Page 209 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“Did you lay a wager that he would beat me?”

“I did not.”

“Then you wagered that I would beat him.”

She shook her head. “Nay.”

“If you wager on me I will work doubly hard to win,” he said.

“I think you had better work doubly hard not to lose your horse.”

“I do love that horse,” he mused. “If you will not lay a wager on me, would you give me a favor?”

She frowned. “We are no’ at court in London.”

“True, but I am an English knight and you are my wife. It would please me to carry something of yours.”

“I have nothing.”

“The scarf in your hair is perfect.”

She had forgotten that scarf. Was Lady Isobel still staring? How could she not be? How could all of them not be staring? St. Claire stood so close she almost tasted his breath. If she gave him her scarf everyone would talk. Wasn’t that what he wanted? He released her and before she could step away he began unfastening the scarf from her hair.

“St. Claire,” she protested. “My head will be bare if you take the scarf.”

“This is the first time I have seen you cover your hair,” he said, his attention on the scarf. “You have beautiful hair. Why hide it now?”

He freed the scarf and she froze when he brought the fabric to his nose and breathed deep, eyes closed. Her heart began to pound. There was no way their guests could have missed a single thing that passed between them, and this...

He opened his eyes. “I will treasure this small gift, my lady.”

Rhoslyn tamped down on the urge to yank free. Gossip would follow if she were seen fleeing her husband. St. Claire grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. His mouth, warm and soft against her flesh, sent a prickle of awareness up her arm. He released her, then slipped the scarf between his mail shirt and shirt.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Aye,” she replied, though she didn’t think she could swallow a bite.

He tied the horses’ reins to a nearby bush, then slid an arm around her waist and turned toward the rest of the party. Some guests sat on rocks, others on fallen branches and the ground. They talked in low tones and ate the bread and cheese that had been packed for them. Rhoslyn wished she didn’t have to face them. Alec had been attentive, but other than a chaste kiss to her hand and the occasional endearment, he didn’t make public displays of affection. Affection? Nay, what St. Claire did wasn’t affection. It was to forestall any questions about the kidnapping.

They reached the picnickers and Lady Isobel called, “Lady Rhoslyn, sit with us.” She patted the large rock upon which she and Andreana sat.

Isobel was the last person Rhoslyn wanted to sit with, but she smiled and said, “Thank you, Lady Isobel.”

St. Claire released her and she joined the women. He gave her some of the bread and cheese. She accepted and couldn’t prevent her gaze from straying to him as he lowered himself onto the ground beside Lord Kinnon and two other guests.

The sun warmed Rhoslyn’s face. Her heart had slowed and the food had revived her so that she felt that the remainder of the day might not be so bad, after all.

“Will you walk with me?” Isobel asked. “We face several hours in the saddle, and I would no’ mind stretching my legs.”

“Aye.” Rhoslyn looked at Andreana. “Will you come?”

She shook her head. “I will stay here.”

Rhoslyn stood with Isobel and they strolled toward a cluster of daisies growing at the edge of the clearing. She squatted to pick a few while Isobel continued on. The horses nickered and Rhoslyn glanced up. Her palfrey skittered away from St. Claire’s horse and whinnied. The stallion snorted and shifted restlessly.

St. Claire rose and strode to the horses. He ran a gentling hand along the mare’s neck and she stilled. He turned to his horse and—the dogs began barking. Rhoslyn jerked her gaze onto them. They strained against their leashes, snarling. Then Lady Isobel screamed.

Rhoslyn surged to her feet as a large blur shot from the trees. Andreana’s screams mingled with the men’s shouts. The boar charged Isobel as she scrambled up the high rock near where the dogs strained against their leashes, snarling and growling. The boar bellowed and turned toward Rhoslyn.