Mary snuggled into the warmest pillow she’d ever had the pleasure to rest her head upon. How a pillow could be so warm, inviting, yet so incredibly firm, she had no idea. Something at the back of her mind told her she must open her eyes, but she couldn’t. She was exhausted. Even the simple act of raising her eyelids was impossible.

With a sigh, she rubbed her cheek against the softness—like velvet. And the smell made her insides tremble. She liked the scent—somewhat spicy with a hint of danger. She could bury her face in that scent and lose herself. In fact, she did just that while the heavenly rocking motion beneath lulled her into a dreamy trance. Side to side, the rocking continued swinging her like a bairn in a cradle. But the motion clicked in time—more like a clock.

Mary sighed. Or a horse.

The pillow beneath her head flexed and hardened.

With a jolt of her heart, her eyes flew open.

A bit of spittle drooled from the corner of her mouth.

Swiping her hand across her face, Mary gasped. How on earth could she be such a muttonhead? Falling asleep and nestling into the Baronet of Sleat’s chest? Holy Moses, it wasn’t just any man she’d been all too familiar with, it was a nobleman—the most esteemed guest at her father’s gathering. Could she be any more uncouth? The man must think her to be as insufferable as one of the guttersnipes from Glasgow she’d heard tale about.

When he cleared his throat, a warm rumble reverberated through her body. Goodness, her cheeks radiated with heat. “Forgive me,” she said, making sure no more spittle stuck in the corner of her mouth and hoping to God he hadn’t seen her drool. “I shouldn’t have drifted off.”

He flexed his fingers—she’d probably made his whole arm numb. “You needed the rest.” Had Sir Donald’s voice been that deep before?

“How long was I asleep?”

“An hour, mayhap two.” He pointed eastward. “The sun will be up soon.”

“Sunrise?” She looked toward the horizon—a hint of light gleamed cobalt blue. Wind tossed her hair and the moon shone bright above them. Though it was dark, she could see forever as if they had crested the summit of the entire world. “Where are we?”

“Not sure what this peak is called, but I’m fairly certain Loch Quoich is down below.”

When she shifted her gaze down the steep incline, Mary’s head swooned. Gasping, she grabbed the baronet’s arm. The horse stomped with a loud snort, making them shift in the saddle. Good heavens, if the gelding moved another inch, they’d all dropped to their deaths.

Drawing his free hand to her abdomen, Sir Donald pulled her taut against his body. “Easy.”

“Sorry.”

He reined the horse to a stop a foot or two away from the precipice. “I didn’t take you for the type to frighten at heights.”

“I…ah…am not.” Mary regarded the powerful arm in her clutches. Hard muscle pressed against the side of her breast. She should release him, but it felt too good, as if he’d awakened her bosoms with a tingling, swelling rush of desire. Curious, she raised her chin and regarded his eyes—fathomless and inky black like the loch below, his gaze connected with hers. And then he held her gaze as if they were pulled together by a powerful force. Something there, but unseen and unspoken.

Mary gasped.

His tongue slipped out and grazed the corner of his mouth, almost as if he wanted to kiss her—not a coarse and unmannerly kiss like Balfour had forced upon her. No, Mary couldn’t imagine the baronet being crude. Sir Donald’s lips shone with the moonlight, looking ever so delicious. She inclined her lips toward his mouth as if a magnet was pulling her closer. What would it be like to kiss him? The fluttering in her breasts swarmed lower, igniting a fire so deep inside, she thought she might burst into flames. His gaze dipped to her mouth, his lips parting slightly.

But then he blinked with a shake of his head. “Ah…we must find shelter. This old fella needs a rest.”

Heat spread from the back of her neck and up her cheeks. How daft of her to think the Baronet of Sleat might actually like her enough to kiss her. Flustered, Mary released his arm. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m fine.” He tapped his heels, his eyebrows pinching together. “Why would you ask?”

“Your voice sounds a wee bit hoarse. I’ll wager you’re tired as well.”

