A Perfect Knight For Love (15 page)

“You are, without a doubt, the most barbaric, uncouth, uncivilized . . . creature of my existence!”

She was speaking to the space in front of her, although he ceased listening after the barbaric portion. He could tell that Sean hadn’t. The lad had a full grin as he looked over at them.

“Lass!” Thayne licked his lips and tried again.

“What?” She turned her head and gave him a half-lidded look, probably trying for contempt.

“Doona’ move!
Christ
.”

She gasped. He held her with a restriction she could barely breathe against, if the pressure at his forearm was an indicator. The pain of his wound was bad. The throb of need was worse. And he’d never had this issue. It wasn’t right, sane, or warranted. It just was.

“You doona’ ken the slightest in obedience, do you?”

“Obey? You?”

He gave a twinge in response, putting heat and bulk where she had no reason to doubt him. And got another gasp.

“I’m begging here, lass.”

“I won’t move. I swear.”

She whispered it, but something in her lower parts disobeyed, and shimmied against him, earning a groan as full ache went all the way down his leg and back. And that pain didn’t even work at staying craving and full-out need. He had a lust for his wife he couldn’t control? Where was the justice in that?

Thayne sent his next curse out over her head and followed it with a full locking of every bit of him. The parts he controlled. There was something wrong that he couldn’t stop his loins from pulsing again and again into woman curves that should have been wearing more. And not sitting almost atop him in order to toy with him.

“Cease that,” she said. “Or put me on another horse.”

“Nae.”

“Brute. Beast. Cretin.”

Even her whispered words of disgust failed to stop his arousal. There was more wrongness in that. He’d never faced such unadulterated lust. Always before, if he needed a woman, it wasn’t hard to find one. They were ever about, pestering him. Or he’d work on the list until any urge save survival, passed. He avoided Jamie’s wenches. All did, unless they wished to risk the pox. Thayne turned his head to the side, scrunched his eyes shut, kept a tight grip on everything, and prayed something would work. Anything.

“You calling a rest? Finally?”

Jamie’s voice filtered through the lust surrounding Thayne. He opened his eyes on reins he’d pulled taut, bringing his horse to a stop. Looked over at Sean. Nodded. And waited as everyone shuffled from their horses. His wife had turned her face into his chest to avoid watching and that just made the torment last longer.

“Lass?”

“What?”

The whisper filtered over his chest and warmed his upper belly. And made him twinge against her again, which made her gasp again. Thayne licked his lips.

“You needing a rest?”

“If it will get me from this horse and you . . . yes.”

“It will. Sean?”

“And keep me from it?”

Thayne unwrapped his tartan from about her preparatory to hand her down to Sean. She asked it as she slid into Sean’s arms. There was an instant chill from losing her warmth, and it had to be worse for her.

“Nae.” Thayne looked down at her.

“Why not?”

“I’ll na’ share. Na’ with the way you ride,” he replied.

Her eyes went wide, she pulled herself up, and she opened her mouth as though to upbraid him. Sean found it entirely amusing, as did the others starting to notice. Thayne flicked a glance, located Jamie, and returned to looking down at her.

“Bring her back to me. Doona’ leave her side.”

“Why can’t I sit my own horse? You have enough of them.”

She gestured to the riderless horses interspersed throughout their band. She was right. Thayne had more than enough horses. He’d taken Dunn-Fyne’s mounts as spoils. Several were still saddled and carrying packs.

“True.” Thayne moved his eyes to Sean’s grin.

“Why can’t I ride one, then?”

She had her hands on her hips and her head tipped back to argue with him. She really should be wearing more clothing, since every bit of her was easily defined. The laird was standing right behind her, watching, his face set and angry, and cunning. Malicious. All easily read and understood even without the drunk he’d recently come off.

“Fetch another plaid when you return with her,” he told Sean.

“I asked you a question, Thayne MacGowan.”

Thayne pulled in his cheeks and moved his eyes to her. “You’d have nae man at your back.”

“I don’t need a man at my back. Or anywhere else for that matter.”

“That could set another man to thinking. And wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“How easy it would be to take you.”

He’d mistaken her wide eyes earlier as they went huge and her mouth with them. Thayne inserted words before she managed it.

“You’ve reason for being here, Jamie?” Thayne moved his gaze to his brother.

“Nae.”

“Then allow my wife passage. And Pellin? See the bairn secured.”

He watched her walk through the men with her head held high and a sway to her hips none of them missed. She was a fine specimen of woman. With a quick wit and full use of her tongue. Yet she knew so little and argued so much. It was a decided chore to keep his wits sharp about her. Thayne was starting to like being with her. He nearly groaned.

A man at her back!

What were they? A pack of wolves? Amalie smiled her gratitude at MacPherson and then Sean for their assistance in holding blankets up, shielding her from the others, and at the same time she was annoyed with herself for doing it. She didn’t want anything to do with them. She didn’t want to thank any of them. She didn’t want to like any of them. She’d been insane to think there was anything she felt for the man leading them. Regardless of what their laird said and did, it was obvious Thayne was leading. And Jamie wasn’t. It just wasn’t obvious why.

She stared up at Jamie MacGowan when he blocked her from returning to Thayne’s horse. There was an unpleasant shiver running her back as she craned her neck to meet his eyes, but she ignored it and gave him her coldest look of disdain and disgust. He didn’t move until MacPherson came from behind her and then Sean. That wasn’t comforting. Nothing about this was.

She was standing at Thayne’s right leg when Sean handed her another red, green, and black plaid from one of their packs. It smelled slightly musty, but was dry and thickly woven. Amalie wrapped it about her before she got handed back to Thayne. Once there, she settled sideways in the space in front of his saddle, completely ignoring him. He had an additional layer of blanket about him as well. Other than that, he didn’t look to have moved from the horse. She didn’t know if it was due to his male lust condition or his wound. Or maybe lack of need. And she didn’t care, either.

