Two days.

Corinne had wasted two whole days in a numb, disbelieving torpor.

Somehow, she’d managed to make her way back to her tent in the Bruce’s camp after receiving the blow—she was to marry Reid. Despite the relative comfort of the tent’s cot compared to sleeping on the ground, she’d passed a near-sleepless night staring into the darkness. Then at dawn, as promised, Reid had fetched her and they’d ridden from the camp.

North. Toward the Highlands.

Toward his home. Where she would be his wife.

Distantly, she was aware of his taut displeasure as they rode atop his horse, and of his resigned silence when they made camp in the woods the night after they’d departed Lochmaben. Yet she’d been too absorbed in her own shock to pay him much heed.

Likewise, she was vaguely aware of a shift in the other Mackenzie warriors. They all seemed to be in varying degrees of a foul mood, and it could only partly be attributed to the fact that the weather had finally turned and a cold rain fell steadily through the trees. Though none of the men spoke to her, Corinne assumed that what had soured their temperaments was the thought of her, an Englishwoman, as the lady of their clan. They hadn’t minded her so much when they’d only been delivering her to the Bruce, but now she was to be their mistress.

The mistress of a clan of Highlanders who would likely hate her for simply being English—the thought gnawed at her for two long, cold, silent days. Though she assumed Reid had meant to do her a kindness by refusing the King’s offer to wed them immediately, his reasoning left her knotted with trepidation. His people would loathe her. They would not accept her as the clan’s mistress, mayhap not even if they saw her wed Reid with their own eyes.

Reid didn’t want this. His people didn’t want this. And she didn’t want this.

There was only one last resort, but time—and opportunity—was running out. She had to escape somehow, to find an abbey and claim sanctuary, or else she would be trapped in this nightmare forever.

As a blue-gray twilight began to fall on their second day out of Lochmaben, Corinne began to feel the stunned fog lift from her mind. She needed to think clearly, to make a plan—and then act.

Escape wouldn’t be easy. Though Reid seemed as unhappy by the King’s order to marry as she, he’d obviously resigned himself to his duty. He’d already proven that she was no match for him physically. She would need more than just a half-formed plan to break away and run.

As her thoughts began spinning like wheels, flickering lights emerged in the falling darkness ahead. To her surprise, Reid continued on toward the lights until they broke through the trees on the outskirts of a small town.

“What are you doing?” Corinne blurted.

Reid cleared his throat behind her. “I thought it would do us all good to get out of the rain for the night.”

Neither Reid nor his men appeared in the least affected by the cold and damp conditions. They were like unmovable mountains—the rain seemed to simply run off them. It was for her benefit, then, that he thought to stop. Aye, even in her thick wool cloak, and pressed against Reid’s solid warmth, she was wet and chilled to the bone.

She quickly reassessed her budding escape plan. No doubt a town this size would have an abbey or at least a chapel where she could claim sanctuary. And once she was inside, not even the King of Scotland’s command that she marry could override the church’s protection for a sanctuary seeker.

Corinne scanned the cluster of darkened buildings as they drew nearer, searching for a telltale spire or bell tower. There! At the far end of the town, a dark, narrow column rose above the rest of the structures. That had to be a church.

The horse halted, pulling her out of her thoughts. Reid had reined in before a two-storey wooden building with a lantern hanging next to a sign that read The Stag’s Head.

“See to the horses,” he said to the men as he swung down from the saddle. “I’ll arrange for ye all to sleep in the barn.”

The others began dismounting and guiding their animals around the right side of the inn. Reid reached up and pulled her from his horse’s back.

“Am I to sleep in the barn as well?” she asked, her numb feet squelching when they met the muddy ground.

“Nay, I’ll get us a room.”

“Us?” she squeaked. For the first time in two days, she felt too hot as sudden panic spiked in her veins. If she could not find a way to be alone, it would be nigh impossible to slip away to the church across town.

But it was more than that. Her mind flooded with images of Reid looming in the doorway of a small chamber, then stepping inside and closing the door so that they were alone together. Would he share a bed with her? Would he—

“I dinnae intend to claim the rights of a husband,” he said. “Yet.”

Though the last word was spoken in a flat, emotionless voice, a ripple of warmth fluttered low in her belly. Aye, she had to reach that church, else she do something foolish like consider what it would be like to share the marriage bed with Reid.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he went on. “Ye’ll forgive me if I dinnae fully trust ye no’ to attempt to flee again.”

This time, the heat rushing to her face had naught to do with unwanted thoughts about beds with Reid in them. Was she so transparent that he’d already guessed the direction of her thoughts? She’d never been skilled at hiding her emotions, but she would need to be more careful than ever if she was to escape the fate that awaited her in the Highlands.

