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The first light of morning spilled across the bedchamber. Duncan opened his eyes, squinting against the brightness, and rolled out of bed. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the mouth-watering aroma from whatever combination of foods were cooking in the kitchen below. The meal the night before had been excellently prepared, as he was certain the food with which they would break their fast would be.
Several quick knocks sounded at his door. "Please, there's something wrong with Lady Kila."
It was Wyn, Kila's lady's maid. "I'll be right there." He quickly dressed and hurried to Kila's room, where he found her sitting up in bed, looking disoriented and distraught. "Kila, what is wrong?"
"I cannae see!" she sobbed. Everything is but a blur."
"Open the window coverings," he ordered the maid. Once the room was flooded with light, he tilted Kila's head back and looked at her eyes. The centers were large and black. Poison. "Fetch the healer."
Wyn rushed out of the room, then quickly returned. "The landlord sent fer the healer."
"Lie down, lass, and rest. I'll stay right here." he whispered, smoothing her damp hair away from her pale face. Whoever had done such a despicable thing would sorely pay, for he would see they did.
"I'm so thirsty, Duncan. I can hardly swallow, and my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth."
Wyn grabbed up the empty pitcher. "I'll fetch more wine."
Duncan raised a brow. "You're no' telling me she drank an entire pitcher last night?"
"Nay, I spilled most of it, and she drank what was left, which wasnae much."
Which was a good thing, or else Kila would more than likely be dead. His chest tightened at the thought of how close he had come to losing her—and feared that he still might. "Leave that pitcher here, and fetch another filled with water. Bring a cup as well, and dinnae let anyone near them."
The maid gasped. "Ye fear m'lady has been poisoned?" she whispered.
He nodded. "Aye, I do. But dinnae let anyone ken, not even her stepmother. Only say she has taken ill, and naught more."
Wyn nodded, then left the room.
He lifted the pitcher to his nose, but smelled naught but spiced wine. That didn’t mean there wasn't any poison, for there were many that couldn't be detected by taste or smell.
Kila suddenly gasped and sat straight up. "I hear my father in the corridor. He will be most angry that you are in my bedchamber." She frowned. "Why are you here?"
He felt helpless, listening to her speak of her dead father as if he were still alive. "He'll no' be angry, lass. We're wed and I have a right to be here," he lied, in hopes of calming her.
Kila smiled. "I'm glad you are my husband, Duncan. I feel safe with you, and ken you will always take care of me."
His heart ached. If only he could have kept this from happening to her. "All will be well, lass. I'll see to it." He would keep his word, or die trying.
She shivered. "Hold me, Duncan. I'm so cold."
He pulled her onto his lap and cradled her against him, then wrapped the bed covers around her. Her heart hammered unnaturally. Another effect of the poison?
Wyn entered the room carrying a pitcher and cup. She filled the cup with water and handed it to Duncan, who lifted it to Kila's parched lips.
She greedily drank it, then placed her head against his chest. She yawned. "I'm so sleepy." She snuggled against him and closed her eyes.
The healer entered the room, followed by a worried looking landlord, who waited by the doorway.
Duncan stood with Kila in his arms, then gently placed her on the bed for the healer to take a look at. "I think she's been poisoned," he whispered.
She nodded, then gently shook Kila. "Wake up m'lady. "Tis I, the healer."
Kila groaned. "I'm no' in need of a healer. I just wish to sleep."
"She tells me she can hardly see," he said, taking hold of her hand.
The old woman grunted, and after taking a good look at Kila, she turned to Wyn." Did the lass get anything in her eyes?"
"Aye. When I spilled the wine, a bit splashed in her face, but m'lady quickly wiped it away."
The healer nodded, and looked up at Duncan. "Just as ye thought. Poison."
"Can you tell me what 'tis?"
"'Tis most likely deadly nightshade."
Fear stabbed at his heart. Nightshade had been the choice of assassins for many centuries because there was no smell, and the intended victim couldn't detect it in whatever they were eating or drinking. "Will she live?"
