13
IT DIDN’T TAKE ELIZABETH long to realize what Joanna was up to—her sister-in-law would never be characterized as subtle.
The slighted walls of the once great Roxburgh Castle were still visible on the horizon behind them when Joanna caught sight of Thom riding by with a few of Bruce’s secret warriors and called him over under the pretext of introducing him to Izzie. The exchange would have been brief had Joanna not proceeded to regale her cousin with a seemingly endless stream of tales from their youth. “Oh, Thom, you must tell her about . . .” and “Elizabeth, don’t you remember when . . . ?” were uttered so many times she lost count.
She might have been grateful—the time forced riding together eased a great deal of the lingering awkwardness between her and Thom—were it not for her kinswoman’s reaction. Her pretty cousin, who was as clear-eyed, hard to impress, and seemingly impervious to charm as any young woman of her acquaintance, was utterly and completely dazzled.
Thom was barely out of earshot (after he was called away by Tor MacLeod and Joanna finally had to let him go—apparently even Joanna hesitated to defy the intimidating Island chief), when Izzie turned to her accusingly. “Good, gracious! That is your smithy’s son?”
Elizabeth glared at her. “He is not my—”
“You neglected to mention that he is jaw-droppingly gorgeous.”
Elizabeth pressed her lips together, not quite sure why she was so annoyed by the observation. Was it because it had taken her so long to realize the same thing? “I hadn’t noticed,” she grumbled.
Izzie looked at her as if she must be blind—something that Elizabeth was beginning to wonder herself. But her eyes had been opened. They were wide open, blast it.
Fortunately, her cousin shifted her attention to Joanna. “My God, those eyes—those unbelievably blue eyes—contrasted against that black, wavy hair.” She sighed dreamily.
“It isn’t black,” Elizabeth said unthinkingly. Both sets of eyes turned to her, and she could feel the heat staining her cheeks. “It’s almost black, but when the sun is shining on it, you can see that it’s more a dark sable brown . . .”
Izzie’s brows shot up in perfect tandem; Joanna’s smile was so wide she’d best have care not to swallow a bug.
Feeling their scrutiny, she blurted, “Randolph is dark haired as well. And exceedingly handsome.”
“Is that so?” Izzie said thoughtfully.
Elizabeth nodded. It was definitely dark—although she’d be hard-pressed to say the shade.
“And his eyes?” Izzie asked curiously. “Are they dark or light?”
Elizabeth tried to picture him, but the image wasn’t very sharp. Realizing Izzie was trying to make some kind of point, she scowled at her. “Light.”
“Blue like your smithy’s son’s?”
Elizabeth gritted her teeth, refusing to be baited. He wasn’t hers, blast it. And what did it matter what color eyes Randolph had? Or that she’d never noticed. “Yes,” she said, hoping she was right.
“Hmm.”
Apparently her cousin was taking “hmm” lessons from her sister-in-law.
Ignoring them both, Elizabeth rode in miffed silence for the remainder of the morning, mostly talking to Helen MacKay, who was having difficulty with her fidgety young son and fortunately hadn’t heard the earlier conversation. Elizabeth didn’t know why she was so annoyed, only that she was. By the time they stopped to water the horses, however, her good humor had returned. She was laughing with Izzie about Uilleam’s latest antics—apparently, he’d decided that food tasted better after it was dropped on the floor—when she heard Joanna exclaim, “Oh no. I thought something was wrong. Look at that”—she pointed to his left rear hoof—“my horse is losing a shoe.”
Joanna could see the faintest edge of metal sliding out from under the horse’s hoof.
She turned to Elizabeth. “Be a darling and see if you can find Thommy. He may have a hammer.”
“Have you ever seen Thommy shoe a horse?” It wasn’t a pretty sight. “I’m sure one of Jamie’s men—”
Joanna waved her off—seemingly uncaringly. “Izzie can go if you are too tired.”
“I’d be happy to . . .” Izzie started.
“I’ll do it,” Elizabeth said over her. The sly fox.
So she went to ask Thom if he could help. Knowing how much he despised shoeing, he agreed with a surprising lack of hesitation. Of course, it was for Jo.
After he’d fixed the shoe—with Elizabeth unconsciously taking her position as horse distracter as she’d done when they were young so he wouldn’t get kicked—Joanna insisted he share some of the sugared biscuits the cook had given her, which were accompanied by more reminiscing, until Jamie came upon the cheerful scene and promptly sent Thom away to scout ahead of them.
