Page 19 of The Protector’s Promise

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Court watched her go from the corner of his eye. It was for the best. Nothing good would come of giving into that which could not be. There were too many reasons not to kiss her.

She was a noblewoman and therefore a virgin. The exact kind of woman he had done well to avoid all these years. Even if it were not for the fact that she claimed they were mortal enemies . . .

Dammit.

Court reached her in a few strides. He grabbed her arm, spun her around, and pulled her toward him in one swift motion. When she parted her lips just before he lowered his own, Court’s body immediately responded, and he reminded himself to slow down.

His tongue showed her how to respond, and she did, opening her mouth almost immediately. Court took full advantage, his tongue capturing hers as his mouth slanted to the side for greater access. When her arms wrapped around him, Court pulled her closer.

She learned quickly, and soon the kiss spiraled deeper into a descent that would be hard to pull out of. He could not get enough of her. Court was desperate to tear off the travel-worn gown and touch every inch of skin beneath. In anticipation, his hands moved to her cheeks, wanting to come into contact with her smooth skin. He guided her, kissed her, and nearly lost himself to the sweetness that was Lady Marion of Ormonde.

Pulling away from her took every bit as much strength as lifting a broadsword for the very first time. Only his honor—and the horror of disrespecting her—gave him the ability to do so. Her lips, swollen from his kiss, were slightly parted. Her eyes, wide and bright, just as they’d been in his vision.

“My apologies,” he said, taking a step back.

“But I asked you to do it. What are you sorry for?”

Indeed, what?

“That we had to stop.”

Her look told him he hadn’t needed to stop at all. The reivers had obviously taken the main road or they’d have caught up with them before now. Only his honor had forced them apart at this moment.

“You don’t know what you ask for,” he said, realizing the truth of his words. Marion’s dazed expression told him as much. This was likely the first time she’d been thoroughly kissed. Experience told him where a kiss like that would lead, so it was his duty to stop it.

By God, he’d wanted anything but.

“We need to go,” he said before he changed his mind. Her expression closed down at once, and she merely nodded.

It was only hours later, when they stopped for a brief respite, that either of them spoke again.

“You’re hungry?” he asked, already knowing the answer. They’d eaten little, but if they continued to push on, he and Marion could still get to Camburg that night. They’d passed the only other keep between the border and Camburg Castle, an abandoned pele tower that was once fortified by Clan MacAdder, a clan no longer. This close to the border, only those with strong alliances and plenty of men behind them could survive.

“Aye,” she said, walking back toward him from where she’d seen to her needs behind a thicket of bushes.

“If we stop now, I fear—”

“I can wait.”

She raised her chin. But Court finally recognized the gesture for what it was—not haughtiness but pride.

“You are a remarkable woman,” he said honestly, wondering if she knew it.

“My ability is—”

“Nay.” He walked toward her. “I don’t speak of your ability but of you. For someone who has been sheltered much of her life . . .” He shook his head, not trusting himself to finish.

“You are not bad either . . . for an Englishman.”

He couldn’t help but smile. “High praise from the Protector of the Stone.”

Damn. Why had he reminded them both of their situation?

She didn’t look angry. Instead, she crossed her arms in front of her. “So are you the Man of the Stone, then?”

He wished he knew.