"I am."
"We cannot waste time. They could find us at any moment." And he did not want her to encounter either the witch or the knave again this far away from the safety of Blacktower.
"But I'm starving!" Cat squirmed. "Please stop. I have some food in the satchel. Even if the witch doesn't kill me, my hunger will."
Could a lass be more spoiled than she was? He doubted it intensely. "Calm yourself. We'll be on my clan's lands in a trice."
"Fine," she grumbled between clenched teeth.
He supposed he must have run longer than a trice, for she started complaining again.
"Torr, you knotty-pated varlet, do you want me to starve?"
He snorted, trying not to laugh at her ridiculous insults. "Very well." He veered off the trail into a small grove of pine trees and scrubby bushes, then placed her onto her feet. "We shall stop for a few minutes."
"Are we on your clan's lands?"
"Aye. Barely."
"Thank heavens!"
"But that will nay stop Wilona MacRae."
"But these will." She pulled the Rowen cross from her arisaid, then dug into the satchel.
"We hope," he said skeptically. He put little trust in Finnian's charms and protection spells.
After giving him a bannock and a slice of hard yellow cheese, she took some for herself and sat on the ground beneath a tree. He settled onto a rock opposite her. As they ate, her lovely lips captivated him, making him crave her something fierce.
Instead of being distracted by her beauty, he must focus on protecting her. Using his sensitive kelpie hearing, he listened for any unusual noises indicating their enemies approached. He heard naught out of the ordinary.
After finishing his cheese and bannock, he asked, "Did you bring wine?"
"Aye. A wee flask." Cat dragged it from the sack and handed it to him.
After a few swallows of wine, he arose, feeling a strong urge to get her back to the shelter of Blacktower. "'Tis time to be on our way."
Cat nodded and put the leftover items into the satchel.
When he drew closer, her lush mouth captured his notice, as did her darkening gaze focused upon him. She lured him as a bee to a honeyed flower, and he could not resist pressing his lips to hers. This turned into a lingering and intoxicating kiss, sending arousal curling through his veins.
She moaned. "I am still feeling the aftereffects of the potion."
He pulled back. "Wait a minute—the wine! Was it drugged?" he demanded.
Frowning, she shook her head. "If so, I had no hand in it."
Then, the culprit came to mind. "Finnian. Damn his weather-bitten hide. He is plotting against me."
Aye, now his body's heated, lusty response was more evident, just as it had been when she'd slipped him the potion.
With a heavy-lidded gaze, she dared him. "Is it so terrible?"
"Nay. But I must not be distracted out here."
Cat's lower lip plumped out.
"'Tis nay safe," he snapped.
