Page 27 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
CHAPTER TWELVE
Isolde Mackintosh was a puzzle. An enigma. She was a contradiction in more ways than Struan could count. But that element of mystery about her was intoxicating. Addictive. And Struan found the more he learned about her, the more he wanted to know everything about her.
Struan rode with her in front of him, pondering everything about her. Craving to know more.
It was foolish, he knew. Once she told him where Finlay was being held, he would have to see to rescuing his brother and tending to his people. He would have to prepare them for any coming conflict that Murdoch was more than likely to prepare. And Isolde… he knew that she would go on her way.
She had made her desire to leave perfectly clear.
Still, the thought of never seeing her again sent an unexpected stitch through his heart. He had an overwhelming desire toprotect her, to shield her from everything bad in the world. In their short time on the road together, he had grown close to her, he had opened himself up to her in ways he’d never opened up to anybody before.
He constantly found himself reaching out to touch her. Wanting the physical contact, relishing the warmth of her skin and lamenting its absence. It confounded him, and yet, it was also the most exhilarating feeling he’d ever had.
Struan shook his head and tried to clear his mind—and his heart—of those thoughts. He couldn’t afford to indulge in them. He had a brother to rescue and a clan to prepare for the coming fight. His people mattered more to him than anything else in this world and he would do anything and everything in his power to keep them safe. Even if it meant sacrificing things he might want for himself.
First, I need tae stop thinkin’ about her though.
“Ye’re awfully quiet,” Isolde said.
“I’ve nae much tae say, I suppose.”
“Nay? Nae much tae say, eh? And here I thought ye enjoyed me company.”
“I… I dae.” Struan blinked, caught off guard by his own admission. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the truth had slipped out all the same.
“And I, that ye enjoyed hearin’ the sound of me voice,” he teased.
She laughed. “Now ye’re just bein’ full of yerself.”
“Aye. But ye kind of like that. I can tell.”
“Oh, can ye now?”
“Aye. I can.”
She shook her head. “Ye’re insufferable.”
“Aye. But I think ye like that too.”
Her whole body shook as she laughed and Struan relished the feeling of her pressed against him as she did. He enjoyed her warmth. He enjoyed the softness of her curves. But most of all, he liked hearing her laugh.
“Ye are a donkey,” she said then quickly added. “And nay, I dinnae like that.”
He shrugged. “Ye can deny it but I can tell ye enjoy me company.”
“And ye enjoy mine.”
“I never denied it.”
She opened her mouth as if to respond, then closed it again without saying anything, but the silence in the air lightened. The tension faded. And they rode on in a companionable silence rather than the tense, brooding affair it had been.
They had enjoyed an early, hearty breakfast in the common room narrowed with the tall, thick trees pressing close on either side.
The were now riding down a narrow road that was going to slow them down.
There was part of Struan that wanted to take to the main road, ride as hard and fast as he could, and get to Achnacarry. And if he had not had Isolde in his care, he probably would have, even if it meant stumbling upon foes and brigands. But Isolde was there and if anything happened to her, he would not have forgiven himself.
The thought of her being hurt—or worse—being dragged back to her father in chains upset him more than he liked to admit.
