Lord help me, but he’s so braw!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Mortified by her body’s betrayal, Catriona fell back on disproval.
“For goodness’ sake, have ye nay modesty?” she chided him, still covertly studying his powerful upper body as he shook out a clean shirt from the bundle of dry clothes. He paused and stood looking at her for a moment, poised with it in his hands, ready to slip it over his head.
“Dinnae look if it offends ye,” he said lightly, throwing her a cocky glance, seeming to delay putting on the shirt deliberately.
“I wasnae lookin’,” she fibbed, heat creeping up her face.
Malcolm gave a dry laugh. “Now we both ken that’s a lie, lass. I saw yer tongue hangin’ out just then.”
“Ye saw nay such thing, Malcolm Gordon, ye arrogant man. ’Tis ye who’s the liar!”
He smiled teasingly, moving with deliberate slowness, flexing his arms and shoulders, showing her his powerful physique as though taunting her. His dark hair fell in curls around his face, emphasizing its harsh, sculpted planes.
God, ’tis nae right fer a man tae be so braw!
“Dinnae be so bashful, Catriona. I ken ye wantae look. And I dinnae mind ye lookin’ as much as ye like if ye see anythin’ ye fancy. I dinnae charge.”
Catriona practically choked with rage and shame. “I... I absolutely despise ye,” she managed to grind out at last, growing even more incensed by his laughter. With a loud huff, she turned her head sharply away from him, struggling to calm the absurd fluttering of excitement in her chest.
“Well, naethin’s changed much there then,” Malcolm noted drily.
Catriona said nothing, seething silently, listening to the water-logged rustling of his wet clothing as he disrobed and speculating on what might be revealed.
A few minutes of tense silence later, he appeared in front of her, fully dressed, which was both a relief and a disappointment.
“The bandage has come off,” he said, holding out his injured hand to her. When Catriona saw the angry gash uncovered, her concern overtook all else. She was suddenly very worried thatsomething in the river, some invisible, malign speck, might have penetrated the wound and would lead to infection. She did not want him to suffer, telling herself it was because she needed him to reach safety, not because she cared for him.
“I’ll put on more salve and bind it up again,” she told him, rising to her feet, going to fetch the cloths and salve from the saddlebag and bringing them back. They sat on the log while she redressed the wound quickly yet efficiently. As she worked, she tried not to become distracted by his bronzed, muscular forearms, with only partial success.
“Thank ye, Catriona,” he said when it was done, giving her an unexpectedly appreciative look that flooded her cheeks with warmth. “Very neat as usual.”
“’Tis naethin’. I can dae it in me sleep,” she said lightly, looking away to hide her flushed face. She did not want him to think she had made any special effort for him. Even though she had.
All Malcolm wanted was to get Catriona to Castle Gordon safely. That was the task Duncan had asked of him, and he meant to complete it to the letter. But he had not expected it to be quite so difficult or time consuming.
And a large part of the difficulty concerned Catriona herself and the feelings that being with her had reawakened in him, dangerous feelings he had thought long dead. It was taking quite a lot of effort to keep them tamped down.
So far he had managed it, though the river crossing had been hard. Way too much temptation! By the time he had gotten to the other side, he had felt like throwing her down, upending her skirts, and tupping her there and then on the grass.
Thus, now he was maintaining his distance, speaking to her as little as possible. He told himself he needed to focus on getting her to safety, and that was all.
They were only a few miles from Fochabers, where his keep was located, so the temptation was to keep going. But the horse was tired from carrying them both and needed rest and although he did not want to stop, he had no choice unless he wanted the beast to collapse beneath him.
They rode into the main street of the village called Craigmoor a short while later. It was a busy market day, and the small square, lined with business and houses, was bustling with people. Malcolm was glad of it because it would provide cover for him and Catriona if they needed to run.
He scanned the crowd for any men in Sinclair colors as they passed through the market. It was unlikely that Sinclair’s soldiers would dare venture so far into his territory to look for Catriona, but it was still a risk. He had to stay alert. If Sinclair wanted something, borders would not stop him from taking it. Malcolm figured that if the lunatic had not given up his pursuit of Catriona in five years, then he probably never would.
However, he saw naught of the mad laird’s colors amongst the villagers, and so he made his way to the small saddlery. Heplanned to leave Warrior there, to be fed and rubbed down while he and Catriona went to get a bite to eat.
“Oh, where are we?” she asked, blinking and looking about in confusion at the crowd when he halted the horse outside the saddlery. She had been dozing, her soft, warm body resting against his back for the last few miles. He tried not to think about how good it had felt.
“Nay, but we’re nae far away now,” he replied, slipping from the saddle to the ground and hitching the horse to a post. He explained his reasons for stopping, then told her his immediate plan. “I want tae get a horse fer ye as well. If we have two mounts, we’ll reach Castle Gordon in a couple of hours.”
The owner of the saddlery appeared in the doorway of the barn then, a fellow of indeterminate middle age, as thin as a whip and leathery as one of his saddles. Malcolm immediately engaged him, finding him to be plain speaking and helpful. The two men stood talking quietly on the edge of the market-day crowd, agreeing payment for leaving Malcolm’s horse there for a few hours.
