Page 47 of Plaid Attitude
“We’ll get her back, Doughall.” Under his hand, her fingers curled around his plaid. “I swear it.”
They were standing in the middle of the stable where anyone could see them. Aye, they’d stood here before, many times, after sparring or on their way to visit crofters who needed help. But this time… This time was different.
With a low growl, Doughall slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her to him, unable to stop his lips from claiming hers.
Ye dinnae have time for this!
It didn’t matter. He could no more stop his heart from beating than he could refrain from kissing Coira Oliphant.
When she whimpered under his lips and snaked her free arm around his middle to hold him close, he almost crowed with joy.
The kiss was hard and fast and over far too soon, but necessary. He was the one to pull away, to drop his forehead to hers, to concentrate on his breathing.
It felt like…a benediction. An apology. A blessing, a promise, a vow.
All at once.
“Come,” she whispered against his cheek. “Let us fetch yer daughter.”
So we can get on with our future.
She didn’t say it, but he couldn’t ignore the thought.
“Coira!” He stopped her as she started to turn away. When she raised a brow, he caught her hand once more and lifted her fingertips to his lips. “Coira, Bessetta loves ye.”I love ye. “Ye’re the woman she most respects and looks up to.”
It was as close as he could come to putting the roiling emotions in his chest into words.
Her lips quirked crookedly. “I ken. And I love her. I’ve never thought of myself as a mother, but with her…” She shook her head. “’Tis easy.”
Doughall couldn’t speak, couldn’t make his throat agree. He nodded gruffly then held her horse’s bridle as she swung into the saddle.
They didn’t speak much as they trotted through the village and out into the open lanes. The mud made it easy to track the trio which included his daughter, despite the fact they’d left town hours ago. The tracks were muddled, jumbled with other travelers’, but enough stood out here and there that Doughall was confident they were on the right trail.
He saw Coira glance at the sky, at the sun which was now bright overhead, and knew that as the hours turned to afternoon, the light would grow scarce. She glanced at him. “No’ much time to waste.”
His nod was all the response she needed to kick her horse into a gallop, and he followed.
He’d follow her anywhere.
As the minutes dragged on, he split his attention between her and the road. Coira rode like any of his warriors, easy and settled in the saddle, her sword at her side. He’d told his daughter he didn’t want her wearing braies, but on Coira, the leather tubes which covered her legs were practical and earthy, just like her. Her thighs gripped the horse’s side, and he couldn’t help recalling the way she’d straddledhim.
He swallowed and glanced back at the mud, ensuring they hadn’t lost the trail.
The wind rushed past his ears, causing a strange sort of whistling that blocked out all other sounds. Mayhap ‘twas just the calm before a battle, his own mind hyper-focusing on details to prepare himself for what needed to be done.
But he knew this would be no battle.
When they caught up with Bessetta and those two arseholes, he was going to have to stand back and allow Coira to talk to the lassie. But ‘twas not so difficult to imagine, honestly. He trusted Coira and trusted her to do what was right.
He was staring at her again, which is why he almost missed the signs.
A sharp whistle had her pulling on the reins and turning back to see what had stopped him.
Three sets of prints, moving off the main road, toward a distant copse of trees. He remembered there was a small stream which meandered through the area, feeding the farmland, and supposed the foliage was fed from that.
When Coira reached his side, he said nothing, but pointed.
She grunted quietly, seeing what he’d seen. “She’s walking beside them.”