"Aye. She didnae get much, or else she'd already be dead. But the lass is going to be sick for a time."
"Will she be able to see clearly again?"
"Aye, 'twill, but wash her eyes several times a day with cool water until her sight returns. Allow her to sleep, but wake her often, and give her sips of whisky to purge the poison. 'Tis fine if she doesnae keep it down. Have someone fetch me, if she takes a turn for the worse."
He turned to Wyn. "Fetch the whisky."
"Aye," she said, then hurried away.
He leaned over and whispered in the old woman's ear. "With the lady's life being in such danger, I'd ask you to keep the fact she was poisoned to yourself." He pressed two coins into her wrinkled hand.
She nodded, then left, leaving the door open behind her, which was just as well, since he didn't wish people to think he'd compromised the lass. He frowned. Her betrothed might not approve.
A moment later, Verona sailed into the room. "What is wrong with Kila? Is she ill?"
He nodded. "Aye, she is, but the healer thinks she will be fine," he said, watching the woman's reaction, seeing neither agitation that Kila still lived, nor concern that she was ill.
She smiled and stroked Kila's pale cheek. "Poor thing. She must have consumed too much food at supper last night. The girl has such an unnatural appetite."
Duncan raised a brow. He didn't find Kila's appetite unnatural at all. In fact, she seemed but to enjoy her food, much as he did.
She scowled. "Where is Wyn? She should never have left my stepdaughter alone with you. Apparently neither of you had a moment's thought about Kila's reputation. If Laird Monro finds out, he'll be furious."
He didn't give a damn about what Laird Monro thought. "I sent her to fetch something for her mistress, and besides, the door is standing wide open."
Without another word, she turned on her heel and was gone.
He pulled a chair up beside the bed and watched Kila sleep. She seemed more restful than before, and he hoped that was a good sign she would recover, as the healer had said she would.
Wyn returned with a tray of food and goblet of ale for him, accompanied by a male servant with the whisky.
"Much thanks, Wyn."
"Might I speak with ye? About Lady Kila?" she asked, once the servant had left the bedchamber.
He nodded, and followed the maid to the far side of the room.
"I was the one what tended Lady Kila's father—Laird Murray—when he fell ill, and his sickness seemed to be the same as her own."
He frowned. "Are you saying he may have been poisoned as well?"
She nodded. "Aye. I thought ye should ken."
"Have you any thoughts on who might have poisoned the laird?"
Wyn quickly shook her head. "Nay."
"Much thanks for telling me, but tell no one else of your thoughts on the matter, even Lady Kila."
"I've told only ye."
"Good."
After waking Kila long enough to tend her eyes, and give her a few small sips of whisky, he sat down to break his fast.
Conner and Eadan appeared in the open doorway.
Connor looked down at Kila and frowned. "The lass is as pale as the mist. We just learned of the healer's visit. Did she ken what's wrong with her?"
Duncan set his food down, and left Kila's bedside, motioning for them to follow. "Poison," he said, keeping his voice low.
"What sort of poison?" Eadan asked, glancing at the bed.
"Deadly nightshade."
His friends looked astonished.
"If so, then why is she no' dead?" Connor wondered.
"Exactly what I asked myself. I'm thinking the poison was slipped into the wine, since learning from her maid the contents of the pitcher were spilled, except for a small amount—which Kila drank."
Conner shook his head. "Who would go to such trouble to kill her?"
Eadan raked his fingers through his dark hair. "And why?"
Duncan exhaled loudly. "I'm wondering that myself. There's more. Her maid tended Kila's father while he was ill, and thinks the symptoms are similar. If indeed Laird Murray was poisoned, the same person most likely poisoned them both. That narrows the list down considerably."
Eadan frowned. "That rules out Ranulf's guards, as well as Connor and myself—and you of course."
"Aye," Connor said. "Then who does that leave?"
Duncan narrowed his eyes. "Verona, Balfour, the two maids, and the Murray guards. And I sincerely doubt it would be one of the guards—or the maids."
