MC BIKER ROMANCE: Bad Boy Romance: BETRAYED: (New Adult Motorcycle Club Navy SEAL Romance) (Contemporary Military Romance Thriller) (45 page)

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely as she secured the rope to his bound hands. “About your leg.”

“It’s nothing,” she answered stubbornly. “I’m not the one who’ll be walking.”

“True. I don’t suppose you’ve anything in your bag for my head.”

She took the time to fasten the other end of his rope to a tree before moving back to her pack and pulling out a few items.

“Drink,” she said, holding a cask of what smelled like whisky to his lips. He was grateful for it and took a quick sip. Putting the cask aside, she pulled out a few strips of cloth and proceeded to soak one of them in the whisky before pressing it to his forehead.

He swore loudly, and she grimaced. “You don’t want it festering,” she said in the tone of someone who was used to patching up men who didn’t appreciate the pain of it.

A moment later, she was securing another cloth around his head. “That should do you for now.” There was a softness in her voice as she finished, and it made his answer soft as well.

“Thank you, Miss Darrow.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Davenport,” she answered, and then she took the rope from the tree and mounted her horse, securing William’s lead to the saddle horn. “Come on,” she said. “We’ve a long journey ahead.”

Chapter 3

She’d told the Englishman--Davenport, if he could be believed--that she could afford the time she’d lose keeping him walking, but the truth was, Isobel was not certain of that. She’d no idea what she’d do with him when they crossed into England. She could hardly let him go. He’d be certain to spoil her mission. She could hardly take him with her for the same reason.

Could she leave him bound in the forest somewhere and continue to Carlisle on her own, hoping no one found him before she finished her work?

It was a possibility, but one that made her nervous to consider.

By nightfall, they were barely twenty miles from camp. Isobel had hoped to be at least three times as far, riding at a good pace, but it was clear Davenport could not keep up, though he tried enough when she pushed him.

He was like her brothers, never wanting to admit something was too physically challenging for them. Stubborn, like any Scotsman.

She’d watched him as he walked. His lean shoulders were held straight and proud, and though he was somewhat slender, he was strong. She could see the play of muscle beneath his clothing, and the sight of it quickened her pulse.

She supposed it would serve him right if he died of exhaustion along the way because she’d pushed him too hard and he’d been too stubborn to say, but the thought of driving him to his death held no appeal for her. Though she fought alongside the men when she could, she’d never done more than fire an arrow into English infantry or would someone badly enough to stop them. Killing a man, up close, where she could see the light fade from his eyes at her hand, that was something she’d never yet done.

Despite their meager progress, Isobel knew they’d have to make camp for the night. Davenport could not go on as he was, and her horse was beginning to tire as well. Pulling from the road, she found a small clearing, well-hidden by dense woods, and reined in to make camp.

“Am I to sleep bound, Miss Darrow?” Davenport asked. He’d kept fairly quiet on the road, for which Isobel had been grateful. She needed the chance to gather her thoughts, attempt to plan her course from here, and she’d seen already how charming the handsome Englishman could be. She didn’t need the distraction.

“Only if you intend on sleeping,” she said, slipping from her horse and moving to secure them both to a tree.

“I had hoped to,” Davenport admitted, settling himself at the base of the tree. His eyes followed Isobel as she moved around the camp, unpacking her saddlebag and scouring the area for firewood and kindling. She felt his gaze like a touch on her skin, and it warmed her all over, making her pulse between her thighs, her thoughts traveling in directions they had no right to go.

Though she’d never lain with a man herself, she had too many older brothers not to know precisely what it was her body ached for. She saw so few men she hadn’t known since childhood that the sight of a strange man was having more of an effect on her than it should. It didn’t help that Davenport stretched himself out at the base of the tree, the long, lean line of him catching the sunlight.

Isobel tried to put the thoughts from her mind as she went about starting the fire, gathering water, and cooking some porridge for supper, but she still felt him watching her, unspeaking, and glanced over in his direction herself far too often.

