The bad weather was concerning. They quickly gathered the few things they had after Rhys slipped on the priest’s robes, and they started toward Burntisland. Maggie seemed contemplative, and Rhys imagined she was thinking about her future, or possibly her sister, or the man she had killed, or even Rhys himself. When he woke that morning, he’d assumed he’d be struck with homesickness, a desperate desire to return to his time, but he hadn’t been. He didn’t even need to question why. He knew Maggie was the reason he wasn’t constantly thinking of going back. It was crazy. There wasn’t another word for it. There was no future for them. But here they were, together, headed toward God only knew what, and all he could think about was that he wanted her to believe him.
He stole a sideways glance at her, and the worried expression on her face tightened his chest. That and the fact that her lips looked slightly blue. “Are you cold?”
She nodded. “Freezing.”
“Do you mind?” he asked, lifting his arm, so she could slip under it. When she gave him a skeptical look, he said, “We’ll both be warmer.”
She bit her lip but moved closer to him. He dropped his arm over her slender shoulder, and he felt her trembling. “I wish I had a blanket to give you, but if you put your arm around my waist it will help warm you up.”
She did as he suggested. Their embrace immediately slowed them down, but he decided the slower pace was worth it for a bit if she could get a little warmer. Besides that, the terrain here was relatively flat and the woods were not too overgrown.
“Are we on a trail?” he asked.
“Aye, but it is nae frequented verra much, so I do nae think we will encounter the baron or any of his men. This area of the woods is rife with thieves, however, because it is so far from the main path.”
“You might have warned me,” he said, his hand instinctively brushing over the part of the habit that hid his stolen sword.
“I just did,” she said with a chuckle.
He looked at her, found her head tilted up to him, and he smiled. She returned it with a grin that caused two dimples to appear on her cheeks. “You have a lovely smile,” he said, the radiance of it heating him just as well as the sun would on a blazing July day in New Orleans. An undeniable undercurrent of desire for her laced his tone, and her sudden sharp intake of breath told him she’d heard it, too.
“Thank ye,” she said, her voice a near whisper and her wide eyes locked on him.
He wanted to kiss her. No, not just kiss her. He wanted to do much more than that. He wanted to run his hands all over her body and memorize each dip, each curve, each long length of muscle, each peak of her breasts. He wanted to dance his fingers over her collarbone, then whisper down her graceful neck to trace them light as a feather over every inch of her bare skin to tease and torment her with the promise of what was to come.
What he wanted to do with her was not something women in this age did unless they were married, so he shouldn’t even be thinking it, but now that it was in his head, he couldn’t stop.
Their progress had all but halted now, and as much as he did not want to let her go, keeping her so close was too distracting. They’d never make it to the inn before nightfall at this pace. “I think we better—”
“Aye,” she rushed out and ducked under his arm with such agility that it was as if she were running from a wolf. Maybe she was. He did feel like devouring her body. Damn it, his desire had not only returned but had done so full force.
On impulse, he grasped her fingers and threaded them with his. It made him feel better to know he had a hold of her. He told himself it was protection for her if thieves appeared, but he knew it was a lie. “Is this okay?” he asked at her frown.
“Aye,” she said shyly, making him wonder once more if she had ever been kissed or even held hands before.
What the hell are you doing, Rhys?he scolded himself. He may not be dying to leave yet, but he would if he could when he found his mom. He had to bring her to his father and his brothers, if they were still in the future. He needed to focus. He literally did not belong here. He would leave Maggie, and he’d already upturned her life enough. But he couldn’t get his fingers to uncurl from her hand. Those ten digits had developed a will of their own, and apparently, that will was made of the world’s strongest steel.
“The ground is slick,” he offered as a flimsy excuse for both of them to cling to, but since the incline was growing steeper, it worked. “I don’t want you to fall,” he added. Christ, if his brothers could see him now they’d give him so much hell for his lack of game. He felt like a gangly teenager trying to talk to a girl for the first time. He gave himself a mental shake.
“Aye,” she agreed readily, almost eagerly to his ears, but then he didn’t think he was in a very good frame of mind to judge her attitude. He was probably hearing what his ego wanted him to.
As they wound down the trail, he pushed branches out of their path, clumps of snow falling to the ground as he did, and he tried to ensure her footing was steady. “If yewerefrom the future, as ye claim, and ye studied the history of Scotland, I imagine ye’d be able to tell me what is going to happen. Ye say the Maid of Norway will nae be queen, but then who will rule our land?”
Her voice was tight, revealing her fear, and while he wanted to convince her he was speaking the truth, the desire to shield her rose strong within him. His pulse sped, and his muscles tensed. Would it hurt her to know the future? He honestly didn’t know. It might very well change the course of her life.
The ground leveled out, and they came to a stream. Its stones barely peeked out above the surface of the water, but they were just high enough that he and Maggie could jump from stone to stone without immersing their feet in the water. He didn’t know about hers, but his were cold, and the possibility of frostbite was a real one. He stopped in front of the stream, released her hand so they could cross, and turned to her. Her beauty hit him like a semi driving full speed into his chest.
“You’re a sight, you know,” he said before he could think better of it.
Her hands fluttered to her hair. “I’m certain I am,” she said, patting her damp red locks, which clung to the creamy column of her neck like a fiery snake. It was the most alluring thing he’d ever seen. “My sister says my hair looks like a tumble of birds nested in it.”
He had meant it to be a compliment not a criticism, and his heart squeezed that it hadn’t come across as one. “You misunderstood me,” he said, impulsively cupping her right cheek. The feel of her silken skin sent his blood shooting through his veins like lightning. “I think you look beautiful.”
“Och, ye must be blind. I have freckles, my nose is too small, and my lips too plump.”
“I see you perfectly, and if anyone will attract attention at that inn, it will be you. Mark my words.”
She arched her eyebrows, a teasing smile pulling at the edges of her lips. “Is this a wager?”