Connor nodded. "Then it has to be either Verona or Balfour—or both"
"It seems that my gut feeling may have been correct."
They nodded in agreement.
"Put one of the earl's guards on each of them, but dinnae let them ken it."
"We'll keep you informed," Eadan said, before following Connor out.
While Duncan finished breaking his fast, he tried to think of a reason Verona and Balfour might want Kila dead, and naught came to mind. And as of yet, he had no solid proof that it was actually one of them who had poisoned her. Even so, he meant to keep an even closer eye on the two, for if they were responsible for poisoning her, how far might they be willing to go to see Kila dead?
***
VERONA POUNDED ON BALFOUR's bedchamber door, til he finally opened it.
"What the devil took you so long?" she snapped, as she marched into the room. One of the inn's young servant girls stood red-faced beside the bed, partially clad in the bed covers. Her right cheek carried a dark bruise, and her lip was split and swollen. Once again her brother had gotten carried away with his bed sport.
Balfour turned to the girl. "Get dressed and leave us."
Without a word, she slipped her shift over her head, grabbed up the rest of her things and quickly exited the bedchamber.
Verona closed the door behind her. "You really must learn to control yourself, Balfour. One of these days your roughness will get you hung, if you manage to do harm to the wrong man's daughter."
He frowned. I ken you're no' here to talk about what I do in bed, Verona. What is it you want?"
"The deadly nightshade failed me. It seems that clumsy maid of Kila's spilled most of it."
He laughed, as he staggered back to his bed and crawled beneath the tangled covers.
"What do you find so amusing?"
He grinned. "You raked me over the coals for missing her with my arrow, and then you poison her drink and it doesnae kill her."
Verona tapped her foot. "I see naught to laugh about."
"I'm certain you realize that from this point forward, the Highlander will keep an even closer watch on Kila. I doubt he'll even allow her out of his sight."
She frowned. "Aye, which will only make it that much harder to get to her, but I'll tell you one thing, I'll no' stop until I do."
***
IT TOOK SEVERAL DAYS for Kila's sight to return to normal, and for her to finally feel like her old herself again. Duncan had been beside her during most of the daytime hours, and checked on her each night before retiring to his bedchamber. Once the poison was out of her system and she'd started to recover, they had spent many a long hour together, and had grown much closer because of it. Kila had just gone to bed, when a knock sounded at the door.
Wyn opened it and Duncan entered the bedchamber. A grin broke across his face when he saw Kila, and her heart fluttered. "I wasnae certain if you'd still be awake, lass, but Lady Murray is insisting we leave the inn as soon as possible and continue on to Whitestag. Of course, I informed her I had to first make certain you were up to traveling."
What Kila said, and what she wanted to say were two very different things altogether. "Aye, I believe so," she said, with a heavy heart. Cannae you see that I love you, Duncan? How can I continue on to Whitestag and wed another man when you're the one that I want?
He nodded. "Very well. Then we leave the day after the morrow. I'll bid you goodnight." He gently pressed his lips against her forehead, then turned around and left the bedchamber.
Wyn closed the door behind him. "Are ye certain ye're well enough to ride a horse, m'lady?"
She sighed. "I suppose I'll find out soon enough." Tears burned the backs of her eyes.
Wyn gently placed her hand on Kila's arm, "I've tended ye since ye were a child, and ken ye better than most. If ye dinnae mind my saying so, m'lady, it appears to me ye're in love with the lad, and him with ye."
Kila looked at the maid, no longer able to control her tears. "I'll no' deny it, but where does that leave me?"
Wyn slowly shook her head. "I dinnae ken, m'lady, but if he truly loves ye, he'll find a way fer the two of ye to be together."
***
AFTER LEAVING KILA, Duncan made his way downstairs, where he found Connor and Eadan sitting at a table in one corner of the inn, sharing a bottle of whisky."Mind if I join you?"
Connor nodded. "Grab a cup."
