eyes dropped to his lips. They were so tantalizing.
She watched him mouth the words, my sword .
Laura placed a hand shakily on his forehead. Leaning closer, with the pretense of placing a kiss on his cheek, she whispered her answer in his ear.
Thankfully, his gruff curse was muffled by the rising pitch of the nun’s continuing harangue. Twasn’t her fault, Laura thought, that she’d left the Highlander’s sword strapped to the back of the horse.
She leaned down again and brushed her face against his. The tremor that coursed through her at the feel of his unshaven face against her skin was unexpected, startling her. “I--I slid your dirk into the lining of my cloak...but I can’t find it.”
Laura felt her face flush hot as he held her with one hand while the other delved into her cloak, touching her intimately as he searched for the weapon. She held her breath, trying not to be affected by the feel of his strong fingers moving across her back and her buttocks. Confusion was quickly added to the tumult of sensations, though, when she raised her face and met his gaze. The Highlander’s blue eyes were glinting mischievously.
She pressed an elbow into his rib to curtail the roaming of his hand over the front of her dress, and continued looking for the weapon herself. She found it pressed between their bodies. Raising her weight off him slightly, she reached into the slit in the cloak, feeling for the dagger. But the rounding of the rogue’s eyes, followed by the suggestive gleam from the dark depths, caused her to hesitate, burning with discomfiture.
“Get these two out of here and bring the lass to me.”
At the sound of the monk’s sharp command, Laura quickly withdrew the Highlander’s dirk. The laird closed his huge hand over hers, taking the weapon from her.
“But the fever...” the Lowland warrior complained.
“‘By ‘sblood, it hasn’t killed the girl. ‘Twill surely not kill you.”
William Ross pressed Laura’s head tightly into the crook of his neck. She had no idea what he was planning to do, but whatever it was, she couldn’t imagine they had much chance of surviving. Still though, she went along with it, finding assurance in his protective grip.
“Stay away, you great baboon.” The mother superior’s voice rose to a screech. “I tell you Makyn is this man’s daughter. Take your hands off of me !”
Laura froze at the sound of the old nun being manhandled and then pushed the man’s chest, but William Ross’s firm hand held her in place.
“Let me go.”
“Wait!”
“They are hurting her. Let me--”
A woman’s shout cut through the din, silencing everyone inside. “They’ve returned!”
No one moved in the hut, and the tension hung in the air, sharp and palpable. Laura was afraid to breathe.
There was a slight commotion outside, and the Highlander eased his grip on her. Laura’s head turned in time to see Sister Beatrice appear in the doorway.
“They are here, Mother.”
Every eye in the room was fixed on the tiny nun.
“Sir Walter’s men are back,” the arriving nun said breathlessly. “And they are waiting to see you at the chapter house.”
“What of Laura Percy?” the monk rasped, turning sharply on the diminutive woman. “Is she with them?”
Beatrice’s eyes fleetingly searched the hut and barely paused on Laura before returning to the monk’s face. She frowned darkly.
“Come and see for yourself,” she snapped, and then turned to her leader. “The Sinclair men are impatient, though, to speak with you, mother superior. With the darkness and with snow in the air, they are anxious to go on to Rumster Castle.”
This appeared to be all the encouragement the mother superior needed. Immediately taking charge, she shook off the grip of the Lowland warrior and began to fire instructions at everyone.
“You, monk, come with me, so you can at last meet our precious Laura. But I am warning you now, I won’t allow you to be dragging that child out
Learning to Kill: Stories