He had nearly fallen asleep, she saw, when the porridge was ready, and she almost hated to wake him. He’d had a long, difficult day. He must be exhausted. Still, if he didn’t eat, tomorrow would be the worse for him. She nudged his foot with her boot, and held out a wooden bowl, steaming with supper.

He snorted as he woke, and she couldn’t help laughing a bit, attempting to hide it as soon as he looked to her.

“Here,” she said, pressing the bowl into his hands. “You’ll want the strength of it tomorrow.”

He glanced to the bowl and then up to her. “And how do you suggest I go about eating it?” he asked, and Izzy felt her face flush. She’d been so focused on not thinking about the strength he held in his shoulders that she hadn’t stopped to think he wouldn’t be able to eat without his hands.

She huffed out a frustrated breath and moved to take a spoon from her pack, returning to him and settling herself on the ground next to him to feed him.

It worked well enough. Davenport held the bowl, and she spooned the porridge into his mouth.

At least, it would have worked well enough except that his eyes stayed trained to her face, occasionally flicking down to her lips as she fed him. He was leaning too close, and the heat of his body warmed hers in the cool of the evening.

He must have noticed this as well because he said softly, “We should rest close together for warmth,” and Isobel’s cheeks flushed again. He was right, of course, but she wasn’t sure how she would handle spending the night curled against his warm, firm body.

After a deliberate swallow, she nodded. “It would be wise,” she agreed, fighting with her body not to show how affected she was by the idea.

Davenport smirked just a bit. “I suppose you want me bound for that as well.”

Isobel rolled her eyes and gave him a particularly large bite to finish off the porridge, hoping to fill his mouth enough to stop him talking.

She turned from him quickly to fill her own bowl, sitting across the fire from him in silence while she ate. He never once looked away.

After she finished, Isobel went to the small, nearby creek to wash their dishes and set them out near the fire to dry. Once again, she went about her work, trying to ignore the Englishman, though his gaze stayed stubbornly upon her, and she felt her nipples tighten at the knowledge, hoping he could not see them through the thin fabric of her blouse.

When she could no longer delay their night’s rest, she laid a blanket on the ground a ways from the fire and settled herself onto it. “Well?” she muttered after a moment. “Sleep if you’re going to.”

Davenport didn’t say anything, but Isobel heard his shuffling movements, and a moment later felt the warmth of his back against hers.

“Goodnight, Miss Darrow,” he said quietly, amusement in his voice.

“Goodnight, Mr. Davenport,” she answered, feeling a touch of the same amusement creeping into her tone as well.

This was likely to be a long night.

Chapter 4

Though Will had purposefully slept with his back to Miss Darrow, by the time he woke, they both had shifted so her head was on Will’s chest, and their legs had become intertwined. He had the fleeting wish that his hands were unbound only so he could he could have his arms around the sweet warmth of her body. Her thigh was curled over his hip such that he felt the weight of it against his hardening cock, and he gave a low moan, still more than half asleep.

The sound must have been just enough to wake the girl. She stirred and curled momentarily closer to him. He nuzzled into her wild, red hair without thought, and she stiffened, then pushed away.

“Mr. Davenport,” she said sharply. “You overstep yourself.”

He held up his hands as much in surrender as he could manage. “Forgive me. I was lost in a dream,” he said by way of an excuse, though its truth could be questioned.

She gave a quiet harumph, and then her gaze moved to his hands.

“God’s teeth,” she muttered. “Your fingers.”

He looked down to see that his hands were beginning to turn purple from being tied too long. They felt a bit cold as well. She dropped to her knees in front of him and moved to untie his hands, then paused, clearly concerned as to what the right choice was. Will pitied her the decision and said, “I don’t suppose it would make a difference if I were to swear I’d not run?”

“I know too well what the word of an Englishman is worth,” she said, her voice dropping low. Will wondered what had been done to give her such a response.

“I can’t speak of the oaths of Englishmen,” he admitted. “I can only offer my oath as a man.” She still hesitated, her fingers holding the rope at his wrists. “It’s all I have to offer, Miss Darrow,” he pointed out gently.

