in his chest. With a wry lift to his lips, he surrendered.
“I dinnae suppose ye would give it another go? I usually have more care for a lass than that.”
Brianna shook her head, eyes narrowed as she noticed his aroused interest. “I dinnae want anything else from ye. I am leaving ye now.”
He shrugged, ignoring her pique, letting his eyes roam casually over every naked inch of her. Scowling, she backed away, stooping to her discarded clothing. She quickly dragged on the shirt and breeches, eyes boring into his, daring him to move. With a last look of warning, she turned and ran to the edge of the burn, tossing his sword to the side where it landed in the dark water.
* * *
Conn bounded to his feet the instant she turned, but checked when he heard the splash of his sword hitting the water, and his hesitation cost him the chase.
“ Shite !” Frustrated, he watched her vanish into the darkness, the shimmer of her long silvery hair flickering one last time before she melted into the moonlight and shadows among the trees.
He spent several anxious moments searching for his sword amid the weeds and mud, careful not to step on the finely honed blade. Irritated with the loss of the lass and possibly his sword as well, he ripped a limb from a nearby sapling and used it to prod the marshy ground until it struck against the submerged weapon. He rinsed the sword clean in the burn, wiping it dry with his plaide. Pulling on his clothes, he stomped up the trail to his camp, wondering if he should exchange his short sword for a claymore that would lend itself less well to the delicate hands of a silver-haired lass.
Bray sat at the edge of the fire, idly pushing at the dark red embers with a long stick. He glanced up as Conn stalked past.
“I see la mademoiselle is not with you.”
Conn shot him a dour look, but Bray merely shrugged. “It was not well done, mon ami .”
Conn eyed his friend, silently agreeing with him, but unwilling to admit his fault. He could not believe he had spent himself so quickly. But the exquisite pleasure had taken him by surprise. He was not unskilled in love-making, yet the one woman he craved had fled his arms, thinking him an insensitive dolt. His mood soured.
Bray sighed. “I do not understand, with my superior expertise with women, how they always seem to trip themselves over you.”
Conn showed his teeth in a smile more predatory than genial. “I dinnae try so hard as ye.”
Bray nodded, thoughtful. “No, you do not have to. Bon , I assume she is able to fend for herself now?”
“Leave it alone, Bray,” Conn growled. He flung a stick into the fire, muttering under his breath. Fortunately, Bray dropped the subject and said no more about the girl with the silver hair.
* * *
Brianna skirted the edge of a small loch, tripped and fell at the water’s edge. Within seconds, she was up and running again, not pausing to rest her throbbing ankle. She could not afford to stop, not while there was a chance of capture. Did he chase her? How long would it take to find his sword in the weeds? Unanswerable questions were shoved to the back of her mind as she concentrated on her breathing, running—escape.
And then, she had no more breath. Stumbling on weary legs, she threw her hands forward to break her fall. Her heartbeat pounding in her ears drowned out all other sound as she lay on the leaf-covered ground, too exhausted to rise. Her arms and legs shook with fatigue and she rolled to her side, suddenly overcome with nausea. Pulling up against the trunk of a nearby tree, she retched, shuddering with reaction. Gradually, her heart slowed and her gasping eased. The roaring sound in her head grew fainter and she became aware of the night sounds around her. Her skin felt damp and sticky with sweat in the early morning mist. At last she rose, gingerly testing her ankle. She winced at the dull pain, but decided it would do a bit longer.
Pink and yellow rays of morning lightened the horizon. As
“I dinnae suppose ye would give it another go? I usually have more care for a lass than that.”
Brianna shook her head, eyes narrowed as she noticed his aroused interest. “I dinnae want anything else from ye. I am leaving ye now.”
He shrugged, ignoring her pique, letting his eyes roam casually over every naked inch of her. Scowling, she backed away, stooping to her discarded clothing. She quickly dragged on the shirt and breeches, eyes boring into his, daring him to move. With a last look of warning, she turned and ran to the edge of the burn, tossing his sword to the side where it landed in the dark water.
* * *
Conn bounded to his feet the instant she turned, but checked when he heard the splash of his sword hitting the water, and his hesitation cost him the chase.
“ Shite !” Frustrated, he watched her vanish into the darkness, the shimmer of her long silvery hair flickering one last time before she melted into the moonlight and shadows among the trees.
He spent several anxious moments searching for his sword amid the weeds and mud, careful not to step on the finely honed blade. Irritated with the loss of the lass and possibly his sword as well, he ripped a limb from a nearby sapling and used it to prod the marshy ground until it struck against the submerged weapon. He rinsed the sword clean in the burn, wiping it dry with his plaide. Pulling on his clothes, he stomped up the trail to his camp, wondering if he should exchange his short sword for a claymore that would lend itself less well to the delicate hands of a silver-haired lass.
Bray sat at the edge of the fire, idly pushing at the dark red embers with a long stick. He glanced up as Conn stalked past.
“I see la mademoiselle is not with you.”
Conn shot him a dour look, but Bray merely shrugged. “It was not well done, mon ami .”
Conn eyed his friend, silently agreeing with him, but unwilling to admit his fault. He could not believe he had spent himself so quickly. But the exquisite pleasure had taken him by surprise. He was not unskilled in love-making, yet the one woman he craved had fled his arms, thinking him an insensitive dolt. His mood soured.
Bray sighed. “I do not understand, with my superior expertise with women, how they always seem to trip themselves over you.”
Conn showed his teeth in a smile more predatory than genial. “I dinnae try so hard as ye.”
Bray nodded, thoughtful. “No, you do not have to. Bon , I assume she is able to fend for herself now?”
“Leave it alone, Bray,” Conn growled. He flung a stick into the fire, muttering under his breath. Fortunately, Bray dropped the subject and said no more about the girl with the silver hair.
* * *
Brianna skirted the edge of a small loch, tripped and fell at the water’s edge. Within seconds, she was up and running again, not pausing to rest her throbbing ankle. She could not afford to stop, not while there was a chance of capture. Did he chase her? How long would it take to find his sword in the weeds? Unanswerable questions were shoved to the back of her mind as she concentrated on her breathing, running—escape.
And then, she had no more breath. Stumbling on weary legs, she threw her hands forward to break her fall. Her heartbeat pounding in her ears drowned out all other sound as she lay on the leaf-covered ground, too exhausted to rise. Her arms and legs shook with fatigue and she rolled to her side, suddenly overcome with nausea. Pulling up against the trunk of a nearby tree, she retched, shuddering with reaction. Gradually, her heart slowed and her gasping eased. The roaring sound in her head grew fainter and she became aware of the night sounds around her. Her skin felt damp and sticky with sweat in the early morning mist. At last she rose, gingerly testing her ankle. She winced at the dull pain, but decided it would do a bit longer.
Pink and yellow rays of morning lightened the horizon. As
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