Chapter 3
"'Tis a wagon. I hear the wheels rattling." Panic increased Mairiana's heartrate.
"Aye. Put on thearisaidover your gown and cloak," Darack murmured urgently.
She struggled with the large piece of woven material. "I need help."
He grabbed it and wrapped it around her, throwing the top portion over her head. She held her breath lest the stench of it send her into a gagging fit. Quickly, he took something from his sporran—it looked like a thin piece of leather string—and tied it around her waist like a makeshift belt. No doubt she looked very much the peasant now.
"Keep that over your head and hide your face."
The horrid smell constricting her throat, she coughed. "Why? I can hardly stand the strong odor of it."
He snorted, almost derisively. "Why do you think? It might be someone from Lenor who would recognize you. In any event, you have the beautiful face of a lady."
She frowned, unsure whether to be flattered or not. His tone said he hadn't meant it as a compliment. "'Tis dark," she said.
"Aye, but fair, smooth skin is easy to see in moonlight. And he has a lantern."
"Very well." She would tolerate the stinky material over her head until she was out of the man's sight.
They waited at the side of the road while the wagon, drawn by one old nag, approached. She wished they could've brought the wagon they'd sneaked outside on, despite its stink, but then they… or rather Darack… would be accused of horse thievery, a hanging offense. Nay, they were well rid of the dung wagon. The one approaching appeared to be the sort of wagon used to haul food and supplies, but was empty at the moment. The driver slowed and stopped beside them. "Going to town?"
Darack nodded. "Could you spare us a ride? My wife is tired of walking."
"Aye, get on, then." The stranger motioned over his shoulder.
Wife?What the devil? Why did Darack feel the need to lie? Why notsister?
Darack helped her onto the wagon while she glared at him. Of course, he couldn't see her expression the way he'd made her hide her face beneath the stinkyarisaidthat enshrouded her.
"I thank you," Darack called to the driver, who grunted in response and snapped the reins. The wagon jerked forward.
She shoved the cowl off her head and breathed deeply of the fresh air.
The road was rough, full of ruts and potholes, which jarred her about. After a few moments, her derriere was aching. She clenched her teeth. "Ow," she growled low among other grunts. "I should've simply walked."
"Come." Darack shocked her by drawing her close and lifting her onto his lap.
"Are you mad?" she asked, trying to scoot off his lap again, but he wouldn't let her.
"Sit still," he hissed, pulling her tight against him.
She had never sat on a man's lap before. Though she did enjoy the sensation of him holding her close, and the amazing feel of his hard body, she could not allow this. Could she? "This is indecent!" she whispered. "And cannot be comfortable for you, besides."
"Comfort has never been a part of my life," he said stoically.
She stilled, but remained tense, unable to look at him. When he said things like that… tears formed in her eyes. Why should she care if he'd had a rough life? Well… she didn't know… but she did care. He was a good man. Something about him made her feel warm and tender inside.
He's not a puppy, Mairiana! He's a man. A scoundrel and rogue, most like.
"All the more reason for me not to sit here," she said.
"Nay. I insist that you remain where you are. We can't have you getting sore and bruised all over. We have a long way to travel."
Sitting on his lap was not much better than the rough boards of the wagon, for the muscles of his thighs were near as hard as stone. Besides, sitting upon him made her apprehensive. If one of her brothers saw her, he would give her a sound thrashing for being so unladylike.
Darack tugged her closer, holding her tight. "Relax and lean on me," he murmured into her ear.
