Page 14 of Twelfth Knight’s Bride

“Aileana!” he rumbled, though again, the echo was thwarted.

Sakes, was she lost? Injured? Stolen away? Of all the nights to leave a lass unattended, this one ought to have been the safest. What if something horrible had befallen her? Seamus Grant would make good on this threat to kill him; James had no doubt. Their clan rivalry would rage onward, this time with no hope of abating.

“Good Christ,” he cursed under his breath. “Aileana! Answer me!”

He squatted down to inspect her tracks, then hastened after them, losing them at the bank of the frozen burn, a skinny trickle gurgling down the middle.

“Aileana!”

In the distance, he saw a shape. Was it an animal? It moved like a dark presence against the snowy backdrop, and he drew his dirk, when the shape began to take form. A long, flowing mass of fabric became obvious, as did the wavering of long hair, the shape of a woman.

Exhaling hard, he paused, then wiped the sweat that had beaded his brow. He sheathed his blade and jogged to her.

“Where were ye?” he demanded, right as he looked down into her arms to see the load of kindling she also carried.

“Helping,” she muttered, then moved to step around him.

He blocked her path, taking her arms. She stiffened.

“I told ye to stay at the camp.”

“I was freezing, sitting there, when the exertion of moving about would warm my muscles. That, and two people can gather as much kindling twice as fast as one.”

“Ye disobeyed me.”

“I suggest ye become used to it, for I answer to no man save my brother, who is laird.”

And she hardly listened to him, James thought wryly.

“I had good reason for ye to stay put. Ye could’ve gotten lost, frozen to death, and yer brother would’ve had my head—”

“I ken these hills far better than ye do, for we’re nay even off Grant land yet.”

Emphasizing Grant. True, for all the claims to birthrights, he didn’t know this region the way her clan did.

“Ye do nay listen well,” he growled, leaning down into her face.

She met his nose with her own, thrust up to meet his menacing glare. Their lips practically touched. He could feel her breath warm upon him, could see tiny details in her face in spite of the nighttime, and his scowl unfurled as he leaned in closer to smell her scent and decide if he liked it. Fok, but he did. So close to knowing more about her tongue. As her husband, he had a right to know this tongue if he wished. In the dark, her eyes were more like gray crystals with the lack of sunshine to ignite their color. They sparkled with mischief and perhaps a small amount of satisfaction that she was a nettle in his saddle.

“And I suggest ye get used to that, too,” she replied. “I’ll nay be bullied or abused by any man, least of all a nàmhaid.”

Hurt lashed him, and the bruises he remembered on sweet Marjorie’s face haunted him once more. If Aileana meant to strike pain on him, she had. In spite of his pulse racing to know her more intimately, he stepped away, clearing the gruffness from his throat that thoughts of Marjorie always induced. Tears a man like him would never be allowed to shed. Marjorie had loved him as her full brother, in spite of her mother’s hatred of him. And he’d been unable to protect her.

Aileana’s eyes widened with surprise at his retreat when she’d clearly expected him to double down. Her lips parted, but he turned away before she could speak, his thoughts afluster, and left her to stand alone.

Be damned. Be damned to high heaven. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d intended to make her want to stay, but he’d never anticipated wanting her to stay. And he wasn’t sure he could handle the constant reminders of Marjorie she was certain to evoke.

He huffed into his hands to warm them, rubbing them together, hearing the soft swishing of her skirts behind him. Good, she followed. He squatted to arrange his pile of kindling—wee tinder on the bottom, larger sticks and twigs on top. Aileana came up behind him, causing tingling to skitter across his skin that she would be so close again. She stepped over the snowy embankment they’d formed around the shelter and set down her armload of wood, then maneuvered around him to collect her small pack and withdraw a thin sheet of wool from it to wrap around her shoulders.

James’s eyes followed her as she settled down opposite the fire ring from him—

Damn! The stick in hand slipped from his grip in his distraction and bit his skin. A sliver.

He unsheathed his sgian achlais from his underarm sheath and pushed it out with the flat of his blade, but his gaze landed back on Aileana across from him. Did she hope to keep her distance? She was shivering like a pennant on a blustery day. They’d do well to nestle together to generate more body heat, but after her biting words, the notion of sleeping together was sure to sit poorly with her. He withdrew his fire flints to spark against the metal plate and induce a fire.

“In my packs, I’ve bread, cheese, and jerked beef,” he said. “Help yerself.”

“Is the beef from one of our stolen cows?”