The Bruised Thistle (The Order of the Scottish Thistle) (8 page)

“Do not go far, lad. There is plenty near here that vermin can eat.”

Iseabail shifted in his arms. “Can you put me down now?”

He did not answer, nor did he comply. Instead, he inched his hand up to her neck and started working little circles into her skin. She fought the desire to close her eyes. It felt so good.

“Do ye not want to know how I got yer fever down?”

“You said you brought me to the river.”

He held her gaze then pulled her toward him, and she knew he was going to kiss her. His lips were warm, and the lightning surged through her again. He kissed her lightly at first then more urgently. She wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

He straightened abruptly then placed her on her cloak. “Ye should get some sleep.”

Seumas pushed past Calum as he was coming back in.

“Told you he was mad,” Calum said.

Seumas took a deep breath and held it then exhaled slowly to steady himself. He was irritated in the extreme and losing control. Stuck with not one but two people he had to protect, he saw no way out. He wanted to walk away. No, what he wanted to do was bury himself in Iseabail and pound out the pent-up frustration
she
had caused. Being near her made him do things he should not. Kissing her? What had he been thinking? In truth, the memory of her body as he’d cooled it in the river had pushed him over the edge. Her lips were so soft and inviting. When she had started to respond, he had longed to plunge his tongue into her mouth and crush her willing body against him.

Derision swept through him like an ocean wave. That would have really gotten them far. He inhaled on a shaky breath. It was not her fault. She did not know of his injury. She was running scared, embroiled in her own problems. And stealing his sanity.

He ducked into the cave. Iseabail and Calum lay beside the fire.

“Ready for some rest, then?”

“Aye.” Calum sat up, his rabbit in hand. “Where should I leave Rodney?”

“Rodney?” Seumas rolled his eyes. “Ye named the rabbit? What if we have to eat him?”

Calum’s eyes widened, and he hugged the animal to his chest. “Why would we have to eat him? You have enough food in your bags to feed the king’s army.”

Seumas snorted loudly. “Why indeed. I am taking a soak in the spring.”

He tried not to actually stomp away but doubted he had succeeded.

The fire was almost out and the moisture in the air made the cave seem even colder. He pulled his tunic over his head and groaned in relief as he stretched his shoulders, working out the stiffness. He removed his boots and his britches. How he hated wearing pants—his just punishment for living among these pompous English-loving Lowlanders. Since his return from the Holy Lands, he had turned his back on all he had been brought up to be. He feared he had let down his family, his heritage and, worst of all, his God.

Seumas slipped into the water and sighed. The temperature was just right to soothe his aches and pains. He ducked under in an attempt to gauge the depth but had to swim back up before he found the floor. Holding on to the side, he enjoyed the feel of the heated water surrounding his body. He felt for his scar which stretched in its crescent shape from thigh to groin. It pained him less but still felt vicious to his fingertip. The scars was perhaps three inches in length, and the middle section was smooth but puckered on either side. In damp weather it throbbed painfully.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back with his elbows on the ledge and dipped further into the water. The image of Iseabail’s naked loveliness filled his mind, and her expressive eyes were full of desire for him. She would smile at him. Want him. He would turn her around, urging her against the
side and sliding his hands along her silky skin, kneading her delectable bottom. Wedging his body in closer, he would spread her knees wide. She would moan, her breasts flattening against his chest, and her breath quickening as he tasted her neck. She would wrap her legs around him, tight, urging him closer. He would seek her lips and press his hips against her.

His eyes flew open. He groaned.

Seumas faced the edge of the pool and lowered his head to his arm. He fought to steady his breathing. This was too much. Too real. Too damned frustrating. He needed to think through what to do, which meant getting away from Iseabail as soon as possible. He could not simply leave her though. She still needed protection and she was determined to find someone to help her family.

Seumas’s friend Mark lived two days to the east. His father had been at the royal court and still kept his own counsel. Perhaps he could help Iseabail. Seumas could get them there and be done with them. Then he would be free to return to his own lands to see if the farm remained. It had only been a short while since his father had passed. Mayhap there he could find peace.

