Page 17 of Highland Treasure (Highland Brides 9)

“Aye,” Rory murmured, remembering what Elysande had said while trying to convince him that de Buci was a threat. She had said that she feared de Buci might even attack her aunt and uncle’s holdings to get to her. That his life depended on it. What he should have wondered at the time was how she knew de Buci’s life depended on his finding whatever he was searching for if she didn’t know what it was? That hadn’t occurred to him then though. He’d been more interested in, and even amused by, the idea that any Englishman could march an army to Sinclair without every clan south of it getting up in arms and eager to kill the arrogant bastard.

Standing abruptly, Rory headed for the door, saying, “Stay here and finish yer drinks. I need a word with Lady Elysande.”

Chapter 5

“Nay,” Elysande said firmly.

“But, m’lady, ’tis warmer in the loft and there is fresh hay there for sleeping,” Tom argued with frustration as she gathered her cloak around her in preparation of easing herself down onto the hay of the only empty stall left in the stables.

“That may be so,” she admitted wearily. “But I cannot climb that ladder in the state I am in, and you certainly cannot carry me up it. So I fear I am sleeping down here.”

“If Simon and I worked together,” Tom began soothingly, “surely we can get you up there, m’lady.”

“How?” Elysande asked with exasperation. “I am bruised from my shoulders all the way down to my calves. Will you lift me by my ankles?”

“All the way down to your calves?” Tom echoed with dismay, and then turned toward the stable door as it swung open. She saw him reach for his sword, only to relax when Rory entered.

“Go back inside and finish your ale, lads. I’ll help your lady up to the loft.”

Elysande stared at the man. His words suggested he’d heard their conversation as he approached, but it was his demeanor that had caught her attention. He seemed different somehow. Stiffer, almost stilted. By her guess, he was angry about something.

Tom considered him silently for a moment, and then straightened and said, “We will stay in case you need help.”

Rory wasn’t impressed. “Nay, ye’ll no’. I need a word with Lady Elysande,” he said firmly, and then eyed her grimly as he said, “About why de Buci’s life might depend on his getting what he is looking for.”

Elysande’s eyes widened at the words. She recognized them as her own from a previous conversation, though somewhat rearranged, and realized the mistake she’d made. Nodding that she understood, Elysande told Tom and Simon, “Go ahead. He is right. We must talk.”

Tom hesitated, his concerned gaze shifting between her solemn expression and Rory’s grim one, but then a determined glint entered his eyes and he shook his head. “It would not be proper for you to be alone with him.”

“’Tis not proper for me to be alone with all three of you either,” she pointed out sharply, and then relented. “He is our protector, Tom. My mother trusted him with our lives. I think my virtue is safe.” And then smiling wryly, she added, “Besides, ’tis not likely he could want to seduce me the way I look now, is it?”

Elysande suspected she should be insulted by the way Tom and Simon both nodded and relaxed at those words. But she was just glad they finally obeyed her and headed out of the stables. Sighing as the door closed behind them, she turned toward Rory and then gasped in shock when she found his shoulder lodged in her lower stomach and herself being lifted into the air and nearly tumbling over his back before he caught her by the ankles to steady her. She’d slipped enough that her bottom was in the air and her groin rather than her stomach was resting on his shoulder now with her legs hanging in front and her chest down his back.

“Do no’ move,” he growled, carting her to the back of the stables in that undignified position.

Elysande didn’t respond. She couldn’t. He’d knocked the air out of her and she was still struggling to regain it when he released his hold on her ankles and began to climb the ladder with her hanging over his shoulder unanchored. More than a little panicked when the floor became farther and farther away and her upper body began to sway back and forth with his movement, Elysande grabbed at the back of his plaid for something to hold on to, and pulled. Instead of steadying her as a pair of breeches would have done, the cloth pulled upward and she found herself cheek to cheek with his bare bottom. At least temporarily, before her bobbing and swinging about had her sliding away and back.

“I suddenly feel a draft,” Rory said, and Elysande was sure she heard laughter in his voice rather than the embarrassment she was experiencing. It so annoyed her that she was tempted to bite the soft, white skin in front of her face when she swung the other way like the pendulum she’d become.

Common sense prevailed at the last moment, however, and she dropped the plaid, and threw her arms around him instead. It was a desperate attempt to stop herself from swinging, as well as to be sure she didn’t drop to the ground like a stone. It was not a well-thought-out maneuver. Elysande realized that when her hand slammed into his groin.

Mid-step, Rory let out a hiss of pain and instinctively hunched forward and lost his footing. For one heart-stopping moment, she was sure they would plummet to the ground, but then his foot caught on the next rung down on the ladder and they jerked to a stop.

Elysande groaned as his shoulder jammed into her groin. By the time her groan ended, he’d scooted up the last couple of steps and was setting her down on her feet in the loft. She immediately stumbled back several steps, casting him a baleful glare as she went.

“You are not taking me down the same way in the morning,” she growled, clenching her fists to keep from rubbing her pelvic bone. Dear God, he’d probably given her another bruise, she thought with dismay.

“We’ll find another way to get ye down,” he assured her, but his back was to her now and he’d lifted the front of his plaid, she presumed, to examine himself in the light that reached them from the torches below.

Sighing as guilt claimed her for unintentionally smacking him in the groin, Elysande glanced around the loft. It was quite large. Certainly big enough for all of them to sleep in, especially if they slept as close together as they had the night before. There was also lots of hay, bushels of it, that they could spread around if they wanted, and considering what they’d paid for sleeping there, she decided she wanted to. And Tom had been right; it was warmer than the lower level of the stables.

“Ye ken what de Buci was looking for.”

Elysande turned from her inspection and eyed Rory warily. He’d dropped his plaid and was facing her again. After the briefest hesitation, she nodded.

Apparently Rory wasn’t expecting that, because he simply stared at her, seeming unsure how to proceed.

“What was it?” he asked finally.

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