The first time might have been by chance, the second by coincidence, but when they finally made camp for the night, and Joanna insisted over Jamie’s objection that Thom dine with them “after all his help,” her brother wasn’t the only one who realized what was going on. But Joanna was impervious to his dark glares and Elizabeth’s chastising frowns.
As she’d noted, subtlety wasn’t one of her sister-in-law’s strengths.
But Elizabeth couldn’t pretend that she minded Joanna’s efforts to throw them together. It was nice to be around Thom again—even if it wasn’t quite as easy and uncomplicated as it used to be. At least for her. She was far too aware of what had happened between them. Every time she looked at him, she remembered how his mouth had felt on hers, how he’d tasted, the heat of his tongue sliding in her mouth, the feel of his hands on her body—and then the more wicked memories hit her. The feel of his hardness between her legs, the weight of his body pressed against hers, the intimate stroking, the burgeoning pleasure, and the shattering euphoria that had followed. How did one act normally with a man when they had shared something like that?
She didn’t know.
But when the time to fetch him came, Joanna didn’t need to ask her, Elizabeth volunteered.
She found him down by the riverbank fishing and took a seat on a rock beside him as if it were yesterday rather than eight years ago that she’d done the same. “Catch anything?”
He shot her a sidelong look. Of course he’d caught something. He was one of the best fishermen in the village. Goodness, how it used to drive Jamie crazy.
“How many?”
He shrugged and nodded to the bucket a few feet away that she hadn’t seen before. “A half-dozen or so.” He paused. “Is it time?”
“Soon. We’ll just have time to drop those fish off with the cook before Jamie sees them.”
His mouth quirked, which she supposed was a promising start.
He pulled the line in, stood, and held his hand down to her. As if it was the most natural thing in the world—and in so many ways it was—she slipped fingers into his. She’d forgotten the strength of his grip, the hardness of the calluses on his palms . . . and the warmth. It flooded her senses as she came to her feet before him.
They stared at one another for a long heartbeat, the intensity of his gaze making her wobble.
He had to grab her arms to catch her when her unsteady legs nearly made her slip. “Bloody hell, Elizabeth, be careful. I assure you, that river is every bit as cold as it looks.”
She didn’t tell him that it wasn’t clumsiness, it was him. “Th-thank you,” she stammered. Good gracious, what was wrong with her? Why was she so nervous? Why was she so . . . fluttery? Why was she so aware of the closeness of his body, the hard lines of his face, the brilliance of his eyes, the softness of the lips that were a short tiptoe-rising distance away from her? Why did she feel so warm—like she was standing too close to the forge and might get burned?
Apparently she wasn’t the only one affected. He stared down at her. Her eyes. Her mouth. “Elizabeth . . .” he started, half in warning and half in anger.
He was going to kiss her. She felt the muscles in his arms tighten as he drew her incrementally closer. Felt the heat of his breath as his mouth lowered. Felt the slam of her heart against her ribs in anticipation. And then she felt . . .
Nothing.
He drew back, set her carefully away from the slippery edge of the muddy bank, and let her go.
“We should go,” he said calmly, as if he hadn’t been moments away from putting his mouth on hers.
As if she hadn’t been moments away from letting him.
A flush heated her cheeks, but she, too, acted as if nothing had happened—or nearly happened. It was much harder pretending that she wasn’t disappointed it hadn’t. “Yes, Joanna will wonder where we are.”
He gave her a dry look that was so wonderfully Thommy her chest swelled with happiness. “I doubt she’ll wonder anything, as I suspect that was rather the point.”
Apparently he’d caught on to Joanna’s little game as well. She gave him a small smile of shared understanding, and they walked back together through camp. They didn’t talk, but their pace was slower than it might have been.
Thom glanced up as the shadow fell over him. But he’d been aware of her the moment she came into view on the bridge. She was like a damned beacon for his senses. Or maybe it was the other way around—his senses lit up like a damned beacon whenever she was near.
The men had made camp across the bridge from Newbattle Abbey in a small clearing along the banks of the River Esk. But Douglas had arranged for his handful of women traveling with them to stay in the abbey. Although the traveling party had thus far managed to avoid rain—and therefore the soggy, muddy roads that could have severely delayed their journey—the temperature had dropped to near freezing over the last few hours, and the women would be much more comfortable with the Cistercian monks.