“Suit yourself,” she said, turning toward the inn’s door.

Reid got there before she did and pulled the door open for her. A blast of warmth and light hit her, and she hurried inside with an eager shiver. She moved to the roaring fire at one end of the inn’s common room while Reid spoke with the innkeeper and arranged both barn space for his men and their horses and a room for Corinne and him.

After dropping several coins into the innkeeper’s hand, Reid motioned Corinne away from the fire. She reluctantly followed him up a flight of wooden stairs and down a long corridor lined with a half-dozen doors.

He stopped in front of the last one and swung the door inward.

Corinne’s gaze instantly landed on the bed. It was small and narrow, but looked clean. It sat against the wall opposite the door, under a shuttered window. A table and two chairs and a brazier with an unlit fire laid in it rounded out the sparse accommodations.

“I’ll see about having a warm meal sent up,” Reid said gruffly.

Corinne nodded and stepped into the room, walking a slow, small circle. But the moment the door closed behind Reid, she yanked off her dripping cloak and tossed it over one of the chairs. Scrambling to the bed, she crawled onto the mattress and reached for the latch on the shutters.

The wooden peg slid easily from the latch, and the shutters opened on silent hinges. Corinne stuck her head out the window and peered into the dripping darkness. The ground looked frighteningly far away, but she had little choice. She’d have to jump.

But not yet. Later. Reid would return in a moment, and if he caught her trying to escape, he’d no doubt hunt her down and capture her in short order. If she could slip out in the middle of the night, though, he might sleep for several hours before realizing she’d disappeared.

This would be her best chance at securing her freedom. And most likely her last.

She hastily closed the shutters, but she left the latch undone—one less thing to fumble with in the dark later on. A creak on the floorboards outside the door alerted her to Reid’s return. Hurriedly plunking down on the edge of the bed, she smoothed her damp blue skirts.

Just as she finished arranging herself in what she hoped was a casual slump, the door swung open. Reid entered bearing a tray with two steaming bowls of soup, a large hunk of bread, and two mugs of ale.

He set the tray on the table and cast her a sideways glance. Then he tilted his head, indicating that she should join him in eating.

Heaven above, he was a man of few words. Yet he could accomplish more with one raised eyebrow or pointed stare than anyone Corinne had ever known.

She rose from the bed and sank into one of the chairs.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she gingerly lifted a spoon in her gloved hand. “For the food, and for the inn.” Let him believe that she was coming to accept her fate, she thought as she swallowed the first warm spoonful of soup.

“How are yer hands?”

She flexed her fingers around the spoon. “Better, I think.” Though the still-healing skin on her palms was tender, the dull ache from the bruises had faded a great deal.

An awkward silence fell as they ate. Corinne kept her gaze carefully lowered to her food. There was no telling what Reid’s sharp gray eyes would see if he looked too closely into her face.

“How much longer until we reach Eilean Donan?” she asked when the meal was nearly complete.

“Four days, mayhap five if this rain continues.”

Once more, quiet fell over the small chamber. Corinne silently cursed herself. Why was her tongue as useless as a block of wood in the moment she needed to pretend that naught was amiss?

But of course, everything was amiss. Here she was, alone in this cramped inn room with a Highland Laird who seemed to fill the space with his broad frame and penetrating gaze. And they were to be married in less than a sennight.

Corinne stood from the table abruptly. “I am weary. I think I will retire.”

“Take off yer dress.”

Her mouth fell open, and she forgot not to stare straight into Reid’s flinty eyes.

His eyebrows dropped and his mouth turned down behind his dark stubble. “I meant…yer dress is wet.”

“A-aye?” she managed.

“Remove it and lay it next to the fire so that it will be dry by morning.”

Corinne clamped her mouth shut with a click of her teeth. “You certainly aren’t shy about giving orders,” she muttered.

“Nay, I’m no’.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and her gaze involuntarily slid over the large, hard contours of muscle pressed against his shirt.

 When her eyes lifted to his once more, she found some unreadable spark in their steely depths. He rose swiftly, turning to the still-unlit brazier. “I’ll light the fire if ye want a moment of privacy.”

Heat rushed to her face. The blasted man wouldn’t give her an inch, would he? Reid seemed to simply expect her to do as he commanded without hesitation or argument. Yet he, too, must sense how awkward this all was—the two of them alone, not yet married but ordered to be soon enough.

She should thank him for turning his back to her and kneeling before the brazier, for not demanding that they share the bed, for not touching her at all other than when they were forced into close proximity atop his horse. Yet all she could manage was to stand there blushing fiercely, feeling foolish and too warm and acutely aware of his broad, muscular back.