“This is much better,” she told him.

“Agreed. Did you check the bairn?”

“Secured to her wet-nurse. With straps. As ordered.” Pellin answered it as he swung into his saddle. Amalie noted he had one of the thickly-woven plaids about him as well.

“You had the baby tied? To a horse?” Amalie asked Thayne.

“Have to. Storm coming.”

“So?”

“You ever see a Highland storm?”

He was looking out over the path as he asked it. Amalie did the same and noted how it appeared blurred and vague and dark. A lot darker than midday. She shook her head in answer.

“You should give her a name,” he remarked.

“Who?”

“Our bairn.”

“Mary,” she replied and watched his face go completely expressionless, although his arms seemed to tighten before releasing.

“Nae.”

“You claimed it. You name it, then.”

He nudged the horse into a walk. And then the wall of storm hit them.

Amalie had never been out in such conditions. Wind whipped water onto her, saturating the plaid about her into a sodden, heavy mass, and if Thayne hadn’t lifted some of the back of it to make a hood about her head for breathing space, it would’ve been worse. The smell of wet wool surrounded her, warming and protecting against an onslaught that pelted exposed skin like sharp, cold darts. She folded her hands inward the moment the sleet hit at her fingers, and leaned against the solid comfort and security that was Thayne MacGowan. The horse plodded on. It seemed impervious to the storm, as was Thayne, the two times she checked.

The first was when they reached the summit of the mountain, getting a full brunt of the wind on all sides, hitting her with enough force to send her tumbling. Except Thayne’s arm prevented it, holding her firmly in place against him. Amalie tipped the material and glimpsed his bowed head and slit eyes as he kept them on course, taking the pelting as if it were little. She knew now why he hadn’t taken the path along the top of the valley, as wind swirled about them from every direction, bringing the pace to a crawl of movement.

Then they started across wind-whipped grass, lying flattened and covered with white specks that looked to be ice. Or snow. Amalie ducked back into the enclosure created by her hood, tucking her chin into where his heart continued to beat rhythmically and steady and securely. She hated to admit to any of it, but it was secure. Protected. She didn’t like admitting to fright as well, as hours seemed to pass without any letup in the wind. And no change in the pace.

The second time she peeked out at Thayne was when the wind altered, changing from a howling creature that attacked from all sides, to gusts that puffed around his body. Amalie slit open the blanket and looked out at rock wall, shiny with the pelting of snow it was receiving. She tipped her glance up at him then, and met his eyes, although he still had them in slits. Her heart skipped as he held her gaze. His eyelashes were spiked and interlaced, making him look beautiful . . . and dangerous. Then he smiled slightly at her before looking back up, and into renewed wind as they passed the rock wall.

Chapter 11

Thayne walked his horse into the stable and knew the others followed without looking. He didn’t dare. He felt frozen into position. Any move might topple not just him, but his wife. That was reason enough to keep plodding through sleet as if the night contained a fully lit path and he had access to it.

That wasn’t far wrong. Clansmen had been directing him for at least an hour, watching for, and gesturing him from well-protected peat-fed bonfires spaced almost within sight of each other. Without their help, he’d still be on the moor, getting pelted with death. And he knew it. Thayne hadn’t even nodded to the MacGowan clansman who’d loomed from the sleet storm to take the bridle and lead. He’d rarely been as depleted. He just hoped he’d manage to hide it.

His brother didn’t seem to suffer any ill effects. Jamie was off his horse and shouting orders before the last man had even entered the stable.

“Whiskey! First, I’ll take a large whiskey and then ale. Then I’m desiring women, too. And after that sup! Nae! Mayhap, I’ll sup afore taking a woman, but na’ by far! And you! Bring me a change of sett! And be quick about it!”

Thayne forced his arms to unwrap from about Amalie, placing his hands about her hips and used her to push right off the back of his horse, where he stood on swaying legs that hadn’t much feeling to them. He slapped a hand to the horse rump for stability as the men about him praised, seemingly without end.

“He got us through the pass!”

“Can you believe it?”

“I’d have disbelieved it ’twere I na’ part of it.”

“Thayne’s half eagle, dinna’ you ken?”

“Oh, leave him be! Leave him to tend his wife and that weak-ass girl bairn! We’ve better things awaiting us! Or dinna’ you hear me? I’m needing whiskey! And I mean to have it!”

Jamie shoved the stable door open enough to get his body through, sending cold air about Thayne’s lower limbs. One by one Jamie’s men followed, making the same shove and sending the same amount of frosty air.

“You’d best follow him. They’ll be needing you to stay him. Especially from their women.”

Thayne turned his head and looked at Sean. He didn’t answer, but that seemed enough.

“Afore he gets well into a drunk and canna’ be swayed.” Sean spoke again.

“Surely the menfolk can handle it,” Thayne finally replied.

“None here.”

The clansman who’d led his horse apprised him of it. Thayne looked toward where he was standing. The plaid about Thayne was uncomfortably saturated, heavy but warm. It was also starting to put steam into the air as it warmed.

“Brian.” Thayne greeted the MacGowan clansman by name. The man looked pleased.

“All the men were sent out afore the storm. They built fires—for signals as well as warmth. They’re searching for lambs. ’Tis a vicious storm. A lamb born in this has to stand or die.”

Thayne nodded, pulled in a breath, and straightened his back. Men were looking at him for guidance. His wife looked, too, from over her shoulder. Then he puffed his lips and sent the air out with a rush. If his hair hadn’t been plastered to him with melting sleet, it would’ve ruffled.

“How many women here has the laird already . . . taken?”

“Four. Maybe more.”