In other words, Douglas wasn’t taking any chances.
Joanna’s efforts the past two days to bring Thom and Elizabeth together had not gone unnoticed by her husband—or anyone else for that matter. But Douglas didn’t have anything to worry about. As much as Thom had enjoyed spending time with his old friends—and he had enjoyed himself, perhaps more than he wanted to—no matter how many errands, dinners, and loose horseshoes Joanna arranged, it wouldn’t make a difference. It was too late for him and Elizabeth. They’d both moved on.
Elizabeth might want him physically, but Thom did not delude himself that she wanted more from him than pleasure. Not when she could marry one of the most important men in the realm. A man like Randolph could give her something Thom never could: position, wealth, and security. And he maybe better than anyone knew how much those things meant to her.
Although it would have saved him a whole hell of a lot of heartbreak had he recognized it earlier.
Elizabeth was too practical, with too much of her brother’s ambition in her to risk a marriage to someone in Thom’s position. She and Jamie had both been scarred by their father’s death. Maybe if those difficult years had never happened, it would be different. But when her father had died in prison after being declared a traitor, his lands and wealth stripped by King Edward, his widow and children had been left with nothing. They’d been “little better than beggars,” Elizabeth had once said.
Edward’s hatred of Sir William “the Hardy” Douglas had been extreme—even by the king’s notorious Angevin standards. With Edward’s mercurial temper, no one had wanted to chance taking in the “traitor’s” widow and children and risk having his vitriol turned toward them. Finally, half-starved, with little more than the “rags on their shoulders” and “one step away from an almshouse,” Isabel’s family had taken them in. The situation had been both “humbling and humiliating.”
Elizabeth had laughed when she’d told him that, but now he realized how telling that had been.
Eventually Edward’s temper had cooled toward the widow (if not the “traitor’s spawn”) and some of Lady Eleanor’s dower lands had been restored. By the time the family had returned to Douglas a couple of years later, the situation wasn’t nearly so dire. But the experience had left a lasting imprint on Elizabeth. From that point on, it seemed she was always looking beyond the little village of Douglas to something bigger.
Randolph was one of the biggest. She wouldn’t let him go. No matter how much she lusted for Thom.
All Jo’s machinations had succeeded in doing was make the inevitable parting when they arrived in Edinburgh tomorrow more difficult.
Fortunately, he’d had a bit of a respite today. He had no doubt Joanna would have found countless pretenses to seek him out, but the Phantoms hadn’t given her a chance. MacLeod had asked him to ride out with Sutherland and MacKay to check on a bridge ahead of them that might need repairing from a storm a few weeks ago (it had), and then he’d ridden ahead to scout with Lamont and MacLean. Finally, on hearing that he was skilled with the making of swords, MacRuairi had asked him to take a look at one of his arming swords—he fought with two that he wore crossed at his back. All of which had taken him well away from the ladies for most of the day.
But it appeared his respite was over.
Elizabeth was smiling down at him, so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. Actually, it did hurt, damn it. The heavy blue wool cloak she wore was trimmed with fur around the hood, framing her fair face like a snow queen—
He stopped, her earlier accusations coming back to him. Had he made her into something she wasn’t? Holding her up as something “perfect” and unattainable? A pretty porcelain poppet in a shopwindow?
He had to concede that there might be more truth to her accusation than he wanted to admit. He had always seen her through the window of that little girl he’d first mistaken for a princess. The embodiment of everything he wanted but thought he couldn’t have.
She wasn’t perfect—he knew that. She could be stubborn, opinionated, and defensive—especially when it came to her family. She sometimes spoke without thinking and could be blind to what was right in front of her—he better than anyone knew that. She sometimes focused so much on the goal that she lost sight of everything else. And God knew she could watch where she stepped more often.
But she was also sweet and kind, generous (visiting not just almshouses but also lazar houses), always saw the good in those around her (sometimes naively), strong willed, confident, and despite what she said about sometimes being in a bad mood, almost always happy and cheerful. She had always been able to make him smile—even when he’d slipped into one of his “dark moods,” as she called them. She truly cared about the people around her, including him. Especially him.
So she might be right, but she was also wrong. He had truly loved her.
