The Chase

  It looked almost as if the dust were dancing in the sunlight, she thought with unaccustomed whimsy, determined not to admit even to herself she was relieved to see him here. That she truly hadn't meant or wished to see him harmed. Despite her cold words to Helen and Aeldra, she had worried. She'd felt guilty through the entire ride here. She was glad to see him alive and well. She didn't even mind suffering his hold. In fact, she couldn't help but notice they fit together rather nicely. Seonaid breathed in again and Blake murmured, shifting his arm in his sleep so he was definitely cupping her breast. His hand held her firmly, making her body respond in ways Seonaid wasn't at all used to and wasn't sure she liked.

  She tried to concentrate on the dust motes and ignore the tightening of her nipple and the liquid heat pooling between her legs, but nearly moaned aloud when he murmured something incomprehensible by her ear and shifted closer behind her. It was almost too much to bear--his breath, warm and ticklish against her sensitive ear, his hand tightening and squeezing her breast, the feel of his hard body nudging up behind her. She wanted to squirm and arch and writhe against him. But Seonaid's warrior training and discipline held her in good stead and she managed to force herself to remain still. Playing dead, her brother had always called it. Seonaid played dead, but knew--despite her exhaustion--she would not sleep with him pressed against her as he was.

  Chapter Seven

  Seonaid slept like the dead. When exhaustion finally overtook her, it dragged her so deep into sleep that she didn't awaken when the others stirred and rose, not even when Blake removed himself from her. For one moment, when she finally did wake up, she almost thought the memory of Blake's arrival had all been a dream. But then she noted the crushed straw beside her. It had all been real.

  Unsure whether she would prefer it to have been a dream or not, she sat up, then forced herself to her feet. There was much talk and movement coming from outside the barn. Seonaid supposed it meant that all the men had caught up to them now. She hadn't considered the matter when her betrothed had appeared but was pretty sure he'd been alone. She hadn't heard any sounds to suggest a small army of men were making camp outside the barn.

  As she had expected, the area between the cottage and barn was awash with men and horses when she stepped out into the sunlight. While Seonaid was sure they hadn't ridden in with Blake, it appeared they had arrived some time ago. Most of them were up and about, but--despite it being late afternoon--some were just rising from sleep.

  In the midst of all this noise and commotion, Seonaid spotted Helen and Aeldra. The two women were seated alone and appeared rather uncomfortable under the men's accusing glares. Seonaid almost moved their way to offer moral support, but she had some personal needs to attend to first. She turned her feet toward the path leading to the side of the river.

  Much to her surprise, no one stopped her from going or tried to follow her to the river's edge, but she understood why when she reached the edge of the river and found Blake already there, partially submerged in the water. She scowled at the back of his head, but when the man stood up the scowl slid away. Seonaid's mouth dropped open and her eyes widened incredulously. She'd noted Blake's fine figure the first time she'd seen him inside the chapel at the abbey, but he'd been clothed then. He was not now.

  Her gaze slid over his wide shoulders and strong arms with appreciation. He had truly magnificent muscles, she saw, as he reached up to slick the damp gold hair off his face. Every muscle in his arms, shoulders, and back seemed to shift with the simple action.

  Seonaid knew she should really make her eyes stop there--she felt sure a true lady would have--but she didn't. Instead, she let them drift down over his magnificent back to his equally magnificent behind and pause there to ogle him shamelessly.

  It was a wonder to Seonaid that she had reached the advanced age of twenty-four without noticing how beautiful the male body could be. Still, she supposed she was usually too busy noting what idiots men could be, especially when a woman was about. They often seemed to act like brainless twits when a pretty face and figure entered their vicinity. Rather like she was doing at the moment.

  The man was gorgeous. Seonaid couldn't recall ever having seen a more delectable behind than the one Blake was displaying. None of the warriors she'd been raised around had seemed so perfect. It wasn't flat and saggy like the one or two she had accidentally caught glimpses of over the years. Blake's behind was round and ... well, pert was the only word she could think of. It made her want to reach out and squeeze--

  "Are you going to stand there ogling me all morning?"

