Fia wondered how Thomas was doing. As he’d marched into the woods, it had been obvious that he was both stiff and sore, favoring his leg. His clothing hadn’t fared well either, covered in mud, the fine cloth ripped thanks to Thunder.
Though the old nag had agreed to carry Thomas, she’d taken great delight in snapping at him every chance she’d gotten. The poor man’s sleeve had been in tatters by the time they’d arrived.
Fia stirred the fire and wondered how long it would take him to return. “I’m hungry,” she announced.
Thunder’s ears flickered.
Fia rubbed Zeus’s good ear, and he gave a heartfelt sigh. “Enjoy the heat whilst you can. Once Lord Thomas returns, ’tis back in the cold you’ll be.”
Zeus gave a disdainful yawn and rolled onto his side, promptly falling back into a deep sleep.
Fia pulled out her knife and whittled aimlessly at a stick, her gaze wandering to the gathering blackness. Where was he?
“He said he’d be back soon,” she told Zeus. The words sounded hollow in the darkness.
He would come back. He had to; he’d promised. But . . . how much was a vow worth when one was pressed into the cold mud beneath a huge horse? The thought held her fast as she stared into the forest.
Night crept into the campsite inch by inch, bringing dampness and uncertainty. Thomas had warned her not to build the fire too large, for fear Duncan might see the smoke and discover them.
But now Thomas was gone, and she feared—nay, she knew—he would not come back. Why should he? She’d forced his cooperation. She wouldn’t blame him for making his own way.
An uncomfortable lump rose in her throat, and suddenly the forest seemed alive. Fia’s imagination began to tickle her thoughts, adding sinister meaning to every wind-brushed shrub, every crackling tree limb.
The shriek of an owl made her jump. Heart pounding, she grabbed the biggest piece of wood from her pile and threw it on the fire.
The flames blazed, and she tried to calm herself. “I don’t need the Sassenach’s help to get to London. Once I arrive, I’ll find another patron, and he’ll be better than His High and Mighty Lordship, won’t he, Zeus?”
Zeus rolled onto his back, a deep snore emitting from his slack mouth.
Fia looked at him in disgust. “Some guard dog you are. Here I am, alone in the midst of the great forest filled with dangerous creatures, and all you do is snore fit to wake the dead. Lord Thomas was right about you being a la—”
The forest crackled, the bushes swirling mightily as if a great bear had stirred them to life.
Thunder shied, prancing frantically as Fia whipped out her knife. Zeus bounded to his feet and snarled viciously.
Thomas stumbled from the bushes, a bag over his shoulder, his temper as frayed as his horse-nipped sleeve. He regarded his arm sourly. ’Twas yet another pain in a long and painful day. “Damn all of Scotland! You can’t go anywhere in this land without stepping into a bog or being punctured by a thistle. God only knows why anyone would want to conquer such an unsightly, ill-favored land. Once we get to London, I’ll never step foot in this—”
Fia launched herself into his arms, her small body flattening against his broad chest. He reflexively closed his arms about her, sinking his hand into her cloud of hair and holding her cheek to his chest. Her heart thudded so hard that he could count each beat.
Surprised, Thomas stood completely still. The woman was plastered to him like wet silk, her arms wrapped uncomfortably tight about his waist. He could feel every soft curve of her, every warm bit of skin.
She lifted her face to his. “I-I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—” Her lips quivered.
He grinned. “Hello, poppet. Miss me?”
Her cheeks colored and she moved as if to step away, but it was too late; he had her tight and wasn’t about to let her go. An uncertain laugh passed through her soft lips. “I-I thought you weren’t coming back.”
“You thought wrong, then.”
“So it seems.” Her eyes, as black as the night sky in the midst of a storm, seemed mysterious in the uncertain light.
Thomas was as fascinated with her eyes as with her long lashes; they were so tangled and luxuriant. He lifted a finger and brushed it over her cheek, which glowed with vibrant color and health.
And her body . . . he almost groaned. He was stirred beyond thought by the warmth of her curves pressed against him.