“I thought now that you wielded a sword you didn’t make them anymore,” she teased.
He paused, putting down the file he’d been using to answer her. “Aye, well, it seems I’ve somehow managed to find myself doing both.”
“I’m not surprised.”
He frowned, not knowing what to make of her comment. “You’re not?”
She shook her head. “You are too talented. Someone was bound to notice at some point.” The matter-of-factness of her tone was oddly flattering. “Johnny said you only got better after I left and had developed a following not just in Douglas but in the rest of South Lanarkshire as well.”
He quirked a brow. “Asking after me, El?”
A pretty dusting of pink appeared on her snowy cheeks, and she quickly changed topics. “Is something wrong with the handle?”
He wasn’t surprised that she’d guessed. God knew she’d watched him do something similar dozens of times. “It shifts a little with a hard blow.”
She looked down at what he was doing. “Are the guards too flat or are they uneven?”
He smiled and shook his head. He wondered how many highborn ladies knew so much about swords. He’d venture a very few. “A little of both. I don’t like the shape of the tang either.”
“But you can’t fix that without a forge.”
“Exactly.”
“Whose sword is it?”
“MacRuairi’s.”
She lifted a brow. “I’m impressed. He keeps limited company—to say the least. I knew him for two years before I swallowed my fear enough to talk to him. Meeting his wife helped.” She shook her head. “Who would have ever thought Scotland’s most famous heroine would wed one of Scotland’s most infamous pirates?”
He, too, had been surprised to learn that Bella MacDuff had married Lachlan MacRuairi, the notorious bastard-born West Highland chieftain. Thom shrugged. “He heard I might be able to fix it, and asked me to look at it. We aren’t exactly blood brothers.”
She gave him an odd look, as if something was just occurring to her. “You spent a lot of time with them today.”
“Who?”
“MacLeod and the others. I wonder . . .”
She shook off whatever it was she’d been about to say, but he could guess. He’d been wondering the same thing. Were the Phantoms singling him out for a reason? MacLeod had asked him a few questions about his training and battle experience, but had not been forthcoming about why he’d asked Carrick to send Thom to Edinburgh. He’d been watching him though—closely.
“No matter,” she said. “I’m afraid I have an errand I must attend to for Joanna.” Seeing his expression, she laughed. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing to do with you. Have you seen Jamie?”
“Awhile ago. I think he went hunting with some of his men.”
“Ah, well, then Joanna’s favorite blue gown will have to wait.” At his look of incomprehension, she explained. “She needs one of her trunks.”
“So that she can impress the monks?”
She giggled. “Hardly. I think it rather has to do with the other travelers who arrived. Lady Mary of Strathearn—the earl’s daughter. Joanna never liked her. She thought she had designs on James before she married Sir John Moray of Drumsagard.”
Thom shook his head. Women. “If I see him, I’ll let him know.”
“Thanks.” She stood there staring at him as if she wanted to say more, but after a moment she left, and he resumed his filing.
But he was distracted, and the work wasn’t as satisfying as it had been.
There had been nothing particularly remarkable about the conversation with Elizabeth, but each time he was with her, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his heart hardened against her.
Christ, he’d nearly kissed her the other day by the river, and God only knew how that could have ended. If it was anything like last time, there was a good chance it would have been with her pushed up against a tree and him deep inside her.
Honor and nobility had once meant something to him. They were qualities he’d always prided himself on because of his actions, not because of some “sir” or “lord” in front of his name. Elizabeth had made him forget once, but he would not do so again.
“What is between you and Douglas’s sister?”
Thom turned, not realizing MacLeod had come up behind him. Christ, no wonder they were known as Phantoms; the man moved like a ghost. With his strength and build it was especially impressive. “Nothing,” he said automatically.
The fierce Island chief studied him intently. Thom wasn’t easily intimidated, but he had to admit it was damned unsettling.
“It didn’t look that way to me,” MacLeod said.
He had obviously been watching him again. Thom’s gaze hardened. “However it looked, I’m not sure why it is any business of yours.”
MacLeod arched a brow as if Thom’s bold reply had surprised him. Perhaps it should have. Given MacLeod’s reputation, Thom probably should have responded with quite a bit less hostility in his tone. Rather than MacLeod being offended, however, Thom sensed he’d impressed him again.