Duncan took one from the stack on a nearby table, and sat down, pushing aside the flickering candle that was no more than a stub.
Eadan filled Duncan's cup to the brim before refilling his own and Connor's.
Duncan gulped down the whisky, and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "What are the two of you doing here instead of sleeping?"
Connor grinned. "We could ask you the same thing."
He blew out a long breath. "I doubt if I'll be able to sleep at all. We continue on to Whitestag the day after the morrow, and I've yet to ask Kila if she'll marry me, nor do I have a plan if she says she will."
Eadan leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms. "What's stopping you from asking her?"
He shook his head. "I dinnae ken."
Connor leaned forward and looked him in the eye." Are you afraid of what she'll say, Duncan?"
"Aye. I suppose I am."
Eadan grasped his shoulder. "Do you love the lass?"
"More than my own life."
"Mark my word. If you dinnae tell her how you feel, and allow her to wed Monro, you'll regret it for the rest of your life," Connor pointed out.
Duncan nodded. "Aye, I would, that’s for certain."
"And dinnae wait until we ride through the gates of Whitestag to ask her," Eadan said, chuckling.
"I'll no'," Duncan promised, laughing along with his foster brothers. But inside, fear squeezed his chest until he could hardly breathe. What if he was wrong about how much Kila cared for him?
***
THE MORNING THEY LEFT The Pheasant Inn, Kila rode with Duncan, as she had before, his targe protecting her front, and him, her back. Since the night he'd come to her bedchamber, asking if she were well enough to travel, he'd seemed somewhat distant. "Duncan?"
"Aye?"
"I ken when you agreed to take me to Whitestag Castle you didnae expect to be guarding my life as well. I wish to thank you for that."
His arm tightened around her waist. "The attempts on your life are naught to be taken lightly, lass. I'd be less than a man if I did otherwise."
She smiled. He was definitely a man, and a most handsome one at that. Settled against Duncan's warm chest, and wrapped in the comfort of his plaid, Kila couldn't seem to keep her eyes open, slipping in and out of sleep as they rode. The lingering effect of the poison, he told her.
Kila still couldn't believe she'd been poisoned, and couldn't imagine who might have done such an awful thing—and for what reason. She trusted the Highlander to protect her, and knew without a doubt he'd do so at risk to his own life.
Wyn had told her Duncan stayed by her bedside while she was at her sickest. Kila remembered very little about him being there at that time, but she did remember him being a comfort to her, smoothing her hair from her face, holding her hand in his, and whispering her name. A warm shiver washed over her at the memory.
He seemed preoccupied and they'd spoken very little since leaving the inn. She couldn't help but wonder what weighed so heavily on his mind.
A short time later he broke his silence."My three closest friends married for love, and when I wed, 'twill also be for love," he stated matter-of-factly.
Tears sprang into her eyes, as she warred with her emotions. The thought of Duncan MacDonell loving anyone but her, sliced through Kila's heart like a sharp blade. She bit her lip to keep from bursting into tears.
"Two days, three at the most, we arrive at Whitestag," he said dryly.
Her heart ached at the thought of being married to a man she didn't love. Duncan would be gone, and she'd never again feel his arms around her, nor the warmth of his lips pressed against her own. A lump formed in her throat, and she found it hard to swallow.
"If you dinnae mind me saying so, lass. You dinnae seem to be too pleased."
She didn't speak for a moment—she couldn't. "Did you honestly think I would be, Duncan?" she said, keeping her voice low. Didn't he realize how much she cared for him?
"You did agree to marry Monro." He had to be absolutely certain it was he and not Colin Monro she wanted. He had no wish to make a fool out of himself.
She turned her head and gazed up at him. "Aye, I did, but only because 'twas my father's wish, and there was no one else in my life at the time," she whispered, her voice full of emotion and her eyes misty with unshed tears.
His chest tightened and he wanted to shout with joy all at the same moment. It was him the lass wanted, and he meant to make certain she had him.
