The Highlander's Warrior Bride (11 page)

“Hungry?” he asked with a chuckle.

Her face colored slightly and she smiled. “Starving, actually.”

Ronan took a bite of meat, then asked, “Why dinna ye like apples?”

Julianna’s lip curled and she gave him a look that said she’d been waiting for him to ask just that.

“Honestly, I dinna know. Haven’t liked them since I was a child. ’Haps it was because we used them for target practice? Maybe I developed a fear that if I put an apple near my mouth I’d be a target?” She shrugged.

He raised a brow in question, then teased, “Ye’re afraid of apples?”

“Och, I did
na say that!”

“I think ye did.
‘Haps ye’re a distant relation to Eve?”

“Ye’re a beast.”

“And ye’re afraid of a wee bit of fruit.”

Julianna laughed. “Isn’t there something silly ye’re afraid of?”

“Warriors aren’t afraid of anything,” Ronan boasted.

That garnered him a fierce glare from Julianna. “Liar.”

Ronan took a huge bite out of the apple, and wiggled the piece of fruit near her face. Julianna squealed and tried to lean back while holding her food and the plaid.

“Stop that!” Her laughter belied the grate in her tone.

“Come now, take a bite of my apple.”

“Never.” She shook her head and clamped her lips closed.

“Not even a teensy weensy bite?” He pulled his
sgian dubh
from his boot. “Even if I vow to annihilate the apple should it attack ye?”

“Not even then,” she said with a laugh.

He slipped the weapon back in his boot and took another bite, a wide grin on his face. The woman was full of surprises. “Suit yourself, then.”

“Ye’ve still not told me.”

“Told ye what?”

“Now who is being elusive?”

“Not I,” Ronan said with mock affront.

“Aye, ’tis ye.”

“All right then, I shall tell ye something.” Finishing off his meal, he leaned forward, rubbing his hands close to the fire. “I’m afraid of tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

He nodded. “No one knows what will happen.”

“’Tis a fact.”

“Aye. One that scares the hell out of me.”

“Ye must be a ver
ra controlling man.” She raised a questioning, interested brow, picked at the remnants of meat on the bone of her dinner.

“Not entirely, but I dinna like surprises. I want to know what is going to happen and when. Unfortunately, we never know when tragedy will befall us. When someone close to us will die, or when we will be victorious.”

Julianna was silent for a moment. Still. He glanced at her, saw that she looked poised to ask a question but then thought better of it. He could guess what she wanted to ask. That she’d want to know what tragedy had befallen him, but that was not something he wanted to discuss just yet. Maybe not ever.

“Do ye seek the aid of a wizard?” she asked.

Ronan could have fallen over laughing. Did she imagine him inside some hovel with a hundred year old man who stirred chipmunk eyes together with wildcat urine and told him what to expect when he woke?

“Nay, lass. Never have.”

“Well, then ye canna be that afraid.”

“I just dinna dwell on it.”

“I suppose that is another answer to the problem. Dinna think of it. From this day forward, I willna think of apples.” She handed Lil Lass the fowl leg and the dog jumped up and scurried to the opposite side of the room to devour it.

“A noble move, my lady.”

“What? Not thinking of apples or giving the dog a bone?”

“Choosing to not let your fears rule ye.”

“I hardly think I’ve let my fear of apples rule me.”

“What does?”

“Rule me?”

“Aye.”

The merriment left her eyes and she glanced toward the fire. He didn’t think she would answer. Not when she’d shut down and looked so deep in thought. Ronan made sure the food was put away and brought out his wineskin. He took a sip of watered wine and passed it to Julianna. After a long draw she gave it back.

“Scotland rules me.”

“Scotland? I suppose it rules us all.”

She nodded. “Some more than others.”

“Are ye the some?”

“Aye.”

“Tell me.”

Julianna shook her head. “I canna.”

“I willna tell anyone.”

Dipping her shoulder toward him, she gave him a coy look, a teasing smile curling her lips. “And, will ye offer me all your desserts for the next two years?”

Ronan winked. “I’ll give ye whatever ye want.”

Chapter Eleven

T
he man was tempting.

Too tempting. Julianna swallowed past the lump in her throat.

“All that whisky, I find myself growing tired,” she said, annoyed with the way her voice came out sounding so breathy.

“We’d best get some rest. We can move out when dusk falls.”

Julianna nodded. Traveling by night was for the best. They’d be less likely to be seen and most people would be sleeping—hopefully half or more of Ross’ crew should they catch up to them.

The floor was hard, not nearly as comfortable as her bed at Eilean Donan, nor even the cot she’d slept on while prisoner. But, she
was exhausted, and the fire had finally warmed her toes and fingers enough she didn’t think they would fall off.

Climbing to her feet, she reached for the satchel on her horse and pulled out the extra blanket she’d b
rought. Rolled up, it would make a nice pillow. Her gaze caught Ronan’s form. He had no blanket.