  Seonaid stiffened, her eyes shooting upward to find Blake still standing with his head turned away from her. She was sure he hadn't glanced around. There would have been some shifting of muscle to warn her, so it would seem he'd been aware of her presence since her arrival ... and no doubt his standing up had been an effort to shock her and scare her into rushing back to the camp, as any proper lady would no doubt have done. Instead, Seonaid had stood there and gawked at his nakedness like--

  "Well?"

  She let her thoughts scatter again and shifted to prop her hands on her hips with irritation. "Well what, Sassenach? How can I stand here all day when the day is mostly over? 'Sides, if yer goin' to put on a show, it seemed only polite to enjoy it."

  "Ah, so you are enjoying it? That is good to know. Then you will not be using the claim of deformities as an excuse to cancel the wedding?"

  She scowled at the smile in his voice.

  "But we had best be sure 'tis true of all." On that note, he suddenly turned to face her, and Seonaid found herself presented with a full frontal view of him from the top of his head to his knees. The rest of his legs were submerged under the water.

  "God's toes," she breathed, gaping at him. Had he mentioned deformities? Now she understood why. The man was deformed. He was huge. Her thighs squeezed together reflexively at the thought of him coming anywhere near her with the monster dangling between his legs. There was no way on God's green earth that he was sticking his sword in her sheath. Gad! Coupling had looked unceremonious, undignified, and uncomfortable the few times she'd happened upon couples engaged in the act. Seonaid had always wondered what all the moaning was about. Now she knew. It was pain. At least she was sure she'd be moaning in pain were he to try to--

  "You do not look impressed."

  The dry comment drew her gaze up to his face. He was frowning.

  "In fact, you look rather ... put off."

  Seonaid met his gaze for a moment, but it was all she could manage. Then she merely shook her head and turned to head back to the camp. Her horror at the sight of his member had managed to do what her lack of maidenly modesty had failed at. She'd been driven off from the idea of ducking her head underwater, something she had always found helped to clear her thoughts. Seonaid had hoped it would help her figure out a way to again escape her betrothed, but it would seem she would have to make do with a muddled mind for now. Even more muddled than she had been on first awakening, she admitted to herself. The man had distracted her mightily with his little display. She was now even more desperate to avoid wedding and bedding him, and desperation was always a bad thing when one was trying to form a strategy.

  "Are you planning on standing there all day?"

  Blake blinked at the question, an echo of his own words to Seonaid earlier. He peered over his shoulder to where Lord Rolfe stood at the river's edge and shrugged for an answer before turning back to the water and his thoughts. He had stood, lost in thought, since Seonaid had hurried back toward camp. The woman was an enigma to him. He felt sure it hadn't been any sense of maidenly modesty that had sent her running away--the woman had stared at him rather boldly until he'd turned and presented her with a view of his front. Blake hadn't been surprised. He'd spoken with Gavin when the two had ridden out alone after the three women and had learned more about her somewhat unusual upbringing.

  Gavin had proven to have much to say on the subject of his laird's daughter, and mo
st of it had been praise. Her mother had died shortly after the contract binding Blake and Seonaid together, and while she should have been looked after by one of the women after that, Seonaid wouldn't have it. She seemed to cling harder to her brother and father after the loss of her mother, as if afraid they too might leave her and "go to the angels" were they out of her sight. Angus Dunbar hadn't been able to stand his young daughter's sobs at being left behind and had taken both children with him whenever he could. Gavin had said the pair of them were like his shadows, hand in hand, trailing him about the bailey as he oversaw the warriors in training and took care of other clan business. When Angus Dunbar's brother was killed and his children, Aeldra and her brother Allistair, arrived at Dunbar, they too had joined the party trailing the Dunbar laird about.

  When Duncan and Allistair came of an age to begin training, no one found it odd that Seonaid and Aeldra joined in as well. Both females showed impressive skill and talent for battle, making up for their obviously lesser strength with intelligence and speed. Having been around the training field all their lives, and having roughhoused with their brothers for years, neither female shrank from the possibility of being injured. They both took up the sword as naturally as most young girls took up the needle.

