Chapter 16
The moon was high overhead when Ryland awoke to the sound of heavy snoring. It took him a moment to recall where he was. Another moment to realize that the furry head smashed up next to his belonged to a wolfhound.
He grimaced. He loved dogs as much as anyone. But he didn’t particularly like their wet noses in his face. Especially when they were snoring loud enough to wake the dead.
He gave the hound’s body a jiggle to stir him from sleep, intending to prod him back down to his mistress’ feet, where he belonged. But when the dog lifted his head, the snoring continued.
It must be the other hound.
Ryland sat up on an elbow.
But the second dog was awake, staring at him.
Then Ryland peered down at the woman beside him.
The woman with lovely moonlit skin.
The woman with lashes that kissed her cheeks like black snowflakes.
The woman whose lips looked like the soft petals of a rose.
That beastly snoring was coming from her.
He grinned. Somehow that was incredibly endearing.
He swept the hair back from her face and gave her shoulder a gentle shake, stirring her just enough to stop her sawing. She sighed and snuggled deeper into her cloak.
When he pulled back his arm, his smile faded. He realized he probably shouldn’t have done that.
Ryland was as good as married. He shouldn’t be finding anything about Gray endearing. He should be faithful to his bride. Succumbing to the temptations of other women was a sign of moral weakness.
The hounds were both staring at him now, as if asking him what he intended to do about it.
He didn’t have the answer.
What he needed to do most right now was relieve himself of the ale he’d drunk earlier.
For safety, he’d take one of the hounds with him. The dog would warn him of any danger. And if the woodkerns suspected their hostage meant to escape, they’d see he was well-guarded.
Careful not to disturb Gray, Ryland eased up from the ground and gestured to Flann to come with him.
Bran wanted to come as well, but Ryland didn’t want to leave Gray unguarded. He held out his palm and whispered, “Stay.”
Bran dutifully lay back down, lowering his head onto his paws.
Taking Flann by the collar, Ryland stole across the clearing and into the trees. He hoped he wasn’t choosing a tree that was occupied by one of the outlaws. It was hard to tell in the milky moonlight.
Selecting a tree he hoped was sufficiently remote from the camp, he untied his braies. Flann obediently stood guard.
He was just finishing when he heard a twig snap behind him.
“Just where do ye think ye’re goin’?”
It was Gray. He didn’t dare turn around. His braies were still undone.
He started to tie them up, but she barked, “Raise your hands where I can see them. I’ve got an arrow trained at your back.”
He raised his hands cautiously and cast a disappointed glance toward Flann. The damned hound had given him no warning whatsoever.
“Flann,” she called. “Here.”
The hound hesitated.
“Here!” she demanded.
Flann guiltily lowered his head and trotted back to her.
“Now,” she said, “where were ye goin’?”
“Nowhere.”
“Ye were tryin’ to escape, weren’t ye?”
“What? Nay.”
“Then why did ye steal my dog?”
“I didn’t steal him. I only…borrowed him.”
“So ye could flee.”
“If I’d wanted to flee,” he reasoned, “I’d have taken both dogs.”
“Then why did ye take him?”
He couldn’t keep the sardonic edge from his voice. “I was hoping the beast would warn me of approaching danger. Apparently, I was wrong.”
“Turn around.”
He hesitated. “I don’t think you want me to do that.”
“And I don’t think ye’re in a position to be disobeyin’ my commands,” she bit out, “since I’ve got my arrow aimed at…”
He turned around slowly. She did have an arrow aimed at him. Or she had, until her gaze lowered to his braies. Then her mouth fell open, and her bowstring went flaccid.
“May I?” he asked, indicating his ties.
Her discomfiture was quite entertaining. She nodded and averted her eyes, clearing her throat and fumbling with the bow.
He shook his head and tied up his braies. “You know, I swore on my honor I wouldn’t try to escape. Didn’t you trust me?”
She muttered something that sounded like an outlaw’s creed. “Trust is for fools.”
He clucked his tongue. “Only those without honor themselves are afraid to trust.”
That got her hackles up. “What are ye sayin’? That I have no honor?”
From the branches overhead, someone suddenly spoke, startling the bloody hell out of them both. “Ye know, this is all very fascinatin’, but some of us are tryin’ to sleep.” It was Ronan. He added, “And I’ll thank ye not to piss on the tree where I slumber next time.”
Gray marched off in a huff with her hounds, forcing Ryland to try to keep up as he tossed a “sorry” over his shoulder at the outlaw he’d offended.
Gray was already feigning sleep by the time he returned. Her hounds were now strategically positioned to form a curtain wall between him and their mistress. Their heads resting atop their paws, they looked up at him with doleful eyes, as if they knew he didn’t deserve such punishment.
But perhaps it was for the best. Lovely Gray—with her fascinating fury and her becoming blushes—was doing strange things to his heart, making it beat faster and filling it with laughter. He needed to tame his passions before they got him into trouble.
Unfortunately, waking at dawn several hours later to a woman’s alluring buttocks pressed against his groin didn’t help.
Ryland winced. The sun was rising. So was something else.
Sometime in the night, the hounds had migrated back down to the foot of their cloaks. And Gray, seeking warmth or something more carnal, had nestled close to him until she now lay cradled in his arms.
