A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book) (6 page)

Duncan placed his palm on her belly and encouraged her to rest against his chest. She fought his tug at first, but heaven help her, he was incredibly warm compared to the icy cold of the winter’s night air. She surrendered to the demands of his hand. The tension in her shoulders eased a bit.

“That’s better, lass,” he purred. “We’ll both have a smoother ride if we settle into the horse’s motion.”

The pressure needling her bottom eased too. “How is your wound?”

“’Tis coming good.”

“You should have it seen to by a healer.”

“Aye? I’m a bit occupied at the moment.”

She couldn’t argue with him there. Besides, she wouldn’t trust an English healer with
her
life, let alone anyone else’s.

Meg’s head bobbed forward as she jolted awake. She reached out and grasped Duncan’s arms.

“Good morn, m’lady.”

Holy fairy feathers, had his voice become even deeper through the night? She realized the pincer fingers of her claw clamped his arm, and she quickly released, hiding the crippled hand inside her long sleeve. She shivered. Bitter cold, a snowflake landed on her nose. She peered through the dense forest. “Where are we?”

“Scotland borders—though we’ve yet to cross the River Tweed.”

“The snow’s getting heavier,” Eoin said.

Meg looked up. Before she could open her mouth, her face was covered. Again she shivered. “I’m freezing.”

Duncan molded his arms around her. “We all are, lass.”

She nestled into him—purely to stay warm. In no way would she allow herself to be allured by his masculine scent or the muscles enveloping her.

“There’s a farm up ahead.” Archie pointed. “Mayhap they’ll let us see out the storm in the stable.”

Duncan’s chest rumbled against Meg’s back with his hum. “We need to keep going.”

John arched an icy brow. “Aye, but the horses must be rested.”

“Bloody Christmas,” Duncan groused.

Meg stifled her laugh. Was he attempting to keep his foul mouth in check?

He tapped his heels against the horse. “All right, then,” he said, as if everyone had been arguing with him. “’Tis snowing hard enough to cover our tracks. We’ll ask the farmer for a lend of his barn.”

Watching Duncan pound on the door, daylight was hardy discernible through the thick covering of clouds. Still wrapped in the oversized monk’s habit, Meg shivered on the horse. Her teeth chattered, her fingers numb, hidden in the folds of wool. How cold would she be if she weren’t covered with the woolen robe? She couldn’t imagine being any colder.

Duncan had to pound on the door three times before the crofter opened it, wearing a plaid draped over his head, clutched at the neck. That put Meg at ease—she doubted she’d see plaid on the English side of the border. He nodded and gestured toward the stable then closed the door in Duncan’s face.

Limping, Duncan led them all inside the crude shelter. Though Meg could see her breath, it was a fair bit more comfortable than being out in the snow. She brushed the icy white fluff from her shoulders.

Duncan reached up to help her dismount.

She grasped the pommel and leaned back. “I can do it.”

Those dark eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you are quite able, but I’d be no gentleman to stand aside and watch.”

So he was a
gentleman
now? Meg bit her bottom lip. He put a hand on her waist. Tingles skittered up her side through the top of her head. What harm was there in letting him help? She’d been pressed against his body for hours. Ensuring her sleeve covered the claw, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

He lifted her with such ease, she completely forgot about his wound until a slight grunt escaped his lips.

“Are you all right?”

He drew her into his body and slid her down. “Aye.” His deep voice was barely perceptible.

Meg’s breasts rubbed along his solid chest. Her breath caught. He held her there for a moment. She dared look at his face, and her breathing completely stopped. His dark features were both wickedly handsome and terrifying. A longing smoldered in his eyes—as if he were starved. He probably was. Meg forced a swallow. “Another inch or two and you can release me.”

He blinked as if she’d slapped him. “A-apologies.” He set her down.

Her sleeve dropped back and exposed the claw. She snapped it away. But Duncan’s brow furrowed. He’d seen it.

She steeled herself for a sharp remark, but he turned to the men. “Put the horses in the stalls and heap the straw into a pile. We cannot light a fire in here, but we’ll huddle together to stay warm.”

Meg frowned. “Having already done enough huddling, I’d prefer a fire.”

John used a pitchfork to amass the hay. “No need to worry, Lady Meg. We’re all knights. Your virtue’s safe with us.”

Now Duncan had seen her claw, he’d probably give her a wide berth. She doubted he’d be riding with her again. He’d most likely ask her to ride with John. The younger brother seemed quieter, better mannered and unquestionably not as devilish or handsome. “I thought no less.” She stepped forward. “I’m afraid we all haven’t been properly introduced.”

John bowed deeply. “My brother and I are sons of the Lord of Glenorchy—hail from Glen Orchy in Argyllshire.”

Duncan removed the bridle, but left the saddle on the horse and closed the stall gate. “Apologies, m’lady. I’m afraid there wasn’t time with arrows flying past our ears.” He gestured to each man. “Robert and James Robinson are cousins from Loch Rannoch. Archibald Campbell, my second cousin—heir to the Earl of Argyll. My closest friends, Eoin MacGregor, one day to be laird, as well as Sean MacDougall who’s scouting behind us.”

Meg rubbed her shoulders. Every single one of them was enormous. “Are all Highlanders as large as you?”

“No bigger than your Lowland kin, I’d reckon.” Duncan chuckled. “These men were handpicked by me and my father. After Da returned from the Crusades, the king tasked him with keeping order in the Highlands.”

“Campbell?” Meg mused. “Is your father the Black Knight of Rome?”

“Aye,” John said.

