Highlander’s Captive (Highlander Trilogy 3)

He gave his head a firm shake and turned away from her. This was definitely going to be more difficult than he had thought, and not just for him.

“Torr.”

He turned, his name having spilled anxiously from her lips, only to find her still asleep.

“Help me, Torr,” she whispered even more anxiously.

She was crying out to him in her sleep, seeking his help, but why him and not Owen? He did not hesitate to go to her, slip beneath the covers, and take her in his arms. She snuggled back against him as his arms closed around her.

“You are safe with me and always will be. You have my word.”

It was as if her whole body sighed with relief and relaxed once more.

~~~

Wintra woke with a start. It took her a moment to realize where she was and why. She sat up in bed, holding the blanket over her naked breasts, and stared wide-eyed at Torr.

“You are dressed,” she said surprised or was she relieved?

“Your garments are still a bit damp.”

“How long before they dry, and how long have I slept?” she asked, lifting her hand to her hair, knowing it must look a sight, but then it always did, the mass of curls doing as they pleased.

He was upon her so fast, grabbing hold of her wrist that she did not have a chance to respond.

“Your wound, remember?” he explained.

She nodded and tugged to free her wrist, and he released it without hesitation. He was proving more and more to be a decent man.

“I will get some snow and melt it so I can cleanse the wound for you,” he said and turned to see to the task.

Wintra watched him as he scooped up a worn bucket near the fire and went to the door. His muscled frame was now familiar, very familiar, and she found herself intrigued by it. She studied his every movement. His muscles grew taut as he reached and bent just outside the door, and then he stood tall, his shoulders drawn back and his chest expanding. He was delicious.

Delicious?

Whatever was she thinking? It was as if she was salivating over him as she would over a luscious sweet. Luscious sweet? Had she gone completely mad? Good lord, she was one of those wanton women who couldn’t control herself. She shut her eyes and shook her head. She was a good woman. Then why did she throb between her legs when she looked at him? She would pray. Prayer would save her. And she would not look at him.

“Is something wrong, Wintra?”

Concern filled his voice, actual concern. He may have been ordered to see to her safety, but his concern for her was his own, and it tugged at her heart. She kept her eyes closed as she answered, “Nothing is wrong; I am fine.”

Torr stared at her not sure what troubled her, but knowing something did. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Why did he have to sound so sincere? She could not recall Owen ever sounding as sincere as Torr. One day, when she had been upset, Owen had asked if she was all right, and when she had told him she was fine he had simply accepted her response, not so Torr. He had seemed to sense that she wasn’t fine and was concerned enough to ask again.

“Somewhat fine,” she corrected.

“Open your eyes, look at me, and tell me what is troubling you.”

It was not that he was only firm; it was that he was earnest. And so she opened her eyes, though she silently warned herself against it. As soon as she did, she knew it was a mistake. She almost sighed at the look of worry on his face. He cared how she felt; he truly cared.

“Tell me,” he ordered as he set the bucket of snow by the hearth to melt.

She could not very well be honest with him and tell him how attractive she found him. So what then did she say?

She found the words spilling from her mouth before she could stop them. “I find you appealing.” She gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. Whatever was the matter with her? Had she lost her mind? But of course she had or she wouldn’t have spoken so recklessly.

Torr stared at her, shocked and amused, though he kept his smile from surfacing.

Before he could respond, she dropped her hand away from her mouth and tried to explain, make some sense of what she had just said, though she wondered if it was more for herself than him. “It must be the bump on my head. I am not myself. I do not know why I said that.”

“So you do not find me appealing?” he asked, a serious tone covering the amusing laugh that threatened to erupt.

“I do,” she said so suddenly that she once again shocked herself. Only this time she did not cover her mouth; she shook her head. “It must be the bump to the head,” she said again as if it explained everything.