Part 7 (2/2)
Emma sighed. He had given her his blanket, yet she was still chilled to the bone. She couldn't help but remember how cozy it had felt to be curled up against him the previous night, how his lean, hard frame had wrapped itself around her, radiating heat like a coal stove on a snowy winter's eve.
That piercing yowl came again. She shuddered and edged even closer to Jamie. She had no way of knowing what sort of bloodthirsty creatures prowled this wilderness. Wildcats? Wolves? Bears? For all she knew, there could be a dragon stomping around in the crags above them, just looking for some tasty virgin to devour.
She stole one last longing look at Jamie before bending down and slipping the rope from her ankle.
JAMIE OPENED HIS EYES, going from deep sleep to sharp alertness with the peculiar ease that came from years of vigilance. going from deep sleep to sharp alertness with the peculiar ease that came from years of vigilance.
He was a.s.sailed by two immediate impressions.
There was a blanket draped over him that hadn't been there when he went to sleep.
And there was a woman beneath that blanket who hadn't been there when he went to sleep.
He blinked warily. Emma was curled up on her side facing him. Only a scant handspan separated their bodies, almost as if she had sought to get as close to him as she dared without actually touching him. Which touched him more deeply than he cared to admit, even to himself.
He was becoming accustomed to the dull ache that had plagued his groin ever since he'd been fool enough to abduct her. But this was a sharper and even more insistent pain, perilously near to his heart.
Her russet lashes were fanned against her freckled cheeks, making her look more like the vulnerable seventeen-year-old la.s.s who had sought love in London only to find heartbreak than the woman that la.s.s had become. Even with her arms folded around herself for extra warmth, she looked cold. She looked miserable. She looked lonely.
By waiting to send his ransom demand until they reached the higher climes of the mountain, Jamie had hoped to torment the Hepburn with h.e.l.lish visions of a Sinclair stealing what belonged to him. But now Jamie was the one burning, the one tormented by visions of another sort altogether-visions of Emma's pale, freckled softness beneath him, her lush lips eagerly parting to receive his kiss as she twined her arms around his neck, opened her shapely thighs and urged him to make her his own.
His mouth thinned to a grim line. No matter how eagerly she welcomed his kiss, she was still the Hepburn's woman. She didn't belong to him and she never would. He had no choice but to walk away and leave her to the cold comfort of her own arms.
She stirred. A frown furrowed her delicate brow. A sleepy little whimper escaped her parted lips.
Biting off a defeated oath, Jamie reached for her, drawing her up so that her cheek could rest against his chest. She nestled into the warmth of his arms with a throaty little moan of satisfaction, foolishly trusting him not to abuse the power he held over her. Before she was fully awake, Jamie knew he could have the laces of his breeches untied, Bon's borrowed trousers around her ankles and himself buried so deep inside of her she would never again be able to call her body her own.
But if he succ.u.mbed to that dark temptation, he would be no better than the Hepburn. He would have become the very thing he despised: a man who preyed on those weaker than himself, who was willing to destroy the very thing he desired the most just to keep someone else from having it.
He would have to remain vigilant if he was to extract himself from her embrace at the first stirring of life from his men. He rested his chin on top of her head and gazed into the darkness, knowing that dawn would be a very long time coming.
Chapter Fourteen.
EMMA AWOKE THE NEXT morning feeling surprisingly well rested. It was almost as if she'd spent most of the night nestled in a warm feather bed instead of sprawled on the cold, stony ground. Although the woolen blanket was tucked beneath her chin with painstaking care, Jamie was nowhere in sight. morning feeling surprisingly well rested. It was almost as if she'd spent most of the night nestled in a warm feather bed instead of sprawled on the cold, stony ground. Although the woolen blanket was tucked beneath her chin with painstaking care, Jamie was nowhere in sight.
She climbed to her feet, yawning and stretching her stiff muscles. A balmy April breeze had buffeted most of the clouds away, revealing a dazzling stretch of azure sky. Jamie's men were milling about on the other side of the campfire, breaking their fasts and making their horses ready for the day's ride.
