At sunset, they set up camp near a creek to allow the horses to rest. Conor and his men washed up in the river’s cold water and shook the dust out of their clothes. He noticed the older of the two women carrying water back to where Hamish prepared their meal. The younger girl sat near him slicing potatoes.

He frowned noticing she remained covered in mud except for her forearms and hands. He walked toward her, hesitating only when the older lady blocked his path.

"Can I get you something milord?” The woman seemed nervous, but it didn’t surprise him, he knew the English thought Scots to be barbarians.

"Why doesn’t the girl wash up? Walking around covered in mud for days cannot be comfortable.” He kept his gaze on the younger woman who paused from her chore to look over at them with interest.

The older lady paled slightly. "She is fearful and refuses to wash in front of you and your men.”

He strode away from the woman toward the young girl. "We are not animals who would pounce on an unwilling woman. I believe it is the English who hold no such standards.” The older woman rushed to keep up with him.

"She will refuse milord!”

Upon spotting him, the dirty woman froze. When he neared, she dropped the potato in her hand and ran towards the edge of the woods. It didn’t take him long to catch up with her, when he did he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder.

Ignoring her cries of protest, he stalked towards the river while she pounded on his back screaming and kicking. The men stopped talking and watched Conor carry the thrashing woman toward the water. Without pausing at the water's edge he tossed her away from him into the creek like a sack. She came up sputtering, her hair covering her face.

"You big oaf! How dare you. I will not be bullied by the likes of you!” She tried to move but her wet skirts wrapped around her legs and kept her from walking. She cursed and began pulling on the folds of cloth and glared through the strands at Conor who stood on the riverbank with his arms across his chest.

"I suggest you remove the mud off yourself Lass, you won’t get past me until you do.” He told her patiently.

Her eyes darted to either side of him and she must have realized it would be impossible to make it around him especially with her wet skirts. The woman huffed at him and then dove under the water obediently to rinse the mud from her face and hair. Finally, she dunked one last time and came up to get out of the frigid water.

Conor’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open when she surfaced the last time. He could only stare at the beauty before him. To ensure she was not an illusion, Conor blinked to clear his vision.

Her exquisite face framed by long wet auburn hair, her narrowed almond shaped emerald eyes regarded him while she trudged through the water toward where he stood. Like a second skin, the wet gown clung to enticing curves and pert breasts.

He wondered why she was a maid and her family had not provided a dowry for her. Surely with her looks it would have been easy to find a willing husband.

She finally emerged out of the water. His eyes wandered from her face down the length of her body. Her breasts were of a good size. The beauty had a narrow waist and lush hips that swayed enticingly in her wet skirts. With her hands fisted at her sides, she stalked directly toward him, green eyes blazing. When she stopped a few short inches from him Conor cocked a brow waiting to hear what she had to say. Instead, his reward was a blinding shot of pain when the heel of her hand connected with his nose.

Conor grabbed in her direction with one hand, while trying to stop the blood flow with the other. She was quick and darted around him, picking up her skirts and running back toward the wagon.

Ignoring the guffaws of his men, he held his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose to stop the bleeding. The lass was a spitfire, he stalked after her. It was best to speak about her actions and let her know it was not at all acceptable.

The older maid ran to the lass and hurried her to the wagon. Conor neared and overheard the older woman chastise her. "What are you thinking Victoria? The man will leave us both on the side of the road. Wild beasts will kill us before we make it very far.

Victoria huffed "I would rather take my chances with wild animals than with that insufferable brute.”

"Milady, you must curb your temperament. It's for the best." The woman referred to her with a title. It seemed the woman, Victoria, was not who she portrayed to be?

Conor moved away and rejoined his men by the campfire. Their laughter stopped abruptly when he approached. "Get on with your duties," he grumbled.

That night after everyone was settled, Victoria sat close to the fire Hamish built watching the men who gathered around a larger one, a short distance away.

"His name is Conor McDougall," Hamish told her looking towards where the Scot who'd accosted her earlier. "He's a good leader and a good man."

Of course the man would defend the oaf. After all, he worked for him. In her chemise with the thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders, Victoria shivered. Her only dress was still a soggy mess and wouldn’t be dry until the next day, if then. Mary snored inside the wagon where Hamish had made a makeshift bed for them.

The men not on watch gathered in a circle around a larger fire and spoke in low tones, the words too muffled for her to hear what was said.

Every night, some remained on watch while others slept. No doubt to ensure they were not followed.

Victoria’s gaze kept falling on Conor McDougall, who stood near the fire listening to the conversation. She hated to admit how handsome he was.

The Scot was very tall. Waves of black hair that hung to his shoulders and serious grey eyes framed with thick long lashes. He wore heavy leather breeches, animal skin boots and a fur-lined plaid weaved with his clan colors of blue and green.

Conor must have felt someone staring at him because he looked across the space toward Victoria. His flat eyes regarded her for a moment holding her captive. When one of the men spoke to him, he turned his attention away and whatever spell kept her from looking away broke.

"Mr. Hamish, how much longer before we arrive at the McDougall’s Keep?”

Hamish lay on a bedroll by the fire staring up at the sky. "We should be arriving at Somerset in another day’s ride Miss.” He answered her quietly. "I suggest you try to get some sleep."

Footsteps alerted her to Conor McDougall looming over her. How had he moved so close without her noticing?

He didn’t speak to her, instead spoke to Hamish. "We’ll leave at first light old man. Make sure everything is packed up and ready."

The deep timber of his voice made Victoria shudder almost as if it touched her. She didn’t dare look directly at him, instead concentrated on the flames doing her best to give the impression of disinterest. When she felt his warm plaid over her shoulders, her eyes flew to his face.

"Keep it, it will warm you." The heavy garment's warmth seeped into her freezing limbs and she wrapped it tightly around her almost crying in relief.