He considered traveling for two days in close proximity to this woman. Hell. That was what it would be. If his mind could be reconciled once again to the reality of his broken body, it would be less torturous. He shifted uncomfortably in the water. His scar throbbed again. He reached down to massage out the tightness and when his hand grazed his manhood, he jumped. He had lost all sensation there after the injury. Seumas looked down at himself. He leaped onto the ledge and rubbed his eyes. Damn salt must have gotten in them. He could not trust his eyes. He put his hand to his injured member and jerked up at the exquisite feeling.

Seumas stepped out of the water. The burning embers cast a soft glow upon his body but he didn’t trust what he saw. His wrapped his hand around his long-dead member.

How can this be?

He closed his eyes, relishing the sensations. The shaft swelled in his grip, and he groaned with the pleasure. Then it was gone. He studied his flaccid penis in his hand. Had he been wrong? No. There was no mistaking the hard flesh for anything but what it was—proof that he was not broken.

“Damn. That felt good.” He continued to touch himself but nothing happened. Still, he grinned. “If it can happen once, it can happen again.”

Seumas dressed hurriedly. In the outer cavern, Calum and Iseabail slept in the same position they had in front of the fire at the castle. He hunkered down behind Iseabail. She had the nicest arse he had ever seen. His hand hovered there, just above her. He ached to touch her, rub his open palm against her, caressing her. He closed his eyes and imagined his hand on her hot, bare flesh. She moaned in her sleep, and his eyes flew open. He jerked back in embarrassment and pulled at his crotch to ease the tightness. He stood abruptly and stared at the telling bulge.

Feeling like an untried schoolboy, he stroked himself, relishing in the response of the part of him he had never thought to use again. Harder and harder his rod grew. He looked longingly at Iseabail’s sleeping form. He sat with his back to the far wall and imagined what he would do to her. His hand became hers as she stroked him, preparing him for her. When he was swollen, she would seat herself on his shaft and ride him. Her lovely breasts would heave and bounce, begging for his mouth to suckle them. He groaned out loud. Again, it was gone. His shaft lay limp. He was disappointed this time. He wanted more. He wanted release.

The fire blazed, and Seumas sat in front of it. The excitement he had felt would never let him sleep. He went outside and returned with the horse. He brushed him down and covered him with a blanket. When Seumas replaced the brush, he felt something soft in the bag and pulled it out. His tartan. Covering himself with it, he lay down to sleep.

Vivid dreams of his family’s farm, of bringing Iseabail and Calum to live there with him, and of his father, still alive, flashed through his mind. He dreamed of his mother. The fragrance of baked bread clinging to her gown. The way she had looked when he was a boy. Her arms wrapped around him. His dreams were loving and welcoming. His contented body resisted his mind urging him to awaken.

Feeling as if he were coming out of a drunken stupor, Seumas opened eyes and tried to discern what had awakened him. At the back of the cave, the horse whinnied restlessly. A light shining beyond the cave entrance made Seumas immediately jump into a low crouch, grasping his dagger. He glanced over to be sure Iseabail and Calum slept safely.

The fire had burned down to embers and the glowing coals would not be visible from outside. Seumas crept toward the entrance and froze when the light went by again. Someone was there. They were looking for something, and Seumas feared it was the entrance to the cave. He flattened himself to the right of the opening. He peered out into the darkness and ducked back as the light passed by a third time, this time pausing a little too long in the doorway. Their hiding spot had been discovered.

Closing his eyes, Seumas slowed his breathing and reached for all his senses. He focused his mind’s eye on what was happening outside the cave. The light touch of steel on cloth, the slightest footfall, and the sweat of several men all filled his mind. Frustration clawed at him. That was more than he could take on alone. And yet, before his life-changing pilgrimage, Seumas had been known as a great fighter and regularly demonstrated his prowess with as many men as were willing. His father’s proud smile came to his mind. Confidence steeled him.

I can handle three men.

Seumas covered his head with his dark tartan, stepped out into the night, and waited to catch sight of the men. He heard voices and walked soundlessly toward them. Close to where he had tied the horse earlier, three men sat around a small fire with their hands stretched toward the feeble flame in an attempt to warm themselves. Seumas crouched as he assessed their mettle. They spoke in low tones.

