Shortly after the attack, the caravan came up on a small, tranquil village situated alongside Loch Fyne. The afternoon sun shone down on the neat rows of wattle and daub buildings that straddled a dirt road. People worked in flanking fields, and a gaggle of children followed two priests along a path near a good-sized stone kirk. Despite the town not being protected by a fortified castle, they did have a roughly built wooden stockade fence that surrounded them.

Those working the fields stayed hunched at their tasks, but eyed the newcomers warily, until Dirk stopped to introduce himself, which Lilias found admirable. There was no telling on any given day when a village or castle was going to be raided, especially when dozens of fully armed men approached. ’Twas good of him to put them at ease. These were his people and they relished a chance to show their gratitude and loyalty.

Word quickly spread amongst the villagers and by the time they reached the fence, the makeshift gate was opened, the villagers welcoming. They offered food and drink, beds and care for the horses. Dirk graciously thanked them for their gifts and asked for them to point him to the village inn.

Aptly named Fyne’s Tavern, the inn had two chambers available above stairs for rent, and while Lilias insisted she didn’t mind sharing with Lady Fenella, Dirk was quite adamant that each lady should have their own accommodations. When she argued about his own comfort and that of his men, Dirk simply argued back, stating that he and his men would all be on guard, and that she had naught to worry over, save the bath he’d have sent up to help her relax and wash away the harsh memories of her attackers.

The four guards who’d been on duty when she was abducted had been reprimanded. How, she wasn’t certain, but they’d all apologized to her and begged her forgiveness, which she’d quickly given without question. The sooner she offered her pardon and could forget the scary ordeal, the better. For everyone. She had bigger things to worry about, such as her upcoming nuptials, and the kiss she and Dirk had shared.

That had been hours ago. True to his word, Dirk had baths sent up to the ladies. Lilias luxuriated in the warm soapy water, but not for long. The dark thoughts cascading through mind seemed to chill the water more quickly than the air. She tucked her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. ’Twas not her attackers on her mind, but simply the remembrance of where she was going and what was expected of her. And how she’d kissed another man who was not her betrothed. Surely if Morten Olafsson were ever to find out… She shuddered. She didn’t know the man, nor much about him other than what she’d heard, but deep in her gut, she knew that if his bargain to keep war from continuing in Scotland was to wed her, that he would have no qualms about raising his sword in an excuse he dubbed her honor.

Drying off, she’d changed into her nightrail and worked to sew the torn hem and sleeves of her gown from earlier in the day. A few shreds of fabric were clearly gone, but she thought she could manage to put the ends back to together so it was barely noticeable. She’d packed light for her transference of freedom. Only a few gowns, chemises, and nightrails. She couldn’t afford to simply lose one because a few fools decided she was yet again a pawn in the schemes of men. While she wasn’t particularly fond of needlework, she did have a skill for it, and soon her gown was put back to rights, the lines of where she’d mended almost undetectable.

The sun began its descent and a maidservant came in to light a few candles and the hearth. Her bath was swept away and soon a young man carried in a delectable smelling tray.

“Am I to eat alone?” she asked.

The lad looked ready to bolt when she spoke to him, but the maidservant seemed more obliged to speak. “Lady Fenella wished to remain in her chamber. Asked to be undisturbed.” Shifting her eyes, she wearily said, “Ye could always join the men below?”

“Nay.” Lilias had no interest in venturing below and joining the boisterous banter of the men. Besides, she wasn’t ready to face Dirk yet again so soon. “Thank ye.”

The lad and maidservant left the chamber, closing the door behind them, leaving her in weary silence.

Lady Fenella had once been a strong woman, but it appeared that since her husband had died, she was losing a bit of her vigor. Lilias could understand that. Her father seemed to be going through much the same thing since her mother had passed. ’Twas hard to live your entire life with one person, and then have them ripped away.

Lilias made quick work of her bland stew and warm, watered ale, then climbed into bed, wishing to take advantage of an extended sleep.

But sleep eluded her.