Not daring to be rude and risking him taking the warmth away. "Thank you milord," she whispered softly. He nodded and walked away.

"Well I’ll be” Hamish spoke to his leader's retreating back.

Rushing to the back of the wagon, Victoria snuggled into the warmness of the plaid attempting to push past the whirlwind of thoughts and fall asleep. The smell of McDougall hung to the fabric making it difficult not to think of him. The masculine smell reminded her of his strength and that brought the memory of when he carried her to the river's edge.

She wondered how could a man who savagely killed her husband, be thoughtful enough to loan her his plaid. Did that mean he was now chilled, having to do without it?

A killer's comfort should be the last thing on her mind. She chided herself for feeling guilty at wondering if he was cold that night.

Conor stood watch by the fire. He looked over at the wagon. Hamish threw mores logs into the flames before lying back down. It was a bitter night, the frigid wind cutting through the blanket that he'd gathered around his shoulders. He had been through worse. Besides, had to keep the lass covered.

His men were not savages like the English believed them to be, but they were not saints either and the woman's exquisiteness was enough to start a fight amongst them. By Victoria wearing his plaid, he had marked her as his and none of them would risk touching her and raising his ire.

Conor didn’t know the spitfire’s surname and he wondered absently if she was truly a maid or perhaps one of Turner’s relatives. He smiled bitterly. If she were a Turner, then it would serve her right to serve at Somerset in his brother’s keep. The McDougall’s had a large household and always had a need for more maids.

Conor pondered how Laird McDougall, his brother, would react at him returning with two women. One who he suspected was not who he'd been lead to believe. His brother was in a newly arranged marriage. He seemed to have taken the marriage in stride. Although his wife Meagan seemed distant, he figured things would improve over time.

Conor did not begrudge his brother being firstborn and taking over the McDougall clan. Personally, he planned to avoid marriage and being settled for as long as he could.

There was a complication of Calum and the McNeil Laird discussing a match between him and the McNeil's daughter. Therefore, it was imperative, he avoid lingering once back. He'd leave again not giving them time to sort any type of marriage agreement.

Once he arrived at Somerset, he would remain a couple days and leave to visit his cousins the Campbell's. They were always warring with the surrounding clans and would welcome an experienced swordsman like him. Hopefully by his return from battle, talks of any match would be over and another clansman would be chosen for the match.

Curious about whom she really was, Connor followed Victoria the next day when she wandered away from the wagon alone.

The lass took her time strolling about, seeming to take in the surroundings. Perhaps planning her escape or leaving a trail to follow by marking trees, he couldn't be sure. She meandered about, but he didn't see her do anything suspicious.

He stepped from behind a tree and blocked her way. She bent to retrieve a plant of some sort and placed in into a sack tied about her waist. Then rounded him and kept walking.

He scowled down at her. "What could you possibly know about herbs and such? You are not a maid. I overheard the woman Mary address you as a lady." Her eyes widened but she remained silent. "I suggest you don't wander off alone. It's dangerous for a lady to go about unaccompanied." He didn't move out of her path.

She looked up at him, her deep green eyes taking him in. "I am...I was a friend of the family. And I am far more afraid of what awaits me in the Highlands than anything in these woods. I'll have you know that I am quite versed in herbs and plants thanks to my mother. Please move out of my way." The beauty arched an eyebrow at him and waited.

Unable to stop, he put his hand up to her cheek. "Don't be afraid. As you already know, I cannot return you to England. I am taking you to my brother's keep. You will be safe there."

Victoria moved from his touch. "I don't want to be in Scotland. I want to go home." Her last word hitched, he couldn't tell if it was out of anger or fear. "You must send word to my brothers immediately. They will come and fetch me." She glared at him.

"I can't return you. It would be an admission of guilt." He itched to touch her again, but refrained.

"You murdered those poor people and kidnapped me. Of course you are guilty of crimes. I don't have to understand anything you say, sir!"

His eyes widened. Most men did not dare stand up to him, and this small lass not only stood up to him, but scolded him as well. "I don't have to explain the reason for my going to England. If you have not noticed it is I who gives orders here. When we arrive at Somerset, my brother will decide what he wants to do about you and your maid."

They stood nose-to-nose, Victoria's eyes boring into his, neither wanting to be first to back down. She put her hand out to Conor's chest and attempted to push him aside and he grabbed it, holding it between them in his fist. "Be careful, lady, I am not in the right mood."

Victoria's eyes narrowed, yet she did not retreat. "Release my hand, sir."

Unsure of what possessed him, Conor didn't release her hand. Instead, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles, allowing his lips to linger on each one. She gasped and tried to pull her hand free.

"Stop this at once, let me pass!" When Victoria leaned forward, he bent down and took her mouth with his. Upon touching her lips, a surge of arousal lurched through him and he deepened the kiss without restraint, placing his hands on her waist, he drew the plush woman against him.

Her body tensed, she pushed at his chest without avail for he was too strong for her. Just when he was about to release her, she softened and began to kiss him back, opening her mouth to allow his tongue to explore her completely.

Victoria raised her hands and ran her fingers through his hair. That’s it lass. He moaned and released her mouth trailed kisses to her creamy throat.

A hard slap to the back of his head made him jerk back and lift his hand to the affected area. She'd hit him.

"How dare you!" She spat and took a wobbly step back before rounding him and scampering toward the wagon.

The damn spitfire caused him to lose control. It was time to put an end to whatever game she played. Conor stomped off to the river and washed his face, the frigid water helped him gather control of his beating heart. The hardened cock would have to go down on it's own.

He went straight to his horse, making sure not to look at her. Once they were on the road, Conor rode ahead and traded places with one of the forward scouts to avoid being near Victoria for the rest of the trip home.