Bannockburn Binding

Chapter Two

Rob managed to stay away from his tent until sunset, then he could stand it no longer. He found a platter that was near to clean and heaped piping hot stew upon it, grabbed a hunk of honey bread and even managed to scrounge up a spoon. He took it all back to the tent, with a lantern in the other hand.

She was slumped against the tent pole, her face against her arms. His heart leapt into his mouth at the paleness of her. “Natalie, lass,” he murmured. “I’ve food for ye.”

She didn’t move and his fear bloomed larger. After all, she had been doing naught but picking mushrooms. If he’d killed her....

He sat his burdens down and cut her hands free with his dagger. She fell against him, a dead weight.

“Ye should’ve called out sooner, lassie,” he told her, knowing she probably couldn’t hear him. He began to massage her upper arms and shoulders, where most of the strain would have been.

She flashed to life, her knee driving into the front of his kilt, aiming for parts that no maiden should have been aware of. Her arms stiffened, the elbows driving into his chest. Her right elbow landed true and his shoulder instantly numbed, leaving his left arm useless.

She squirmed out of his reach and lunged for the dirk he’d left on the skins behind him.

Both furious and amazed, he threw himself on top of her, reaching over her head to pin her forearm to the floor, even as her fingers closed on the haft of the knife. With his left arm useless, he could only pin her down until his weight and her own struggles exhausted her.

“Wriggle all ye like,” he told her harshly. “It’ll do naught but tire ye, and make your meal cold. I have no intention of letting ye take the knife.” He shook his fingers as feeling started to return to his arm. “And the longer ye wriggle the sooner my other hand will recover.”

She lay still and silent. Waiting.

As soon as he was able, he reached with his left hand and tossed the knife far out of the way. Then he flipped her on her back.

Instantly, she heaved upwards with her head, intending to smash her forehead into his and blind him. But he had been ready for such a trick and was out of reach, so she did nothing but strain her already stressed shoulders. She fell back on the skins with a cry of pain, her eyes closing.

It was much too close to a more intimate positioning than Rob cared to consider. He cleared his throat. “Ye cannot win any match against me, Natalie.” His words emerged ragged and harsh. “D’ye not see? Will ye not give it up and let me treat ye civilly?”

She was breathing deeply, but the eyes were slit open, showing dark brown and black. “Give me back my manservant.”

“I canna.”

She turned her head away. “Then I cannot, either.”

“Look at me,” he demanded harshly. When she remained still, he brought both slender wrists under his left hand and gripped her chin to bring her head around. She merely closed her eyes.

So Rob kissed her, intending merely to shock her into opening her eyes. And they did open wide, but that was all he noticed before the sensations of kissing her swamped his senses. Her mouth was soft, pliable and tasted like ripe peaches. Everything about her was soft, warm, delicate. His tongue slipped between her lips. Sips of honey, he thought.

It was the last coherent thought he had. His body took over. He let it happen. The drive to have more of the taste of her, to take more, was overwhelming. He let his body press against hers, feeling her with every inch of his length where she lay beneath him.

And her tongue met his.

Her soft moan as she melted against him made the internal flame blaze up, demanding more and more. Silvery excitement shot through him.

Abruptly, with a cold dash of alarm, he realized what he was doing. What they were doing.

He wrenched himself away and she, too, slithered back until she was up against the tent pole, her arms against her chest defensively. Her veil had dislodged, revealing pale golden hair tied back in a thick skein at her back. The brown eyes were very round. “What...do you think you are doing?”

It was the proper question any maiden would ask.

Rob spoke carefully. “I am a block-headed fool. I must be, for the only other truth is that you and I both know what we were just doing.”

She bit her lip.

The small sign of doubt was more endearing than anything else she had said or done this day. “We cannot,” she said and it had a hopeless, final quality to it.

“Aye and I would not, not with you.” He got up, the heaviness in his limbs making his actions awkward.

“Because I am English,” she said, her voice harsh.

He picked up his dagger and slid it back into his boot. “Because ye are my captive. Only the English spoil their winnings, lassie, but ye could say more on that than I.” He pointed to the platter, which was still steaming. His hand shook. “That is for you. I suggest ye eat it, for there’s naught else to be had this night.” He threw the rope aside. “I’ll not tie ye again, so I must guard ye instead. Don’t try to go under the back of this tent, either. It’s dark now. Anyone caught wandering the camp who can’t answer the day’s challenge will be run through.”

And he got himself out of his tent while he still could and let the leather fall across the opening. He hoped it would be barricade enough.