Duncan hugged her to him. He'd hold her as long as he could, but once they reached Whitestag he would have to leave her be, and he didn't relish the thought one bit, for he enjoyed having her near. His attraction to Kila had been so from the beginning, but now it was nigh unbearable. He yearned to have her in both body and soul, even in his dreams, such as the one he'd had of them making love their last night at the inn. He clenched his teeth, fighting back an array of unfamiliar feelings. All he knew for certain was that he had to have her, and by the saints, he would.
***
KILA SMILED. SHE'D made up her mind. If she couldn't have Duncan for a lifetime, at least she would have him for one night, at the inn the following night—their last together before reaching Whitestag. She set her plan of seduction into motion. Careful not to draw attention, she slipped her hand from beneath her cloak and placed it on Duncan's bare muscular thigh.
She heard his quick intake of breath and smiled. So the Highland warrior wasn't immune to her touch. Giddiness took over as she gently caressed him, marveling at the course hair covering his skin, so unlike her own.
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, his breath, warm against her cheek. "I dinnae ken what 'tis you're about, lass, but I warn you, you're playing with a fire that there's only one way to put out."
She shivered, as his words brought to mind the image of them entwined in a lovers' embrace. Reluctantly, she moved her hand. He didn't know it yet, but she was just getting started.
***
AN OWL HOOTED FROM somewhere near the tent, as Kila snuggled deeper into the thick furs. She'd been struggling to fall asleep for nigh on an hour without any luck, while her stepmother seemed to have had no trouble at all, and had been softly snoring since but a few minutes after they had gone to bed.
A noise at the back of the tent drew her attention. It was most likely one of the guards making his rounds, she decided, and thought no more of it, until a large hand capped over her mouth and an arm wrapped around her waist, dragging her through a large hole in the tent. Kila elbowed her captor in the ribs, and kicked his shins several times, as she fought to twist out of his grip. But he only grunted and squeezed her so tightly she could hardly breathe.
By the light of the full moon, she saw a second man mounted and waiting for them behind a rocky outcrop, along with a second horse. Who were they? And what did they want with her? From what little she could see, she didn't recognize either of them.
While the first man kept his hand tightly over her mouth, the second grabbed her wrists and tied them together, but when he knelt down to do the same to her ankles, Kila kicked him in the chest, knocking him backwards onto the ground.
He whispered a curse, and keeping out of the way of her flailing feet, he finally managed to bind them together.
"Dinnae forget her mouth," the man holding her said.
Kila's heart pounded, and she trembled with fear, but she couldn't allow them to gag her. With both hands, and all the strength she could muster, she shoved his hand away from her mouth and let out a blood curdling scream.
"Damn ye, wench," her captor growled, as he fought with Kila to get his hand back over her mouth before she could scream again.
***
KILA'S SCREAM PIERCED Duncan's sleep like a sharp knife, and in an instant he was on his feet with his broadsword drawn. He rushed into her tent. "What the hell is going on?"
Verona drew the covers up to her chin. "Get out of here. Have you no sense of decency?"
"Where is Kila?"
"How should I ken? She probably went to relieve herself," she said, showing no concern whatsoever for her stepdaughter's whereabouts.
Wyn and Coira, asleep at the far end of the tent, awoke.
Wyn wailed, when she saw Kila's empty pallet.
Duncan's gaze fell upon the slice in the tent, just as another scream split the still night. "Someone has taken Kila," he blurted out to Connor and Eadan, whom he almost collided with, as he exited the tent. "Bring several of the guards and come along after me." He ran to Tearlach and swung onto his bare back, then took off after Kila, praying he was headed in the right direction. He tracked the men as best he could by the light of the moon, hoping they'd done the lass no harm.
Some distance away the howl of a lone wolf broke the silence, and Tearlach snorted. "Easy lad," he said softly, patting the horse to reassure him. One, two—or even three wolves he and Tearlach could handle, but a whole pack? He wasn't so certain, and hoped he'd never have to find out.
