All that talking had eased her, and she became immersed in the muscles around his right knee, finding knots, digging, stroking.
Rollo let himself grow easy too, shutting his eyes, savoring the feel of a pair of deft hands working his body.
It was entirely inappropriate, but he couldn’t bring himself to make her stop. He hadn’t felt this good since before the accident. How did she manage it with just a single touch?
And if she was capable of making him feel so good with a mere hand on his leg—?
The thought sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin.
His eyes flew open, and his first sight was Felicity doggedly massaging his calf between two hands. Deep in thought, she licked and bit at her lower lip.
He felt himself growing hard, and harder still. His eyes flew from her mouth.
But they landed on her chest. She’d had to lean down, and her dress was tugged dangerously low, her breasts rising and falling with her efforts.
Losh
, but was she
trying
to pull herself out of that thing?
He tried to move away, and must have made some sound, but the effect was the opposite of what he’d intended.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry,” she said, placing her palm flat on his thigh.
Move the hand. Move the hand.
“Did I hurt you?”
He tried to answer but couldn’t, and she began rubbing slowly again. “Sorry, I’ll go lighter. I found a good spot—”
Her hands grew still.
Surely she didn’t realize how hard she was making him. Curse his body.
At least he knew one aspect of his physique that was in strong, working order. All the good
that
did.
Of course . . . he
could
touch her.
She seemed determined that they were meant for each other. He had only to reach out. Touch back. Her thigh—would it be soft or firm beneath his fingertips?
“That’s enough lass,” he croaked.
“Oh.” She sat back. “Enough, yes, of course.”
He clenched his eyes shut tight. A woman like her would want a man whole. A man to sweep her into his arms and climb stairs. Climb mountains.
Not an object of pity. For one day she would pity him. Something, somehow would come to pass, and she’d offer him that look he knew so well. He didn’t think he could bear to see
that
look, clouding the open joy that was her lovely face.
His realm would forever be one of battles and kings. Not secreted moments in dark carriages.
What she would do next, he had no idea. Rollo could only sit back, shut his eyes tight, and damn his body.
She wasn’t a fairy princess. She was the devil’s own.
Felicity.
What a name. Joyously damning him to a hell of soothing touches and creamy skin that would be forever out of his reach.
Chapter 6
“Cool!” Felicity said, walking off the day’s ride by stamping her feet and stretching her legs. She was trying her best to be cheery, even though she was sore, dirty, and hungry. And Will hadn’t even kissed her
once
.
Travel by carriage had become impossible. They’d switched to horses just north of Stirling, and now she didn’t even get to sit next to him anymore.
But, she was keeping it together. She’d muster a bright outlook, and soon he’d realize they were destined for each other.
“Wow,” she said, looking around her. The sun had shone brightly all day, igniting the lush countryside to glowing greens, reds, and yellows. “Scotland is sooo gorgeous.”
Hills rose like a promise on the horizon. The Highlands, Will had told her, with glens and heather and, she was certain, a goodly number of tartan-clad men too. Though she’d be surprised if any of them were as grimly sexy as her Viking.
“I can’t wait til we’re in the hills.” She shaded her eyes and looked into the distance. “But, wait, what about moors? There are moors here too, right? I mean, what exactly
is
a moor, anyway? Gosh, it all sounds so
Wuthering Heights
,” she added in a murmur. “And you mentioned thistle. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen thistle. Does it smell good?”
Her question was met with silence.
They’d been traveling for weeks. Mostly, the weather was gloomy and the food was gross, but through it all, Felicity had remained what she thought was quite the chipper and easygoing travel companion. And
still
, he barely even spoke to her.
“And all these lakes, or what do you call them,
lochs
?” She studied his back, willing him to chat. She wasn’t used to so much quiet. Back home there was always some sort of ambient noise—cars, distant sirens, the neighbor’s television—even at night. And besides, she could usually get a person to talk. She wasn’t accustomed to such a silent companion. “All these lochs are so—”
“Och,” he said, the sound drawn out like a hiss in the back of his throat, “please, lass.” Will gestured with his free hand for her to be quiet. “I’m trying to catch our dinner.”
