Page 23 of The Laird's Masked Passion

“I kent that.”

“Naturally.”

She twisted it incorrectly. He reached over and covered her hand with his before thought could stop him. Her fingers went still beneath his and a brief, dangerous silence opened between them.

Then she pulled her hand away. “I have it now.”

“Aye,” he said, and let her.

Niall began saddling the horse, pretending not to have noticed anything, which meant he had noticed everything and would be insufferable about it later.

The camp came apart quickly after that. Before the sun rose fully, the hidden place looked almost untouched. Colin mounted first, then looked down at Elspeth. She stared at his offeredhand, then at the horse, then at Niall, who had the wisdom to turn away and hide his smile.

“If this beast attempts impropriety again,” she spoke indignantly, “I shall hold ye responsible.”

“The beast?” Colin asked.

“All males present may consider themselves warned.”

Niall coughed. Colin leaned down, caught Elspeth’s waist, and lifted her before she could turn the matter into a parliamentary debate. She landed before him with a stiff breath.

He gathered the reins. Niall mounted beside them, still smiling faintly.

As they rode from the trees into the cold silver of morning, Colin felt Elspeth’s tension through every inch of careful space she tried to preserve. She did not trust Niall. She did not trust him. Perhaps she never would. But she had lowered the dirk.

For now, Colin accepted that as victory enough.

CHAPTER SEVEN

By the time the sun stood properly above the hills, Elspeth decided there was far too much outdoors in the Highlands. It rose around her in endless, unreasonable abundance of slopes of heather, damp stone, dark pines, distant mountains wearing mist like old ladies wore shawls. The road became narrower, rougher, and far less respectful of her bones. Every hour upon the horse taught her some new discomfort, and every hour pressed her back against Colin MacKenzie until propriety seemed less a rule of society than a luxury enjoyed by people who were not fleeing murderers.

Niall had ridden ahead some time before to watch the bend of the road, leaving her with Colin and the horse, neither of whom showed any tenderness toward her present suffering. Then, without warning, Colin drew the beast from the path toward a bright break in the trees.

“What are ye doing?” she demanded.

“Stopping.”

“I can see that. I object tae the practice of the word.”

He did not answer, which she had learned was a favorite masculine habit when a woman’s argument was inconveniently sensible.

The trees opened, and the loch appeared before them, lying blue and silver beneath the morning sun. It was a beautiful place, which annoyed her at once. Beauty had no business appearing when she was tired, frightened, bruised from the saddle, and married against her will to a man who looked as if he belonged in the sort of wild landscape that ate lesser men for breakfast.

Colin dismounted.

Elspeth remained seated, glaring down at him. “We are being hunted.”

“Aye.”

“We are on a road which may or may nae be safe.”

“Aye.”

“Me maither’s fate remains unknown.”

His expression altered, but only slightly. “Aye.”

“And yer conclusion, from these excellent reasons fer haste, is that we should admire water?”