“Did ye see if they was in there?” The man facing Seumas spoke to the one with the lantern.

“I found the cave but methinks we can wait and catch them unawares in the morning.”

“Aye. It’s just the small boy and his sister we’re after,” the first man replied.

Another man drank from his cup. He tried to stand but stumbled. Patrick. The man walked unsteadily to retrieve a jug from a leather sack lying on the ground and refilled his cup.

“Well, I am all for getting me some money, but I would like a taste of the girl as well.” He slurred as he spoke and finished his sentence with a loud belch.

“Nobody said you could not have that, Pat. Just be patient, is all.”

Patrick continued to stand there, wavering a little. “But I am thinking I do not want to wait.” He finished off his cup and hitched his breeches up with determination. “I will just make sure she is where ye think she is.”

The other men exchanged glances, obviously annoyed, but said nothing.

Patrick turned toward the cave and called back, a little too loudly, “This way, ye said?”

The man with the lantern stood and took Patrick’s arm. “How much good do you think you shall be if you cannot even find where to put your rod, man?” he asked in disgust as he led him toward the cavern opening.

“Hey, I
never
forget that.”

Seumas backed up against the outside of the cave, effectively blending in with his surroundings. The tartan he wore assured he was invisible to these men. When the two were within an arm’s length, he stuck out his foot, causing them both to tumble forward. The sober man struggled to get out from under Patrick. Seumas connected with a solid punch, knocking the man out. Waiting until Patrick rose, Seumas head-butted him with the flat of his forehead, breaking his nose yet again.

The last man at the fire tilted his head and squinted, struggling to see what was happening in the darkness. He edged toward the scuffle. Seumas grabbed him from behind, smacking his head against the nearby tree.

Seumas strode back into the cave, removing his tartan. “Calum, Iseabail, we must leave immediately.” He shook them both awake.

He tied his tartan around him, dropped the inhibiting breeches and draped the material over his shoulder before tucking it into his waist. It felt good to be dressed so. Natural. He grabbed what few items were left around their camp and strapped them to his horse.

“Quickly.”

Calum was awake, but Iseabail blinked groggy eyes up at him, confusion on her lovely face.

“Here, boy, help me to get her onto the horse,” Seumas said.

They had her sitting astride the horse while she struggled to make sense of what was going on.

“Ye, too.” Seumas gave Calum a shove onto the horse in front of Iseabail and handed him the reins.

“Hold on to me, Iseabail.” Calum took his sister’s hands from behind and wrapped them around him. “We are ready, m’lord.”

Seumas grabbed the horse’s lead and quietly walked past the three bodies scattered outside the cave.

“Phew,” Calum said under his breath. “What happened here?”

They continued to follow a small deer path until the sun was high in the sky. Occasionally, Seumas turned to see both traveling companions still astride his horse even as they slept.

Iseabail bobbed one too many times on the horse’s back and suddenly jerked awake. “Where are we going?” she whispered to Calum.

“I am not sure. He has not said, but, apparently, we had some sort of trouble at the cave by the looks of the three men.”

Seumas did not hear Iseabail ask any further questions. He would tell her only what she needed to know.

“I am thirsty,” she whispered again to Calum. “And I have to relieve myself.”

Seumas stopped short and turned around. He stood in the front of the horse, stroking its nose. “Ye can speak directly to me, Iseabail.”

“I was just saying that I am thirsty and need to stop for a minute.” She spoke in a louder voice, her chin raised. She looked expectantly at him.

Seumas reached up to help her down while Calum jumped off on his own. They had stopped in a heavily wooded area on the path leading away from the brook, which was now a full-fledged river.

Seumas handed her the water skin. “Drink what ye can, and we will fill it before we leave the river.”

Seumas marched away from her. There was a damn price on their heads. He raked his fingers through his hair. He was livid. She had not thought to mention that? Patrick might have been a lecher, but he did not work cheap. A considerable monetary enticement was the only way he would have been tracking them down.