Lilias lay tossing in bed, unable to think of anything but Dirk’s kiss. Aye, she was able to distract herself with other thoughts, but she kept coming back to the firm hold of his hands on her back, the warmth of his mouth, the way his tall, brawny body had molded to hers. Every inch of her felt alive with excitement. Anticipation. As if her own self was setting up her future to be with Dirk, when she knew very well it could never be. Her mind whirled with loss—her mother, her father, brother, clan. The life she’d known. And worry for her new life. The imagined torment she was certain to endure. Olafsson would not be a comfort to her, and the men and women in his household would likely resent her Scottish roots, when they were aligned with the Norse king.

And there would be no Dirk there. No Dirk to watch her across a campfire. No Dirk to make certain the cinch of her saddle was tight. No Dirk to toss her apples to ease the hungry rumbles of her belly. No Dirk to chuckle at her sharp tongue, or soothe her worry. No Dirk to protect her. No Dirk—for anything.

Since when did he become such a big part of her life? Was she clinging to him because he was familiar on this road to hell?

Mayhap, but she’d known his mother Fenella for longer, and she certainly wasn’t pining after the woman. That thought made her giggle.

Nay, there was no doubt that Dirk stirred something inside her. Something deep and feral.

Lilias rolled over, adjusting her pillow and blankets, seeking comfort, but still unable to fall asleep. At least she was warm and safe. Except her mouth was dry.

An incredible thirst held her taut in its claws, and she’d already gone through the watered ale left over from her supper. Lilias stood from bed, pulled her wrapper from the back of chair and tugged it on, prepared to sneak downstairs to ferret out something to drink. Even one of the men’s canteens, she didn’t care. Being so parched, she knew sleep wouldn’t come until she alleviated her thirst.

As quiet as she could, she lifted the door handle and peered out into the corridor. All was quiet. Even the men seemed to have gone to bed. How late was it? As she’d put her head to her pillow early, she didn’t think it could be midnight yet.

There wasn’t much light, save for a dim, flickering from below stairs. A candle someone had forgotten to douse? The hearth, mayhap. The men on watch would be awake, but they had a duty to perform, no time for socializing, for fear their laird would dole out punishments on them all after this afternoon’s fiasco. That would explain the quiet. The men would all be super alert, but silent.

If she snuck down quickly, either no one would be the wiser—doubtful—or they’d at least leave her be—hopefully. Whichever way, her parched throat would feel infinitely better.

The first step she took into the corridor creaked along the sagging wood. She cringed, curling her toes against a threadbare carpet and sucking in a breath as though she were doing something wrong. Well, she wasn’t. She was thirsty. There was no crime in that.

Confidence renewed, she held her head high and the wrapper tight, as she edged toward the stairs, wincing with every creak, and hoping not to wake Lady Fenella or put fear in the men of an intruder. As she reached the landing, a hand closed around hers, causing her to jolt and lose her footing. She grappled for purchase; the stairs looming up toward her face until strong arms caught her from behind, just before she completely tumbled over.

Gasping, Lilias was pulled back flush against Dirk’s familiar, hard body. Her buttocks pressed to his muscular thighs, his strong arms around her middle. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and she chewed her lip to keep from crying out. Frissons of heat flashed through her limbs. She closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath but also her sense.

Dirk’s soft whisper caught her off guard. “What are ye doing? Trying to sneak away?” His warm breath tickled her ear and caused her to shiver.

She spread her fingers over his, at first in an attempt to remove his hands from her body, but she stilled, wanting him to hold her a moment longer. “If only I were brave enough. I but wanted a drink.” Lilias shifted in his embrace, gently forcing him to let her go as she turned to confront him.

His face was cast in shadow, his dark eyes roving, catching the moonlight from some window above the stairs as he gazed at her. The sight of him took her breath away. Ruggedly handsome. Confident. Strong. His hair was mussed like he’d been sleeping. Her gaze fell toward his mouth, remembering the confidence in his kiss. She licked her lips, taking a step away, trying to put some breathable distance between them before she leapt on him or suffocated from holding her breath.

Dirk gestured at her body. “’Tis not safe for ye to go down alone dressed in naught but a blanket.” Like the rogue that he was, Dirk’s gaze traversed the length of her body, and he plucked at the shoulder of her wrapper.

