Anne found the journey to the north quite trying. For one thing, when the weather was good, the men rode their horses alongside the coach, leaving her alone, which was mind-meltingly boring. And then, when the weather was poor, they both climbed inside with her and slept. It was a symphony of snores that rattled the windows.

Occasionally one of them would stay awake and deign to speak to her. When this happened to be Hamish, the topic was always Elizabeth, but it was clear that the poor man was suffering.

While it warmed her heart to realize he truly cared for her sister, the fact that the two of them had been ripped apart was difficult for all of them.

Hamish, of course, blamed English society and went on about it endlessly.

Now and then, Anne found herself kicking Ranald in an attempt to wake him and, hence, change the topic. She had never been fond of the strictures of English society, but since she’d never intended to follow those rules, her displeasure did not signify.

The only break to the monotony was when they stopped to eat and sleep, and for Anne, these respites became the highlight of her day.

By the time they reached Yorkshire, she was going stark-staring mad. It was a relief to climb out of the carriage—even though her knees threatened to collapse—and enter the inn, which was a cheery place filled with locals and travelers enjoying a meal and the songs of a minstrel who was performing for his dinner.

“This is nice,” she said to Ranald as he came up behind her. It was certainly nicer than some of the places they’d stopped.

He grunted and guided her to the innkeeper’s desk, away from the common rooms.

She frowned at him. “I was enjoying the music.”

His expression darkened. “We will eat in the private dining room.”

“But why?”

Ranald blew out a breath and shook his head. “You are so naïve.”

It took some effort to hold back a laugh. “I most certainly am not.”

“There are some rough men in those common rooms and I dinna like the way they were looking at you.”

“They weren’t looking at me.”

“They were.” He nodded to the innkeeper’s wife and quickly made arrangements for a private meal, three rooms, and a bath for Anne.

“Ooh,” she cooed as he shooed her into the private dining room. “That was thoughtful.” A bath would be wonderful.

He nodded and sat across from her at the table as the innkeeper’s wife brought their meal. “It seemed as though you could use one.”

Well, really. Her expression must have spoken her indignation for her, because he laughed. “I only meant it would be relaxing.”

“So you’re not saying I smell like a woman who has been on the road for the better part of a week?”

He batted his lashes in a thoroughly adorable and annoying manner. “Well, there is that.”

She threw a roll at his head. It bounced off his pate. It was utterly satisfying.

“I had no idea you were such a violent wench.”

“There is much you don’t know about me.”

His features tightened as he sobered. “There is much I would like to know.”

His far-too-intimate stare caused heat to crawl up her spine. She leaned in and whispered, “This is hardly the place for such talk.”

As though to underscore her reprimand, the door burst open and Hamish, who had been helping put away the horses, stepped in. “Ah,” he boomed. “Supper.” He winked at the server and asked for an ale. As she scuttled away, he smiled at Anne. “I have to say, this is much more pleasant than the way we usually travel when we hie to the north to rescue people.”

“Really?” Anne’s tone was dry as dust. “How do you usually do so?”

“For one thing, we doona stop to eat,” Hamish said, grabbing a roll and ladling stew into his bowl. “We certainly doona stop to sleep.”

“And we doona travel in the company of a beautiful woman,” Ranald added. She could tell it was a blatant attempt to charm her from her disgruntlement. She would not allow it.

“Bower seems to think I need a bath.”

While Ranald looked chagrined, Hamish grinned and leaned in to take a sniff. When he lurched back and wheezed, she smacked him. “You two are impossible.”

“We’re verra possible,” Ranald murmured.

Hamish chuckled. “Well, if you doona want the bath, I’ll take it.”

“The hell you will,” Ranald barked. “I’m the one who thought of it. I’ll take it.”

“Neither of you will take it,” she said primly. “It is mine and I will have it. No doubt, I shall sleep like a babe.”

“Hah,” Hamish said. “Best of luck with that. The party out there looks like it is just getting started.”

“Aye,” Ranald said. “I noticed some rough types out there.”

“You doona think we’ll have any problems, do you?” Hamish asked.

Ranald glowered at Anne. “Just keep your door locked.”

She sniffed. “I had intended to.” She wasn’t an absolute idiot.

“And doona open your door to anyone.”

“Please.” It was difficult not to roll her eyes. “I have traveled before.”

“Not for a while.” Ranald glowered darkly.

“And things have changed since then,” Hamish said, tipping his bowl and spooning the last of his stew into his mouth.

“How so?”

“Since the war,” Ranald said. “So many soldiers returned wounded and broke. Many turned to highway robbery.”