He had to taste that lush mouth. He already knew the honey-sweet flavor of her lips, and nothing was going to stop him from tasting them again. Her face flushed rosily in the light of the roaring fire as he—
The fire?
The roaring fire?
“Damn it!” Thomas pushed Fia away and kicked dirt onto the smoking branches. “Didn’t I tell you to keep the fire small? Woman, what were you trying to do, alert the whole isle?” He kicked more dirt onto the crackling flames, and the light dimmed as the fire sputtered. “What in hell were you thinking? If you wished Duncan to find us, all you had to do was sit upon your arse and he’d eventually appear! God knows the laird doesn’t need a beacon to find us, you fool!”
No sharp reply met his tirade. The fire damped, he turned to find Fia behind him, her head bowed, her arms crossed over her chest as though warding off the chill breeze. Even without seeing her eyes, Thomas knew there were tears in them.
Weariness flooded through him. He was too tired and battered to deal with this most difficult of all tasks—a woman’s tears. Especially this woman’s tears.
He’d known Fia but a day, yet it was obvious that she was a spirited lass, not one to cry lightly. She had to be just as aching and exhausted as he was.
He sighed. “Fia, please don’t cry.”
She immediately wiped her face with her sleeve, her bottom lip quivering like a child’s. He grimaced. Until he had run over her with his sharp temper, she had been genuinely glad to see him. There hadn’t been many times in his life when his arrival had been greeted with such unabashed pleasure, and like the clumsiest of fools, he had crushed her spirits.
He had a fleeting memory of his father returning home to their manse after months in London, serving the king’s court. A mere child of nine at the time, left alone for those long months with a strict tutor and uncaring servants, Thomas had heard the coach and had run to the window to see his father’s entourage approaching.
It had been an unusually cold and dreary winter, and for a lonely boy confined to endless Latin, Greek, script, and other dull subjects, Father’s arrival had been beyond exciting. Ignoring his tutor’s shout, Thomas had dashed down the stairs and had run to meet the coach.
Frowning at Thomas’s exuberance, Father had climbed from the coach, flicked a cold glance at his son, turned his back, and entered the house. Thomas didn’t see his father for three days, a punishment for his unrestrained behavior. In the earl’s world there was no room for emotion, unless it was fealty or fear. Thomas had promised himself to do better, to treat others with more consideration.
Now Thomas looked at Fia’s downcast face, a tear trailing down her cheek. “Forgive my temper. I’m in a horrible mood because of the horse and that damn dog, and then I grew hungry and—”
The bag slung over his shoulder wiggled, and Thomas grinned. Supper. That was how he would make his little Scottish thief smile once again.
He sat on the saddle blanket, placed his foot on Zeus’s back, and shoved the mongrel to one side. Zeus staggered to the other side of the fire and collapsed in a boneless heap.
Thomas patted the blanket next to him. “Fia, come and sit.” He flashed his most winsome smile, one that rarely failed him. “Please?”
Fia dried her eyes, then went to stand beside Zeus. Across the fire, Thomas met the dog’s grin with a hard look that made the dog drop his head in submission.
The old nag snorted indignantly and shuffled around until her rump pointed directly at Thomas.
He fixed his gaze on Fia. “I brought you something, but you can’t see i
t from way over there.” He held up the bag, which shook as something struggled within.
Fia’s eyes widened in reluctant fascination. “What is it?”
“Come and see.” He held the bag toward her. It had taken an hour of laying traps and praying faithfully to catch some dinner, and he was as proud of this plump rabbit as if it had been his first successful hunt.
Her gaze locked on the bag, she moved toward him. “Och, let me have it!” Her rich voice settled about him as rich and warm as a thick, fur-lined cloak.
She dropped to her knees on the blanket beside him, her face abeam alight with curiosity. “Is it very large?”
Every ache Thomas possessed melted into insignificance under the warmth of her smile. She was as lovely as a morning mist, even with leaves in her hair, her eyes bright with tears, and her nose reddened by the cold. He handed her the bag. “Open it, Mistress Impatience, and see what I’ve caught.”
