cross our land a rabbit would be spotted trying to set foot on McCray soil. Ian has men posted everywhere, waiting for Frankton to come for you.”
Suddenly, the sunshine seemed to fade a little, her joy in the beautiful day lessening. Unable to prevent it, Leanna felt a shiver ripple through her body, and she crossed her arms over her breasts in a gesture of self-protection. “I dread the moment,” she confessed, “that I am returned to him.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The long grass brushed her skirts as birds sang fitfully, filling the morning with sound. Glancing over at Robbie—at least a decade younger than the laird, at a guess, closer to her nineteen years—she saw him frown. “I am a hostage,” she elaborated, stating the obvious. “When the baron comes, he will exchange me for your father’s freedom. It is why I was taken from Frankton.”
To her chagrin, Robbie McCray burst out laughing.
Obviously, he had never been ogled by the repulsive Frankton, or locked away in a tower for weeks without human contact except frightened maidservants and impassive guards. She said sharply, “I am glad you are amused, but perhaps if you found yourself in such a position of helplessness, you would feel differently.”
Robbie’s mirth faded, and he looked at her with those intense dark eyes. “Do you really believe Ian will hand you over?”
“I . . . I was captured to free his uncle.”
“You were captured,” Robbie said evenly, “to bring Frankton here so Ian could kill him. I doubt he counted on becoming so enamored of your person, my lady, but I would wager my soul to the devil that he wouldn’t hand you over to anyone, much less a greedy, cruel pig like Frankton. Even if you were homely and covered in pox, he isn’t the kind of man who would let a woman be abused or degraded.”
Startled, suddenly vibrantly hopeful against her will, Leanna digested his words. It was true: Ian seemed to enjoy their nights together very much, but that was lust—lust he could vent on some other woman if he wished. She didn’t dare to dream he would feel more, though . . . if she admitted it, she had begun to hope so. Stopping abruptly on the grassy path, she demanded, “Why didn’t he tell me?”
Robbie shook his head, his smile sinfully attractive. The breeze ruffled the full sleeves of his white shirt, the garment open at the throat to show a hint of a bronzed chest. “He answers to no one. He’s the laird. I can tell you from personal experience that Ian is not used to explaining his actions. You have his attention in many ways from what I can see, but this particular conflict only indirectly has to do with you. It is between him and the baron.”
“What will he do with me?” she asked without thinking.
Next to her in the mellow sunlight, with his dark hair glistening blue-black and that slight, very charming smile on his face, Robbie McCray said softly, “I cannot say, my lady, as I do not speak for Ian. However, know this: If he tires of you or if you need protection in any way, my sword is ready and my arms are open. You need do nothing except send me word and I will come for you.”
A little off balance at that generous declaration and the open admiration in his eyes, Leanna murmured, “Thank you. . . . You are kind to someone you barely know.”
“It isn’t kindness,” he responded wryly, arching a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting, “which, after a week in my cousin’s bed, I think you probably realize. You are the most extraordinarily beautiful woman I have ever met. That aside, I have never seen Ian so openly infatuated. I admit it intrigues me. Why are you so different?”
The compliment flustered her, as did the way he looked at her, those dark eyes almost familiar, they were so similar to Ian’s. The heat in his direct gaze was also disconcertingly something she had seen many times before. He was audacious, she decided, the laird’s young cousin, and she couldn’t help but wonder
Suddenly, the sunshine seemed to fade a little, her joy in the beautiful day lessening. Unable to prevent it, Leanna felt a shiver ripple through her body, and she crossed her arms over her breasts in a gesture of self-protection. “I dread the moment,” she confessed, “that I am returned to him.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The long grass brushed her skirts as birds sang fitfully, filling the morning with sound. Glancing over at Robbie—at least a decade younger than the laird, at a guess, closer to her nineteen years—she saw him frown. “I am a hostage,” she elaborated, stating the obvious. “When the baron comes, he will exchange me for your father’s freedom. It is why I was taken from Frankton.”
To her chagrin, Robbie McCray burst out laughing.
Obviously, he had never been ogled by the repulsive Frankton, or locked away in a tower for weeks without human contact except frightened maidservants and impassive guards. She said sharply, “I am glad you are amused, but perhaps if you found yourself in such a position of helplessness, you would feel differently.”
Robbie’s mirth faded, and he looked at her with those intense dark eyes. “Do you really believe Ian will hand you over?”
“I . . . I was captured to free his uncle.”
“You were captured,” Robbie said evenly, “to bring Frankton here so Ian could kill him. I doubt he counted on becoming so enamored of your person, my lady, but I would wager my soul to the devil that he wouldn’t hand you over to anyone, much less a greedy, cruel pig like Frankton. Even if you were homely and covered in pox, he isn’t the kind of man who would let a woman be abused or degraded.”
Startled, suddenly vibrantly hopeful against her will, Leanna digested his words. It was true: Ian seemed to enjoy their nights together very much, but that was lust—lust he could vent on some other woman if he wished. She didn’t dare to dream he would feel more, though . . . if she admitted it, she had begun to hope so. Stopping abruptly on the grassy path, she demanded, “Why didn’t he tell me?”
Robbie shook his head, his smile sinfully attractive. The breeze ruffled the full sleeves of his white shirt, the garment open at the throat to show a hint of a bronzed chest. “He answers to no one. He’s the laird. I can tell you from personal experience that Ian is not used to explaining his actions. You have his attention in many ways from what I can see, but this particular conflict only indirectly has to do with you. It is between him and the baron.”
“What will he do with me?” she asked without thinking.
Next to her in the mellow sunlight, with his dark hair glistening blue-black and that slight, very charming smile on his face, Robbie McCray said softly, “I cannot say, my lady, as I do not speak for Ian. However, know this: If he tires of you or if you need protection in any way, my sword is ready and my arms are open. You need do nothing except send me word and I will come for you.”
A little off balance at that generous declaration and the open admiration in his eyes, Leanna murmured, “Thank you. . . . You are kind to someone you barely know.”
“It isn’t kindness,” he responded wryly, arching a brow, the corner of his mouth lifting, “which, after a week in my cousin’s bed, I think you probably realize. You are the most extraordinarily beautiful woman I have ever met. That aside, I have never seen Ian so openly infatuated. I admit it intrigues me. Why are you so different?”
The compliment flustered her, as did the way he looked at her, those dark eyes almost familiar, they were so similar to Ian’s. The heat in his direct gaze was also disconcertingly something she had seen many times before. He was audacious, she decided, the laird’s young cousin, and she couldn’t help but wonder
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