Hamish nodded dourly. “And worse.”

Such talk only made her worry about Mary more. “All right. I promise. I won’t let anyone in my room.” As though she might.

When dinner was finished, Ranald escorted her to her chamber, where her bath had been prepared. He eyed it longingly but merely made sure she had everything she needed and then left.

Before he did, he waggled his finger at her and said, “Lock your door.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, affecting a salute.

He was not amused, but she hardly cared. As soon as he was gone and her door was bolted, she turned to the steaming bath and sighed.

Heaven.

* * *

Ranald had been right about the characters in the inn.

He grimaced as another whoop wafted up through the floorboards. The revelry downstairs was only getting wilder. At one point, a drunken buffoon had clomped up the stairs and pounded on his door, demanding entry. The idiot obviously thought this was his room.

With all the noise, and worry about Anne, and thinking about Anne, and wanting Anne, he was bursting with energy and couldn’t sleep. It was a damned waste of a bed. In oh so many ways.

It turned out to be providential, though, his inability to sleep, when the idiot kept pounding on doors until someone responded . . . and that someone screamed.

It was a female scream, which had Ranald up and out in the hall in seconds, his heart pounding with anger and fear, the hair at his nape prickling.

He’d told her not to open her door. Hadn’t he? Why had she—

Oh. It wasn’t her, but a portly matron dressed in a frilly nightgown, tussling with the drunk in the hall.

Good thing that with all his pent-up energy he was in the mood for a fight.

He launched himself at the man, yanked him away from the squalling woman, whipped him around, and sank his fist into that overblown belly. A couple more blows sent the bastard reeling and when he caught his balance, he turned tail and ran down the stairs.

Ranald watched him go with a grim smile.

And then he lurched forward as he was tackled from behind. It took a moment to realize this was not another foe, but a grateful be-frilled guest. “Oh, thank you!” she wailed. “Thank you. God only knows what might have happened if you had not intervened. You are a hero, my good sir.”

Her husband, presumably—a smallish man with thinning hair—peeked out the door.

“Herbert. Herbert. He saved me.”

Herbert, for surely that was his name, edged out, checking for the miscreant, and when he did not see him, reached out a hand to Ranald. “Thank you, sir.” And then, to his wife, “Matilda. I told you not to open the door.”

“But he was banging. How can I sleep with such banging?”

“Never open the door,” Herbert said as he shooed her back into the room. He nodded at Ranald again before he closed his door and threw the bolt.

Ranald glanced around the hall. Astonishingly, no one else had opened their door, not even to see what was going on. Either they’d slept through it—which he was certain was the case with Hamish—or they had been too afraid to.

Either way, they’d been lucky. This man had only been a confused drunk. In his experience, there were others with much darker goals lurking about country inns.

With a sigh, he turned back to his room, but before he made it, he heard the creak of a door at the end of the hall and froze. He knew whose room that was. He’d been fixated on that room all night.

Slowly he turned with a glower on his face. It was difficult maintaining his ire at the sight of Anne in her white nightgown, her hair tousled and her cheeks pink.

“I told you not to open the door,” he said on a sigh.

She lifted a delicate shoulder. He tried not to focus on the way the neckline of her gown slid down with the movement. “I wanted to see what was happening.”

“Anne—”

“I was frightened.” Her expression devastated him. Indeed, she looked genuinely upset.

He’d never seen her frightened, not by anything, and the thought of it made his chest ache. “You’re safe. I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.” He took a step toward her room, though he knew he shouldn’t. He hated the way her lip trembled. The way her eyes implored him.

Or maybe not.

“Can you stay with me for a while?” she asked, and his pulse stopped. When it started again it was with a savage throbbing he felt through his entire body. One spot in particular.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

She nibbled her lower lip, which certainly didn’t help. “Please? Just until my heart stops pounding.”

Her heart was pounding?

“I had quite a fright.”

How could he say no?

He was a gentleman, after all.

He was also a man.

A man who had wanted this woman since the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

She was begging him to come to her, to stay with her.

How could he say no?

He couldn’t.

Flooded with an eerie sense of destiny, he followed her into her room, closed the door, and threw the bolt.

* * *

It should be uncomfortable, being here alone with Ranald, but it was not. For the first time this evening, Anne felt truly safe. She glanced at him from beneath her lashes as he prowled to the hearth.

He wore a long linen undershirt and a pair of loose breeks. Undoubtedly he’d not had time to dress before rushing into the hall to settle that altercation, so she could only assume this was how he slept.

For some reason, the thought sent shards of heat slicing through her.

