“Aye, often.” He bit back a groan when she tugged at his belt.
“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Eyes the color of sapphires, awash with concern, met his.
“Nay,” he muttered. Brushing her hands aside he undid his belt, dropping it to the floor. She inched his plaid lower, exposing the wound, explor
ing with a firm yet gentle touch. Meeting his eyes, she low
ered hers quickly, and he wondered if she could see the desire in his. He didna’ doubt it was there. He wanted her with a
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need that surprised him. Closing his eyes, he imagined his wife, tiny and fragile, so slight and delicate. The memory of Brianna served to dampen his desire for the woman on her knees between his thighs.
“Are you al right?” she asked, the timbre of her voice low and husky. She cleared her throat. “Lord MacLeod?”
“I’m fine, lass,” he said. “Are you finished with yer pokin’?”
“Yes.” She patted his knee and rose to her feet. “I’m sur
prised at how wel you’ve healed. It’s quite amazing actu
al y. You’l be as good as new in no time. Now, if you don’t mind, I had better get back to your men.” She retrieved his belt and handed it to him.
Rory adjusted his plaid. “I’d like a word with you first.”
He studied her, watching for a reaction.
“Oh.” She smoothed her hands over her gown. Biting the inside of her cheek, she looked at him.
“Fergus tel s me you were abducted by the lowlanders.”
“Umhmm,” she murmured, twisting the long length of her braided hair between her fingers.
“Does it trouble you to speak of it?”
“No.”
“They didna’ hurt you, did they?”
She shook her head, perfect white teeth worrying her ful bottom lip.
“Lass, look at me.” He stood up and tilted her chin, forc
ing her gaze to his. “You can tel me.”
“No one hurt me.”
He dropped his hand to his side. “How did you escape?”
“I . . . I don’t remember.” She dipped her head. “I think I must have hit my head.”
Rory framed her face with his hands, searching her eyes. She sucked in a startled gasp when he ran his fingers through her hair, probing her scalp. Her braid came undone, 48
and silken tresses slid between his fingers. “I canna’ feel anythin’. Are you certain you hit yer head?”
She nodded, steadying herself with a palm pressed to his chest. He could stop; he had explored every inch of her head, but he didn’t want to, not when she felt so good lean
ing against him. He inhaled her soft, sweet fragrance, barely resisting the urge to bury his face in the delicate column of her neck. With a concerted effort, he brought his hands to rest on her shoulders.
“Aileanna, you ken as laird to the MacLeod clan ’tis my duty to see to their protection.”
She took a steadying breath, her breasts rising within the confines of her gown. Pul ing his gaze back to her face, he sighed. “Look at me, Aileanna.”
She stiffened. Raising her chin, she took a step away from him. “I’m not a danger to you or your clan, Lord MacLeod, if that’s what you’re implying. In fact, quite the opposite. I think I’ve cared very wel for al of you.” A flash of temper flared in her eyes as she held his gaze.
“Aye, you have, and I thank you for that. I was remiss not to thank you earlier, but it seems someone decided to knock me out.” He tilted his head, looking down at her. She rol ed her eyes. “So, Iain was right. He said you wouldn’t be happy about that.” She shrugged her shoul
ders. “I had no choice. You were thrashing about and other than tying you to the bedposts, which probably wouldn’t have worked anyhow, it was my only option.” Her gaze traveled the length of his body, a delicate flush of pink tint ing her cheeks.
“No man likes to be drugged, lass, especial y a man re
sponsible for others.”
She gave an unladylike snort. “And what do you think you could have done in the condition you were in?”
“More than most,” he answered truthful y.
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