Rollo sat in the grass, and Felicity stilled, watching in fascination as he gently tugged and spun clumps of found sheep’s wool into string, fashioning a small noose.
“What on earth—?” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oops, sorry!” she whispered, her chirpiness untouched by his mood.
This would be their first night sleeping outside, and she wasn’t sure if the elation she felt was due more to the prospect of camping in old Scotland or to the fact that they were going to be spending the night not separated by the walls of an inn.
Maybe beside a romantic fire. With him snuggling her close for warmth.
If only she felt cuter.
“God I wish I had a brush.” For what felt like the millionth time that day, she wound her hair into a thick rope, twisting and knotting it into a bun. “How do women deal with their hair here? Hey,” she exclaimed suddenly, “could you rig some of that wool into a hair band for me?”
He shot her a glare over his shoulder and she shrugged, giving him a smile in return. Will couldn’t step on
her
buzz. He’d changed into a kilt when they’d switched to horseback, and she just about thought she’d pass out from the now constant hum in her girl parts.
A man in a kilt—who knew?
Her eyes were continually drawn like a magnet to bits of his exposed calf and knee. Once they’d dismounted, she kept finding excuses to walk behind him. At one point, a renegade gust of wind had almost blown the thing up, and she was desperate to see what he had on under there.
She was also eager to see what sort of shape his legs were really in. It appeared his left one had healed relatively straight, but his right bowed at an angle that made her heart pang at the thought of the boy he’d been when he’d suffered so.
She watched him work, trying to remain quiet, but couldn’t bear it. She asked in a loud whisper, “What on earth is that little noose thing for?”
A dark cloud skittered across his brow.
“Okay, okay,” she said quickly. “I’ll shut up for real. Promise.”
Despite the million questions rattling around in her mind, she forced herself to silence. But it didn’t mean she’d budge from the spot, and she alternately studied him and gazed at the gorgeous panorama awaiting them.
She felt his stillness and glanced to find he was watching her. They locked gazes for a curious moment.
“See the wee den,” he said finally, his voice a low rasp. He pointed to a small rise roughly twenty feet away. “Just there.”
She squinted her eyes, but it all looked like brush and ragged grass to her. “I don’t see it.”
“A wee hole. Just there, lass.” He pointed again. His exasperation of the past weeks had mellowed to something sounding like resignation. Felicity thought it was a promising development.
“I still don’t see it.” She stood to get a closer look. “What’s in there, anyway?”
“Rabbit.”
“Oh no, you’re going to catch a little bunny?” He’d risen, and she joined him on his approach to the den.
“Your other option is black pudding.” He stopped by the side of a shallow grassy rise, and sure enough, a small shadowy hole spoke to an animal living within.
“Ooh”—she put her hand on his arm to stop him—“pudding sounds
much
better.” She was hungry, but that tiny noose was just too grim. “But how can you even make that here?”
“Black pudding? I’d find a cow . . .”
“I could do with some dairy,” she said optimistically.
“I’d make a cut at the shoulder, bleed just enough from the animal to mix with a spot of our oats—”
“Oh, that is disgusting.” She stopped him with a raised hand. “I wanted alpha male, but not
that
alpha.” She shook her head, then gestured to a patch of loch glittering in the distance. “Surely with all these lakes you could just catch us a fish?”
“This is much faster. And besides, you could use the meat.
I
could use the meat. We’ve long days ahead.”
“Well . . .” She
was
starving. “You’ll cook it though, right?”
He gave an exasperated grunt in response and leaned down by the rabbit den. He grabbed hold of a branch from some nearby gorse, and then pulled a dagger from his sock to slice it free.
“
Ohmygod
,” she gasped. “That is too hot. What else are you hiding in those socks, Will?”
Though silent, he turned a satisfying shade of beet red.
“William Rollo, you’re blushing.”