“Depending on what happens in Edinburgh, it might be very much my business. Douglas is an important man in the Bruce’s army—and someone I respect. We often work together. I lost a man last year to discord; I won’t lose another. And that lass, I suspect, would cause quite a lot of discord.”
To put it mildly. Thom and Douglas had reached a tentative truce, but Thom did not delude himself that that truce wouldn’t turn back into full-fledged war again if Douglas suspected anything between Thom and his sister.
“We?”
MacLeod gave him a look that made him feel stupid for asking.
“Elizabeth and I are old friends,” Thom said, answering MacLeod’s original question. “We’ve known each other since we were children.”
“Douglas said she is to marry Randolph.”
“Aye.”
“Good,” MacLeod said. “Keep it that way, and there won’t be a problem.”
The man who Thom suspected was the leader of the band of Phantom warriors—who’d struck fear in the heart of their enemies and become the fodder of legend—walked away, leaving Thom certain of two things. One, he was possibly being recruited by the most elite guard in the army, and two, whatever chance he had to be part of the Phantoms was contingent on him not angering Douglas.
In other words, if Thom wanted a chance to fight among the best warriors in the kingdom, Elizabeth Douglas was off-limits.
The Phantoms? Thom still couldn’t believe it. Even after a long night of thinking about little else—while trying to repress the building excitement—he wondered if he’d misunderstood.
But he hadn’t. MacLeod was considering him for the Phantoms.
Christ, if Thom needed any more incentive to stay away from Elizabeth—which he didn’t—he had it. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t damned glad their journey and forced togetherness was almost over. Powerful incentive or not, he wasn’t exactly rational when it came to her.
Unfortunately, their early morning departure had been delayed by a heavy downpour of rain that had started at dawn and now, two hours later, was still going strong. When it was discovered that one of the travelers taking respite at the abbey was also traveling to Edinburgh in a carriage—which was rare due to their impracticality on Scottish roads—Douglas decided, over his wife’s objections to the proposed company, to wait so that the ladies might join her and avoid a very cold and uncomfortable ride.
After another hour of waiting for Lady Mary and her carriage, they traveled barely a mile before the “road” narrowed, one of the wheels slid on the uneven ground, and the blasted thing became stuck in the mud—thus proving the impractical nature of carriages in Scotland. Fortunately, the rain had waned a bit by then, so the women were not soaked while the men labored to fix it. When they had, it was time for the midday meal, and the group spread out to eat. Thom lost sight of the ladies, until Joanna came rushing up to him as he was packing his saddlebag.
“Have you seen Ella?”
She looked mildly worried, but suspecting another of her ploys, he didn’t pay too much attention. “Not for a while.”
Joanna frowned. “Neither have I. She wandered off after the meal and hasn’t returned.”
“How long ago?”
“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”
Realizing this wasn’t a game, Thom frowned. “She went by herself?”
“Aye, I thought . . .” Joanna blushed. “She might need privacy.”
“She isn’t likely to get lost around here. Which way did she go?”
She pointed in the direction of the river. “Downstream a little.”
“I’ll fetch her,” Thom said.
When Joanna smiled, he wondered if he’d been tricked again.
It didn’t take him long to realize that he hadn’t. He called her name a few times as he picked his way through the dense trees and brush. But he’d only gone about fifty yards when he noticed that the bank of trees along this side of the river hid the edge of a ravine. The kind of ravine that it would be easy for someone to slip down.
Ah, hell. His stomach dropped, but his pulse took off in the opposite direction. Dread twisted in his gut as he retraced his steps and walked back and forth along the edge shouting her name, looking down into the abyss of foliage with his heart in his throat and fearing what other tangled limbs he might see among the branches and vines.
Finally, he heard a soft cry. “Here. I’m here.”
He looked down, and when he saw the two big blue eyes staring up at him, the heart that had been in his throat jammed. She was about twenty feet below him, clinging to a small tree that wasn’t much more than a sapling about halfway down the steep embankment. The steep, unstable embankment.
Damn. From the visible roots and large chunks of missing dirt, he could see that part of the hillside had already come away.
He followed what must have been the path she’d taken down the hill with his gaze. With the wet rock, mud, and dried leaves, she would have been sliding fast. That thin twig of a tree was likely the only thing that had stopped her from sliding all the way down to the rocky bottom. And it was the only thing preventing her from continuing.
She could be lying in a twisted, bloody pool . . . God, he thought he might be sick.
