you know where we are heading?”
“We are heading home,” replied the one Clyde had indicated as Cole. He looked to be the oldest of the brothers, besides Conor.
“Where is home, Cole?” she tested to see how he reacted to her familiarity.
“Far from England,” he replied directly. It was obvious that, while he didn’t want to see her hurt, he was still not liking the idea of Laurel joining them on their travels. She rose cautiously and walked over to stand next to him. She did not look at him directly but stared straight ahead, mimicking Cole’s cool stance.
“If you think it best I leave, Cole, I will.”
Her directness startled him. She smelled of flowers, and he could not deny her loveliness. She was by far the most bonnie lass he had ever seen. And the most abused. Despite his hatred for all things English, even he could not deny her help and leave her without protection.
“No, milady. I would not wish anyone to live with a Douglass.”
“Douglass? Why would I ever return there?” she asked loudly enough for the others to overhear.
“Is that not where you’re from, milady? We saw you pale at the mention of their name this morning, and we were camping fairly close to their border,” Craig interjected.
Laurel returned to Clyde’s side and sat down again. “No, I am not from anywhere near those hateful people.”
Laurel tried to discourage conversation about her origins by pretending to concentrate on her hair. She had managed to free most of the major tangles. Spying a loose piece of lace on her torn sleeve, she pulled it completely free and attempted to tie her hair back. Yet, every time she reached to bind it, she retracted in pain.
Conor saw Hamish, who had been hovering nearby, go to help her. Swiftly, Conor interrupted his guard, took the lace ribbon from Laurel’s hands, and hastily tied back her hair.
Though he tried to be quick, the feel of her soft locks and their clean smell of flowers were unnerving to his senses. Even with her hair pulled high on her head, the waves of curls still reached her lower back. He would be tormented for the rest of his days because he had touched such maddening beauty.
Conor then moved to the outskirts of the campsite as if to check the perimeter. He needed to regain control of his rising desire to know what it would be like to feel her beneath him, moaning his name.
Hamish followed. “I need to know your intentions, laird.”
Conor nodded. He recognized his guard’s desire for Laurel. He also realized that, while he may be fighting his own need for her, he could not endure knowing Laurel was with another man.
“She’s mine.”
Hamish digested this. He was unsure of how to proceed. Conor was his laird and had his loyalty in all things. But Hamish also wanted to make sure that his laird was serious about Laurel and, if not, he wanted it to be known that he was.
“Does she know this?”
“It does not matter.”
“Do you know what happened? What if she is married?”
“She is not.” Conor’s voice was hard and inflexible.
Hamish was not satisfied. “What of her family? Will they be looking for her? What will you tell them?”
“What would you tell them, Hamish?” Conor countered, stopping to look his guardsman in the eye. Hamish did not flinch under the direct questioning glare.
“I would tell them that she would never be hurt again. That I would protect and support her as long as there was breath in my body.”
Conor turned back to the path and continued walking. “I would tell them the same.” With that, Conor left Hamish and returned to the group.
Laurel was running. She was gasping for air and, with each breath, a knife-like pain sliced through her side. She pushed herself harder, faster. Something evil, dark with black eyes, was in pursuit and if it caught her, everyone she loved would die. Somehow she knew the terrifying presence would never stop hunting her. Just as she was about to collapse from exhaustion, someone, large and faceless, lifted her and carried her high above the trees towards majestic blue-gray mountains capped with snow. There, she was safe from the hatred below. Peace settled around her like a dense fog on a cool morning and sleep was finally possible.
Conor, a light sleeper, was awakened early in the night by Laurel’s agitated slumber. She was dreaming and unmistakably terrified. He realized, seeing her panicked expression, that her shield of pride she wore when awake had been masking much of her true fear. He reached down to gently wake her, but it seemed to inflame her dream state even more. Only when he sat down and gathered her into his arms did she finally seem to calm.
Laurel awoke in the middle of the night feeling safe and warm. She thought that sleep must be clouding her mind, for she seemed to be resting her head on Conor’s shoulder and one of her legs was cast over his. The intimate and inappropriate position of their bodies was undeniable.
Laurel didn’t move. Oh, she knew that she should, but never had she felt more extraordinarily comfortable in her life. She closed her eyes. In his arms, she found a safe haven that would be gone by morning. Conor was always the first to rise so no one would know, she told herself. So instead of moving away as a proper English lady should, Laurel remained where she was, savoring every moment of being close to Conor until she fell back into a peaceful sleep.
Conor awoke when she did. Her soft, warm breaths had turned shallow for a couple of minutes, and he wondered if she would distance herself from him. When she did not, he wanted to believe that she enjoyed and craved their embrace as much he did. More likely she was just cold, and he provided the physical warmth she needed.
He tried not to think about how wonderful it was having her by his side. He dismissed the smell of lilacs and the way it felt when she sighed her light feathery kisses of air across his chest, and concentrated on returning to sleep. He forced himself not to stroke the silky golden locks of hair that randomly found their way into his hands. Sleep finally came again, but not quickly.
The next morning, when it was time to mount their horses and leave, both Hamish and Loman volunteered to have Laurel ride with them. However, each of the brothers argued that she should ride with a McTiernay. Laurel, not wanting to antagonize any man or show preference, stood in the middle of the broken campsite searching for a diplomatic solution. Conor experienced mixed feelings of relief and strain when he settled the dispute by having her ride with him.
Their soul-shaking kiss followed by their sharing a plaid throughout most of the night had done nothing to quell his growing desire to possess her. Her calm demeanor and quiet courage only fueled his growing fire of need. Touching her all day was going to be hell, but one he strangely welcomed enduring.
He rode up to Laurel, reached down and said, “You ride with me.” She smiled at him, and as she expected, her highlander scowled back in return. She was getting to understand this gentle giant better.
Laurel was feeling better today. Conor had been correct about binding her ribs. The added support was making it a much easier ride than on the previous day. She was taking in the beautiful countryside and saw the green, tree-filled mountains they were approaching.
“Are