Zounds, but every part of her seemed to leap to life with that one look. Gooseflesh covered her skin, her breasts grew heavy, nipples tingly and rigid. She worked hard not to visibly shiver, despite the heat rushing through her veins. Did he not realize how much he affected her? A simple look turned her to quivering mush. Did she have the same impact on him? Probably not. Women must toss themselves at him constantly. He probably had a string of lovers. That thought spiked a pang of jealousy that she worked to tamp down before it could dig in its ugly claws.

Lilias pursed her lips, trying to mimic his frown. “I’ve got on more than a blanket.” She tightened the wrapper, crossing her arms over her chest in an effort to hide her pebbled nipples.

Dirk raised a brow at that, his lip curling into a wry smile. Obviously, he’d seen the very evidence of her desire for him. “Never ye mind what ye’ve got on or not. Ye seem…” his eyes flicked over her breasts, “like ye might be chilled. Wouldn’t want anyone else to take note and assume the wrong thing. I’ll get ye a drink and bring it back.”

Assume the wrong thing? Lilias shook her head, feeling heat flush over her neck and face. She knew he teased her about being cold, if only to get a rise out of her for having looked at her nipples. Well, a rise wasn’t coming, because she was entirely too muddled at the moment. “Nay, that isn’t necessary. I couldna impose. I’ll not let anyone assume a thing about me.”

Dirk chuckled, the sound gruff, sending something inside her core to stir. “Och, lass, this entire journey is an imposition.” Taking in her shocked gasp, he was quick to add. “But it is my pleasure to serve ye, my lady.” He took her hand in his and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her bare knuckles.

Lilias bit the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning at the brush of his soft lips, the slight dampness he left behind.

“I offer ye gratitude, then,” she whispered, yanking her quivering hand back and squeezing her knees together to stay upright.

Dirk chuckled again and disappeared down the stairs. She went back to her rented room to wait for him, still feeling completely muddled. Every inch of her skin had been ready to leap for the man. To relive those moments in the woods. Lilias studied a crack in the plaster along the wall, seeing, but not seeing. There was definitely something growing between the two of them. That kiss wasn’t all of it. They were… flirting. A bond had been formed. For certes, she was more comfortable with Dirk than any other man she’d ever met.

He returned with a flagon and two cups.

“Ye will have a drink with me?” she asked.

He raised a brow, accentuating beauty of his eyes. “I was going to take mine to the corridor.”

Without thinking it through clearly, Lilias shook her head and pointed to the single chair before the hearth. “Please, sit. I haven’t been able to sleep. I should like the company.” When he raised his brow at her, cocked his head, she realized the impropriety of such a suggestion. “Leave the door open, and no one will suspect there is anything untoward happening.” Even if she wished there was.

And that of course brought on many images… His hands and mouth on her as he lowered her to the bed…

Perhaps she should tell him to leave. It would seem that when Dirk was around, she was unable to control her wicked mind.

Dirk edged toward the bench beneath the small window where she sat and handed her full cup of wine. “Only thing I could find.”

“I enjoy wine.” She breathed in the heady, if a little vinegary, essence.

“As do I.” He poured himself a cup and sprawled on the chair she’d offered for him, taking a long sip as he eyed her.

Lilias mirrored his movements, drinking deeply, and savoring the heat of the wine as it made its way down her throat and into her belly. She watched him. The way he unfolded his large form as he sat in a chair made for a much smaller man. No matter, Dirk oozed his confidence. The way he owned that chair and all the air in the room took her breath.

“How many women did ye comb through before settling on me?” she asked boldly.

Dirk studied her with a quizzical expression, perhaps reading deeper into her meaning. “I did not participate in the search. My men did so initially and then with final approval from my mother and grandmother.”

“Ye trusted them that much with the alliance?” Lilias tried not to be too offended that he seemed so careless.

Dirk shrugged, bringing her attention to his wide shoulders. The laces at his neck had come undone, his shirt fluttering open slightly, baring tanned skin and a sprinkling of dark hair. Casual, but, oh, so sensual. Lilias licked her lips and tore her gaze away from his exposed flesh.

