Page 14 of Beloved Enemy
“Nae a destrier,” he corrected, “but mayhap one of the thieves’ chargers.”
“Actually, it doesn’t matter,” she declared then with a curious lack of shame. “Big or small, I don’t know how to ride a horse.”
Reid ground his teeth and turned, finding Tavish hovering yet, his frown set upon the woman while he held the reins to his own horse.
Before Reid might have instructed that he take her up with him, Tavish shook his head.
“That’s on ye, mate,” Tavish said, his irritation not subdued. “Nae me nor one of these men is going to want to ride with her—and what? Have their souls taken? Or their minds bewitched so they’re dancing in their braies at midnight? Or worse, have theirwill bent and they’re jumping off a steep crag, made to believe they can fly?”
Reid rolled his eyes at Tavish’s drama. He didn’t want to share a saddle with her either, but he was not awash in the same fear as suggested by Tavish.
“Come on, then,” he said to the woman without unclamping his teeth.
It came as no surprise that she did not.
“I...I don’t think I should go with you,” she said. “I mean, I’m sorry and no offense but I’m not sure I’m any safer with you than I was with those other people.”
He stared at her, expecting that there was no way she could actually believe that.
“Well, I mean they did kidnap me, yes,” she argued in a small voice, “but you...well,theydidn’t commit murder.”
“I slayedyourkidnappers,” he reminded her tightly.
“I know that, I get it, but—"
“If ye ken ye’re better off on yer own, yesterday’sabductionand today’smurdershould advise that ye are nae,” he growled. “Get on the damn horse, woman.”
“Not until you remove these ropes,” she declared, tilting her head and showing just the hint of a snide smirk before she challenged, “Unless you’re afraid of me, too.”
His mood already soured by all that had peeved him in the last hour, Reid was rather pleased to remove her threatening smirk by swiftly producing his dagger. Her eyes widened and she tried to back away from him, but he caught her hands and drew them, and her, forward, easily slicing through the ropes, finally freeing her. The red marks and abrasions on her thin wrists did not escape his notice, evidence of her mighty struggle to be free of the bindings.
He didn’t trust her, but he wasn’t afraid of her. But then, he also wasn’t entirely convinced she wasn’t a witch, and he wasn’tquite sure why the amulet hanging from her neck unnerved him so.
On the rare occasions he was compelled to ride double, he preferred to have his passenger seated behind him, allowing for easy and unhindered control of his steed. But now, with her, he decided it would be prudent to have her ride in front of him that he might better keep an eye on her.
'Twas only moments later, when the Nicholson army began to march that Reid realized this was a very bad idea. Her softness pressed against him in at least one place that was eventually going to cause him trouble, he surmised. The scent of her hair, something sweet and yet foreign, filled his senses, making it hard to focus. Each jostle and sway brought an uncomfortable awareness of her body, intensifying his distraction. The way her arse sat nestled between his thighs, the warmth of her back against his chest, and how her hair brushed against his chin—all combined to create an unwanted but nearly ungovernable disturbance in him.
Never mind the prospect of sorcery or his disquiet over the amulet; Reid was so keenly conscious of Charlotte O’Rourke and her body that other concerns were rendered distant and irrelevant.
***
Charlotte put a lot of stock in two things: these men, whoever they were, hadn’t killed her, and the man with whom she shared a horse had finally untied her hands. Good signs, she hoped.
As they rode, her mind raced, trying to make sense of the whirlwind events that had landed her in this situation.
Everything was horrifying, and the most sensible explanation was also...the least realistic.
Obviously, she was not in the middle ages right now. The idea was as fantastical as it was frightening.
And yet... what, exactly, was going on?
Kidnapped yesterday by men on horseback, dressed as iftheywere from a long ago time, tied to a tree overnight, and now in the company of these stern-faced warriors whose names she didn’t yet know, and who didn’t look like they belonged in the twenty-first century any more than yesterday’s villains. It was a scenario straight out of the medieval romance books she used to read for fun. But how could it be real?
Charlotte also remembered reading about how people in shock often reacted to trauma. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t freaking out as much as she should be. It was a defense mechanism, she recalled, something the brain did to protect itself. Maybe her mind was still trying to shield her from the full impact of what was happening.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Focus on the positives, she thought. She was alive, and her hands were free. That had to count for something. The man she rode with, despite his gruff demeanor, hadn’t harmed her. If anything, he seemed more curious and straight-up cranky than intent on evil.
She toyed absently with the amulet around her neck, wondering for the umpteenth time if this stupid thing had anything to do with everything that had gone haywire since she’d first put it on. Like, did it possess some magic or something? The rational part of her mind rebelled against the notion, but every other part of her couldn't deny the evidence, that nothing was as it should be.