  Blake had listened with fascination. Here was a woman like none he had ever known. Other than a couple of failed attempts by her sister-in-law, the inestimable Lady Iliana, Seonaid had received no training in the ways of a lady. She'd grown up running, battling, and hunting with the men of Dunbar, taught to fight with the specially made sword she carried, to shoot an arrow as true as her brother, and various other warrior skills.

  Seonaid Dunbar was as far from the delicate flowers of womanhood that littered court as his best friend and valued warrior Amaury was. The good bishop had not been far off with his comparison of the two, and while Blake had, at first, been horrified by the idea, now that he'd met the chit, he found her rather intriguing. Certainly she was more interesting than were any of the court flowers he had often dallied with. Beneath their soft petals and sweet scents, Blake well knew that those exotic flowers hid thorns ready to rend a man to pieces if given the opportunity. It was part of the fun for him, enjoying the pleasures they offered while avoiding the thorns, a task he'd found sadly easy to perform.

  Seonaid would be an entirely different prospect. She didn't hide her thorns and she had a fine, hard armor to stave off any unwanted approach. She also didn't seem overly impressed with his good looks, which had made conquests so easy for him in the past. Seonaid Dunbar would definitely be a challenge.

  A long-suffering sigh again drew Blake from his thoughts.

  "Sherwell--"

  "I'm coming." Blake interrupted what would no doubt be a complaint or order and turned to wade out of the water. "Are the rest of the men up?"

  "Aye. And the women."

  "Good. We shall head out directly then, and travel at least a couple of hours before making camp for the night."

  Rolfe didn't look pleased. "I would rather travel through the night, as we are now at least three and possibly four days away from Dunbar, thanks to all this nonsense. But I suppose none of us is really up to a rigorous ride today."

  Blake scowled over the reminder of their poisoning. Riding after the women with Gavin had been the worse sort of torture for him. They'd been forced to stop several times so he could stand by his horse, dry heaving. There had been nothing left for his body to purge, but it had definitely still felt like purging. Blake was a trembling, exhausted mess when they'd finally tracked the women to the barn where they were sleeping. Had Seonaid decided to fight him, he would have had a hard time stopping her. Thankfully, she'd not caused any fuss at all, but had heeded his warning and stayed put. Blake had almost been moved to thank her for it, but instead he'd merely dropped to lay next to her to recover some of his strength.

  He didn't feel much better today. He wasn't quite so weak, but his stomach muscles ached from their unaccustomed efforts the night before and he still felt a bit shaky. The very idea of food made his stomach roil threateningly and he didn't really feel up to traveling today at all. Blake doubted the rest of the men did either, but a slow, easy ride for a few hours this afternoon that would take them closer to Dunbar, seemed a better idea than sitting here all day and night waiting for Seonaid to come up with her next escape scheme.

  Blake grabbed his tunic from the branch where it had been drying and tugged it on with a grimace. Angus Dunbar's tunic no longer stank thanks to its washing, but it hadn't fully dried in the short time he had taken to bathe in the river. It was still damp and clung to him unpleasantly, which was better than the stench it had carried about with it earlier, he decided as he next grabbed the plaid. Knowing it couldn't possibly dry in the time it took for him to bathe in the river, Blake hadn't washed the woolen cloth. However, he'd hung it over a bush, hoping the wind blowing through it would remove some of its unpleasant stench. Unfortunately, the airing had done little good, and he wrinkled his nose with distaste as he caught a whiff of it.

  Muttering under his breath about the habits of his soon-to-be father-in-law, Blake laid the plaid on the ground and scowled down at it with irritation. It was the first time he'd had it off since trading for it with Angus Dunbar. And he hadn't a clue how to don the bloody thing again. Oh, he knew he had to pleat it and lay on it, but he wasn't sure what Angus had done to pull it on and fasten it for him at Dunbar. He had watched carefully but wasn't at all certain he could repeat the man's actions.

  "Need a hand with that?" Rolfe asked, and Blake wasn't surprised to see the other man's lip twitch. Rolfe hadn't been present when Angus Dunbar had helped him don it, which meant Little George might have mentioned what had occurred in the keep after he and the bishop had gone out. But Little George wasn't the sort to gossip, which left only Gavin or one of his men to have told the tale. Bloody Scots! Gossiping like old women, he thought with irritation.

