The chill of the night seeped through the canvas despite the shelter, and a shiver ran through her in earnest now.
Ian noticed at once. “Ye’re cold,” he observed.
“I am perfectly…” she began, but her teeth clicked together traitorously. Without another word, he reached for her, drawing her back against his chest. She let out a startled sound as his arm slid around her waist, firm and possessive.
“’Tis only for warmth,” he said near her ear, his breath stirring the fine hairs at her temple. “Unless ye’d rather freeze.”
She hesitated a heartbeat too long. “I wouldnae wish to inconvenience ye,” she said primly.
“Inconvenience me? Lass, ye’ve done little else since I met ye.”
She elbowed him lightly. “Then ye may release me.”
“Nay,” he replied at once, tightening his hold a fraction. “I’ve grown accustomed to the weight of ye.” The words, half-jest and half-confession, stole her breath.
She lay still, acutely aware of every point where they touched. His warmth seeped into her, chasing away the cold far more effectively than the tent had done. “Ye’re very bold in the dark,” she murmured.
“And ye’re very honest in it,” he returned softly.
She could hear the smile in his voice. “Close yer eyes, Arianna.”
She obeyed, though sleep felt distant. “If ye snore,” she warned faintly, “I shall push ye from the bedroll.”
His arm tightened protectively about her waist. “Ye could try,” he said, amusement rumbling low in his chest.
Despite herself, she smiled into the darkness. The steady rise and fall of his breathing gradually matched her own, and the earlier tension ebbed into something gentler. Held securely in his embrace, she found that her nerves softened into quiet anticipation rather than fear.
Outside, the night creatures continued their hidden wanderings, but within the tent, there was only warmth and the whisper of shared breath. Arianna let herself relax fully at last, trusting the strength of the arm around her. And as sleep finally claimed her, she knew she had never felt safer.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Arianna woke to the warmth of sunlight pouring through the thin canvas of the tent, gilding the space in soft gold. She blinked and rolled onto her side, expecting to see Ian’s broad frame beside her. The blankets were cool where he had lain, and the space was empty.
“Ian?” she called softly, her voice thick with sleep and confusion.
There was no answer, only the faint crackle of a fire beyond the tent walls. She pushed herself upright and reached for her boots, frowning as she flexed her ankle. With cautious curiosity, she stood, and to her surprise, there was no sharp pain, only a faint memory of soreness.
“Well now,” she murmured, testing her weight again, “that’s a miracle.”
She slipped out of the tent into the bright morning, the air crisp and sweet with dew. The fire was alive with steady flames,and the smell of sausages roasting drifted richly through the clearing. Yet there was no sign of Ian, no movement save the lazy curl of smoke rising skyward.
“Ian?” she called louder, a thread of unease creeping into her tone.
A sudden rustle in the brush made her start violently, her heart leaping to her throat. She took an involuntary step back, scanning the trees. Then Ian emerged from the greenery, grinning, a bunch of wild onions clutched in his hand.
“Och, yer awake,” he said cheerfully. “A fine morning it is.”
She let out a breath she had not realized she was holding and pressed a hand to her chest. “Ye nearly frightened the life from me,” she scolded.
He held up the onions proudly. “Wild onions I picked for our breakfast.”
“Aye,” she replied dryly, eyeing the bundle, “I can see that.”
He strode toward the fire as though nothing at all was amiss. “Sit, and I’ll pour ye some tea.”
She moved to the log near the fire and sat, watching him as he lifted a kettle from the flames. Steam curled into the morning air as he filled a cup and handed it to her with surprising gentleness.
“There now,” he said. “That’ll warm ye proper.”