“I . . . ah . . .” She had no idea what she intended to say, but that hardly signified, because at her words, he turned to look at her and all thoughts wafted away, replaced by an odd sort of hunger. One she never thought she’d feel again. One she’d tried so hard to bury. She turned away because the feelings were too raw. “Thank you for staying.”

“No’ a problem. I’ll sit here by the fire. You go back to bed.” This he said in a harsh tone through tight lips.

His demeanor was almost cold. She didn’t like it in the least.

Still, she crawled back into bed and pulled up the covers, but she stared at him through the shadows and flickering firelight.

It was probably not wise to stare at him, because all she could do was think about how handsome he was. How warm and kind. And how much she liked him. Really liked him. She’d never liked a man before. Not really.

But it was more than that, wasn’t it?

She knew him.

She trusted him.

And, if she was being completely honest with herself, she wanted him.

She wanted to kiss him, caress him, know what his flesh felt like beneath her palm.

She wanted to know how he tasted.

It was all very shocking. Her entire adult life she had been free of such thoughts, such inclinations.

Somehow, this man had gotten under her skin. He’d breached her defenses, just by being kind and constant and trustworthy. Somehow, he’d touched her. Reached her.

He had certainly won her over.

But he’d also awoken something in her, a hunger she’d kept buried deep.

Ever since her devastating love affair with Kirk, she’d ignored that aching emptiness in her soul, one that made her want desperately to be part of something. To not be alone.

She could ignore it no longer.

Ranald made her want that, and more.

Would it be so wrong to give in?

She was hardly an innocent. She knew what she was about. She understood it was only a physical act, that something lasting between the two of them was highly unlikely since she lived in London and he in Halkirk.

Yes. Perhaps she should offer herself. She had no doubt he was attracted to her. That was hardly at issue.

But what if he said no?

Oh dear. What a terrible thought.

Her mind whirled with one thought and then another, swinging from one end of the pendulum to the other. She huffed a sigh and rolled over.

His chuckle rumbled through the room, sending a shiver up her spine. “Can you no’ sleep, lass?”

God. When had that accent become so attractive? Hadn’t she once hated it?

“I’m trying.” To that end, she punched her pillow, then, after a moment, rolled over again, so she could see him.

“Did the bath no’ help?”

“It was lovely.”

She stilled as a truly naughty thought rattled through her brain. It was so reminiscent of something rash her sisters might do, it almost scared her. But part of that reaction was excitement.

She cleared her throat. “The water is still warm . . . if you’d like a bath as well.”

He stilled. In the firelight, she saw a muscle bunch in his cheek. Then he leaned over and swished his fingers in the bathwater. He laughed again. “Liar.”

She sat up and scraped her hair from her face. “I left some buckets on the hearth. You know. If you’re . . . interested.”

He turned to her, which put his face in shadow, but she heard the smile in his voice. “Are you trying to get me naked, young Anne?”

Oh, she loved when he called her that. She couldn’t hide her grin. “Would that be so wrong?”

Again, he stilled. He was silent for some time. Then he said, in a low voice, “What are you saying, Anne?”

She batted her lashes at him. “I think you know what I mean.” And then, as he stood, she laughed and said, “You have been on the road for the better part of a week.”

His disappointment was palpable, which, conversely, delighted her. “That I have,” he said on a sigh. “Do you think you can handle the sight of a naked man?”

“I am hardly some swooning innocent.”

His expression was wry.

“I’m not.”

“Still,” he said somberly. “I doona think it would be wise for me to be naked in your presence.”

“Do you think you would lose your mind and ravage me?” Oh. Please.

His grin was crooked. “Quite the opposite. Women often lose their minds and ravage me when they see me in all my glory.”

“It’s a good thing you are humble.”

“Indeed, it is.”

But all banter aside, she did want to see him in all his glory. “If it will help, I will close my eyes.”

“Do you promise?” he asked. “I am terribly shy.”

“Of course.” Her smile was mischievous. The lie tasted delicious.

“Heaven only knows what will happen if you peek.”

“Do tell.”

“I might indeed lose my mind and ravage you.” Suddenly, he didn’t seem to be teasing at all. She sobered as well and stared at him.

“What are you saying, Ranald?”

“You have to know I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

Oh heavens! She’d suspected, but to hear him say it . . . Well, that was something else entirely. Her pulse pattered in her chest.

“I’ve kept my hands to myself because you made clear you were no’ interested in that kind of relationship with a man. If you havena changed your mind . . . say so now.”

She swallowed heavily. This was the moment of truth. “I . . . have.”

His gaze narrowed. He seemed to go on point. “You have . . . what?”

“I have changed my mind.” She couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Dear God.”