He snapped his hand away from her waist. “I-I’m weary, I suppose.” Goodness, he did sound gruff all of a sudden. But fatigue made bears out of everyone. Regardless of what he said, she offered up a silent prayer for his good health. The last thing they needed was illness.

Neither of them spoke again while Don urged the garron down the path. Mary tried not to look down the steep incline and fixed her gaze on the sky as it turned from cobalt to violet to orange. Och aye, how Mother Nature could calm her nerves.

“’Tis beautiful,” Sir Donald whispered behind her.

Tingles spread across her neck. “Aye. Spectacular.” Mary didn’t want to say anything else—didn’t want to think about the dragoons who would soon be waking to this very sun’s rise—if Lieutenant MacLeod hadn’t already realized she was gone. The warm body pressed against her back sheltered her from all evil. The baronet’s braw arms surrounded her in a protective cocoon and the sight before them was the most breathtaking scenery she’d ever seen.

As the sun appeared like an orange ball on the horizon, Sir Donald gave the horse his head and allowed the gelding to pick his way down the slope into the trees. A bit further and they crossed a burn which led them to the entrance to a cave.

Sir Donald pulled the horse to a stop. “We can take our rest here.” He dismounted and helped her down.

“Have you been here before?” she asked, noticing he held his hands on her waist a bit longer than necessary.

With a clear of his throat, he released her and looked away. “Not since I led my army to Killiecrankie. We camped here going down and coming back—’tis why I chose this path.”

“’Tis amazing you found it in the dark of night.”

He chuckled—goodness, Mary was growing accustomed to that deep rumble—she feared she enjoyed listening to it too much. “I recognized it as soon as we crossed the river. Otherwise, we’d just be heading south on a prayer that we’d run into Loch Arkaig.”

“Cameron lands?”

“Aye.”

Mary stretched her arms out. “And when do you think we’ll arrive there?” Hopefully both of them would be able to rest and have a good meal once behind the walls of a fortress.

Sir Donald stooped to hobble the garron with a bit of rope. “That depends on how this fella holds up. My hopes are to be there afore dark.”

“Oh, thank heavens. I fear once Lieutenant MacLeod discovers me missing, he’ll pursue us mercilessly.”

The baronet straightened. Merciful fairies, he was tall. Moreover, the way he looked at her made Mary swoon. This lightheadedness is being caused from being overtired for certain. But, by the stars, he’s fine to look upon.

The man did, however, look as tired as she felt. “That’s why I need to go back and cover our tracks.”

“What?” She glanced to the cave with its dark, menacing opening, ready to swallow her in one big gulp. “I thought you said we needed to rest.”

“You, aye.” He brushed his forefinger across her cheek. “There’s no need to worry. I’ll not be long.”

“No,” she argued. What in heaven’s name was he thinking? She’d just been abducted by dragoons and one threatened to ruin her life—would do so at his very next opportunity. Throwing decorum aside, Mary flung her arms around him. “You cannot leave me here alone.”

Those enormous arms closed around Mary’s back and tugged her into his warm chest. “Och, mo leannan. What happened to the fearless lass who pulls the powder horn cork with her teeth and shoots like a Highland sniper?”

Resting her head on his chest, she held him closer. If only he’d utter the Gaelic endearment one more time, her nerves might be calmed forever. But he’d most likely just made a mistake because he was so tired he couldn’t think straight. Aye, he’d been right. She might put on the airs of a tough lass, but not today—not after she’d been abducted by those vile dragoons. For everything holy, she wanted to stay in Sir Donald’s arms forever. How on earth his embrace felt better standing face to face rather than sitting a horse with her back against her, she never would have guessed. “That—that was before they took me,” she stammered.

He smoothed his palm up and down her back. “I shan’t be long. I give you my word.”

“What should I do if they find me?”

“They won’t.”

She wanted to believe him. “But if they do?”

