His Wicked Highland Ways by Laura Strickland

Author:Laura Strickland [Strickland, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Medieval, Historical
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2015-09-01T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Two

Steady rain dripped off the branches of the trees, struck the plaid Finnan wore over his head, and seeped through the wool to trickle down his neck. He sat huddled in a stand of pine, safe from the hounds, or so he hoped. Danny, exhausted and once more pricked by fever, slept behind him, under cover. Even the wet would not rouse the lad now.

The moments spent at Jeannie MacWherter’s cottage had been the last rest either of them had known. All day yesterday the Avries’ men had chased them about the glen, keeping them always on the move. Two groups of hunters combed the hillsides, one led by Stuart and one by Trent Avrie. Trent’s group had almost had them this afternoon, half way up the slope above Dun Mhor. Danny had stumbled and gone down; Finnan had climbed the rest of the hillside with the lad slung over his shoulder.

And got away. But for how long? He could move like a deer, but it could not be denied Danny hampered him. And with the return of the lad’s fever, Finnan could only ask so much. Danny needed rest and had been on fire when Finnan tucked him away among the trees.

Surely they were safe for a time. On a night so filthy wet, even his pursuers must be loath to venture out. Danny would catch his breath and be stronger in the morning.

But Finnan did not like keeping still; he never had, and now, surrounded by danger, he felt as if he had a prod at his back. Inactivity gave him too much time to think, and while he could unquestionably use an opportunity to figure how he would get out of this tangle, he could concentrate on only one thing.

Jeannie MacWherter.

She had haunted him ever since he walked away from her door. The feel of her flesh seemed to linger in the tips of his fingers, and his cock had been up more than down. Even now, beset by damp and exhaustion, the very idea of her had him stirring.

If ever a woman had been made for plundering, it was she. He relived again the moment he had plunged into her: her heat and tightness, that telling moment of resistance. And then the way she had clung to him with arms, lips, and those inner muscles. She fitted him the way a finely made sheath fit a sword.

By all that was holy, he had to stop thinking about it or he would embarrass himself here in the darkness, and he had not done that since he was a green lad. He had to stop thinking of her. Or if he did he must focus on his revenge, because this was all about Geordie. Jeannie had denied Geordie everything Finnan had enjoyed yestere’en. Remember that, my lad, he told his cock.

It refused to listen and bade him instead remember the scent of her, filling his senses when she became aroused. Her desire had beat at him like a wall of fire.

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