Think, silly girl! she chided silently. Removing her dress would make her escape in the middle of the night that much more difficult. On the other hand, arguing with Reid about the merits of remaining in a wet gown would only draw his suspicion. The choice was abysmal but clear.

Muttering a decidedly unladylike curse under her breath, she began tugging on the laces running down her back.

But by the time the fire roared merrily in the brazier and Reid had stood, dropping two flint stones into the pouch on his belt, Corinne had only managed to make a tangled mess of the laces.

Reid eyed her for a moment, one eyebrow arched at her hissed string of curses.

“Let me.” He turned her by the shoulders so that her back was to him.

Corinne looked up at the ceiling, balling her still-tender hands before her in frustrated embarrassment. When he began to tug gently on the laces, her face warmed.

“These damned ribbons are too thin,” he muttered, his low voice surprisingly close to her ear. She twitched, biting her lip to keep from gasping.

“At least ye are dressed for travel and no’ in some silly noblewoman’s frippery,” he continued, seeming to be speaking more to himself than her as he worked on the laces.

His fingers moved higher up her spine. “Bloody hell, what have ye done to these poor ties?” His warm breath fanned her skin where her shorn hair left her nape exposed.

Gooseflesh pricked down her spine and over her chest. “These blasted gloves make it hard…” she offered lamely.

“Soon enough ye willnae need them,” he said, giving a firm tug on the laces, which seemed to do the trick.

Aye, she reminded herself through the blood rushing in her ears, soon her hands would be healed and she could resume her work as a scribe—but not unless she escaped marriage to the formidable Scotsman distracting her with his murmurs and warm breath and fingers grazing her back.

She began to turn around, but apparently he wasn’t through with her yet. His big, warm hands settled on her shoulders and he began to peel away the damp wool. Another shiver slammed into her as her shoulders were bared. His thumb snagged on the band of her linen chemise, and for a breathless moment she thought he meant to remove it along with her dress. But then the chemise slid back into place even as he continued to pull down the gown.

Shamefully hot and prickly with awareness, Corinne tried to help, hoping to hasten the end of this embarrassingly intimate moment. She snatched the front of the dress and tugged, but her hands refused to be of much use.

Reid clucked his tongue, taking one of her elbows in hand and lifting it so that he could pull it free of the dress. He did the same with her other arm, then began working the dress down her hips.

With naught to do but stand there like a helpless idiot, Corinne glanced down at herself. To her mortification, her breasts were pressing against the thin linen of her chemise. She realized belatedly that her breaths were coming short and shallow, revealing the petite shape of her breasts—including the tightened tips.

If God had any mercy, He would have let Corinne die of embarrassment in that moment. Instead, she was left acutely aware of just how alive she was. Her heart slammed against her ribs, her blood roared in her ears, and her skin burned with sensation where it rubbed against her chemise.

Reid’s hands at last freed her gown from her hips and let the material fall to her feet. Corinne hurriedly stepped from the pile of damp wool, only to stumble as her foot caught on one of the traitorous laces. She lurched forward, but suddenly Reid clamped both hands around her hips, steadying her.

They stood frozen like that for half a heartbeat before he withdrew as if she’d burned him. He snatched up the gown, clearing his throat loudly.

“I’ll just…” He shook out the dress with a snap of his wrists and spread it over one of the chairs nearest the brazier. For a man so sure and capable when it came to everything else, he was taking an inordinate amount of time getting her gown to hang just right over the chair.

Corinne took the extended moment to dash to the bed, shucking her short boots as she went. With a swift pull, she yanked the covers up to her chin.

“Good night,” she said, her voice sounding loud and forced in her ears.

“Good night,” he rumbled, still not facing her.

She turned toward the wall, letting her gaze drift up to the unlatched shutters. Behind her, she could hear Reid shuffling around the small space for several moments. Then he moved toward the bed.

Her breath froze in her lungs, yet Reid’s weight never dipped the mattress beside her. Instead, the floorboards creaked as he lowered himself to the ground.

She forced herself to breathe evenly. She would have to at least feign sleep for a few hours until she was sure Reid was unconscious and she could slip out the window.

But when she at last ripped her gaze away from the shutters and closed her eyes, her head spun with the memory of his hands branding her hips through her thin chemise.

As time stretched and the fire burned low, Corinne cursed the Bruce for having her kidnapped. She cursed Reid for his stubborn commitment to duty.

But most of all, she cursed herself for the longing burning like a fanned ember in the pit of her stomach.