“I say we make our way down to the tent, listen fer a minute to see if Brodie is inside and then slice a—”
Geordie glanced to the man with curiosity when he fell silent mid-speech. Eyebrows rising at the startled expression on theMacGregor’s face, he then turned to peer back at the tent, his own eyes widening incredulously as he saw that a gash had appearedin the back wall of the tent and a head was pushing out to look around. Geordie knew at once by the pale gold hair that itwas Dwyn, and the tightness that had felt like a hand crushing his heart since he’d woken to find her gone eased its gripa bit. She was alive. He couldn’t see her well enough from this distance to tell what shape she was in, but she was aliveand on her feet . . . and the smart little minx was making her own escape.
Grinning, Geordie watched as she glanced around. When her head disappeared back into the tent, he eased out of his crouchedposition and began to move silently forward through the trees even as the MacGregor did. They both paused again about twentyfeet later when Dwyn’s head appeared again through the slit. Geordie immediately scoured the area to both sides of the tentin search of any soldiers who might be a problem for his wee wife. He then glanced back to the MacGregor when the man suckedin a hissing breath. He was expecting to see one of Brodie’s men approaching or something else, but there was no one about.Following the man’s gaze back to the tent, he saw that Dwyn’s shoulders had followed her head out, and now her bosom was framedby the tent as it pushed out as well. The sun had set not long ago, and night was falling. It was that twilight hour whenit wasn’t quite dark, but not really light either. But what light there was seemed almost to be caught by her pale hair andskin where her gown didn’t cover it, and the sight of Dwyn’s beautiful breasts swelling over the top of her gown was enoughto make him sigh.
“Ye’re a lucky man, Buchanan,” Conn MacGregor murmured.
Geordie nodded as he watched her stomach and hips slide through the gap now.
“Most lasses would sit about waiting to be ravished or rescued,” MacGregor added.
“Me Dwyn’s no’ like most lasses,” Geordie assured him, and they began to move forward again as if by agreement.
Dwyn suspected that maneuvering herself through the slit she’d made in the tent was much like being born, though less messyand probably with less resistance than a body would offer. But then the tent also didn’t have muscles contracting to pushher out, but she made it through the slash she’d cut, and then stood to the side of it and glanced nervously around as shewaited for Father Machar to push his way out as well.
The priest was a slender man, but still bigger than her and seemed to have some difficulty forcing his way through the slit.Dwyn was beginning to think she should cut a cross slit in it to help him out when he suddenly stiffened, his eyes going roundwith alarm.
“Get back in here, ye bloody bastard!”
Sucking in a sharp breath of alarm at the sound of Brodie’s voice, Dwyn caught Father Machar by both hands and yanked withall her might. She threw her whole body into the action, but was still amazed when it worked and the priest suddenly shotfrom the hole. Dwyn gasped as Father Machar came crashing down on top of her, and then pushed him off and leapt to her feet.
“Come,” she hissed, grabbing his arm to drag him to his feet. Brodie was bellowing away furiously, and trying to push hisown way through the slit she’d made in the tent. Fortunately for them, he was twice as big as Father Machar and was stuck,at least briefly. Not wanting to stick around to see how long it would take him to break loose and tumble out after them,Dwyn caught the priest by the hand and dragged him after her as she rushed for the trees.
Dwyn wasn’t surprised when she glimpsed Brodie soldiers running around both sides of the tent after them. Faolan Brodie wasmaking enough noise that she was sure the entire camp was coming. Refusing to let herself think about what might happen toher if those jackals got their hands on her, she kept her head down and put all her effort into running. Within seconds theywere slipping into what little cover the trees offered. Running became more dangerous then, the ground suddenly uneven withroots and fallen branches to trip them up. Dwyn didn’t slow though, and didn’t look up either until she heard her name shoutedover the sound of the gasping breaths she was taking.
Finally raising her head, she spotted two large shapes ahead of her and nearly turned to swerve around the pair, until oneof them called out again. “Dwyn, love, this way.”
“Geordie,” she gasped, recognizing his voice this time. Squeezing Father Machar’s hand reassuringly, she managed to put ona burst of speed. The problem then became that she wasn’t sure which one of the two large shapes was her husband. Both menwere of a size, and she couldn’t see features or hair color in the dark woods, so she flipped a coin in her mind—left, right,left, right. Right. Dwyn rushed the man on the right, nearly running right up his body and into his arms. She realized themoment she caught a whiff of his scent that it wasn’t her husband. He smelled nearly as nice as Geordie, but different, andshe pulled back sharply.
“Lady Buchanan,” a deep rich voice full of amusement greeted her, “Conn MacGregor at yer service. Pleasure to