King’s men
. Now answers were coming together. “Are you men the fabled Highland Enforcers?”

Eoin tossed a blanket on the hay. “Flesh and blood.”

She snapped a hand over her mouth.
Heaven’s stars
. “Why are such important knights riding into England and rescuing an insignificant woman like me?”

“Your brother doesn’t think you’re unimportant.” Duncan gave her a lopsided grin. “I daresay he’s right.”

“You going soft on us?” Archie asked.

Duncan batted the air. “Never.” He held up a blanket. “Come, Lady Meg, you can lie down between me and Sir John. We’ll keep your bones from freezing.”

“Oh no.” Meg turned in a circle. “There absolutely must be someplace else for me to bed down. I cannot possibly sleep beside you men. My reputation would be as good as ruined.”

Duncan looked to the others and spread his palms to his sides. “You want to sleep with the horses?”

Meg peered through the crude shelter. Aside from where they stood, there wasn’t a spare stall or crevice. She wrung her hands. “This is highly improper.”

“What did you expect on the run from the English, a toasty inn and a chambermaid to tend your needs?” The big man looked as if she’d slapped him. “Do you have a better idea?”

Her gaze swept across inquisitive faces, and she shivered. “Ah.”
My stars, I’d freeze to my death by morning, even if there were an open stall. But must Sir Duncan be so smug about it? What about his male parts and his comments when we were riding together?

Duncan plopped down on the mound of straw and beckoned her. “Do not be shy. As Sir John said, we’re all knights, bound by an oath of chivalry.”

Meg couldn’t remember ever being this cold in her life. Things had been warmer surrounded by his arms when they were in the saddle. “Since I have no other choice in the matter, I shall this once.” She shook her finger at the lot of gaping knighted faces. “Not a one of you will ever mention this to a soul. Do you understand me?”

“Aye, m’lady,” they chorused with nods. Thank heavens no one laughed, else she would have been forced to further assert herself.

She turned her attention to Duncan and John. “You both must keep your backs to me.”

Duncan shrugged. “As you wish.” He nestled into the straw and spread the blanket, holding up one side. “Come on, then.”

She clutched her arms tight to her chest and scooted under the woolen plaid. At least he hadn’t been so put off by the claw he’d opted to make her sleep with the livestock. She curled as close to him as possible without touching. John lay on the other side, presenting his back, as she’d requested. Duncan pushed against her. Meg rose up on her elbow and glanced at his face. His eyes were already closed, his breathing slow.

It was warmer with his body touching hers. She lay back and nestled into him. She wasn’t exactly toasty, but comfortable enough to sleep. Thank heavens Duncan had no improper feelings for her. Now he knew the truth about the claw, she could relax sleeping beside him—and his brother, for that matter.

Duncan grinned when Meg snuggled her backside into his. He couldn’t remember ever resting beside a woman whom he hadn’t ravished—and usually, he didn’t linger long. This was definitely new and interestingly erotic territory for him. Touching Meg with every part of his body before he’d even kissed the lass was arousing. His only problem? In no way could he act on his desires.

When they were riding, he’d wondered why she constantly pulled the sleeve over her left hand. After he’d helped her dismount, he caught sight of her crippled appendage. In that moment, he’d wanted to examine it, but she’d seemed embarrassed.

Duncan didn’t care. The hand did nothing to detract from her beauty. And heaven help him, she was prettier than a white rose in full bloom. Her wide-set, azure eyes reminded him of the sky on a winter’s day with not a cloud above. Feminine, coppery eyebrows arched over her eyes as if in a constant state of amusement, taking in every detail. Her face flawless like the white rose petal, kissed by an ever-present pink-rose blush. A pert nose suited her face. But gazing upon her red-rose lips brought on unholy stirrings beneath his braies.

Those urgings intensified when he’d cradled her buttocks between his thighs through the entire night’s journey. He’d not deny that her scent nearly drove him mad. Meg wore no perfumed oils. She didn’t need any. Her own bouquet reminded him of honeysuckle warmed by summer’s heat, and it had filled his nostrils with each breath.

When on horseback she’d fallen asleep, and a lock of beautifully curled hair caught the breeze, caressing his face. He’d snatched it between his fingers. Surprised at her hair’s silken softness, he raised it to his nose. Her scent ravished him. He’d clenched his bum cheeks to dispel his longing.

In no way could he fondle, kiss or lust after the Earl of Angus’s sister. Any errant move on Duncan’s part would most definitely result in the earl withholding payment, or worse, sullying his reputation as the king’s enforcer.

Unfortunately, the lady was forbidden fruit.

Duncan adjusted so his backside wasn’t touching Meg intimately. He’d control his errant thoughts if it killed him.

Meg’s bottom angled into his with her soft moan. Duncan’s entire body tensed—including the damned part that shouldn’t. He rose up on his elbow and glanced over his shoulder. Lips slightly parted, she was fast asleep. God help him, she looked like an angel.

He lay back down and closed his eyes. He didn’t even like angelic women, for Christ’s sake. He preferred the brazen women from the alehouse—women with large breasts and hearty behinds. Meg’s scent had forced his mind to run amuck. Yes, that was it. ’Twas time to snuff her from his mind. Besides, if he didn’t sleep, he’d be of little use when the time came to ride.

Meg jolted at the deafening sound of rapid hammering on wood. Her eyes flashed open, only to be stung by thick smoke. Horses whinnied. Their hooves pummeled at the stall walls.

Springing to her knees, she shook Duncan’s shoulder with all her might. “The stable’s on fire!”

Everyone sprang into motion.

Archie and Eoin raced toward the horse stall.