“Why?” she asked with a teasing lilt. “Because ye cannae control yerself around a woman?”
He leaned close, his lips by her ear. “Because if I stop controlling meself, ye willnae be able to handle it.”
Her laugh was soft and breathy. Then, she did it again. She took a deep breath and shifted again, pressing herself fully against him.
Alasdair clenched his jaw. He could feel the heat building in his groin and his body betraying him without shame. It didn’t take much time for him to strain hard against the small of her back.
God, he wasn’t sure how much of this he could handle, but the heat continued to build. He felt the first twitch with her hips remaining tucked between his thighs. The feeling sent jolts of lightning down his spine.
He ground his teeth, his fingers clenched around the reins. “Sit still,” he growled into her ear, but it came out lower than he meant.
Every movement of the horse rubbed her against him. Against the part of him he was struggling to ignore.
Her hand reached behind and tugged him closer. Their faces hovered close enough that he could feel her breath on his cheek, and he stared at her mouth.
Then, before he could speak—hell, before he could blink—sharp pain splintered across his thigh. He cried out, his voice echoing through the trees. The horse jolted beneath them, nearly throwing them both.
Lily jumped off immediately and rolled away. She hit the ground hard, but was already back on her feet, her skirts billowing behind her as she ran into the dark forest surrounding them.
“Lily!” he bellowed.
Nathan and the others turned their horses sharply.
“Keep riding!” Alasdair shouted through gritted teeth. “Keep going!”
Pain throbbed through his leg. The dagger was buried deep, the hilt slick with blood. He grabbed it with one hand and yanked. His breath caught, and pain, almost as hot as fire, surged through his muscles.
Nathan rode up beside him, wide-eyed. “Me Laird?—”
“I said, go.”
“She stabbed ye!”
“Aye,” Alasdair hissed. “And I’ll deal with it.”
Nathan started to protest.
Alasdair slid off the saddle, nearly falling when his boot hit the ground. His leg burned, and each step felt like a curse.
“She’s me wife,” he growled. “If anyone is bringing her back, it’ll be me.”
He tied the horse to a nearby tree and limped toward the trees, blood dripping down his boot.
“Ye want a chase, Lily?” he muttered. “I’ll give ye one.”
Branches scraped at her arms as she ran, but she didn’t stop. Her lungs burned, and the hem of her skirt tangled around her legs. Yet, she pushed forward, grateful for the dagger now gone from her hands.
A part of her did wonder how long it would take her to get away. She should be hearing hoofbeats by now. Alasdair should have sent his men right behind her. They should be hot on her trail.
So why couldn’t she hear them?
She had little time to think and less time to hide. The woods were thick, and the moon had vanished from the sky. It was tucked behind clouds or mountains, and every step she took was taken in blind faith. She stumbled once, caught herself, and darted behind a thick old tree. The bark was rough and cold beneath her palms.
She waited, her heart beating hard in her chest. Nothing could be heard except for the sound of crickets and the occasional flutter of wingbeats through the trees. Other than that, there was only silence. The kind that seemed to press on even harder as she struggled to steady her heartbeat.
She was about to rise to her feet and continue running when she heard him.
“I am wounded, Lily,” Alasdair’s voice rang out. Not far, but not close either. He had to be nearby. “But ye ken me. If ye really think a mild injury will stop me, ye have another thing coming.”
