Page 9 of The Highlander's Illicit Bride
His tone was laced with sarcasm—which, judging by the way she glowered at him over her shoulder, she had not missed nor appreciated.
“I am nae a princess,” she growled.
“Maybe nae. But ye kind of act like one.”
Isolde opened her mouth to deliver what he was sure would be a scathing reply but then surprised him by closing it again and facing forward without speaking. Grinning to himself, Struan got moving.
The horse bumped and jostled them as it traversed the unsteady ground and more than once, Struan caught himself grabbinghold of Isolde’s waist once more, in an attempt to keep her steady. His efforts were always rewarded with a dark glare.
Her body was soft yet firm. And he could not deny that he was enjoying the instances when they were forced to lean into each other. Isolde’s face was round, and her eyes sparkled, giving the illusion of almost a young girl. A complete contrast to her sultry curves which made her undoubtedly a woman. Despite the dirt and grime that covered them both from their flight, Isolde retained a clean scent of citrus and roses which Struan found intoxicating.
Through narrow paths and hunting trails that cut through the Great Glen, Struan did everything he could to avoid the main roads. There was no doubt in his mind that Laird Mackintosh had men combing the countryside in search of him. And likely of his wayward daughter as well. It made for slow going, but it was the safest route all things considered.
After his ordeals, with the battle, then in Mackintosh’s dark cells, Struan felt wrung out. Spent. He wanted nothing more than a hot meal and good drink, and then to curl up in front of a fire and sleep for a week. Maybe more. He felt it his eyes flutter, exhaustion almost winning over him.
The sound of voices echoing through the forest around them though snapped him back to the moment. His body tensed and he took in their surroundings. As if reacting to his sudden tension, Isolde stiffened and craned her neck to look at him.
“What is?—”
He clamped a hand over her mouth, not letting her finish her statement. She writhed and struggled against him, but he held her fast as he strained his ears, listening.
“Bleedin’ hell,” he muttered.
Quickly slipping from the back of the horse, he reached up and pulled her down as well. He put a finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet.
“What is it?” Isolde whispered.
“There’s men comin’.”
“I dinnae hear anythin’.”
“Ye will,” he said. “Now, come.”
Struan took the horse’s lead, then quickly led it down an embankment, and tied it off in a thick cluster of trees where it would be hidden from view. His shoulders tensed as the sound of the men grew closer and Isolde’s eyes widened when she heard it. Fear marked her face and she trembled, no doubt terrified at the prospect of being discovered by her father’s men and returned to whatever it was she was running from.
Grabbing her by the hand, he pulled her down and for once, she didn’t protest. Their bodies were pressed so closely together, he could feel the hard thump of her heart. It beat like a hummingbird’s wings, and her face was whiter than a sheet.Their fingers had somehow become intertwined, and he noticed that she didn’t pull away.
Struan gave her hand a squeeze meant to give her strength. From where they lay among the bracken and undergrowth of the forest, he did not think they would be spotted easily from the path they had just fled.
“Be still, lass,” he whispered.
There were six of them in all. But none of them wore the uniforms of Murdoch’s soldiers. Brigands and thieves then. Still, far too many for Struan to take on in his present condition.
Especially not with Isolde in his care. He would fight if he had to, but he did not want to risk exposing her to men like that. Aside from not wanting her to be subjected to the horrible degradations he knew they would inflict upon her; Isolde was his only way of finding Finlay. Whether he liked it or not, he was responsible for her until he found his brother.
As they remained still and silent beneath the bracken, Struan couldn’t help but feel her warmth. The sensations that rifled through his body were myriad and uncomfortably intense. He swallowed the lump that suddenly filled his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the unexpected and unwanted feelings that coursed through his veins, trying to focus on the danger passing mere feet away from them.
The brigands rode slowly, their faces wary. Their eyes searched the thick foliage around them, making his stomach tighten.Although the bracken shielded them, Struan knew all it took was a keen eye to see through their cover. If that happened, they would be in trouble. As the men drew nearer to their position, he licked his dry lips and swallowed the lump in his throat and did his best to keep his concern in check.
The riders were just scant yards away from them. Almost close enough that Struan could have reached out and touched them. His heart thundered in his chest and beside him, Isolde’s body stiffened and she drew in a sharp breath. But luck seemed to be on their side as the men rode on without a single glance in their direction. When they disappeared from view, he let out a soft breath. Isolde began to rise, but he put a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Nae yet,” he whispered. “Give it a minute, eh?”
She said nothing but remained beneath the broad leaves that shielded them from sight. Struan waited for the voices to fade completely before he gave Isolde a nod and together, they got to their feet.
Isolde looked stricken. Her face was pale, her lips quivered, and she trembled from head to toe. It made Struan wonder how she was Murdoch Mackintosh’s daughter. Surely his offspring would be made of sterner stuff.
“We should go,” he pointed out, and almost stroked her hair to make sure she was all right but stopped himself just in time.
