unyielding thighs. The too-familiar touch strained her self-possession. She needed a distraction, anything to divert her reprehensible thoughts from his manly parts.
“I am a capable horsewoman, quite able to ride behind you.” Surely he detected the desperation in her voice.
“Capable or no’, I favor you right where you are.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, only to devolve into a thin line when he added, “Asides, I have witnessed the Englishwoman’s idea of horsemanship,” he waited a beat, “’Tis an odd seat and unskilled.”
Annoyed, she upbraided him. “You say English as if speaking a foul word. Afore you say such again, please keep in mind, I am English.” She inched forward ever so slightly.
Unrepentant, he shrugged and slid her back against him. “I suppose ’tis wrong of me to defame your heritage.”
“Thank you.”
“You canna help your parentage, I ken.”
She bristled. “Come now, you cannot claim to dislike all the English.” She inched forward a fraction.
“Can I no’?” He slid her back again.
She heard the smile in his low-pitched voice. For some unknown reason, the man found enjoyment in her vexation.
“My aunt, your second-mother, is English.”
“Aye, perhaps at one time. No’ now, of course.”
“What could you possibly mean by that? Of course, Onora is English. There is not one person more so.”
She flipped a length of hair over her shoulder in agitation.
He whipped it back.
“Stop that,” she said in a voice rife with exasperation.
His low hypnotic laughter plucked at her strained senses.
Desperate to stay focused on her indignation she continued, “You cannot decide a person is something else entirely, only for the simple reason of wishing it so.”
With a light touch, he removed a skein of hair where it lay coiled around her ear. Her pulse leapt. His scent and heat enveloped her senses. She tensed when his lips grazed her earlobe.
“I believe I just did, lass,” he whispered.
What had they been speaking of? She managed to mumble a rejoinder. “Well, it is an unfounded, illogical assumption.”
His low, rasping laughter curled her toes.
She clucked her tongue. “Much as I am enjoying our wee chat — ” she detected the grin in his words, “ — you should try and rest. We have a bit of ground to cover until we are out of harm’s way.”
Rest — an impossible task. The man scarce allowed a respectable distance atween them. Although, she admitted the sheer breadth and width of the man’s upper body made her feel protected. Considering her unusual height, not many men could boast the feat. Of course, being accused of witchery by her sire cooled any potential suitor’s ardor — except Warford’s. She let out an uneasy breath, determined to banish the man far from her mind.
The more ground they covered, the more confident she became. She had no idea how long Warford or her father would search for her, although, she doubted the search would outlast the latter’s purse. The priest, however, infamous for his devotion to the purification rite would return to his demented order to single out his next victim. She shuddered. It was not a subject she wished to dwell upon, and concentrated her ruminations on the chief’s earlier remarks. The sting from his ignorant opinion of the English still smarted. Yet, despite the stalwart defense of her homeland, she’d scarce miss Cadby Hall or its inhabitants.
Aeden’s voice broke into her reflections.
“We will stop a bit further up the trail.”
She almost agreed, but then a troubling notion occurred. “We are stopping to water the horse?”
As she feared, he shook his head. “No, we will make camp. I know of a cave nearby that will give us adequate shelter.”
Speechless, it seemed forever before she could form words. “Uhm — where shall I sleep?”
His look was unfathomable. “With me, of course.”
Chapter Five
Shrouded in darkness, Elisande tipped her head back. The brilliant
“I am a capable horsewoman, quite able to ride behind you.” Surely he detected the desperation in her voice.
“Capable or no’, I favor you right where you are.”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips, only to devolve into a thin line when he added, “Asides, I have witnessed the Englishwoman’s idea of horsemanship,” he waited a beat, “’Tis an odd seat and unskilled.”
Annoyed, she upbraided him. “You say English as if speaking a foul word. Afore you say such again, please keep in mind, I am English.” She inched forward ever so slightly.
Unrepentant, he shrugged and slid her back against him. “I suppose ’tis wrong of me to defame your heritage.”
“Thank you.”
“You canna help your parentage, I ken.”
She bristled. “Come now, you cannot claim to dislike all the English.” She inched forward a fraction.
“Can I no’?” He slid her back again.
She heard the smile in his low-pitched voice. For some unknown reason, the man found enjoyment in her vexation.
“My aunt, your second-mother, is English.”
“Aye, perhaps at one time. No’ now, of course.”
“What could you possibly mean by that? Of course, Onora is English. There is not one person more so.”
She flipped a length of hair over her shoulder in agitation.
He whipped it back.
“Stop that,” she said in a voice rife with exasperation.
His low hypnotic laughter plucked at her strained senses.
Desperate to stay focused on her indignation she continued, “You cannot decide a person is something else entirely, only for the simple reason of wishing it so.”
With a light touch, he removed a skein of hair where it lay coiled around her ear. Her pulse leapt. His scent and heat enveloped her senses. She tensed when his lips grazed her earlobe.
“I believe I just did, lass,” he whispered.
What had they been speaking of? She managed to mumble a rejoinder. “Well, it is an unfounded, illogical assumption.”
His low, rasping laughter curled her toes.
She clucked her tongue. “Much as I am enjoying our wee chat — ” she detected the grin in his words, “ — you should try and rest. We have a bit of ground to cover until we are out of harm’s way.”
Rest — an impossible task. The man scarce allowed a respectable distance atween them. Although, she admitted the sheer breadth and width of the man’s upper body made her feel protected. Considering her unusual height, not many men could boast the feat. Of course, being accused of witchery by her sire cooled any potential suitor’s ardor — except Warford’s. She let out an uneasy breath, determined to banish the man far from her mind.
The more ground they covered, the more confident she became. She had no idea how long Warford or her father would search for her, although, she doubted the search would outlast the latter’s purse. The priest, however, infamous for his devotion to the purification rite would return to his demented order to single out his next victim. She shuddered. It was not a subject she wished to dwell upon, and concentrated her ruminations on the chief’s earlier remarks. The sting from his ignorant opinion of the English still smarted. Yet, despite the stalwart defense of her homeland, she’d scarce miss Cadby Hall or its inhabitants.
Aeden’s voice broke into her reflections.
“We will stop a bit further up the trail.”
She almost agreed, but then a troubling notion occurred. “We are stopping to water the horse?”
As she feared, he shook his head. “No, we will make camp. I know of a cave nearby that will give us adequate shelter.”
Speechless, it seemed forever before she could form words. “Uhm — where shall I sleep?”
His look was unfathomable. “With me, of course.”
Chapter Five
Shrouded in darkness, Elisande tipped her head back. The brilliant
Similar Books
My Texas Sweetheart (book one)
Pauliena Acheson
Cheri Red (sWet)
Charisma Knight
Angel Stations
Gary Gibson
Wings of Lomay
Devri Walls
Five Parts Dead
Tim Pegler
Can't Shake You
Molly McLain
A Cast of Vultures
Judith Flanders
Charmed by His Love
Janet Chapman
Through the Fire
Donna Hill
The Hen of the Baskervilles
Donna Andrews