It was just after dawn when he heard a horse snort a short distance ahead. He slipped to the ground, tethered Tearlach to a small rowan tree and made his way through the wood. A movement caught his eye, and he squatted behind a thick shrub and peered out. The two scoundrels were watering their horses, while Kila sat on the ground, her back pressed against a rock. Her hands and feet were tied and a strip of fabric across her mouth. A dark bruise covered her right cheek; her eyes were swollen and she looked pale.
He clenched his teeth. Damn the bastards. He quietly slipped his broadsword from its sheath, and slowly approached the pair, using the dense underbrush to stay hidden. When he stepped into the clearing, Kila was the first to see him and her eyes widened.
A man with missing front teeth turned and came at him with his broadsword raised, but his skill was no match for Duncan's and he soon landed on his arse with blood streaming from a cut to his shoulder, and his sword in a thicket several yards away.
Duncan skirted the clearing, keeping a close eye on the man with a jagged scar across his right cheek, edging ever closer to Kila all the while. He had to get between her and the other man.
"Ye'll no' be getting the lass back," his adversary bellowed. "I've m'orders."
"Orders? What orders? Who would wish the lass harm?"
"I'll no' be telling ye that." He rushed Duncan with his targe and sword, but Duncan jumped out of the way, then twisted around and drew his blade across the man's chest.
The man yelped, then dropped his weapon and fell to his knees, clutching his chest. He wouldn't die, but he'd be doing no more fighting that day.
Connor, Eadan, and six guards rode into the clearing and dismounted.
Connor grinned. "It appears you've got the matter well under control."
"Aye, all I need to do now is find out who hired these two whoresons to take Kila."
He left the others to watch them and removed Kila's gag, then sliced through the ropes holding her wrists and ankles. "Are you well, lass?"
She nodded, rubbing her bruised and scraped arms, but she looked exhausted.
He returned to the man without teeth, and pushed the tip of his blade against his throat. "Whose orders are you following? Tell me and be quick about it."
Knowing he would be the next one interrogated, the other man, whom Eadan had been keeping an eye on, tried to get to his horse and escape.
Eadan grabbed him by the back of his shirt. "I believe you still have some unfinished business here."
The man shook his head. "We dinnae ken."
Duncan growled, pressing the point harder against the first man's throat. "I demand the truth."
"'Tis the truth. A couple of days ago a man bought us a drink, then asked us if we'd be interested in a job. He promised we'd be well paid, once we brought him the lass."
Duncan narrowed his gaze. "There were four women sleeping in that tent, how did you ken which was the one you were to take?"
"The man drew us a map in the dirt. Once I sliced open the back of the tent, the two maids would be sleeping at the far right, another woman at the far left, and the lass we were to grab would be in the middle."
He frowned. Only a handful of people knew of their sleeping arrangements. And two of those were Verona and Balfour. Could Balfour be capable of slipping away from the camp, and returning without anyone seeing him? "Describe him to me."
"Young, well-dressed, highborn, black hair, with a pretty face," answered the man with the scar.
Duncan blew out a breath. He'd just described Balfour, as well as dozens of other men in Scotland. "Where were you supposed to take her?"
"The abandoned mill, on the edge of town. He's waiting there now."
"What did he plan to do with her?"
The man shrugged. "He didnae tell us and we didnae ask."
Duncan turned to Connor. "There may be others with him, you and Eadan take the guards and these two along with you to the mill, and find out who waits there, then bring them to me. I'll take Kila back to camp."
Connor nodded. "We'll be more than glad to fetch the bastards."
After binding the outlaws' hands, they secured them to the backs of their horses, then set off to the mill.
Kila smiled up at Duncan. "Much thanks, for once again coming to my aid. Whatever would I do without you to protect me?"
Duncan's heart danced in his chest. "You are most welcome, lass. Come. I need to get you back to camp." He lifted her onto the horse, and though she shivered, the heat of her skin burned his hands through the thin smock. He blew out a breath, then swung up behind her, and wrapped his plaid around them both.