After another moment, she nodded, and her fingers made quick work of her knots. Will watched her face as he had the night before. He couldn’t make heads or tails of her. She seemed so gentle, had so much capacity for kindness. She was nothing like the hellions he’d been told made up the women in Scotland’s ranks.

He wondered what an Englishman had done to her to make her hate them so.

A hiss slid through his teeth when she unwound the rope from around his wrists. His fingers prickled as the blood resumed its flow, and he rubbed his hands together to help the process.

“Is it bad?” she asked, concern in her face that overwhelmed the fierceness of it.

“I’ll keep both, I reckon,” he assured her, and then added, more sincerely, “Thank you.”

She nodded and began to gather their things, pausing to toss him a chunk of bread. “We’ll need to hunt or fish tonight. My rations are running short.”

“I daresay you didn’t intend to share them.”

“That I didn’t,” she agreed and gave him a faint smile, the closest to civility he’d gotten from her yet.

“I’ll help with the fishing,” he offered. “If you’ll allow it.”

She eyed him warily, looking him over as though seeking out any signs of deception. “Why?”

“I’ll eat as much as you,” he answered with a shrug. “More, if there’s more to be had.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Why are you staying? I’ve untied you. Your hands must be fine by now. You could easily overpower me.”

Will frowned, tilting his head. “I gave my word.”

She scoffed. “A word is easily given.”

“But not as easily broken,” Will argued. “A man loses a part of himself each time he does so.”

“Then the English must have an army of empty men.”

“Perhaps they do,” Will offered, taking a bit of pleasure in her look of surprise. “I am sorry for whatever words they have failed to keep with you.”

“It is not for you to apologize.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I can still feel sorrow for it.”

“And I don’t need your pity,” she said harshly, untying the horse and leading it to Will. “You’ll ride behind me,” she said as she mounted, offering Will an arm to help him into the saddle behind her.

“I would never dream of pitying you, Miss Darrow,” he said quietly as he settled in. “I’d be frightened to.”

“Hmph,” she said, but he thought he caught a glimpse of a smile.

He attempted to steady himself by gripping the saddle behind him, but as the ride continued on, cutting through the forest rather than sticking to the road, he found he couldn’t keep his grip, and he cautiously slid his arms around Miss Darrow instead. She stiffened at the first touch but it wasn’t long before she let herself relax against him. He found the warm weight of her against his chest far too pleasant, and though he rested his hands on the saddle, the temptation to let them wander was great.

He could tell the moment the exhaustion of the journey began to catch up with her. Her weight settled more firmly against him, and her head lolled onto his shoulder, exposing the slender, pale line of her throat, leading down to the hint of cleavage that her clothing showed.

For a brief moment, he considered taking control of the horse and turning it back northward, but he thought of her distrust of his word and knew he couldn’t. Instead, he let the animal have its head until they came to a small clearing near to a stream, and he pulled the horse to a halt, jostling the girl awake.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, turning her face to glare at him.

“You’re falling asleep in the saddle,” he said. “And my head aches,” he added, gesturing to the bandage still bound to his forehead. “I thought it would be an ideal time to stop for a rest and refreshment.”

“Well,” she said, quickly losing her indignance. “I suppose we might as well.”

Will nodded and dismounted, holding his arms up to help her from the saddle. Somewhat surprisingly, she allowed it, and Will tried not to think of the way her body slid along his, lest his cock decide to make itself known again.

Her cheeks were pink, and he allowed himself the thought that it was because she felt his touch as much as he felt hers. “I’ll see to your head,” she told him, taking a step back and indicating a large rock for him to sit on.

“I think it’s fine,” he protested, but took a seat all the same.

“You’re as bad as my brothers,” she said, tying the horse before coming to undo his bandage. “It will be fine, but you’ve got to take care of it first.”

Will was quiet as she took a cloth to the stream to wet it and was his face. Her fingers were light on his face as she moved it this way and that. More whiskey was dabbed on, and Will hissed a bit. She gave him an apologetic shrug and then deftly bound the wound again with a clean strip of cloth.