She tugged on the tie and yanked the sack open. “Och! ’Tis a rabbit!” She pulled out the plump animal and held it from her. The animal immediately stopped struggling and stared at Fia, his little nose quivering furiously.
Thomas could almost smell the roasting meat. Should we skew it on a stick and—
She turned toward his. “Thank you.”
He shrugged. “’Tis naught.”
“Nay, this is the loveliest present anyone has ever gotten me.”
Something about the tone of Fia’s voice gave Thomas pause. “Present? I wouldn’t call him that, exactly.”
“What would you call him?” Fia cuddled the rabbit close and cooed softly, “He’s such a sweet little bunny.”
Thomas’s smile faded completely. Bunny?
She rubbed her cheek against the rabbit. Across the soft brown fur, Fia’s eyes met Thomas’s, their softly glowing light telling him all he had to know. Bloody hell, the wench thinks ’tis a pet.
He looked at the way she cradled the rabbit, her cheek pressed to its soft fur, and his heart sank. Damn. I’m getting no supper tonight. His stomach immediately growled in protest.
Fia apparently heard his stomach, for her gaze grew concerned. “Thomas?” She glanced from him to the rabbit, and then back.
Thomas read her thoughts as clearly as if she’d spoken them aloud. She realized the probable truth of the rabbit’s appearance but was loath to believe it. She liked the rabbit, which was curled into her arms as if recognizing his one and only path to freedom.
It was rather odd to see the wild animal turn tame just by her touch. How had she done that?
“Thomas? Is the rabbit . . . did you mean us to—”
“He’s yours,” Thomas blurted. “He was caught in a trap and I rescued him to, ah, bring him to you.” That much was true . . . more or less.
“You saved him?” She positively beamed at him.
Normally Thomas was completely unaffected by approbation. But it had been a long time since someone had looked at him with such unadulterated admiration. “I didn’t do much. I merely removed him from the trap.”
“Poor bunny! Was he hurt?” Fia’s dark head bent over the rabbit, delicate fingers carefully looking for injuries. “Och, look, the poor dear has an injured leg.”
Thomas winced as his stomach growled again.
Fia smiled. “’Tis not as bad as I thought; he’ll recover without any permanent damage.”
I wish I could say the same for myself. I’ve never been this hungry.
Fia settled the rabbit in her lap and stroked it, her long fingers graceful as they trailed over the soft fur. “He’s so tame!”
Thomas frowned, thinking of the struggle he’d had getting the creature into the bag. “Aye, ’tis unnatural.”
“Mary says no one has a way with animals like I do.” She peeped at Thomas through her lashes. “’Tis magic, you know. From my mother.”
“I don’t believe in magic.”
“I do.” She spoke calmly, without a hint of braggadocio. “I understand animals.” She frowned. “I wish I understood people as well.”
“Together, we would rule the world, for I understand people well enough. If they don’t do what I wish, I crack their heads together.”
She chuckled. “Duncan has the same manner about him. ’Tis effective but doesn’t allow for much warmth.”
Thomas felt the rabbit’s accusing gaze, and he stared determinedly back at it. He’d be damned if he would let a hare make him feel uneasy.
Even though he could do nothing about it, he imagined how the plump rabbit would taste, basted with honey, turning slowly on a spit over a crackling fire—
He watched morosely as Fia made a soft bed for her new pet out of the blanket. The only blanket, Thomas reminded himself.
As she tucked in the wounded rabbit, she lifted shining eyes to his. “Thank you, Sassenach.”
The soft words curled into the hollowness of his stomach and filled it. As he gazed into Fia’s fathomless eyes, something inside his chest shifted and warmed.
Drowning—that’s what he was doing. He was drowning in the eyes of a wench who brought him the devil’s own luck. He ached for the taste of her, the sweet fragrance of her hair and the lushness of her rounded body.
His gaze dropped to her lips, which were delectably moist. He couldn’t look away from that tempting mouth.
He had to have her.
Now.
Thomas reached across the small space that separated them and buried a hand in her hair, pulling her to him. She leaned into him, offering herself so sweetly that his lust burst into flames.
