That had been close.

Too close.

Brice’d come nearer than he ever had to making a terrible decision, and it would’ve been so easy to do. Just the two of them, in the darkness, protected from the view of the others by the towering pines. With a thick layer of needles on the ground which they might have sunk to before desire took its terrible toll.

The image alone was enough to stir his loins.

He turned his back to her and willed the surge of desire away, wishing on everything he held dear that the lass wasn’t so tempting.

Perhaps it was the way she got his blood up whenever they argued. It was easy for her to get his blood up in other ways, then.

And she certainly had.

She was using him. He was well aware. If he took her virtue, she would no longer be of any value to her intended. He would no longer want her in his bed if she’d been another man’s. Even once.

Ridiculous, really, and he had always believed so.

Though he wasn’t certain of how he’d behave if he knew his intended bride had belonged to another man before him.

None of it mattered, especially the reason behind her actions, because he’d seen the attempt for what it was and had refused her.

Though every part of his being, body, and soul, had urged him to take her up on it.

What did he care why she’d all but thrown herself into his arms? Nothing would come of it. He did not take it to heart, either, as the lass was clearly stricken to her core at the thought of marrying this earl.

She must have been greatly troubled by it if she was willing to give herself to another man to prevent its taking place.

And she claimed he didn’t want her. How he’d managed to avoid laughing flat-out at the accusation was a bit of a miracle, or at least a testament to his self-control.

Which he had just used in order to avoid temptation only moments earlier.

Good thing she had given up when she had. If she’d pressed him again, he might not have been so strong.

* * *

It was Alana’s turn to brood the following day. He had expected as much.

She wouldn’t meet his eyes for any reason, ducking her head and muttering in reply to anything he said. If the others questioned this, they did not show it. He supposed they thought nothing of it, since he and the lass had hardly gotten along for more than a few minutes at a stretch up to that point.

“I would like to wash out the bandages before we leave,” she announced as the men put out what was left of the fire and saddled the horses. She had already tended to Fergus’s arm, which looked better every time Brice saw it unbandaged. Alana had replaced the linen and was holding the stained strips in one hand.

“Of course.” Rodric moved as though to accompany her through the line of pines to the stream just beyond, but Brice held up a hand to halt him.

Alana’s already creamy complexion went a bit paler. “Rodric can accompany me, if he wishes,” she murmured, looking down at the bandages as though they fascinated her.

“I wish to wash my face and hands after dirtying them,” Brice insisted, having smeared himself with ashes while putting the fire out. He led the way without giving her the chance to argue the point.

There was something they needed to put straight between them, and they had to be alone when they did.

Why he felt the need to explain things to her was beyond his understanding, for she did not need or even deserve an explanation. After all, he owed her nothing. She was the one who’d attempted to lure him into compromising her. He’d merely done the thinking for them both.

She made a point of ignoring him as she made her way down the rocky bank which led to the water’s edge, stepping carefully over sharp, jagged rocks which might have been uncovered when spring’s heavy rains had washed away the soil.

Even though she would not deign to look at him, he hovered close by in case she stumbled. He cursed himself as he did so, reminded himself of her being a grown woman who insisted upon behaving like a child.

The memory of her wide, questioning eyes and the scent of her hair and skin as she’d strained upward for a kiss, her palm warm on his cheek, was enough to let him forget what an obstinate creature she could be.

It was a good thing he had a cold stream in which to dunk his face, which he did in hopes of cooling his enflamed thoughts. It was impossible to forget how close he’d come to giving in. She was a damned pleasant thing to look at, after all, and not a man alive would blame him.

Except for Earl Remington.

When he raised his face, snapping his head back to send his hair away from his eyes, he caught her looking at him over her shoulder.

“Yes?” he asked, wiping his eyes with his tunic. “Was there something you wished to say?”

“What would there be to say?” she asked, turning away from him again.

He’d caught the flush of her cheeks just before she did.

“I must admit, lass, I’m at a loss for what you would say,” he admitted, standing. “I know what I wish to say, however.”

“I’m not altogether certain I wish to hear it,” she murmured, plunging the bandages into the rushing water.

“I believe ye need to.” He watched her work, the early morning sunlight making her blonde braid gleam, her shoulders moving beneath the homespun kirtle she wore. Someone had dyed it a fine shade of blue, someone who must have loved her enough to make the effort to do so.

He took the chance of stepping closer, careful not to alarm her, until he was at her side. “I will not be telling the others of what happened last night. It isn’t the sort of thing a man discusses with his friends.”

She snorted, still looking away. “I would think it would just the sort of thing you would brag about. A willing lass throwing herself at you, only for you to reject her.”

“For one, most would call me daft for doing so,” he informed her with a rueful smile which she could not see. “For another, I would not wish to embarrass you that way.”

“No. You’ve done a fair enough job of that yourself.”

“I didna tell you to try such a thing,” he reminded her, anger creeping into his voice. Why take pains to be a kind person when this was the thanks he received? “It was ye who embarrassed yourself, if anyone.”

She shot up like a bolt, sodden bandages in both hands. “How dare you?”

“I only speak the truth,” he replied, standing his ground in spite of the fury he’d inspired.

She raised her arm in a flash, pulling back as if to strike him. He caught her wrist as her hand swung toward his face, stopping her just as she was about to make contact.

The bandages she held in her right hand were all that hit his face.

Her attempt at wrenching away her wrist was fruitless, as his grip was clearly tighter than she’d anticipated.

She’d gone too far, and she knew it. Fear was written plainly on her face.

He pulled her to him, bending her arm behind her back.

Neither of them said a word as they stood there, bodies pressed together. He was aware of so many things, the way her lips parted slightly, her breath sweet and warm. The stray bits of hair which hung around her face, the breeze gently blowing them toward him. A slight fleck of gold in her left eye, piercing the blue.

Her heart beat like mad, pounding as a drum against his chest. Echoing the rhythm of his own.

He was certain everything around them had stopped. The birds no longer sang, the squirrels and rabbits no longer ran to and from among the pines. Even the bubbling stream halted its progress, the water lying still over the smooth stones.

All that was left, all that mattered, was her warm body against his, her eyes moving over his face as though to understand him.

Would that she might, for he couldn’t understand himself. The longing she stirred in him, something he hadn’t understood until that moment, something beyond physical need. Something deeper. Dangerous.

The danger was what loosened his hand, releasing her. It took every bit of strength in him to walk away from her.

“We’ll be leaving shortly,” he grunted, not daring to turn back.

He wasn’t certain he’d want to see her expression.