“I thought to make this into a pillow, but now I realize, ye dinna have a blanket,” she said.

“I dinna need one. The fire has me plenty warm.”

Had she been completely selfish? “But your clothes are wet.”

“Nearly dry now.”

“Ye dinna need to make exceptions for me, Ronan, I can manage.”

“I’m sure ye can, lass. Make yourself a pillow.” He leaned his back against the wall, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes.

Stubborn man.
If he chose to freeze to death, she supposed it wouldn’t be her fault, although she would miss his kisses. Julianna rolled her blanket before the fire and settled down. With the pillow, she was actually a lot more comfortable than she would have guessed. Exhaustion seeped well into her bones and though she blinked a few times, it didn’t take her long to fall into a deep sleep.

She woke sometime later, surrounded on one side by the dog and Ronan on the other. But he was in the same spot. She however had somehow managed to scoot closer to him while sleeping. A play from her subconscious? Light streamed through the windows. Maybe mid-afternoon. The fire no longer blazed, but smoldered,
its embers died down to red and black. The room was toasty warm. She no longer shivered, was indeed quite content. What had woken her? The dog let out a loud snore and Julianna suppressed a laugh. That must be what roused her. Feeling safe and warm, Julianna closed her eyes and fell back asleep.

The next time she woke, light no longer filtered in from the windows and the fire was completely out. The room was still warm, although she sensed the temperature had lowered judging from the cold on the tip of her nose. She however, was warm, hot even.

Mortification filled her and with it a sense of arousal. Her leg was tossed over Ronan’s thigh. Her arm wrapped around his waist, her naked breasts pushed up against his side and her head on his chest.

God’s teeth!
She was nude and plastered to the man. Julianna’s breath hitched. Ronan shifted, murmured something, but he didn’t appear to be awake yet. As quick as she could, she rolled over, only be stopped by his fingers curling around her arm and hauling her back.

She gritted her teeth, glanced up at him. His eyes were closed, breaths steady. If he was awake she would
have given him a new scar to rival any others he might have. Bastard. Apparently, fever was not the only thing needed to provoke him. Even in his sleep he was a lusty fool. Under different circumstances—as in an entirely different life—she would have snuggled closer. Perhaps explored his body, begged for a kiss.

But this was reality, and she wasn’t about to lose herself in his embrace yet again—especially with no clothes on.
As if his subconscious sensed her thoughts, he draped an arm around back, caging her to his side. His warmth surrounded her, drugged her, stomach jolted and God save her, her nipples hardened.

Reaching to the hand resting on her hip, she lifted it with two fingers in an effort to disengage herself from his hold, but the man actually pulled
his hand from her grasp, grunted and tugged her closer.

A soft chuckle from his lips had her shoving him hard and then jumping to her feet, scrambling for the plaid to cover herself, but somehow the fabric had gotten caught beneath his large frame, and so only a few feet of it came up. She used the barely there scrap to cover her breasts and between her thighs, but the rest of her was completely exposed. In fact, the air was quite chilly against her bare bottom.

“Get off the plaid, ye bastard!” she screamed, yanking on it with vigor.

That only
made Ronan laugh more. While he did roll away so she could yank the rest of it around herself, he did not stop laughing.

“Och, lass, what a lovely sight in the morning.”

The nerve! She only growled back at him. Turning her back she stomped to the table to see if her clothes were dry. Mostly. Damp in a few spots, she could deal with that. At least they weren’t soaked and once she was dressed, she’d no longer be on display for Ronan the Brute.

“Come now, my lady, dinna be sore with me.”

“How could I not be? Ye stole my covering and touched me inappropriately.”

“Hardly
. Ye were the one who curled yourself around me. Not my problem ye were nay wearing anything when ye did it.”

“Ugh… Turn your back,” she ordered. Hearing his boots scrape, she dropped the plaid and yanked the chemise from the table.

A low whistle came from behind.

Staring at the ceiling and willing this moment to be forever erased from either of their memories, she fisted her hands. “Ye didna turn around
, did ye?” Her voice was void of emotion, thank the saints.

“Nay. I meant to, but ye did not give me time.”

“Do it now.”

“Aye, my lady.”

Oh, saints preserve her. The man had just gotten a full view of her bare arse. Heat seared a path from her belly, up over her chest and neck and landed full force into her cheeks. Fingers trembling, she wrenched on her chemise, hearing the fabric tear a little. She wanted to scream. To stomp her feet. To run from the croft. To hurl a knife at Ronan—but not have it actually hit him, just scare him. A lot.

“Lass, if ye like
, I can strip down and let ye see me? Then we’d be even.”

She didn’t know whether to be offended or to laugh. The man certainly had a way to take her from rage to something less. Calm wasn’t quite where she was at yet.

