"As do I. But first ... your promise."

"I'm no fool," she told him.

He lifted an ebony-shaded eyebrow.

"You're injured, you can't control your men, and you're all I have for protection. Why would I run?"

He lifted his head away, clicked his tongue and that moved the horse around a far wall and into a small cleared area framed by ruined walls and a fringe of trees. Once there, he loosened his hold and slid her to the grass. He motioned her towards the greenery, shadowed and private. She was pushing her way back through to him when she heard the thud as he fell off his horse.

Brielle was on her knees beside him quickly. She shook her head. "I was right. You're injured."

"Jesu'!"

The hunch of man cursed it, while the naked back he displayed flexed and moved. Brielle looked over four scars scoring his flesh.

"Can you move?" She waited long moments before he answered. And then she had to lean to hear it.

"Aye."

"Then do so. Before someone spots you." She stood.

"Is this ... what you call nursing?"

"No. This is called survival."

He sighed, shuddered, and started unfolding from the pile of limbs until he became a seated male with long legs before him, bare from thigh to socks.

"How bad is it?" she asked.

"I'm bruised a bit and numbed to deadness."

"Then recover quickly, Gavynn MacEuann."

He looked up at her through his lashes. "You ken my name?"

"Your brother never ceased talking. Or whining."

The jibe hardened his face, as well as everything else he'd put on display. She stepped back as he went to a crouch, using his arms for stability. And then he went to a stand, stretched, yawned, and then growled. And then he walked past her to the shrubs.

Brielle whirled, giving him privacy. But that was stupid. One kept their eyes on the enemy. Then they wouldn't have to rely on sound to locate them.

"Verra well, Lass. I'm up. Relieved. What would you have of me now?"

Brielle kept her back to him while shivers rippled all over her. She crossed her arms and glared at the wall. She refused to let him unsettle her. It made her reply harsh. "You're not injured."

"I dinna' say I was. 'Twas your summation."

A yell came from somewhere. Something about breakfast. Gruel. Griddle cakes fried in fat. Brielle's belly answered. It'd been two full days since she'd been put on bread and water. The single crust she'd saved was long gone. She studied the ruined wall and tried ignoring the man behind her.

"You thinking to run?" he asked.

Of course she wasn't running. The only thing that changed was his health. Brielle sighed, turned, and hadn't realized how close he stood. Her spin knocked her into him. Hands grabbed each arm; not to catch, but imprison. He lifted until her feet dangled and even if she had more than slippers on her feet, it wouldn't have done much as she kicked and twisted.

"You're fair ... vexing. You ken?"

He grunted several times until Brielle conceded. If he was injured it didn't affect his strength. She could only hope her father answered the message ... and soon.

Gavynn felt her give up, but that didn't loosen anything about his hold. He'd been right earlier. She was a beauty. Lengthy locks of russet-coloured hair covered her back messily, obviously needing a brushing. Nothing marred the perfection of her skin, either. Not one pock, freckle, or even a bump. He was alarmed even before he factored in her smell. He stood, breathing her scent, while his body reacted. She was definitely affecting him. His senses told him even as his mind ordered against it. She was his bargaining wedge. Nothing more. Touching her was foolhardy, holding her like this pure insanity. He almost wished for an injury vast enough to stay his body from the priming that happened. Hardening him. Gavynn pulled his hips back, hoping the sporran hid him well enough. He watched her catch at her bottom lip, tip her chin, and move her gaze to him, and then endured a roar that went right through his ears.

"You can unhand me now. Truly. I won't run."

Sarcasm filled the words. They still sounded of honey. Gavynn lowered his head and caught her inhalation of breath with his mouth. As he did the strangled cry that followed. If she hadn't turned it into a moan before flicking her tongue at his, he'd have been better able to stop the kiss and leave her be.

Maybe.

A hand snaked around his neck, fingers twined about the ends of his hair, taking him closer, and that's when Gavynn ceased anything resembling thought. All he could do was feel; firm breasts against his chest, the heft of her buttocks once he slid a hand to lift her, clenching and moulding her exactly to him, and the solid tremor matching her frame exactly to his. It wasn't just her moan riding through his senses as he sucked his way about her mouth, deepening the kiss into something tangible, raw ... urgent.

A hiss of air at his cheek stopped him. Gavynn went to a crouched spin, pulling his claymore while one arm pinned the lass to him. But it was only his man, James MacPherson, nodding at them before walking past to pull his arrow from a far tree. Gavynn was standing, his sword tip at the ground when James returned. The woman had moulded fully to him, her face hidden against his shoulder. Gavynn watched James note it.

"I'll be for paying that back," Gavynn informed him.

The man grinned. "I had nae other choice. You dinna' hear my call."

Gavynn shrugged. The woman moved with it. "Now that you've interrupted, what do you want?"

"Rory sent me. He averred you might need ... assist. I doona' ken with what."

Gavynn grunted.

"I'll fetch your repast. For the woman, as well. Try na' to miss me."

