Page 13 of Claimed By a Savage Scot
Because of Duncan, he told himself, trying to pull himself together. Still holding her close, hearing her soft breaths, he gave himself a stern pep talk. Resolved to keep himself at arm’s length for the rest of the journey to his keep, he gave into weariness and drifted off to sleep once more.
CHAPTER SIX
Catriona awoke suddenly, not knowing where she was. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, looking around her. Faced by wooden plank walls and a dirt floor, it came back to her in a rush. The hut. The storm. She realized she could not hear the rain. The storm must have blown over them.
Malcolm.
With a jolt of panic, she realized he was not in the room. Rising hastily, she threw off the blanket and made for the door, intending to see if the horse was gone. She had only taken a few steps when it opened and Malcolm strode in, bringing fresh air with him.
“Ach, there ye are!” she exclaimed, relief flowing through her.
The first thing she noticed about him was that he was fully dressed. The second was his hard, closed-off expression. She blinked at him, finding it hard to equate this stern-faced manwith the one who had so tenderly cuddled her and used his body to warm her enough for her to sleep.
“Where were ye?” she asked, suddenly aware of what a mess she must look, with her hair wild about her face and her dress all crumpled for sleeping in it. Her hands fluttered over her hair, trying to smooth it, though why it should matter she had no idea.
“Saddlin’ the horse,” he replied shortly. “Ye need tae get ready tae leave right away. With the storm over, Sinclair’s men will likely be out huntin’ for ye in the area. ’Tis nae safe tae linger.”
“Aye, all right.”
His abrupt change of mood unnerved her, but she decided not to challenge him on it just then. She was as keen as he was to put distance between them and Sinclair’s men.
“Well, I’ve naethin’ tae pack, so I suppose I’m ready,” she said, pretending not to have noticed the change in him. She figured it was not important, that the sooner she got to Castle Gordon, the sooner Duncan would send for her. Only when she was back at home with her brother and Elaina would she feel truly safe.
She rode astride behind him on his horse, forced for fear of falling off to clasp her arms around his waist. She tried to pay attention to the country they were travelling through, which showed evidence of the storm’s passing. Broken boughs lay strewn across the track ahead of them, a few trees had been torn up by the roots and lay like dying sentinels along the route. Therain had scoured the landscape, polishing the autumnal colors to an almost unnatural vividness.
It was beautiful, and she was glad they were heading away from danger at last. But as the miles passed, though she tried to direct her attention elsewhere, it always came back to Malcolm.
As they rode, Catriona could not help but be burningly aware that her thighs were wide open, and Malcolm was sitting between them! The situation was immodest in the extreme, scandalous even. Enough to make the Mother Superior frown if she could have seen it.
By necessity, her arms were clasped around his waist, feeling his hugeness and every ridge of muscle that flexed beneath his clothing. Her breasts rubbed against his back with every step the horse took. More shamefully still, though she knew it was positively sinful of her, she was enjoying it.
All this was made more excruciating by his withdrawn mood. He had barely spoken a word to her since leaving the hut hours ago, at dawn. She had no idea why and was not about to ask.
But by the time they arrived at a dangerous river crossing, she was almost at the point of screaming. Malcolm dismounted. Irritated by his silence, she stubbornly refused his offer to help her down, instead slithering awkwardly to the ground.
He shrugged, unconcerned. He let the horse, whose name was Warrior, feed on the green turf while he and Catriona stood side by side on the river bank, looking down at the racing torrent.
“’Tis swollen from all that rain,” Malcolm observed, raking his fingers through his hair, then rubbing the back of his neck as he considered the river. “I’ve never seen it this high up the banks before though. But we havetae cross somehow.”
“I take it there’s nay bridge,” Catriona said, looking fruitlessly up and down the bank in both directions.
He shook his head. “Nay, there’s nay bridge until the next village.”
“Wonderful,” she observed drily.
“Aye.” Silence reigned while he contemplated the water some more. Then he said, “We’ll walk down the bank a ways and see if there’s a shallower crossing point.”
Leading the horse behind them, he led her along the river bank, eventually stopping at a point where the river widened.
“This might be it,” he said, surveying the waters. “’Tis maybe nae much shallower here, but the water looks a bit less wild.”
Catriona nodded doubtfully and began to kirtle her skirts into her waistband, to keep them dry during the crossing.
He frowned down at her. “What are ye daein’?”
“What daes it look like? I’m gettin’ ready tae wade across,” she replied sharply.
He shook his head. “Ye’re nae goin’ across by yersel’. ’Tis too dangerous.”