“That will not be necessary.”

Ronan chuckled. “Are ye decent yet?”

“Nay!” She grappled with the plain gown she wore, and then her
arisaid
. At least her soft wool hose were dry. They were one thing she indulged in. The finest wool in Scotland—actually produced by Ronan’s family. The fabric was silky soft and graced her skin in a melodious whisper of indulgence. One glance at her plain gown and even her dull chemise, nobody would guess she wore the best of hose. This particular pair, she’d embroidered thistles on. They made her feel special, reminded her that some small part of herself was still a woman.

“Dinna fash, I was only jesting.”

Julianna let out a sigh and turned around. “I know it. I’m sorry I didna wait to make sure your back was fully turned.”

“No need to apologize, lass. I assure
ye, offended was the last thing I was feeling.”

Julianna bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. She shouldn’t like what he was saying. Should be scandalized, but if she were to be honest with herself, she liked how he flirted, showed obvious interest in her. But she couldn’t encourage him. That would only lead down a road she wasn’t prepared to travel—no matter how much he made her heart flutter.

“Have ye anymore oatcakes?”

Ronan smiled—a smile that said he knew what she was doing. Julianna resisted the urge to ro
ll her eyes at him and instead folded up the plaid she’d borrowed. He rummaged through his satchel.

“I’ve got plenty.”

“Just one is fine,” she said.

She handed him the
plaid in exchange for the oatcake, glad to have one less stale than the ones she had packed.

“Thank ye for letting me use the plaid.”

“Ye’re welcome. As much fun as it would have been to see ye traipsing around the croft without it, I dinna think I would have survived.”

“How so?”

He shrugged. “Probably would have done something that had ye throwing one of your poisoned daggers at me.”

Julianna smiled as she bit into the oatcake. Not as stale as she thought it might be.
“That’s a fact and my aim is true. Ye might have come out of it missing one or more of your prized parts.”

“I’ve only one prized part,” he drawled with a wicked wink.

“For shame!”

“What? Is a man not allowed to prize his fighting arm?”

Heat infused Julianna’s face. She couldn’t believe she’d been referring to the man’s shaft when he’d been talking about his arm. As if waking up pressed against him this morning wasn’t enough mortification for one day. Julianna seemed bent on embarrassing herself further. She clenched her hands, resisting the urge to press them to her face to quell the heat.

“Nay. I prize my own as well.” Her voice came out sounding strangled.

“Of course, there are other parts of me I prize.”

“Oh. I suppose everyone likes more than one thing about themselves,” she mumbled. There was no way she was going to have this conversation with him. Could see where it was leading.

“Aye. I also like my other arm, for I can use it with almost the same skill.”

Julianna smiled tightly, and then went to gather up her
own blanket from the floor. Lil Lass had managed to curl her large body into a tight ball upon it. After a battle of wills, Julianna was finally able to get the fabric from beneath the hound who glared at her as though she’d threatened her well-being.

“Will ye nay play along?”

Julianna shook her head as she rolled the blanket and shoved it into her satchel.

“And why not? ‘Tis fun. Dinna ye like to have a bit of fun?”

Julianna whirled around to face Ronan head on. She put her fisted hands on her hips and frowned at him. “I like to have fun just as much as the next person. But do ye nay recall why we are here? I have a goal in mind, not just the desire to spend the day here with ye.”

Ronan’s joyful smile fell. He raked a hand through his hair and looked at her like she’d grown two heads. “I know why we’re here, Julianna.”

She opened her mouth to berate him for calling her by her given name. Not once had she given him permission to do so.

But Ronan spoke first.
“The fact is we almost died yesterday. We almost died a couple weeks ago. We could die later today or tomorrow. I but sought a few moments of laughter with a woman I highly respect.”

Well if he didn’t know how to make her feel guilty and like a sour old crone.
And she felt like she’d tossed his fear right into his face.

“But if ye prefer that I dinna jest with ye, that we remain focused and plotting at all times, so be it. I’ll not have ye railing at me. A shrewish woman is not attractive.”

Julianna’s breath escaped her in a rush of anger. Did he just call her a shrew? And unattractive?

She was speechless. The man had managed to make her feel guilty and horrid all in the matter of a minute. Seemed hardly fair.

“I do prefer it.” Her voice was clipped and she turned from him, intent on giving Brave a carrot and slipping his saddle back on. The sooner they were on their way the better.

Ronan ignored her, going about the same chores. When they’d both readied their mounts, he led the way outside, checking first to make
sure they were alone. Though it was dark and the moon not as bright, the area appeared clear. They mounted their horses and headed west. As they were only a couple of miles or so outside Kinterloch village, they kept to the trees in case any stragglers caught them on the road.

Julianna cleared her throat, the silence becoming unbearable. Ronan looked over
at her and raised a brow.