“The weather hadna turned when we boarded,” Aileen added.
“Well, it certainly has now.” Rory dropped the horses’ reins and walked to the door of the cottage to find it locked. For a moment he contemplated breaking down the door and lighting a fire to keep them warm until the storm blew over, but he quickly abandoned the idea after he looked in the window. The place had one room and housed a table and a single chair. There was no bed, nor could he see any cabinets that might hold cooking utensils or food. It appeared that it was used strictly as a drop-off point.
He glanced up at the sky. He could barely make out dark-grey, leaden clouds beyond the still-swirling snow. The storm wasn’t going to abate anytime soon.
“Can we stay on the boat?” Juliana asked with about as much enthusiasm as one asking if a surgeon was available to remove a tooth.
He shook his head. “The ship’s already slapping against the dock with the wave actions. The captain will be untying the lines in a minute or two and anchoring it in the safety of deeper water. The boat will roll and pitch all night, and ye’ll be sick for sure.” She looked as though she were going to argue, so he added, “Besides, there is nae room for the four of us and the eight crewmen below.”
Greer giggled. “I doona think our da will be pleased if we spend the night with sailors.”
He wanted to tell her he was pretty sure MacDonnell would not be pleased to find out what his daughters had done in the first place, but this was not the time to bring that up.
“What are we going to do, then?” Juliana asked.
Aileen grinned as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “I would suggest we go home.”
“An excellent suggestion,” Rory replied. “And the sooner we get started, the better.”
Juliana drew her brows together. “We only have two horses.”
Both MacDonnells blinked at her.
“We can ride one of your horses,” Aileen said.
“And ye can ride with Rory,” Greer added with a smirk.
Rory held his breath, waiting for the explosion that would no doubt erupt from Juliana. He still wasn’t sure what had gotten her temper roiling, but he suspected it had not calmed down. Riding pillion with him was probably the last thing she wanted to do.
And, diabolically, his cock decided it would be very nice indeed.
…
Juliana had always thought hell would be hot. The clergy described it as a continually burning fire pit into which the condemned were thrown to suffer but never die.
Now, Juliana had discovered the truth. Hell was a frozen world with bone-chilling winds and biting pellets of ice lashing at her exposed face.
Or maybe not. Maybetruehell was being held firmly against Rory’s hard body by arms that felt like steel, while her own insides were turning to mush. He had looped the reins loosely around the pommel since there was no fear that Baron was about to gallop off, given that both horses were hanging their heads to avoid the blowing snow and moving at the pace of three-legged turtles. That left Rory’s hands free to grasp her upper arms, which he was now stroking beneath the plaid that he’d wrapped both of them in. That movement was causing a pleasant tingle to spike through her arms to odd parts of her body. If she turned her head to rebuke him, she’d wind up with her mouth inches from his, and he might interpret that as… Well. She certainly didn’t intend for him to think she wanted a kiss. She hadn’t quite been able to put the first one out of her mind, not that it had meant anything to him. Oddly, it had felt warm and firm, but not harsh like that time… She pushed that thought firmly away. In any case, it probably wasn’t wise to try to speak. Inhaling too much of the bitterly cold air could lead to the ague or lung fever.
“Are ye getting warmer?”
She felt his breath against her ear as he asked the question and realized that his chin was tucked on her shoulder. Thank goodness she hadn’t turned around or their lips really would have been touching.Would they be warm?She chided herself. She didn’t need to be thinking about kissing Rory MacGregor. Again. Hadn’t she just told herself that she didn’t need to be remembering his kiss at the Camerons’, either? That had been done out of necessity, even if it had been unexpectedly pleasant. She’d admit that he certainly knewhowto kiss. He had made her tingle… No. His rubbing her arms was making her tingle. She managed to refrain from giving an unladylike snort. Of course the man knew how to kiss. He’d probably had lots and lots of experience. She needn’t even question that premise, sinceCousin Moragwas obviously still pining for him. No doubt she’d be warming his bed this evening.
“I am fine.” What else could she say?The weather is lovely?
However, Juliana was beginning to feel too warm, in spite of the miserable storm raging around them. The oily wool of the tartan kept the wet cold out and kept the warmth in. She could feel Rory’s body heat now, surrounding her like a warm blanket and seeping through to her very bones. Then came the realization that him rubbing her arms was bringing circulation back. She felt herself blush, glad that he couldn’t see her face and equally glad she hadn’t rebuked him for trying to take advantage of the situation. There was no situation other than they were in the midst of a blizzard and he was more than likely trying to keep her from freezing—literally. Still… She made a soft mewling sound at how good it felt.
Perhaps she had been a bit harsh in her judgment of him. Even if his paramour awaited him at Invergarry, he was still being considerate and making sure that she would arrive without frozen appendages. She was actually beginning to feel comfortable and finally relaxed against him, enveloped in a safe cocoon of warmth and the scent that was uniquely him. She let her breath out slowly. Did she dare trust him? She was confused. She’d never allowed any man to be this close to her, and yet, her mind wasn’t shrieking warnings and her body was pressing against his.
Now an entirely different kind of storm began to rage inside her.
…
When Rory felt Juliana relax against him, he sighed with relief. The obstinate woman had sat as stiff and upright as a damn English general leading the troops. She’d looked as though she wanted to argue about even getting into the saddle, but since the MacDonnells had swiftly mounted Misty—he wasn’t entirely sure of their motives for that, since he’d caught Greer’s smirk—it left Juliana with no choice other than walking. Stubborn as she was, he’d wondered if she would choose that option. Not that it would have mattered. He’d simply have picked her up and placed her in the saddle anyway, although likely he would have been in for a tirade. Common sense must have prevailed, though, because she’d finally given a curt nod somewhere in his general direction and allowed herself to be helped into the saddle.
She’d pulled her cloak tight as he swirled the tartan over them in a protective wraparound. Then she’d tried to bat at his arms when he’d encircled her waist and pulled her against him. He’d instinctively done that to trap their body heat, but soon realized it was a grave tactical error, at least on his part. No sooner had he settled her rounded arse firmly in front of him than his wayward cock decided it should react. He’d subtly adjusted his own position so she wouldn’t notice, but it had been a rather painful ride since.
Nor was riding with his arms wrapped around her waist particularly helpful to his rapidly increasing libido. The placement offered a delightful opportunity to extend his hands and let his thumbs graze the underside of her breasts while his fingers fondled their soft roundness. To keep himself from receiving a well-deserved slap, he’d taken to rubbing her arms instead. At least there was a purpose for that, should she complain.