Scowling, he jammed the small stick just above the hole and began to wind the end of the noose around it.
“That thing is hideous. Like something from some little bunny horror movie.” She eyed the elaborate pistol holstered at his waist. “Why don’t you just shoot one?”
“I’m not partial to the taste of iron in my meat. In any case, bullets are a hard-won commodity.”
“Yeah . . .” She grew momentarily thoughtful. “Where do you get bullets, anyway?”
“Metal,” he bit out.
“Duh. But where do you get the metal?”
“Och, woman, do you ever give up?” Impatiently, he wound the string around once more, setting his trap. “Men melt it. Now let’s away from here, and pray for some roast meat for supper.”
“Can we take a walk?” she asked at his back.
Preferably someplace very windy
, she thought, eyeing the sway of his kilt along his thighs.
“A . . .” He stopped in his tracks, staring at her in disbelief. “You’ve been riding all day and now you’d like to walk?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest. She hadn’t really
really
wanted to, but now she was just feeling contrary.
“Walk where?”
“I don’t know. Around.” She panicked suddenly, realizing that, with his legs, the last thing he’d want to do after a day of hard riding was walk. “Maybe we could find something to go with the bunny.”
Felicity was a whiz in the kitchen, and made a wicked good stew. Men loved it. They always loved her cooking.
There had even been a time she’d dreamt of working in a restaurant, and had taken a bunch of cooking classes. She ended up scoring a plum job as a chef’s assistant, but her first night on the job had shocked her into reality. Everyone shouted at each other, cursing and jostling around in what felt like a thousand-degree kitchen. It’d been enough restaurant work for a lifetime.
But a simple rabbit stew? She could definitely swing a decent rabbit stew. She just needed to find the right herbs. Then Will would see how clever she was. That she could take good care of him.
“There has to be something green around here that we can eat,” she continued. “I’m dying to actually crunch into something fresh.”
She gave him an encouraging smile.
“Och.” He shook his head. “A walk. Aye, walk on, then.”
“Well, you don’t have to be so grumpy about it,” she mumbled under her breath.
Rollo pointed out a juniper bush, assuring her that the dark berries were edible, and with a whack of his cane, sent a shower of berries raining down.
“But we need something else,” she mused, walking slowly along the old drover’s path. “How about this?” Felicity knelt by a thick, weedy clump of foliage. “I keep seeing it. It looks like it could be . . . I don’t know, mint or something.”
“Lord no, lass. Those are nettles. Don’t even think about—”
She didn’t know why she did it, all she knew was that the draw was irresistible. Her hand was out and gripping the nettle leaves before she knew what she was doing.
“Ow!” There was a moment of tingling, then a sharp sting flushed over her palm and fingertips. “Ow ow ow.” She shook it out hard, but that didn’t stop the burning, or the tiny red welts that bloomed sudden and complete on her hand.
“That was a fool thing to do.” His voice cut her, and Felicity didn’t know which stung more, the nettles, or the fact that his sharp words probably constituted the most he’d said to her for some time.
“Whatever. It’s no big deal.” She wanted to shoot him a defiant glare, but felt her chin begin to quiver, and so turned her back on him instead.
Her hand was killing her, but she wasn’t about to let him see that. “Let’s just see if you’ve successfully murdered little Bugs or not.”
“Och, lass—”
“My name’s not
lass
,” she snapped. Felicity heard him rustling at her back, but she refused to turn and look at him. She’d not be able to bear it if his face was as cold as his words had been. “Don’t get me wrong,
lad
, I dig the
ochs
and
ayes
and all that. But I haven’t heard you say my name once. Do you even
remember
my name?”
“Felicity.” His voice was taut, the single word containing an apology, a scold, a plea. “Of course I know your name. It’s a beautiful name. It suits you,” he added quietly. “Turn around, Felicity. Please.”
Drawing her features into a careful blank, she turned.
He stood there, the sharpness of his gaze blunted into something approaching tenderness. Rollo stretched out his hands, and she saw he’d filled them with fistfuls of oblong green leaves.