He withdrew the small blanket he’d brought and the priest’s frocks. Grant emerged from the path and raised a hand, giving Angus the sign that all was well, and then turned and headed back down the path he’d just come from. Angus assumed to offer privacy to Lillianna.
“If ye will undress, ye can put these priest’s frocks on,” Angus said. “They’re dry.”
She bit her lip in clear uncertainty but then nodded and took the clothing that he held out to her. Her wet gown clung to her body, displaying the lushness of her breasts, and his mouth went dry.
“Would you mind turning around?” she asked after a moment.
“Aye,” he said, realizing he’d been staring, and when a frown came to her face, he shook his head. “I mean, nay, I dunnae mind turning around.” He did so immediately, but he’d never been more keenly aware of a woman in his life.
“I stabbed him,” she said, guilt heavy in her voice.
“Aye, ye did. But ye did nae kill him. I did.” He paused. “And I’m sorry I failed ye before.”
“You did not fail me,” she said, clothes rustling, so that he thought perhaps she was now undressing. The mere notion of her removing her clothing had him contemplating her state of dress, and his desire grew like a fire raging out of control. His mind conjured an image of a lovely perfect shoulder, skin as smooth as silk. She would slip the gown first over one shoulder, then the other, and slide it ever so slowly down—
“Angus?”
He twitched out of the daydream. “Aye?” His voice was deep and thick with wanting to see her, touch her. He prayed she did not notice.
“I…I cannot get the last of my laces undone.”
Please dunnae ask for my aid. But then again, please do.
“Could you aid me?”
He could not decide whether to cry out in joy or real fear that he would do something foolish and unwise such as kiss her…
“Aye,” he grated out. He turned to find her back to him, her gown off and puddled at her feet. She stood there in nearly sheer underclothing that had laces undone almost to her arse. He held back his groan as he moved toward her.
The smell of the stream, wildflowers, and woman hit him at once. He brought his hands to her laces, but his gaze stayed fixed on the creamy expanse of back visible to him. Surely there was not a woman alive who had a back this lovely and alluring. He wanted to trace a finger down the perfect curve of her spine, to feel what made a woman who looked so fragile actually be so incredibly strong. Her underclothes billowed, caught by a sudden gust of wind, so that he got a full view of her tiny waist and round bottom. He swallowed repeatedly, and untied the knot at the end of her laces that was prohibiting her from taking off the drenched undergarment. When he had clumsily undone the last of the laces, he hesitated to tell her.
“Angus, are you finished?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to extinguish his desire. But when he inhaled, her intoxicating scent consumed him, and a vivid picture of her naked in his arms filled his mind. Suddenly, her hand was on his back and the closeness of her body was like a drug, lulling him to euphoria and overpowering his control.
“Angus? Are you all right? Do you feel guilty, too?” Her soft hand slid over his shoulder, and the last vestige of restraint he had snapped.
He spun around, plunged his hands into her hair, and then hesitated long enough for her to demand she release him. But when she closed her eyes and her lips parted, triumph, the likes of which he’d never felt, took hold of him. He spread his fingers in her thick, silky hair at the curve of her neck and drew her to him, silencing the doubt and vanquishing the distance that separated them. He traced his tongue over the soft fullness of her upper lip, and her arms came to his shoulders. She twined her hands around his neck, and then she entangled her fingers in his hair. When he repeated the movement on her lower lip, she whimpered, the sound the most erotic thing he’d ever heard in his life.
His heart thudded, but he forced himself to move slowly for fear of scaring her as much as fear of losing his control. He brushed his lips to hers once, twice, and when she moaned again and crushed her lush body against his, he moved his mouth over hers, devouring her softness, drinking her sweetness, and consuming her heat. Their tongues tangled and retreated for him to explore the velvet warmth she offered to him as the greatest gift.
When she quivered and her hips pushed into his hardness, he forced himself to pull back, to put distance between them, before he crossed a line from which there was no retreat. Her dark, thick eyelashes slowly rose, revealing a gaze burning with desire. He wanted to possess her body, but she was not the sort of woman to simply bed. He swallowed hard, his lust burning him from the inside out.
“I’m sorry. I should nae have kissed ye.”
She pressed her fingers to her lips. “No, I should not have allowed you to.”