His hand continued to soothe her. “How about I leave you with my musket and powder flask?”

Mary started to pull away but this time Sir Donald held her close, cupping her cheek with a warm palm. She glanced up and met his gaze. His eyes weren’t filled with anger like she expected. They were dark as midnight and stirred a hunger so deep within her, she couldn’t quite understand the meaning of such overwhelming emotions—Mary sensed he liked her—mayhap, anyway. She bit her bottom lip as her gaze trailed to his lips—moist, full lips she thought might kiss her a while ago. The mere idea of his mouth pressed to hers made her heart nearly flit out of her chest.

“Would you…?” Holy Moses, she couldn’t ask a baronet to kiss her. Licking her lips, she forced her gaze to shift to his eyes. His visage had grown even darker, hungrier. The corner of his mouth ticked up as he cradled the back of her head and threaded his fingers through her tresses.

“I reckon you need a proper kiss, lass,” his voice rasped with the hum of a low growl.

Parting her lips, she gave a single nod. She watched as he bowed his head. His breath skimmed over her tingling skin. Then Mary’s eyes closed as the gentlest lips imaginable met hers and kissed. He brushed his mouth across hers with the softness of a feather—not a brief peck like she’d receive from a family member, but a luscious kiss that lingered and made her heart thrum through every extremity of her body.

Just when she thought it couldn’t get better, his low moan rumbled sending new waves of desire throughout Mary’s insides. She’d never been so stimulated in her life—so alive—so filled with desire. If only this moment would last.

And then he fulfilled her wish. Rather than pull away, his tongue caressed her lips, coaxing them open. Craving friction, craving warmth, craving more of him, Mary tightened her embrace around his ever so masculine frame. After years of caring for her father, after being the stalwart strength for her family, a braw man surrounded her with powerful arms, a man who could protect her from vile dragoons and all the evil that existed beyond the walls of Dunscaith Castle.

Opening her mouth, Mary welcomed him in and allowed this nobleman to show her how lovers danced. His body moved against hers in a slow but sensual rhythm. Something hard and solid pressed low against her—something that heightened her desire all the more—made her want more, crave more, need more. Though tentative at first, she followed his lead and within a few swirls of her tongue, matched him stroke for stroke.

Taking in a deep breath, Sir Donald ended the kiss and rested his forehead against hers. “I...ah…”

“Yes?” she breathlessly replied.

“Forgive me. I shouldn’t have taken liberties.” His voice took on a gruff tone again. Was he upset with her? Had she been too willing? Had he not enjoyed the kiss as much as she?

Mary slid her hand up his back slowly, memorizing every thick band of muscle, afraid she’d never have Sir Donald MacDonald in her arms again. “I wanted you to—to show me…”

“Did you mean what you said?” Taking a step back, his tawny eyebrows slanted inward. “You’ve never had a proper kiss?”

“Nay. Never.”

He looked aside. “Well, when your father makes a match, I’m certain your husband will ply you with something far more satisfying than a wee kiss in the wood.”

Wee kiss? Why Mary’s lips still thrummed from the pressure of their joining. She wanted to thread her fingers through his hair and draw him to her yet again. Did their wee kiss in the wood mean nothing to him? Was he only trying to make her feel better?

Most likely, aye.

He dropped his arms and cleared his throat. “I must go, else we’ll have dragoons breathing down our necks for certain. Take my musket and powder horn and try to rest. I’ll return anon and then we’ll find something to eat.” The moment had fled and the baronet had become more unflappable than ever.

He pulled his musket from the horse’s saddle. “And by all means don’t fire the damned thing unless you need it to defend yourself. The blast could lead the redcoats straight to you.”

***

Don hated to leave the lass alone, but he was right. He’d learned the hard way that covering his tracks was necessary to keep him and his men alive. After they’d fought the battle of Dunkeld, his army had been ambushed by a mob of bloodthirsty dragoons. Two men had died and Mary’s da had lost the use of his legs for the rest of his life. No, John of Castleton never blamed Don, but the baronet had blamed himself. The attack never would have happened if he’d been smart enough to send someone back with a branch. But at nineteen, a man oft needed to learn by fire. Don had been one of Scotland’s reckless youths. He’d not err again.