Instead of rushing to her side and sweeping her into his arms as she expected—and hoped—he began clanging around by the hearth.

She frowned. “What are you doing?”

He stopped and glared at her. “If you think I am making love to you for the first time without bathing, you are mad.”

As thoughtful and sweet as that was, she was hardly patient. Not now that they’d made the decision to . . . do this. She could barely keep still as he warmed the water and then began removing his shirt.

Her gaze intensified.

He stopped and glowered at her. “No peeking,” he said behind his smile.

She clapped her hands over her eyes. And hardly peeked at all.

That is, until he tugged down his breeks and . . .

Good glory. It was magnificent.

He’d not been bragging.

His cock was long and full and stood erect.

“You’re no’ looking, are you?”

She took away her hands. “Only a little.”

It was fascinating to see that beautiful rod jerk. “Woman, you will be the death of me,” he grumbled as he lowered himself into the tub.

What followed was the fastest bath she’d ever witnessed.

He scrubbed himself with a manic frenzy. There was barely time for her to cross the room and hold out the towel for him before he finished and levered out with a splash, dripping and gorgeous and glimmering in the firelight.

“Shall I dry you?” she asked, eyeing the rippling muscles of his chest.

He snatched the towel from her. “You do intend to kill me, do you no’?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Really. She didn’t.

He yanked her into his arms, though he was still damp, and she squealed. He silenced her with a kiss. It was warm and wild and unrestrained.

But then he held her away and stared into her eyes. “Tell me you’re sure.”

Oh, she was. “Ranald.” She stepped back into his arms and threaded her fingers in his damp hair. “I’m sure.”

“There’s no going back from this, lass.”

“I don’t want to go back. I want this.”

“Do you?” An agonized hope limned his tone.

She smiled up at him. “I have for some time,” she confessed.

“Well, hell, woman,” he barked. “Why did you no’ say something sooner?” Then he whipped her up into his arms, carried her across the room, and dropped her onto the bed.

He came down beside her and her head spun at his nearness, his heat, his scent.

Then he cupped her face and kissed her again. This time gently, as though he was seducing her, though they both knew that was not necessary.

When his palm scudded down, over her breasts and hips to her bare legs, she shivered. But then, he reversed his exploration . . . beneath her nightgown. He found her core and fluffed his thumb though her curls, staring at her intently.

“Do you have any idea how many times I have imagined this?” he groaned.

She grabbed both his ears—because he’d found that button, the bundle of nerves that made all thought improbable—and huffed, “Stop talking.”

There was no call for him to chuckle, but she was gratified when he raised her hem. “You’re wet,” he said. “And this needs to go.”

Though she was shy to be completely bared before him, there was not another man on earth she trusted like him, so she allowed him to strip away her gown.

But then he stopped and stared at her for so long, she became self-conscious. When she tried to cover herself, he caught her wrists and opened her arms. “Och, nae, wee lass. I want to see you.”

She couldn’t hold back a shudder as he stared at her. He then gently caressed each part of her, reverently, lovingly. Her breasts, the tips of which throbbed magnificently, her belly, her hips.

He lowered his head and his lips followed the same path.

She was not an innocent, but she was hardly an experienced woman. She wished she knew better how to reciprocate, how to give him this kind of pleasure. But when she reached for him he shook his head. “Do no’.”

She put out a lip. “Why not?”

His laugh was harsh. “Because I am ready, Anne. More than ready. Let me ready you.”

It was probably childish to pout. “I’m ready.”

“Nae. You are no’.” He proceeded to show her just how much more prepared he could make her. It was a delicious delirium. His lips and fingers drew insanity upon her, making her whimper and weep, tremble and quake. Beg.

When he kissed his way over her belly to her most private parts and opened her with his thumbs, she sucked in a breath and quivered in anticipation.

He did not disappoint. His mouth was warm and questing. He nibbled and nipped, kissed and sucked, made her mad with wanting.

Amid this glory, he slipped a finger inside her and the gathering storm that had been hunting her broke, taking her, spinning her, tossing her hither and yon.

It was as though her body was not her own, but at the same time, the sensations racing through her made her feel more alive than she’d ever been. Her soul soared, her mind spun, and her flesh exulted in a bliss that was nearly beyond bearing. It was an incredible sensation. One she’d never felt before. One she never wanted to end.

But it did, though he brought her down slowly.

She was still twitching and groaning with pleasure when he eased up and offered her a haughty grin. “Now,” he said in a rough voice. “Now you are ready.”

Then, not breaking her gaze, he rose above her, spread her legs with his, and nudged at her entrance.