Page 12 of Kilty as Sin
And a Hunter wasn’t supposed to remove his helm while on a mission.
It wouldnae help, lad. Ye dinnaewantto charm her, remember.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He wanted to charm her more than he’d ever wanted to charm another woman in his life, which was strange as hell. But he had to remember that shewashis mission. He had to return her to her father.
Since she was still staring up at him expectantly, he said the only thing hecouldsay. “I swear, lass, ye’re safe with me.”
“Aye, ye said…” Her gaze flicked between his eyes. “But why? And for how long?”
“I dinnae—what?” He shook his head, even as she pulled her arm from his hold.
St. Pancras’s pancreas! How could a woman, standing in her stocking feet in the mud, holding a blanket around her shoulders, manage to look so damnablyregal?
“I asked, Sir Hunter, what yer plan is for me? I claimed sanctuary at the convent of St. Dorcas the Ever-Petulant, and when I left it to go to market for the sisters, those men chased me from safety. I want to return there. Are ye going to return me?”
Hedging, Barclay watched her face. “Are ye planning on taking holy vows then, lass? Is that why ye want to return to the convent?”
There was no way she could see him behind the helm, but she still managed to hold his gaze. Bravely. Boldly.
“I have nae intention of taking vows. But the Mother Superior offered me safety from my father, who is determined to marry me to one of his neighbors.”
Aye, Barclay knew all this.Thisis why he couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t claim her.
She wasn’t his, and never would be.
Grace MacDonald was meant for a laird, no’ a bastard hired sword like himself.
So mayhap ‘twas why he made his voice harsh when he told her the truth.
“I’m no’ going to return ye to the Abbey, milady. I’ve been tasked by the King himself with fetching ye home to yer father. The wedding will continue, nae matter yer feelings.”Or mine. “Get on the horse.”
Chapter 3
Grace wasn’t pouting.
Shewasn’t.
She was just…mustering her strength and considering her options. With her mouth pinched shut.
It wasn’t as if she had much to say to the man sitting in front of her, anyhow.
The Hunter—Barclay, she reminded herself—had been nothing but courteous and polite since he’d swung her up onto his steed. He’d taken the time to pack up the food and her almost-dry gown before swinging up in front of her.
Briefly, she’d considered taking up the reins and galloping away before he had a chance to rejoin her, but several things halted the impulse:
She had no idea where she was, truth be told, and could be riding for days before she recognized anything.
She wasn’t cruel enough to leave the Hunter out here alone without a mount or a way to reach civilization.
She really had no idea how to ride a horse.
To someone else, that last point might’ve seemed the most relevant, but Grace wascertainher decision was based on the Christian charity of not wanting to abandon Barclay. Yes. That was it.
Sighing, she shifted position on Horse’s rump. Her thighs ached from holding herself upright, and everythingitched. She’d dried out—as much as ‘twas possible in the constant mist, at least—but now she was just blasted uncomfortable.
The muck from the bog seemed to have gotten everywhere then dried into itchy little bits that wereeverywhere. Even the plaid he’d given her felt dirty. With her riding behind him, she didn’t feel wrong about allowing the plaid to fall around her waist, baring her chemise-clad shoulders to the world. Even so, she was vastly uncomfortable.
She longed for a bath.