He did a quick scan of her person, and aside from a few scratches, dirt, a missing veil that he could see about ten feet down the slope, and a mussed plait, she didn’t appear to be seriously injured.
But he didn’t like the look of that tree. Not wanting to alarm her, he forced a lightness to his voice that he did not feel. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, her eyes getting a little wider. “I slipped.”
He couldn’t help smiling. “I can see that.”
“I tried to pull myself up, but I didn’t want to let go.”
“Don’t!” he said, unable to completely mask his alarm. Then more calmly, he added, “I’m going to come down to get you.”
“But shouldn’t you get a rope first?”
Aye, but he didn’t think he had time. The roots of that tree were not very deep and the rain coupled with her weight had loosened the grip it had on the hillside. He could already see the dirt lifting around the base.
“I’ll be careful,” he assured her, starting down.
With very little to grab on to that was sturdy enough to support his weight, he half-scrambled, half-slid down the embankment, keeping his body as parallel to the ground as he could, using his right hand for leverage and left for support. With one eye on her and the other on the base of that damned tree, he made his way toward her with precision and speed born not so much of skill but of determination. There was no way in hell he was going to fall—not when she needed him.
By the time he reached her, he knew they would never be able to climb back up. They would have to go down. It had only been a handful of minutes since he started looking for her, and he knew it would be awhile before Joanna sent someone after them.
He’d devised a plan, but it was going to take a leap of faith on her part.
He could see the pale terror mixed with panic on her face as he approached, and it tore at him. The urge to comfort—to protect—her overwhelmed him.
He stopped a few feet away, not wanting to get too close lest she reach for him or he put strain on that tree. The whole patch of ground looked in peril of breaking away.
“Hi,” he said, smiling as if they were meeting on a stroll through the forest.
“Hi,” she replied softly. Her eyes sparkled with the edge of tears. “You found me. I didn’t think anyone would come in time.”
“Joanna sent me. She was worried when you didn’t return.”
“I was on my way back but then I saw a baby hare. I thought it had been injured in a trap and tried to follow it. But I guess it didn’t want to be followed, as it led me over this embankment.”
“I guess not,” he agreed. He paused and thought for a moment. “How do you know which rabbit is the oldest?”
It only took her a moment to catch on before she smiled. “I don’t know.”
He grinned. “Look for the gray hare.”
She giggled, and then scrunched her nose. God, he loved it when she did that. He always had.
“That isn’t a very good one.”
“And yet you laughed,” he pointed out. “But if you think you can do better, be my guest.”
“You’re trying to distract me.”
“Is it working?”
One side of her mouth curved up. “A little.”
“I need you to try to concentrate now—and I need you to trust me.”
“All right.” She agreed without hesitation, and it made his already compressed chest squeeze a little tighter.
There was a tree at the bottom of the ravine with sturdy branches that overhung just a few feet from where they were on the hill. He told her what he wanted her to do, and her eyes went perfectly round.
“I can’t jump!”
“Yes, you can. It’s only a few feet, and I’ll help you. We’ll do it together. I’m going to come toward you, you let go of the tree, grab on to me, and I’ll do the rest.”
“What happens if it breaks?”
“It’s too thick to snap, but if it bends we’ll ride it all the way down to the bottom. All right?”
She didn’t say anything, just stared at him mutely as if he’d lost his mind.
“El? I need you to do this. The ground is too slick with too many rocks. It’s too risky to try to slide down.”
She gave him an incredulous look. “And jumping on a tree limb isn’t risky?”
His mouth twisted. “Less risky.”
He’d kept an eye on the tree she was holding and saw it move another inch. She must have felt it, too, because her face suddenly drained again, and she nodded. “We better do it quickly.”
He looked into her eyes. “Don’t think, just look at me.” He held her gaze. “We go on three. Ready? One . . . two . . . three.”
He moved, she let go, latched on, and together they leapt. He needed both hands to grab the upper branch, but as soon as he felt the lower under his feet, he let go one hand and drew her in tight against him, until both the branch they were standing on and the one he was holding on to for support steadied. But the wild fluttering of her heart beating against his took a little longer.
Her eyes held his the whole time, and the knot in his chest grew and grew.
He knew she was still scared, but a small smile had started to work its way up the corners of her mouth. “I seem to recall being in a similar position once before, except at the time you weren’t quite so tall.”