Of course, she was completely oblivious to this fact. And he’d just as soon she didn’t find out. But if he tried to extricate himself from their position, she’d no doubt accuse him of making advances. And if he didn’t…
He grimaced. At the rate he was swelling against her, it would only be a matter of time before she awakened in horror.
Closing his eyes, he carefully inhaled. Her hair smelled like summer. It wasn’t difficult to imagine waking like this every morn. With the touch of sunlight on his skin. The sound of birdsong on the air. The comfort of a woman in his arms.
He smiled. She really did feel heavenly against him. The warm pressure of her body against his was driving him mad with longing.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the rest of the camp was stirring.
Fortunately, Domnall the soldier suddenly growled out, “Up, everyone! The sun’s high! The day’s a-wastin’!”
In the noisy confusion as Gray struggled to wake up, Ryland was able to pull away inconspicuously. He yawned as if he’d only just wakened as well. She’d never know how close they’d been a moment ago.
Of course, his body was cursing him for leaving such a pleasurable situation, and it would be a while before it calmed enough to be presentable. But such were the harsh realities of being a loyal husband. He had to learn to curb his desires, even when temptation in the form of an irresistible outlaw lass pursued him with a vengeance.
Temair was still shaken from her encounter in the middle of the night.
It was silly, she supposed. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen a man naked. It wouldn’t be the last.
But somehow seeing Sir Ryland had been different.
Maybe it was different because his vulnerable state was so unexpected. She’d truly believed he’d been trying to escape. Not once did it occur to her that he might be innocent. The fact that she’d forced him to turn around under threat of death, only to discover that not only was he blameless, but she’d caught him with his trius down, made her feel like a brutish fool.
Maybe it was different because Sir Ryland was more than just another man. They’d shared a kiss. They’d forged an undeniable connection. Something had happened between the two of them, some manifest spark that she felt lingering inside her like a coal, banked and waiting to burst into flame.
Maybe it was different because Ryland was dangerous, more menacing in a way than her father. He threatened her independence, her claim to the O’Keeffe land, her future. And seeing him standing there, unabashed, in all his manly glory, had made that threat all the more real.
To make matters worse, she didn’t dare leave the camp—not with the roads crowded with fair-goers and the ransom demand delivered to her father. Cormac had a formidable temper. When it was roused, he was capable of seeking revenge with a single-minded drive that was terrifying to behold. Now, more than ever, Temair had to be cautious, for her father would definitely have placed a target on her back.
But remaining behind, Temair wasn’t sure she could bear to look Ryland in the eyes. She was ashamed of what she’d done to him, embarrassed by her lack of trust, and humiliated that she’d been caught by Ronan, who was bound to spread the news around the camp faster than wildfire.
Temair pulled her hood over her head, wishing she could hide.
As she turned aside, she almost smacked into Ronan. Prepared for the worst sort of teasing after last night’s mishap, she was surprised when he only nodded his head in greeting and continued on. She stared after him in wonder.
One by one, the woodkerns left on their missions. Fair days were always lucrative for outlaws. From far afield, the rich came with full purses, intent on spoiling their sweethearts with trinkets.
As a matter of tradition, the woodkerns stole only half of what they found on fair days. After all, they didn’t wish to deprive anyone of an enjoyable day at the fair. But they figured most could afford to part with a sizable share of what they carried and still impress their mistresses.
The fewer outlaws that remained behind in the camp, the more tense Temair grew. So far she’d managed to avoid confronting Ryland. But soon it would be unavoidable.
It was Lady Mor who managed to keep Ryland busy, chatting with him beside the cave while Temair threw sticks for Flann and Bran to fetch.
Mor’s bubbling laughter rang out, and Temair stiffened. Obviously, he’d said something to amuse her. Temair wondered if he was revealing how Gray had caught him in the middle of pissing.
But Mor never once looked her way, so maybe he was only telling her a jest.
Temair tossed a pine cone for Flann.
While he bounded after it, she looked sidelong at Ryland. He was leaning back against the rock with his arms across his chest, looking devastatingly masculine. There was a relaxed smile on his face as he watched Mor fluttering her graceful hands, making gestures to accompany whatever she was telling him.
Flann nudged Temair’s palm with his wet nose. He’d already dropped the pine cone at her feet. Bran sat beside Flann and gave a single bark. He wanted to play too.
Temair picked up two pine cones and threw them in different directions, sending the hounds racing off.
Now Ryland was facing Mor, telling some story that required grand sweeps of his arms. Mor seemed spellbound. Her eyes were glowing, and she had one hand clasped to her breast as if his story was leaving her breathless.
Temair bit the inside of her cheek. Why hadn’t Mor gone with the others today? She almost always went out on fair days.
It didn’t matter, she told herself. As long as her hostage remained in camp, that was all that mattered. And if Mor’s giddy giggling and limpid gazes kept him from leaving, it was for the best.
Flann and Bran nudged her thigh.
She frowned at Mor, whose auburn hair was shining like copper in the morning sunlight.
The dogs bumped her leg again.
She clenched her jaw. For a man about to meet his bride, it seemed Ryland was becoming a bit too friendly with Mor.
Flann barked. Bran barked.
“Shh!” she hissed.