She grimaced against the doubts creeping through her resolve. Was the loss of her father, as Latharn Castle, the death knell of the way oflife she loved?
Gwendolyn glanced at Bróccín. Hope blossomed, and a small smile creased her lips. No, all hadn’t gone awry. In the mayhem, he had promised to reclaim her home. How he’d tried to dismiss her help this morning smothered the warmth, a potent reminder of how little sheknew about him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She took a bite of bread layered with cheese, swallowed. “After wanting me to hide within the cave like a foolish lass, I find it odd you would think me capable of thought.”
Green eyes narrowed. “My intention was to keep you safe. When I tell you to do something, I expect you to obey.”
She stiffened. “I am not one of your men to order about.”
“Nay,” Bróccín said, his gaze sliding along her curves, lingering before lifting to again meet hers. He gave a rough breath with a decidedly disgruntled male look. “That you are not.”
The appreciation in his voice caught her off guard, more so the tinge of regret. Confused, she watched his throat work as he swallowed a bite of bread. Memories of last night, of how she’d shuddered beneath his touch, returned tenfold.
Aye, he wanted her, but after their confrontation this morning, ’twould seem his logic did not extend beyond intimacy. How had she misjudged him tosuch a degree?
Or had she?
The cold warrior this morning was the arrogant earl she had first met
So, who was the man last night, the one who had left her body burning with need, the one who, if he hadn’t stepped away, she would have given herself to without hesitation?
Nay, they were one and the same. Between her unwanted marriage, her home being seized by the English, and with them desperate to reach Lord Comyn, ’twas her mind that had twisted her thoughts into believing more existed between them.
A rueful laugh threatened to escape her. If naught else, their desire for the other put them on an even plane. Despite their situation, her body still responded to his potent masculinity.
Gwendolyn again searched their surroundings. Though most of the duke’s contingent had moved on, she and Bróccín were still in danger. Neither had a night’s sleep given either of them the rest they needed.
She grimaced. A night’s sleep? Far from it. She’d dozed a bit. After he’d taken her over the edge with his touch, and with the memories of how right his body had felt pressed intimately against her, how couldshe have slept?
“With the Bruce raising forces to overwhelm Lord Comyn,” she asked, shifting the topic to safer ground, “do you think Scotland will ever find peace?”
Her husband wiped his hands, lifted the water pouch. “’Tisa possibility.”
Mayhap, but she heard the tension in his voice. Like her,he had doubts.
He took a long drink, then offeredher the pouch.
“Nay, I have drunk enough.” A slow pounding started in her head. She closed her eyes and focused on the sun’s warmth falling across her face. Her thoughts wandered back to soothing memories of walks along the beach, of listening to the waves tumble ashore. How she yearned to feel the slide of sand between her toes, to run into an oncoming swell and dive beneath, and, if only for a moment, to lose herself within therolls of white.
“Come,” her husband said, severing her thoughts, his voice sharp, “’tis time to go. The clouds grow dark; a storm is coming.”
With regret and slight resignation, she stood, reminding herself of all that was at stake.
* * * *
Rain pelted Aiden, and he pushed branches aside to allow Gwendolyn to pass, as he had for the last several hours. “I intended to travel farther before we stopped for the night,” he said over his shoulder, “but we must find cover beforeit grows dark.”
“If only the English hadna blocked our path,” she said, a little breathless as she followed, “we wouldna have had to go even farther south before turning east to follow the river.”
Nor had that been their only brush with the enemy as they’d traveled. Several times, they’d spotted small contingents of English knights, their aggressive search in the foul weather a testament to the duke’s determination to catch them before they reached Lord Comyn.
Another gust of wind howled through the trees. Rain stinging his skin, Aiden glanced back, proud of how she had followed without complaint.
Blond hair clung to her wet face and smears of dirt shadowed the dark circles beneath her eyes. Mouth tight, she pushed on. However strong she tried to appear, he’d seen her stumble earlier, and tiredness was reflected in her eyes. He wouldn’t push her much farther.
As he reached the next brae, the pounding water of the swollen river surged past. He searched the bank for a safe crossing, scowled.