At first she thought Jamie had decided to take her at her word after all and had failed to post a guard. But then she saw young Graeme lounging against a nearby boulder, pretending to whittle away at a block of wood that was growing more shapeless with each flash of his blade. When she started forward, he trailed a few steps behind, trying to look nonchalant. She was tempted to bolt for the trees just to see if he actually possessed the courage to stop her.
As she wended her way through the camp, her gaze instinctively seeking but not finding Jamie's tall, imposing form, his men gave her a wide berth. Several of them even averted their eyes as she pa.s.sed, devoting themselves to shoveling down mouthfuls of mealy porridge or waxing their bridles with renewed vigor.
She was only able to sneak up on Angus and Malcolm because they were too busy arguing over a hunk of scorched bannock bread to notice her approach.
”d.a.m.n it all, mon, I told ye there weren't eno' left for the both of us,” one of them was saying as he plucked the bread from his twin's hand.
”There would be if one of us wasn't ye!” his twin insisted, making a vain grab for the bread.
Spotting her, they lapsed into sullen silence.
Emma eyed their tangled brown locks and full lips with poorly disguised fascination. Their off-center noses even looked as if they'd been broken in precisely the same spot. ”So how do the other men tell the two of you apart?”
Pointing to each other, they said in perfect unison, ”He's the ugly one.”
”Oh, I see.” Still puzzled, she nodded politely and backed away, leaving them to return to their squabble over the bread.
”Watch yer step, la.s.s,” someone warned as she nearly backed right into the campfire.
She turned to discover Bon sitting on a rock, hunkered over a rasher of bacon smoking in an iron skillet. Although the meat was already scorched to a blackened crisp, he didn't appear to be in any hurry to remove it from the pan.
Following the direction of her glance, Bon glared up at her. ”Now that ye've stolen me britches and boots, I suppose ye'll be wantin' me bacon, too.”
Emma glared right back at him with all the affronted dignity she could muster. ”I didn't steal your britches and boots. Your cousin stole your britches and boots and gave them to me. And I wouldn't dream of depriving you of your breakfast, sir.”
Snorting, Bon stabbed the blackened strip of meat with the point of his knife and slapped it on a battered tin plate. He held the plate out to her, his impish face scrunched into a fierce scowl. ”Ye might as well go ahead and take it. I wouldn't want ye to shoot me.”
Emma hesitated, suspicious of any kindness on his part.
”Go on. I didn't have time to poison it.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. ”Yet.”
Emma accepted the plate and took a nibble of the blackened pork. She couldn't hide her grimace. It was like licking an ash can.
”Have you any more?” she asked, her stomach already rumbling a hollow protest. Ever since her papa had accepted the earl's proposal, very little had been able to tempt her appet.i.te, but suddenly she was famished. It had to be all the riding and the fresh air.
”Greedy wench, are ye? I would expect no less from the Hepburn's woman.” Still grumbling beneath his breath, he speared another rasher of bacon with his knife.
Before he could slap the meat in the pan, she stayed his hand.
”Please. Allow me.”
He eyed her suspiciously, then reluctantly surrendered the knife and the bacon into her hand, muttering, ”Probably end up with the blade stuck in me gullet for me trouble.”
She joined him on the rock and dropped the fresh rasher of bacon into the skillet. As it began to sizzle, Emma glanced over her shoulder to find the other men still giving them a wide berth. ”Why are they behaving in such a peculiar manner? It's almost as if they're afraid of me.”
Bon stroked his pointed black beard. ”It's not ye they fear, but Jamie. He's made it clear they're not to trouble ye or they'll have to answer to him.”
”And just what would he do if they disobeyed him?”
Bon shrugged one skinny shoulder. ”Probably shoot them.”
A disbelieving laugh escaped her. ”Jamie told me he considered his men his brothers. Do you honestly believe he would kill one of them over me?”
”I didn't say he'd kill them. I said he'd shoot them.” The perpetual twinkle in Bon's eye made it impossible to tell when he was joking. ”But ye needn't worry the lads'll think less o' ye because of it. He's also made it clear ye're not his woman.”
Jamie's woman.
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