He feigned a struggle to hold her. “And you weren’t quite so heavy.”
Her brows shot up in outrage. “Heavy! I may have put on a few extra pounds the past couple of years”—she sent him a glare—“but you would, too, if you lived with Joanna and all her sweets. I swear, every time I turn around there’s a new cake that I ‘must try.’ ”
He was trying not to laugh, which only served to further infuriate her. The lass was ridiculous. The only “heavy” places on her body were in exactly the right places. Two in particular were temptingly crushed to his chest. If he looked down . . .
He didn’t look down.
She gave him a little huff, and probably would have peered down her nose if she hadn’t been plastered to his side. “Obviously you aren’t as strong as all those muscles make you look.”
There was something admiring in her voice that heated his blood and sent all jests to the wayside. She liked his body.
She must have felt the change in him, because the gaze that was turned to his grew suddenly soft. Aroused. Hot.
Had he not been perched in a tree, with her wrapped around him, he might have kissed her. He would have kissed her. Nothing could have stopped him.
Instead he shuffled her around so that she was on the inside closest to the trunk. From there he loosened his hold around her so that she could grab the branch.
“Do you think you can get down the rest of the way from here?” he asked.
She peered at the grid of limbs below here feet. She only needed to climb down a handful, and she would be close enough to the ground to drop.
“I think so.”
“I’ll go first and guide you down.”
She nodded. They were on familiar ground, and it didn’t take long before they were on solid ground as well.
He caught her to him and let her go. Or rather, he intended to let her go, but she kept holding him.
He didn’t know who moved first, but one minute he was staring into her eyes, and the next his mouth was on hers. All the heat, all the passion, all the desire that had been simmering in the air between them since that night in the kitchens boiled over.
He pushed her back against the tree they’d just climbed down, cupping her head with one hand to protect it from the bark, and lacing his other under her leg to wrap around his hip.
It was as close to heaven as he could imagine. Their tongues sparred, circled, and stroked, harder and faster. Deeper. It was as if they were starved for one another and were now feasting, devouring, consuming.
He couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t care. She tasted so warm and sweet, all he wanted was her.
And she wanted him.
He could feel it in the fervor of her response, in the stroke of her tongue, in the way her hands gripped the muscles of his arms and back, her leg tightened around his hip, bringing his cock into that sweet little juncture, and her hips moved against him.
Aye, he could definitely feel that. It made him groan and throb, and pulse in anticipation. For an innocent, she sure as hell knew how to drive him wild. Instinct was a powerful weapon, and she wielded it with the skilled precision to bring him to his knees.
He was out of control. His mouth was on her neck, his hand was cupping her breast, squeezing, rubbing his thumb over the taut peak. The erotic sounds of her gasps and breathy moans egged him on.
Too fast . . . not fast enough.
He had to touch her, had to feel all that heat and dampness on his fingertips. He slid his hand under her skirts and groaned with pure molten pleasure. She was so warm and silky, and ready for him. He wanted to make her come. He wanted to be inside her.
Honor? Nobility? He didn’t care about either right now. All that he cared about was making the girl he’d wanted his forever.
A cry stopped him. Not her cry, but her brother’s. “Elizabeth!”
He heard his own name, too. He thought it was MacLeod’s voice.
He swore and pulled away. He wished he could say the shock was like a bucket of ice water poured over his senses, but his body was still on fire, desire still fisted like a ball at the base of his spine, and his head still roared with the primitive call to mate.
“Down here,” he managed to respond tightly, moving out from the canopy of tree branches that he hoped had been enough to shield them from view.
From Jamie’s expression, it appeared they had been. He looked more concerned and suspicious than ready to kill. “Where’s Ella? Is she all right?”
Elizabeth stepped out beside him. “Right here, and I’m fine.”
One glance at her ravaged appearance and now Jamie’s expression was ready to kill. “What the hell are you doing down there?”
“I fell, Jamie,” she said angrily, guessing what he’d been thinking. “Thommy saved me from cracking my head open on these rocks.” He didn’t miss the “For goodness’ sake!” added under her breath.
“Get a rope,” Thom said, conscious of MacLeod’s presence. He didn’t want him to think he hadn’t heeded his warning—which he hadn’t, damn it. “I will fill you in on all the details once Elizabeth has been seen to.”