It was due to be a long, miserable night.

Brice deserved no better—after all, it had been his idea to sleep at her side. No matter how many oaths she swore or tears she shed, he trusted her no farther than he might throw her.

He’d had no inkling of how alluring she would prove to be.

It was his fault for being weak. Not hers.

Even so, would that she might stop tempting him by moving as she did.

He was intensely aware of her, lying with their bodies nearly touching. The swell of her hip beneath the blanket. The curve of her buttocks as she all but rubbed against him. He’d nearly jumped from his skin the first time she attempted that.

She was warm. Pleasant. He’d forgotten how pleasant it could be to sleep alongside another body, even though there was no chance of touching that body.

Sweet smelling, too, which seemed to defy logic. How could she smell so pleasant after engaging in the same activities as the men? It was part of her, he supposed, the lingering scent of heather and roses.

Or her kirtle had been washed in fragrant water, he reminded himself. No sense in thinking overmuch on it. There was nothing unique about the lass. She was merely a female, the same as any other, and she enjoyed carrying the scent of flowers on her clothing.

And in her hair. The firelight turned it to gold, made it appear to shine. It all but pleaded to be touched.

He ground his teeth together, clenching his hands into tight fists. He’d roll onto his back with his hands beneath him if he had to. Anything to keep from reaching for her.

She sighed in her sleep, disrupting the even flow of her soft breathing. The side of her throat pulsed with her steady heartbeat. He wondered what it would be like to touch…

He rolled to the other side, slamming his eyes shut.

For both their sakes.

* * *

Good thing the lass could not read his thoughts, for she might reach out and slap him.

If sleeping beside him had caused her any strain, it did not show on her face or in her voice as she checked the condition of Fergus’s arm the following morning.

“How are ye feeling today?” she asked in a gentle voice while unwinding the bandage.

“Seeing as I nearly lost an arm, fairly well.” He was grinning when he said it.

Alana grinned in return. “Were ye able to sleep?”

“I couldna stop myself,” he admitted.

“Aye, well, I suppose that has to do with losing blood,” she reasoned. “But rest is important. I’m glad the pain from the wound did not keep ye awake.”

“I was able to secure a number of tinctures from a healer, and the instructions on how to create them,” Rodric explained as he handed Fergus a cup of water with a few drops of tincture. “I’m afraid I’m not nearly as skilled as the healer herself, but my wife was able to brew a fresh batch before our departure.”

“I don’t need it.” Fergus shook his head.

“It will make the ride easier for ye,” Brice argued.

“I said, I do not need it.”

Alana knelt beside him, a frown pulling at the corners of her mouth. “The reason you do not feel as though you need it is because you haven’t moved it much this morning—and you drank the tincture last night. Once we move out, the pain will return, and it will take time for the tincture to do its job after that. Do you see what I mean?”

He grumbled, turning his face slightly away from hers. “Aye.”

“Will you drink, then?”

He didn’t answer, choosing to reach for the cup instead. Rodric and Brice exchanged grins as Fergus drank the contents in a single gulp.

She had a way about her, it seemed. By rights, Fergus should have resented her for leading him into mortal danger. He should hardly have smiled at her, laughed with her, and certainly could not have been blamed if he’d told her to go to hell for urging him to drink something for his pain.

“They seem to be getting on well,” Quinn remarked as Brice helped saddle the horses.

“Aye, it seems,” he agreed, unwilling to commit himself either way.

There was no mistaking the tinge of regret in his friend’s voice, as though the lad mistook friendliness for something more. Then again, he’d already allowed Alana to lead his thoughts astray with a few smiles.

It was for the best that he believed her out of his reach. After all, she was to be another man’s bride.

“What say you?” she asked, wiping her hands on her kirtle as she rose.

Brice hadn’t overheard the conversation, and so had no knowledge of what Alana spoke of.

Fergus looked skeptical. “I don’t like the idea.”

“It makes the most sense,” Rodric said, taking Alana’s part. “Your arm should be allowed to rest.”

“I can ride with one hand.”

Alana assisted in placing the wounded arm in the sling Rodric had fashioned from Fergus’s ruined sleeve. “Why would you want to, when there is someone more than able to assist you? It is the very least I can do.”

“You’ve done quite enough so far.”

“Nonsense,” she replied with a shake of her head, her jaw set in a firm line. He may not have known her well, but Brice recognized her expression for what it was. There would be no winning an argument against her.

“What is it the two of you are on about?” he asked as he finished with the last saddle.

“She insists on riding with me. Nay, on doing the riding for me, while I sit behind her,” Fergus grumbled.

Brice frowned, then asked himself why he did so. It only made sense; the lass had no horse to ride, and Fergus had the use of only one had. Why should she not do the riding for him?

Besides, it would mean her staying with the group. No chance of running away with Fergus riding behind her, an arm about her waist.

Something about the thought sickened him, and he did not know why.

“It makes sense. The more time you waste in arguing, the more time we waste when we might be making progress. We’re already behind.” With that, he took the reins of his horse and mounted, bringing the animal about until its nose pointed toward the road. “Are we ready to leave, then?”

Rodric chuckled as he mounted his horse. “It seems the final word has been spoken, then.”

“I only wish to avoid losing more time,” Brice insisted.

“Aye, naturally,” Rodric said with a smile. “I agree with ye. No need to argue with me.”

“I’m not—never mind.” Brice tapped his heels to the gelding’s sides, and it took off at an easy trot in response. He did not look to see whether any of his party were behind him, as it mattered little at that moment.

So long as he did not have to see his brother’s arm about the lass’s waist.

Something about the very image perturbed him more than he felt comfortable admitting. Even to himself.