His mind searched for something to say, some way to explain what had just occurred, other than the obvious fact that he desired her with an intensity he had never experienced in his life. “Sometimes after a battle, when yer life was at risk, there’s a need to feel alive.”
“Oh, yes. That makes sense!” She said it with such enthusiasm that it was obvious she too wanted a reason for what had just occurred, other than that they had not controlled themselves, that was. “It’s a need to feel connected to another person.”
“Aye,” he eagerly agreed, deciding it was not simply his desire that had overcome him. It was that need to feel alive. “We can simply forget the kiss.”
“Yes.” She nodded so quickly that he frowned. They did need to forget the kiss, but did she need to be so eager to? He shook his head at his own ridiculousness.
“I’ll make ye a pallet while ye change.”
She nodded, and he walked around her to the fire, spread the blanket on the ground, and scowled down at the meager place for her to sleep. “I’m sorry I kinnae offer ye a better place to rest.”
“I’m certain I’ll be fine,” she replied. “I’m all changed.”
He turned to her and chuckled. “Ye are the loveliest priest I’ve ever seen.”
Her wide, genuine smile made his heart thump hard against his ribs.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and then offered a mock curtsy. The lass was playful, which unfortunately made his lust-filled brain wonder if she would be playful in the bedchamber.
Grinding his teeth back and forth in frustration at himself, he motioned to the blanket. “Yer bed, my lady,” Angus said.
“Where will you sleep?”
“On the ground,” he answered.
She looked from the blanket to him, then bit her lower lip. “The blanket is large enough for both of us. If you wish to—”
“Nay,” he cut in. It came out sharper than he had intended, but once again, a picture of her twined in his arms had filled his mind. “I’m used to sleeping on the ground from years of battle, and besides that, I dunnae get cold.”
She smirked at him. “Everyone gets cold.”
“Nae me,” he assured her. “My sisters say I give off an unnatural heat.” Some of the women he’d bedded mentioned it, as well, but he certainly could not say that.
“I see.” She sounded altogether unconvinced, but then she shrugged, moved to the blanket, and settled herself there. “Goodnight, Angus,” she offered, lying down and facing the fire, which put her back to him.
“Goodnight, lass,” he said. He forced to himself look away from her, though he wished to stand there and stare.
Grant emerged from the path once more and as Angus made his way to him, the man situated his plaid on the ground. Angus kneeled beside Grant as the man lay down. “The man, Donovan, was a guard who her uncle assigned to watch her at the Palace of Westminster,” Angus said, knowing Grant would be wondering. “He attacked us once before, and I was certain his injury would kill him, but clearly it did nae.”
Grant sat up. “Why was she assigned a guard at all?”
Angus quickly told Grant of her uncle and about him using Lillianna to try to get Elizabeth to do as he wished. He also told him what he knew of Lillianna’s father. He left out the part about the legend, though. It was too ridiculous to repeat.
When he finished, Grant said, “Well that explains why she is fleeing to the MacLeod clan. Did she tell ye why she dunnae wish a husband?”
“Nay,” Angus replied. He’d been wondering about that himself.
Grant snorted. “Likely that was because ye were busy kissing her.”
“Were ye watching us?” Angus demanded.
“Nay,” Grant said. “’Twas a guess, but now I ken I guessed correctly.”
That was a well-known trick to acquire information, and something he would not have previously fallen for, but Lillianna was muddling his thoughts. “It was momentary loss of control,” Angus offered, though he had no notion why.
“If ye say so,” Grant said with a laugh. “One of us should sleep here at the edge of the woods and one of us should sleep close to the lass. If ye fear ye kinnae control yerself, I’ll be happy to be the one to sleep close to her.”
“Nay,” Angus growled. “I can control myself.” Not only that but he’d be damned if he was going to allow Grant to sleep near Lillianna and ogle her.
“If ye need me, call out,” Grant teased.
“I’ll nae need ye,” Angus snapped, turned, and walked back toward Lillianna. When he approached, he could hear her deep, even breathing and knew she had fallen asleep. Good. He’d feared she would not be able to sleep with how cold it was outside, but the fire—now almost dead—had likely given her enough warmth. Hopefully, she would not awaken in the night when the warmth from the fire was gone.