A
tear tracked down her cheek as he settled her feet on the ground. His throat constricted as he remembered all
those he had lost over the years and his hands shook as he examined her for
injury. “Are ya hurt, lass?”
Without
waiting for an answer, he pulled her close, folding her into his arms like a
treasure he'd always coveted. She fit
him, neither too tall, nor too small, with her head nestled under his chin. Her scent filled his lungs again, bringing to
mind sweet summer mornings filled with promise, with joyful laughter. The sense of familiarity struck anew. His arms tightened, held her protectively. Possessively.
That
thought frightened him but he couldn’t force himself to release her. In neither of his roles as the Bard or the
Reiver Lord could he possibly claim a woman as his own. The Reiver was an outlaw, a mythic figure
used to set free the lassies taken as Bride Bounty. The Bard was a spy hiding behind a false
façade of joviality and incompetence.
Worse, the Bard was Cuini’s whore and that fact alone made
him...unclean. Not fit for human women.
The
lass opened her fisted hands, pressed them flat to his chest. The heat from them spread, vibrated over him
in shimmering notes. Unbidden, his roger
stirred and he was grateful for the solid bulk of his sporran. Trying to ignore the fact his body
temperature was rising by tens, he stroked the curve of her spine. “Ye’re fine.
Ye’re safe, lass. Dinna weep.”
She
pushed away from him, swiping a dirty hand across her damp cheek. “My cottage should be right up there. That or I’ve lost my mind.”
“Nae. You’re just a wee bit upset, a wee bit
confused.” So was he. His reaction to the woman was beyond anything
he’d ever experienced. His gaze traveled
from her bonnie blue eyes to her finely shaped nose to her pale rose lips. He wanted to kiss those lips, to feel their
silken texture, to taste her. A gull
swooped amid the offshore thermals. Its
lonely cry pealed over the sea and echoed in Devyn’s heart. He took a reluctant step away from the lass
and surveyed the bluff, the rocky beach.
What was she doing here, a woman alone?
“Will you tell me your name, lassie?”
The
look she gave him spoke volumes as to her opinion of his intelligence. “Did someone hit you on the head?”
He
refrained, barely, from volleying that question back at her. Patiently, he asked, “Were you attacked,
lass? Do you ken how you came to be
here?”
With
a scathing look, she turned away in disgust.
“Of course, I ken how I came
to be here. I walked.”
“Aye,
and before that? Where were you
then?” Where was her family? Where were her kinsmen who should be
protecting her from the Qui’arel, from the blethering dragons? From men like him whose rogers
“Right. Up.
There.” She stabbed a finger at the bluff. “In the cottage that’s no longer there.”
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