He pulled his hand away from hers and dropped her leg. Jane immediately missed the warmth of his hand as he moved away.
“Join me on the…well, I willnae call it a bed. It will be much warmer with me.” His words were spoken softly, but she still refused.
She watched him shake his head. He helped her rekindle the fire and then laid down alone. Jane shuffled closer to the warmth, and as she watched the flames, her mind went over her situation.
She had to escape, but where could she go? Surely anywhere would be better than being a prisoner. When morning came, he’d probably take her even farther from her home, from safety. She’d be closer to lands where the prophecy could easily come to pass, and she’d lose her life.
Jane stared at his back, waiting until he seemed to have drifted off, and then she hobbled on her good foot. Just as she got up, looking around for the path to take, she heard his voice break the silence of the night.
“I was nae joking when I said the woods here are filled with cutthroats and wild animals. Ye may think of how much ye like the skin on yer bones before wandering out intae the forest.”
Jane felt a surge of helplessness and frustration rush through her. She sank back down, huddling close to the fire and resting her head against the back of the tree.
Her mind ran wild with worry until exhaustion came over her again, and she fell asleep—this time, away from Darach’s warmth.
CHAPTERFIVE
Darach sat up on the bedroll to stare at Jane MacThomas as she slept against the tree. He blew out a tired breath.
Have I ever met a more stubborn lass?
All his attempts to convince her to come and sleep on the plaid had fallen on deaf ears.
He'd made the mistake of abducting the rebellious daughter, but he had no doubts that she was the one he'd rather take, even when it had been clear that her father had a softer spot for the other one. It might have had something to do with the fact that her father had slapped her and he had felt sorry for her.
Or it was the fact that he'd been unable to get his mind off her since she had walked into that hall earlier in the evening.
Darach felt a connection with her, some bonding kindred spirit, but he couldn't tell exactly what it was. That was the only reason he'd had an unusual amount of patience with her. Even when she'd tried to run off more than once, he'd not been angry. Instead, he'd admired her spirited attempts.
He watched her trembling sleeping form. The fire was dying out, and the chill of the night was growing even stronger. What if she became gravely ill? He hadn’t thought this through.
She was a stubborn lass, and it would be just like her to still refuse his help even if she was dying. It was up to him to ensure her safety, and he'd done a poor job of it so far. He should have considered that even the summer nights were chilly in the Highlands, and a delicate lass like her would be a stranger to this kind of cold.
Yet, she'd shown him she had a strong will of her own. Darach still wondered how a lass raised in the comfort of the keep could be so brave. Even men who had fought battles cowered before him—but not her, not Jane MacThomas. She had no fear in her golden eyes, and she had a strong spirit to match them.
She was trembling even more now. That strength of hers might undo the lass if he remained idle. Darach stood from the bedroll and strode across the camp. When he reached her, he scooped her up with his hands. If Jane laid there much longer, the dampness of the earth would seep into her clothing and cause the poor lass a fever. He gathered her close, holding her tightly to his chest and walked back toward the bedroll.
His heart began to race as a result of having her so close. He could feel her soft breath against the skin of his neck. She felt perfect in his arms, so soft and tender. She was vulnerable, much more vulnerable than she let on, and like his wife, a single mistake could cost this lass her life. Darach suddenly felt a protective feeling wash over him, and silently made a promise to himself. Until he returned her to her father, he was going to protect her with his life. He carefully laid Jane on the plaid, even though he didn’t want to let go of her. Then he looked her over, watching for any sign of injury she might have suffered on their journey. Her leg had some scratches from the wild grasses, but other than that and her twisted ankle, she was unharmed.
But then, he noticed a single mark that peeked just above her bosom.
Is that a scar? How does a lady come tae have a scar on her chest? Was she in an accident? Attacked by an animal?
The knowledge that someone had hurt her flooded him with inexpicable anger. Gently, he covered her in the blanket and laid himself beside her. The lass looked to be deeply swimming in her slumber, and a blissful look softened her face as the fire warmed her up.
Jane looked stunning under the delicate moonlit night. He watched her closely, silently—enjoying having an unimpeded view so close to her. Her sunset curls cascaded around her shoulders, a few stray tendrils clinging to the damp skin of her neck.
Darach's heart pounded. His eyes followed the long strands of hair down her body until they reached the curves of her breasts.
She has bonny breasts…as bonny as the rest of her.
This woman was a landscape of luscious hills and tantalizing curves. The nature of her beauty breathed life into his manhood. Suddenly, she twisted in her sleep, and he feared he'd been caught staring at her. But her eyes never opened, and instead arched her body just enough toward the direction of the fire.
She was still cold, and lying beside her might not be enough to warm her up. Darach’s mouth went dry when he realized what he had to do. He had to hold her in his arms to cease her shivering.
Darach sighed. She would probably stab him to death tomorrow. But there was no alternative. Darach slowly took off some of his garments to cover her, leaving only his shirt and breeches. Then he closed his eyes and whispered a prayer before slowly hugging her tightly close to his body.
As soon as their bodies met, his cock swelled and strained against his breeches. He curled and uncurled his fist, cursing his manhood inwardly.