  "Nay, I can manage," he answered the question with a touch of resentment. And he did intend to manage the feat ... one way or another.

  However, he was no more clever with his hands when he knelt to pleat the plaid than he had been at Dunbar keep. It didn't help that Rolfe stood there, seeming to loom over him as he knelt to attempt the deed. He was almost relieved at the excuse to stop his clumsy efforts when Little George came stomping out of the trees.

  "What is it?" Blake asked, noting the irritation on his first's face. Something had bothered the man mightily.

  "A band of men have ridden up. Campbells." He said the word with disgust, as if he actually knew the men in question, though as far as Blake was aware, Little George didn't know anyone in Scotland.

  "So?" Blake asked. "They are probably friends of Comen's too, and seeking a spot to rest on their travels."

  "Aye." Little George nodded. "But they have joined Gavin and the women at the fire, and Gavin is regaling them with tales of our troubles with keeping the women. The Campbells are finding it mighty amusing ... and they are flirting outrageously with Seonaid and little Aeldra." The last part seemed to upset Little George more than anything else, and Blake wondered if the man was attracted to Seonaid's cousin. Either way, if Gavin had been regaling the Campbells with tales of their troubles keeping the women in line, Blake would be the laughingstock of Scotland, he realized with a sigh.

  "I could do with a hand after all," Blake announced, gesturing to his poorly half pleated plaid. "Send Gavin down to help me with it."

  It wasn't until Rolfe had nodded and turned to walk back with Little George that Blake realized that might not have been the most clever tactical move. Now he would add the fact that he couldn't dress himself to the other tales. At least it would get Gavin away from the men and shut him up.

  "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath and set back to work on the plaid. He hadn't given a very impressive showing to date. Every time she managed to escape him, Blake felt as if he appeared that much less able in her eyes. He wasn't used to appearing i
ncompetent. He was a warrior, for heaven's sake. Lords all over England paid exorbitant fees for him and Amaury to bring their warriors out to fight battles for them. And now he was the focus of humorous stories, and couldn't even dress without assistance.

  " 'Tis quite odd really."

  "What is odd, Helen?" Seonaid asked the question in a desultory voice. Floating on the loch's surface, its cool water lapping at and caressing her naked body, she was too relaxed to work up any real interest in what the woman might be talking about. It was the first chance she'd had to relax since leaving the abbey. After the unfortunate incident with the poisoned stew, she had decided there was little chance the men would let down their guard again, at least not until they reached Dunbar. That being the case, Seonaid had concluded it might be best to simply allow themselves to be escorted back to her home, then try again once they were there.

  Fortunately, Blake had allowed Seonaid and Aeldra to carry their swords once again. Unfortunately, he was still insisting that the women ride with the men. Aside from drawing out the trip because they were forced to move at a slower pace to avoid overtaxing the horses, it had also made for a terribly strained ride. At least it had for Seonaid, who found it incredibly discomfiting riding double with Blake. She was terribly aware of his chest at her back, his legs rubbing against hers and his arms around her body. She had sat silent and stiff for the few hours they had ridden yesterday after leaving Comen's cottage behind, and through the whole day today as they had traveled.

  When they had come upon this small loch in late afternoon, Blake had decided they would stop early and set up camp for the night. Lord Rolfe had seemed annoyed, but Seonaid had been relieved. It might delay arriving home by a few more hours, but her muscles had been aching from sitting so tensely before Sherwell on his horse, and she had wanted nothing more than a swim in the cool water. She had been so eager for the treat that Seonaid hadn't even minded when Blake and Lord Rolfe had insisted the women needn't aid in making camp, but should go tend to their evening ablutions. Not that she expected the men would ever allow any of them to cook for them again, but the three of them could have helped by bedding down the horses and collecting wood for a fire. Were they traveling with her father and his men, they would have been expected to do so. They had grown up fighting to prove they were as strong, smart, and skilled as the Dunbar men. Treating them like fragile ladies was not allowed.