Page 7 of Here in Your Arms
“Jesu,” the brown-eyed man seethed.
Rose turned three different shades of red. It had been a while since anyone had reacted so dramatically—so rudely—to the scar that disfigured one side of her face.
She ignored him, looking to the woman who looked like a blonde angel. Almost instantly, something in her chest unraveled—just a little. There was kindness in the woman’s gaze, warmth, and a familiarity that somehow briefly stalled Rose’s growing panic.
“It’s confusing, but I promise you—you’re safe now,”the woman—Emmy—had said.
“You’re all right now. You’re safe.”
Rose took a step back, glancing between the woman and the looming warrior, his icy brown gaze locked on her like a predator sizing up prey. Just now, she noticed for the first time that a long sheath, topped with the shiny metal hilt of a sword, was attached to his hip.
No. No, she did not feel safe at all.
“We can help you,” Emmy promised her. “What is your name?”
“R-rose. Rose Carlisle,” she said, shivering violently.
“Come,” Emmy prompted, stepping closer, slowly lifting her arm until it circled Rose’s shoulder. “Let’s get you out of the cold. You can ride with me. We don’t live far. Truly, I vow to you, you are safe.”
Only what seemed a genuine compassion in the woman, allowed Rose to be moved. Emmy Carter MacIntyre guided her away from the brown-eyed man and through the hovering men and horses.
One of the armed guards walked forward, holding the reins of a pretty black horse.
“Will, can you see her settled?” Emmy asked of the young man.
A bit of panic returned as Emmy turned and left Rose in the young man’s care. Emmy stomped over to the brown-eyed man, who at the moment was paler than death though still very menacing looking.
Nervously, Rose considered the guard, Will, again.
The young soldier nodded once, his expression neither unkind nor impatient, but steady and expectant.
Unsure what he was waiting for, Rose didn’t move.
“Come on, then, lass,” he said, offering his hand to help her up.
Rose stared at the horse, then at him, and then back at the horse. She had never ridden a horse in her life. The sheer size of the animal, its powerful frame shifting beneath its glossy black coat, sent a ripple of unease through her. The saddle was high, very high off the ground, far out of her reach, and the thought of getting up there—much less staying upright once she was—seemed impossible.
“I, uh... I don’t know how to do this,” she admitted, glancing uncertainly at Will.
The young soldier’s lips twitched, almost in amusement, but he quickly schooled his expression. “Nae worries, lass. She’s gentle as they come.” He patted the mare’s neck affectionately. “She belongs to Lady MacIntyre, and she’ll treat ye well enough.”
That wasn’t exactly reassuring, but in truth Will’s slight amusement over her confession actually was. It humanized him.
He pointed toward the horse’s side and a small leather loop hanging from the saddle. “Step into the stirrup with yer left foot,” he instructed, holding out his hand to assist her.
Rose hesitated, and then placed her foot into the stirrup, gripping the saddle for dear life. Will released her hand then and she secured that one around the pommel.
“Now push up,” Will directed.
It was easier said than done. Her legs wobbled, her arms strained, and just as she thought she might slide right back down, Will gave a firm boost from below—his hand jarringly familiar on her backside. Rose gasped, lurching upward with an awkward jolt, nearly losing her balance before managing to swing her leg over the saddle in an ungraceful arc.
The instant she was seated, she gripped the pommel tightly, her fingers digging into the smooth leather. The mare shifted beneath her, muscles rippling, and Rose swallowed hard. Her body felt too high, too unstable. The animal breathed—she couldfeelit move under her—and the sensation was unnerving.
Will stayed close, glancing up at her. “Ye’re set now,” he assured her, as if this was the simplest thing in the world.
Rose didn’t feelsetat all. She felt precarious, one wrong move away from toppling straight to the ground.
Across the small barely marked road, Emmy was speaking with the brown-eyed man. Whatever was being said, it was hushed and urgent, Rose deduced, another prickling of unease traveling down her spine.