“How many brothers?” Will asked when she’d finally finished.

“What?”

“You said you’ve brothers. I wondered how many?”

She frowned at him, suspicious, and he laughed softly. “I’m hardly trying to judge the strength of Scotland’s forces by asking one girl at a time how many brothers she has.”

The blush came back to her cheeks, and Will found it lent a softness to her fierce features that brought them from the harsh beauty she normally carried back into something sweeter, pretty even.

“Four older brothers,” she said.

Will smiled and settled into a more comfortable seat on the rock. “I’ve two myself, and a younger. No sisters, though.”

It was why he’d joined the army in the first place. He wasn’t going to inherit any land from his father.

“And this is how you bring honor to your family?” she asks. “By stealing horses from a people you’d fight to enslave?”

Will frowned. “I must have an occupation.”

“A blacksmith has an occupation that takes no man’s home from him.”

He sat back, looking her over. Slight, to be certain, but with steel beneath her skin. “You fight yourself,” he pointed out.

“To save my home, not to take another’s.”

“The English king would argue your home belongs to him.”

“And you’d fight to see that made truth.”

His frown deepened. He’d seen some excesses from the soldiers, liberties taken that the officers allowed. He hadn’t, thought, though of what was left behind after a battle. Whose homes were destroyed by their fighting.

“I fight for my king,” he said. “And for the living he grants me. It is my duty.”

“A man may do much for his duty,” she argued. “But he should not lay aside his honor.”

“You think I’ve no honor.” The thought stung a bit.

“I think you’ve been giving it up too easily.”

“At least you think I had some to begin with.”

“I’m considering the possibility,” she said, and to his surprise, her lips quirked themselves into a wry smile, teasing and coy.

Will laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should, Mr. Davenport.”

“Will,” he said, offering a bit of familiarity, hoping it would be welcome.

“Will,” she repeated, seeming to turn it over as an idea. “Isobel,” she offered when she’d accepted his name.

“Isobel,” he echoed, feeling the taste of it in his mouth. “That’s much more pleasant than Miss Darrow.”

“Will is easier than Mr. Davenport,” she allowed, and Will laughed, finding her stubbornness strangely pleasant as well.

“It is, that.”

She was smiling, watching him, and then she seemed to realize what she was doing and she turned, moving to her pack, rifling through it. “We should go on,” she said, and she sounded weak and tired.

“You’re heading to Carlisle?”

Her spine stiffened, and she didn’t turn to look at him. “What makes you think that?”

“You’re in a rush, and we’re heading toward the border. You’ve kept from the road today, so it seems unlikely you’re staying on the Scottish side. I’d guess you’ve a message for someone in Carlisle.”

She turned to look at him, her gaze sharp. “And what has you headed north in such a hurry?”

Will considered the question a moment. He was unlikely to be able to finish it by this point anyway, and there was not much he could do to change that now he’d given his word not to run. “I’m to go to Edinburgh and keep an ear to the ground for any dissent in the ranks.”

“And if you find it?”

“Help it to fester.”

She frowned again and repeated, “We should be going.”

“You’re exhausted,” Will pointed out. “What are we? A day’s ride from Carlisle? You’ll reach it tomorrow whether we stay here for the night or get a few miles under us before dark, and you’ll travel better tomorrow for the rest.”

He could see she was hesitant to agree, and he wondered what the message was that she needed to deliver. He wondered if she knew herself.

“Yes, all right,” she said finally. “We can fish in the stream for dinner.”

“You ought to bathe,” Will suggested, and her head shot up to look at him.

“Why?”

He laughed softly. “I’ve never met such a suspicious woman. You ought to bathe because there is a stream and you’ll be at your destination. You don’t want to arrive looking as though you’ve been racing across the countryside.”

“Ah,” she answered, looking sheepish. “I suppose you’re right.”

Nodding, he pulled himself to his feet. “I’ll get the fish and cook supper. You can bathe.”

“I’ll help with the fish,” she insisted, and Will didn’t argue. He was beginning to enjoy her company, and he’d gladly keep it longer.