She jerked then started to shiver. Gavynn held her through it. He was still in a fog of want. He tried tamping it. She smelt of womanly delight and warmth. She felt better. She sent small snippets of air feathering across his upper arm. She was in a cling of provocation. None of it helpful. James nodded as if he realized all of it, before he turned and left, whistling the entire time.

Three.

Purgatory wasn't deep enough to hold the embarrassment and shock. It was enough that the combination sapped at her strength. Brielle hadn't any experience with passion and desire ... and with a Highlander? It wasn't fair!

She kept her head averted, pulling in gasp after gasp of his smell. Her skin rippled with shivers, her frame trembled, and it was difficult to breathe. She felt as tightly strung as a lyre, with every sense heightened and alert and tensed. She'd been kissed once, by a drunken lord who'd over-stepped his boundaries and received a slap for his effort. It was nothing like this. She'd never felt a whoosh of warmth so vast her entire being throbbed. Such a thing was immoral. Illicit. Unbridled. Wanton. And it just kept radiating outward, sending tremors with it. Why was it this man to do this to her? Within moments of time? Using little more than his mouth?

Brielle trembled and endured and worked at squashing a reaction she hadn't known existed. It was so mortifying, tears drilled at her eyes. She didn't know if she could face him again. Or his man.

"Lass?"

She shook her head slightly at the rumble of voice. The motion rubbed her forehead against his skin.

"You need to unhinge from me. A-fore James returns."

Brielle shook her head again. He sighed.

"Doona' take offence. I'm na' against tupping with you."

"Tupping?" The word was choked.

"Aye. With great force and passion. That sort of tupping."

Her eyes went wide.

"I'd na' thought a Sassenach wench would be so ... ardent. Or free. It ... makes me hard and readied for you. I vow, I've rarely felt such need. Canna' you face me? 'Tis difficult to speak to the top of your head."

"Don't say ... one more word. Not one." Brielle enunciated carefully and then stepped back. Nothing about the morn felt warm. It was cold. Harsh. Brielle wrapped her arms about her, looked up to face him, and ignored the lurch her body made. He'd lowered his chin, favouring her with a look she had no trouble deciphering. He hadn't been speaking of his condition idly, either. He was definitely readied for her. His plaid was distorted with size and hardness. All of which was shocking and frightening. And yet enticing at the same time. Brielle forced her eyes to stay focused on his face.

"Doona' look at me that way, Lass. You ken I canna' take you. Na' now. And for certain, na' here."

"No." The word sounded strangled but he ploughed right over it anyway.

"Cease looking at me that way. You doona' ken how 'tis."

"Nor do I wish to," she replied.

"What?"

His confusion was real. A line etched across his forehead with his frown.

"I don't wish ... anything to do ... with you," she clarified.

He crossed his arms about his chest, thrusting defined muscles into her line of sight. And then he pushed his upper body forward in an aggressive-looking stance.

"That is a lie," he stated.

"It is not." She tossed her hair for emphasis.

"You deny what your frame displays?"

His glance flicked to her completely covered breasts as if he'd find validation. Brielle moved her crossed arms higher and gritted her teeth so hard she heard the sound through her skull.

"I suffer ... morning chill," she told him.

"Morning chill?"

"If ... a lady is denied a bed ... and then forced to endure the elements ... she gets chilled." Her teeth were chattering. Her voice warbled with it.

"What's your name?" He surprised her with the change of topic as well as his gentle tone.

"Why?"

"So I have a name other than wench and lass."

"Either will do ... at present."

He grinned. "Verra well. I'll state it. You're the lady Brielle, heiress of Dillbin."

"No." The word warbled.

"Another lie? No wonder he placed you in his dungeon."

"How do you know I wasn't there ... visiting prisoners? Bringing broth ... a-a-and thick blankets to the poor souls?"

"Because you escaped with me. And only prisoners do that."

Brielle clamped her lips shut and fiddled with the bit of lace at her elbow.

"What does your father want with my brother?"

"I don't know." She bit her tongue the moment she answered, but it was too late. She didn't need his chuckle to verify it.

"That ... was too easy, my Lady."

Brielle lifted her chin and watched him for long heart-pounding moments. She didn't say a word.

"I'm hungry. James had best return soon. And with a full platter."

With that, Gavynn MacEuann sat down with the wall at his back and tanned bare legs before him.

The wench unsettled, annoyed, and totally frustrated him ... yet still he was hard for her. Despite everything he kept telling himself. Gavynn was contemplating the toes of his boots when James walked back around a section of vine-draped stone, carrying a wooden slab that sent steam into the air.

"Lover's spat?" The man asked it as he set his burden down, winking as he did so.

Gavynn regarded him without expression until the humour faded. "You'd be of more use checking on Rory."

"Nae need. They'll be back a-fore long."

"They could na' have reached the castle already."

"Dinna' have to. His lordship has men out. Armed and mounted. Spanning the demesne. Searching."

"Go then. Await word."

"I'd best stay here."

"Why? I'm na' much injured. Just a mite sore."

"You still need a guard."