After a few minutes, her shivering ceased, but she remained tense, jumping at every noise, as if she expected another attempt to be made on her life at any moment.
"Dinnae fash, lass. I vow I'll let no harm come to you, as long as I have a breath left in my body."
Tears filled Kila's eyes. Duncan's vow of protection had touched her deeply. "I ken you would, but I pray you'll never have to, for I couldnae live with myself if you lost your life protecting mine."
Duncan's arm was wrapped tenderly about her waist, and the appealing warmth of his muscular body clung to her like a thick blanket. She breathed in his tantalizing male scent, listened to the strong beat of his heart, the song he was softly humming, and realized she would never want any man but him. But that could never be. She swallowed back her emotion, and blinked away her tears. "Is it much farther?"
"Perhaps another hour or so. Have you any notion as to who might have paid those two men to abduct you?"
She shook her head. "Nay, and I've given it much thought."
"Did your father have any enemies who might want revenge?"
She thought for a moment before speaking. "Any laird has those who may disapprove of his decisions at times, and so did my father, but none who would wish me harm."
Whether she wanted to believe it or not, someone did wish her harm. "I think it best you dinnae mention the man at the mill to anyone."
"Then of course, I'll no', but why?"
"I'm no' certain who can be trusted."
"Duncan?"
"Aye?"
"Tell me about Skye, and take my mind away from all that has happened. I've never been there, but I've heard 'tis a most beautiful place."
His chin bumped the top of her head as he nodded. "What you've heard is true, lass. No more bonnie a place in all of Scotland. The mountain peaks near touch the heavens. The seabirds nest along the cliffs, diving into the foamy water below for fish and such. Seals sun their fat bellies on the rocky shore, keeping a close eye out for any orca that might be waiting to have them for their supper."
She was deeply touched by his detailed reflection. "You love it there, do you no'?"
"Aye, I do."
"I'd like to see it for myself one day."
"Perhaps you will." If he could convince Monro to break the contract, he would make her his wife, and take her to Skye to share both his home and his life.
"Perhaps so."
"Are you warm enough, lass?" He didn't want her catching a chill.
She laughed, warming his heart. "Has no one ever told you that being near you is like standing next to a fire?"
He smiled. "Nay, I cannae say that they have."
"'Tis true."
"Kila?"
"Aye?"
"You told me once you had feelings for me. Do you still?"
"I do, even more so."
"I have feelings for you as well."
She turned her head around and looked up at him, wide-eyed. "You do?"
He nodded.
"Then show me," she whispered, her gaze dropping to his mouth.
He reined Tearlach to a stop, then covered her mouth with his, kissing her until they were both out of breath, and he was aching with need.
He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. "Will that suffice?"
She slowly nodded. "Aye, 'twill."
He grinned. "We'd best get back, before I drag you off Tearlach and have my way with you right here in this meadow."
Her body heated at the thought, and she was sorely tempted.
He gently kissed her cheek, then they headed for the encampment.
***
WITH HIS PATIENCE GROWING thin, Balfour crossed his arms and leaned against the stone wall of the old mill, wondering what could be taking the two men he'd hired so long to arrive with Kila. He smiled. A bonnie lass, she was, and he planned to have his way with her before he sliced open her throat. She'd spurned him for the last time, always pretending to be better than him. He'd first show her what she's been missing for the last four years—then he'd kill her.
A horse snorted and he stepped back into the shadows. He peered through a crack in the wall, and spotted the two men he'd hired on horseback, but Kila wasn't with them. He was just about to go find out what has happened, when he noticed that they kept looking over their shoulders. Squinting in that direction, he spotted MacLeod and Matheson—MacDonell's men hunkered down at the edge of the wood. His pulse raced, and he quietly cursed. He had to get back before he was missed. He quietly slipped into the water near the mill wheel and let it carry him downstream, to where his horse was tethered. He rode a short distance, then dismounted and changed out of his wet clothing before heading back. He blew out a long breath. Verona was going to be furious.