“They knew what the terms were. And I gave them a few suggestions as to what I would consider the perfect bride,” Dirk said.

Heat flamed her cheeks as he gazed at her and winked. She wanted to ask what those terms were and see how many she had met.

“Ye think Olafsson will find me pleasing?” What she really wanted to ask was: Do ye find me pleasing?

Without a pause, Dirk nodded. “He would be a idiot if he did not. Pardon my frankness.”

“I appreciate your frankness, ye must know.” Lilias pressed her finger to the rim of her glass and edged it around the lip in a slow circle. “’Tis not often someone is so honest with me.”

“I thought ye might appreciate honesty. ’Tis one reason why ye were chosen. No other could compare,” he said softly, staring at her with longing for half a breath. Then he shook his head, seeming to come to his senses. “However, I am certain Olafsson wants a bride who is not half so… verbose.”

Lilias laughed and took a sip of her wine, eyeing him, her gaze once more drawn to that bit of tanned skin. “But ye wouldna have minded?”

Dirk grunted, a smile tugging at his lips. “I have not met a woman as verbose as ye. Though I suspect my grandmother likely was with my grandfather.”

Lilias cocked her shoulder and perfected a most coy tone. “I do admit to trying to be on my best behavior during the ladies’ visit, though I did have a few mishaps. Lady Elle and your mother were most charming.”

Dirk chuckled, then grew serious. “Were the interviews overly troublesome?”

“’Twas more a visit, I wasna certain why they’d come, and when they told me, I worked hard to be rid of them. Gave them a taste of my opinions, my talents, which included a childhood poem, in hopes they would leave in huffs of disgust.” She chuckled at that, reminding them both of her penchant for sharing. “Alas, my over-sharing only pleased them.”

“Will ye share the poem with me?”

Warmth flooded her veins, and she found herself eager to recite the words she’d burned to memory.

“Birds let out their high-pitched call,

Signaling of danger to one and all.

I am not danger, I shout my plea.

I am freedom, and freedom is we.

To soar, to sing, to perch, to live,

To despair, to love, to lose, to give.

I am the wind, the light of the sun.

I am courage, and together we’re one.”

For a full minute, Dirk stared at her, assessing, his eyes darkened. “Ye’re an amazing woman, Lilias Cameron. And ’tis likely why my grandmother and mother adored ye.”

She suppressed the urge to leap up and climb into his lap. “Aye. If I’d known they were looking for a lass so opinionated and clever, I would have played the opposite.” Unspoken words hung loose between them, each likely thinking of that kiss in the woods. At least Lilias was. She drained the contents of her wine cup, feeling marginally less nervous than she had before. And more bold. “But had I been, I might never have made your acquaintance, my laird. And that would be a shame, for like your grandmother, I find ye to be quite charming as well.” Saints, but the wine must have been getting to her. She should not have voiced that particular opinion.

Dirk’s eyes grew darker, heated. He shifted forward in his chair, and she had the brief thought that he might rise up and come kiss her. But he settled back down, and instead changed the subject, sobering them both. “I am sorry for the loss of your mother.”

Lilias swallowed hard, sobered by the reminder. “Aye. She was verra ill.” She chewed her lip, still recalling her mother’s long silver hair, the light in her eyes slowly fading, as had the color from her locks. She’d been a strong woman of both mind and body before her illness had leached the very life from her. “I am sorry for the loss of your father.”

Dirk’s frown returned. “Seems we are both in mourning.”

“Aye, my laird. I hope ye will gain comfort from those in your household.”

“Is that a reminder to me that ye will not?” His face darkened as he observed her.

Lilias laughed, though the sound came out more scratchy than jovial. “’Twas not my intention, I assure ye. I but thought of your mother who seems particularly distraught.”

“My mother and father’s marriage was arranged,” he murmured, though he seemed to be thinking aloud. “But they grew to love one another.”

Was he trying to offer her comfort? “My laird, I couldna bear it if ye were to try and make me feel better about my future groom. Or to remind me that there may yet be a love match between Olafsson and I. I am resigned to my fate.” She glanced at her cup. “And I am out of wine.”