Page 54 of A Highland Rogue to Ruin

She turned the pages excitedly, inspecting the beautiful illuminations within, and he couldn’t help how his chest puffed up as she began to chatter excitedly, knowing that he’d pleased her. Hand-painted imagery edged each page, Roman warriors, scrolls, intricate laurel leaves, columns with volutes woven in vines.

“The way ye spoke of stars has been trapped in my mind ever since.” She clutched it to her bosom and pushed up on her toes, slipping her hand around his neck to pull him down, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Thank ye, Tormund. I will treasure it and always relive these happy moments when I read it.”

He drank in her exuberance, blotted out that what she really meant was when he was no longer here for her and she was lonely and wanting to feel close to him. He trailed his tongue along the seam of her mouth until she opened for him, accepting him. Hell, he’d hoped to make her happy, but this uninhibited gratitude, like her wonder on the ocean, was a boon in itself. He maneuvered around to stand at her back and peer over her shoulder as she returned her attention to the pages, hooking an arm around her shoulders and chest to pin her back to him. Nykr plodded off the side of the path and snorted for a pet.

She indulged his ghostly stallion, palming his cheek as Tormund stroked down her horse’s neck—his stallion wasn’t the only one growing too smitten with the lass for his own good—while she beamed up at him over her shoulder.

“Which section is yer quote from?”

He dropped his hand that stroked her mare and flipped the pages. Trailed a finger down the page, until he came to it. “Here.”

She read it earnestly. Was she trying to please him? Did she know she didn’t have to try? No woman had taken an interest in what interested him, but then again, no woman had caught him so off guard before.

“But there’s so much more to that verse,” she breathed as she read it. “When ye spoke it, I thought it was about navigation, but it’s nay at all. It’s about pondering the beauty of life and basking in its glory, no’ being afraid to explore, to carpe diem.”

“Savor his words, lass, like ye would mulled cider, rather than guzzle them like cheap ale.”

“I shall read every word of it, so we can savor it together before ye leave me. I might emblazon it across an embroidery to remind me every day until I die of this adventure I had here. Ye’ve given me a taste of freedom I shall always treasure.” Her voice wavered but she seemed to school it with a swallow that gulped against his forearm. “I nay want it to end. I nay want to give it up and go back to the way my life was before…”

Neither did he. Christ, there had to be a way, wasn’t there? He couldn’t give up something so perfect. Had to call off the ambush and risk his men’s fury, for after listening to Brighde these past days, after building that fragile bridge with James yesterday, he’d forever see James as a man trapped by as much grief as he was, who’d once been young like him, innocent, playing with stick horses and relics from battles as if they were the finest treasures, before the cruelty of the world dug its talons into them. A man not so different from himself. It was easy to hate an enemy, or a devil. It was harder to hate a man.

She laughed, too chipper, though her nose sounded stuffy and her throat thick. “I am maudlin, which is quite unbecoming. I’m sorry.”

“Nay be sorry.”

“I can nay wait to read it.”

“He was a brilliant strategist.” He pinched her waist. “He might have checkmated ye.”

At this she scoffed playfully, flashing that sunshine smile. “Careful demon, those are fighting words.”

A laugh rumbled up his throat. “Cheeky. Ye never did best me to force that coin upon me.”

“And whose fault was that? Someone I recall was far too eager to get to the boon, for I fear that same someone doesna like to lose time and again to a lass.”

He felt a grin take hold. How could he not? Every time he was near her, he wanted to attach himself to her like a barnacle upon a hull.

“And speaking of besting ye, Demon of the Seas, Sunshine and I were about to take a jaunt.”

Tormund harrumphed. Of course she’d named her horse that.

“Yer brother let ye go alone without an entire legion of guardsmen?”

She slanted a sidelong glance and blew an errant strand from her face as she let the book dangle, securing the leather beneath her girdle.

“Strange, actually. But he told me to be safe and…” She crinkled her brow. “He said he didna wish to stifle me.”

Did he now? Tormund’s brow shot up. Had his gravest enemy…heeded him? He wouldn’t if he knew how Ghost was brimming to assail him on that pass in two days or how badly Tormund wanted beneath Brighde’s skirts again.

He moved to her horse, laced his fingers, and held them out for her as she gathered her reins over her mount’s head and grabbed the saddle and cantle. She placed her boot in his palms and he hoisted her aloft. Then he mounted Nykr, walking his stallion up beside her mare—

A twig snapped in the woods and Tormund’s head snapped around as their horse leathers creaked. He settled a hand over hers, stilling her. Gooseflesh spiked his skin, tingled at his nape. A deer would continue to crunch if it were walking. A small animal wouldn’t snap a twig. A glance at Nykr showed his ears pricked toward the sound. His seasoned warhorse was a dead giveaway.

“Wait here,” he murmured, dismounting. “If anyone other than me comes out of those trees, ride as fast as ye can to yer brother.”

“What’s wrong?” she whispered.

“Probably nothing.”