Running to the crest of the mountain he continued down the other side a good two miles. Then he used a branch to etch out hoof prints. Fortunately, they had traveled over plenty of stone, making his task a bit easier.

Regardless, he needed to work fast and be meticulous. His head had been pounding since yesterday morn and going all night without rest didn’t help matters. Being hungry and deprived of sleep marred his judgement beyond all reason. Good God, his cock had started telling his mind what to do rather than the other way around.

And no one had to tell the Baronet of Sleat he’d end up in more trouble than a heathen in the Vatican if he didn’t force his head to take charge and never allow another slip.

What the hell was he thinking? He’d just wrapped his arms around Mary of Castleton and kissed her? Because she’d never had a proper kiss? That was the absolute last thing he should have done when met with a damsel in distress. Good God, he couldn’t have acted more irresponsibly. The lass was in his care and his alone. He had a duty to protect her from lecherous swine like MacLeod and there he’d stood, the Baronet of Sleat, acting like a wet-eared lad who had never bedded a woman.

But for the love of God, Miss Mary had taken him by surprise when she flung her arms around him—molded those soft, succulent breasts into his chest. Regardless, he had to be stronger—had to resist the freckle-faced beauty. She wasn’t supposed to act like a skittish lass. She had vim and fortitude. True, she might be a wee bit out of sorts after being abducted and nearly forced to marry MacLeod, but Don certainly didn’t expect her to be so open with her fear.

His protective instincts must have taken over and marred his judgement. Now that Don knew she could have such an ardent effect on him, he’d be more guarded throughout the duration of their time together, which wouldn’t be long. By this evening, he’d be at Achnacarry and he’d transfer Miss Mary’s care into the hands of Lady Isobel Cameron.

Thank God.

As he worked, his stomach growled, making his aching head all the more agonizing. He hadn’t eaten since he’d been at the alehouse in Teangue with Coll and Kennan. Good Lord, that seemed like a sennight ago, though it was just yesterday. Food was another thing he must force from his mind. There wasn’t much chance of finding a meal between Loch Quoich and Loch Arkaig and wasting time hunting was out of the question. No. Balfour MacLeod struck Don as the type of bastard who enjoyed the pursuit—and his hankering for Miss Mary would make the swine more determined.

Don’s stomach turned over with its next growl. He’d kill the lackwit if the lieutenant ever touched her again. MacLeod had sold his soul to wear a pair of brass epaulets on his shoulders—sold out the Highland ways and joined with the devil. He wasn’t good enough to eat the crumbs beneath Miss Mary’s table, let alone kiss her with his filthy mouth. God damn it, Don would see to her protection. The Cameron Clan was one of the strongest in the Highlands—she’d be safe with Sir Ewen in charge—as long as she didn’t venture away from the castle.

He’d see to this lassie’s safety and let her father know she was safe. It was the least he could do. Och aye, Don must dispatch a missive to Mary’s father at his first opportunity. John of Castleton had said he was looking for a suitor for the lass. Well, he’d best take it seriously and proceed with haste.

Don’s chest tightened as he worked, covering tracks at a furious pace. He didn’t want to think about Mary taking a husband and what that meant. The thought of her kissing another man or wrapping those fine-boned arms around anyone jarred his preserves. Of course, the recent chain of events had Don on edge as well. Defending instincts thrummed through his blood—through the blood of all the descendants of the Lord of the Iles. Mary of Castleton’s clan was a sept to Clan Donald and, as such, she was under his protection just like every other member of the great and powerful Highland clan that once ruled the isles under Somerled.

Reaching the crest of the mountain, movement in the distance made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

God’s teeth, the bastards must have realized Miss Mary had escaped well before dawn.