With every ounce of the desire that burned through his body, he kissed her, devouring her sweetness. Fia didn’t hesitate, returning his ardor as passionately as he could have wanted. Her fingers tangled in the folds of his shirt as her soft moans sent him spiraling toward heaven. God’s wounds, she is a hot little piece.
She made him as addlepated as a youth, but oh, what a delectable madness it was. He sank his hands deeper into her hair and tasted the smoothness of her cheek as he feathered sensual kisses over her face, her eyes, her sweet neck, making her gasp with pleasure.
She clung to his shirt, pulling him closer. As he nipped at her ear, he impatiently tugged at the lacings on her bodice. With a soft pop, the tie gave way and the material gaped open, revealing the silken white chemise that barely covered the mounds of her breasts.
Thomas rained kisses down her throat to the hollow of her neck.
She gasped. “Duncan!”
Thomas froze. She couldn’t have said another man’s name. His ardor cooled, he pulled back. “No, comfit, ’tis not Duncan. ’Tis Thomas. My name is Thomas Wentworth.”
Deep and rumbling, a masculine voice filled the small clearing. “That is useful to know. ’Twould bring my clan ill fortune were I to kill a nameless man.”
His heart thudding sickly, Thomas met Fia’s pleading gaze.
She gave a weak smile and pointed over his shoulder. “Thomas, ’tis Duncan. I fear he’s found us.”
Chapter Five
Where is he?” Fia demanded.
The guard remained solidly in front of the great oaken door.
She stomped her slippered foot, wincing as her heel met the stone floor. “MacKenna, I asked you a question. Did you not hear me?”
The large man simply stood, booted feet wide, kilt hanging below his knees, his bulging arms crossed over his wide chest.
She crossed her arms and set her feet apart, too. “MacKenna, don’t make me lose my temper.”
MacKenna’s gaze finally flickered, a look of unease crossing his red-bearded face. “Now, lass, dinna be threatenin’ me. I’m only doin’ the laird’s biddin’ and ye know it.”
“Where is he, then?”
“Ye know where the laird is, or ye wouldn’t be a-standin’ there tappin’ yer foot.”
“I wasn’t speaking of Duncan. I want to know where the Sassenach has been taken.”
“The Sassenach is with the laird, and the laird dinna wish to be
disturbed.”
Fia squared her shoulders. “He is about to be disturbed whether he wishes it or not.”
Concern flickered in MacKenna’s blue eyes. “Settle down a mite, lassie. The MacLean is as mad as a bear with a sore paw. Ye had best wait ’til—”
The huge door slammed open. “MacKenna!” Duncan bellowed. “Send for my daft cous—” His dark gaze locked on Fia, his mouth tightening. “There you are.”
“Aye, and I want to see the Sassenach.”
Duncan glowered down at her. If MacKenna was huge, Duncan was a giant. Tall, broad-chested, and as dark-haired as the night, he filled the large arched doorway. His arms bulged with muscles that made MacKenna look like a lad.
Yet for all that he was as big as a house, his face held a beauty rarely seen in such a large man—something she didn’t often notice, since she thought of him as a brother. Duncan had taken care of Fia since she was but a wee bairn; he treated her with the fondness and exasperation of natural-born sibling, and she returned the favor. She’d been mildly surprised when she’d begun to notice how many maids succumbed to his flashing black eyes, strong jaw, and dark hair, like grass before a roaring brushfire.
Duncan stood to one side and jerked his head to indicate she was to precede him. “We must speak.”
“Yes, we must.” Fia lifted her chin to a lofty angle suitable for one of the many princesses who populated her plays and swept past him into the great hall.
As she did so, she cast a considering glance up at Duncan through her lashes. He was angered, there was no doubt of that. His mouth was a bleak slash and his eyes burned with suppressed fury.
“I take it by your expression that your quest to find the White Witch came to naught?”
His dark glower did not abate. “I didn’t call you here to discuss that.”
“You didn’t call me here at all; I came myself. What happened with the White Witch?”