The Healer by Allison Butler Page B

but here. Why had she come alone to rescue Fenwick’s heir?
    ‘Come.’ He held out his hand to her, cutting off the multitude of questions crowding his mind. Her healing skills were all that mattered. ‘Place your right foot on top of mine and give me your right hand.’
    Her tongue peeked out to tease her upper lip as she contemplated his foot and then his outstretched hand. Heat rushed to his loins at the innocent gesture. Or was she practiced in the arts of enticing a man as well as herbal lore?
    ‘Your right foot is the one furthest away from Black.’
    ‘I know the difference between left and right,’ she said.
    ‘Then keep your tongue in your mouth and do as I said.’ His voice sounded gruff.
    Her lips thinned. She stepped forward and flung up her hand, the folds of her cloak parting as she lifted her leg. The moment her foot touched his, he grabbed her hand and pulled her up, twisting her about so she sat across his thighs.
    He ignored her muffled oath as she landed in his lap. Leaning forward, his arm brushed the soft mounds beneath her cloak as he grasped the reins. He heard her sudden indrawn breath, as heat burned his ears.
    William straightened and glanced at Edan, who lay watching them with a faint smile on his face. He looked at Donald and found a similar expression on the older man’s face. William scowled, giving Donald the signal to move, annoyed the woman made him appear the fool before his brother and clansman.
    They resumed their journey, holding to the same steady pace. William concentrated on Edan and the land they traversed, doing his best to ignore the woman wriggling in his lap. Impossible.
    ‘God’s teeth, woman. Keep still.’
    ‘I can’t. I’m going to fall.’
    ‘You won’t fall,’ he said, tightening his hold.
    She jerked forward, and her weight slid from his left thigh to the saddle between his legs.
    He stifled a groan, silently berating himself for his unwarranted concern. Riding astride had been painful for her and he’d draped her sideways to minimize her discomfort. He frowned. Why was her comfort so important to him? At least she’d stopped squirming.
    Had he frightened her when he’d shifted his arm or had she reacted to his touch?
    She sat stiff and unyielding, the delicate line of her throat exposed as she stared ahead. Her appearance was of a woman calm and confident in her situation, but William had noted the little contradictory signs. Her cloak had fallen open, revealing white fingers clasped tightly together in her lap.
    Were false impressions a façade she used often? Or only when she traded herself to free an English heir and was forced to tend an injured young Scot?
    ‘Why didn’t Fenwick come for his heir?’ William wanted to slice out his tongue the moment the words slipped free. It wasn’t his habit to ask questions. He always weighed a situation, made a decision and then acted upon it.
    ‘Why did you kidnap him in the first place?’ she said.
    ‘Do you always answer a question with a question?’ William silently groaned. Another question. But his curiosity was roused.
    ‘No. My...Lord Fenwick wasn’t there. He doesn’t know his son was taken.’
    ‘Where is the lad’s father?’
    ‘It was Truce Day.’
    ‘At Rockcliffe?’
    ‘Yes.’
    William knew of Truce Day. In the future, he’d likely have to participate in the proceedings, now he was laird. As the second son, he’d been tutored in sword fighting and defence, not crime and politics as his older brother Roger had been.
    But Roger was dead and the responsibilities of his clan now rested squarely on his shoulders.
    ‘Why did you kidnap Thomas?’
    Her soft-spoken enquiry broke into his thoughts.
    ‘The boy was there for the taking,’ he said, repeating Lachlan’s response when he’d asked the same question. ‘He was returned, unharmed, as promised,’ he said, annoyed by the need to reassure her.
    ‘So you said.’
    Did she doubt his word? Her opinion of him shouldn’t matter,