Samantha James by His Wicked Ways Page B

short order.
    His prediction proved correct, yet he experienced no gratification. The soles of her feet were raw and bruised. In places the flesh was torn and bloodied. In truth he didn’t know how she could stand, let alone walk. He cursed her—and himself, for allowing her to continue to walk these many hours.
    They sat upon a small embankment that sloped to the edge of the river. Rising, Cameron retrieved a strip of linen cloth from the pouch on Fortune’s flank and walked through deep green ferns to the water’s edge. She looked like a frightened doe ready to bolt, yet she hadn’t moved by the time he returned. Her features, however, were decidedly nervous as he returned to kneel before her.
    His mouth grim, he wiped the mingled grime and blood from her feet as gently as he could. When hewas done, he slipped his dagger from the sheath at his waist. Her eyes flew wide, but surprisingly, she made no move to scramble back. Instead she clasped her fingertips before her. Dimly he noted her hands were dainty-looking and small, like the rest of her.
    There were several thorns embedded deep in the heel of one foot. With the point of the dagger he set about removing the first. She inhaled sharply, yet no protest was forthcoming.
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” His tone was brusque. “You could have ridden.”
    He raised his eyes suddenly. He had the feeling he’d startled her, but she didn’t glance away, as he suspected she would.
    “To walk was my choice.”
    In all his days, he’d never known a soul so stubborn! He snorted. “And a foolish choice it was, too!”
    Her chin thrust out. “I am not a simpleton!”
    His lips thinned. “What, then? Or will you tell me now how our Savior went to the cross with bloodied feet—how you chose to follow in His steps with your antics?”
    She gasped. “What? Do you dare to mock Him, too?”
    “Lady, I believe in the Lord as much as you. But in my estimation, those who seek to martyr themselves are naught but fools.”
    A glare burned hot and bright in her eyes. “And I begin to see why you did not heed His call, though I see why He would turn aside a MacKay—in particular one such as you!”
    Cameron’s jaw snapped shut. Why, the insolent bratling! She not only insulted his clan, but the man he was! At times he wondered if he’d stolen the wrong woman, for this was not the meek and timidmaid he’d heard tales of! One moment she was humble and trembling, timid and shy, the next she dared what no sane man would dare, unless he harbored an utter disregard for his life!
    His mood was suddenly black as the pits of hell. With a whistle he got to his feet, then plucked her from the ground like a duck from its nest. Fortune appeared, his ears pricked forward. Cameron swung her atop the black steed’s saddle and followed her up.
    “You will ride,” was all he said. Mayhap she recognized that he was possessed of little tolerance just now, for she did not argue…
    At least not yet.
    They continued several miles upstream. At length he halted near the water’s edge for a quick assessment. The river was wide, cut here with upthrusting boulders. Normally it was fairly shallow, but there had been rains in the previous sennight; though the waters had not overflown its banks, the river was swollen higher than was usual during the early summer months. Still, he and his men had crossed safely on their way to Connyridge, and he judged they would do so again.
    He leaped lightly to the ground, then pointed to a clearing across the river. “We will stop there for the night,” he said curtly.
    Her gaze followed the direction of his finger. He knew naught of the sinking flutter of her heart—that the sight of the calm, peaceful glade lent her no ease.
    “There? Across the river?”
    “Aye.”
    “But…we must cross.”
    “Aye!”
    She persisted. “There is no bridge? No other way across?”
    He mistook her dismay for stubbornness. “There is not. The river traverses east to west