Highland Warrior. Hannah Howell

Ewan decided that sounded very reasonable and stoutly ignored his brother’s look of amusement.

      “So be it. Shall I secure her for the night? Nay sure how to do so, but ’tis needed, I believe. I suspicion that lass could cause us a great deal of trouble if she put her mind to it.”

      Ewan cursed softly as he turned to look at Fiona. Gregor was right. She needed to be secured in some way. It would not be that difficult to alter the guard schedule he had arranged, ensuring that she was watched closely throughout the night. To his dismay, he could not bring himself to enact that very sensible plan. He did not like the thought of any man remaining so close to Fiona as she slept, or having the opportunity to gain her interest.

      Utter madness, he thought crossly. And a weakness that could easily bring him a great deal of grief. If he were back at Scarglas, there would be places he could go, work he could do, in an attempt to put her out of sight and mind. There was no place to hide here.

      He sighed, accepting his own contrariness. He did not want another man too close to her for too long, so he would have to be the one to guard her during the night. It could answer a few questions, such as just how great a weakness he suffered and how difficult it would be to fight the attraction he felt for her. It could also prove to be a very long, sleepless night.

      “I will guard her,” he said. “The night guard has already been arranged. Tis easier to just leave it as it stands. I just need a wee bit of rope.”

      “Rope?” Gregor asked as he followed Ewan to where their supplies were. “Ye plan to tie her up?”

      “That would be the better plan, but nay. If naught else, I wouldnae wish to try and explain to the men why a mon of my size feels the need to tie up such a wee lass just so that he can sleep. I will just leash her to me so that she cannae slip away in the night.”

      Without another word to Gregor, Ewan walked toward Fiona, who was just finishing the chore of cleaning up after the meal. Her lovely eyes widened at the sight of the rope he held, then narrowed. Before she could retreat, however, he caught both her slender wrists in the grip of one hand. He saw her leg tense as she slowly drew it back.

      “I willnae be pleased if ye kick me, lass,” he drawled as he dragged her toward the spot where Gregor hastened to spread out a blanket for them to sleep upon.

      “Weel, that would certainly keep me weeping for most of the night,” Fiona said, giving up her futile attempts to free her wrists. The man’s grasp was not really painful, but it was unbreakable. “Just what do ye plan to do with that rope?”

      Ewan did not reply. He secured one end of the rope around her wrists and the other end to one of his own wrists. After checking that the bonds were secure, he met her gaze. She looked as if she wanted to wrap the rope around his neck and strangle him—slowly. He wondered why he found that amusing and decided that lust was disordering his wits.

      Fiona silently called him every foul name she could think of as he gently, but firmly, pushed her down onto the blanket. He sprawled at her side, then spread another blanket over the top of them. When he crossed one arm beneath his head and draped the one she was bound to over his stomach, she found herself forced onto her side, facing him.

      “I dinnae suppose ye would accept my vow to nay try to escape?” she asked as she shifted around a little in a vain attempt to find a comfortable position.

      “Nay. I dinnae ken who ye are and ye dinnae plan to tell me, do ye, Fiona-of-the-ten-knives?”

      She almost smiled over the name he gave her, then grimaced. Fiona-of-the-eleven-knives would be better, for that would mean that she still had one hidden away and could cut herself free. There were worse things he could have done to make sure she gave him no trouble during the night, but this would make sleep difficult.

      So would this enforced closeness, she realized as she suddenly became aware of a few disconcerting facts. She was far too aware of the big, strong body so close to hers. He was enticingly warm and smelled nice, clean and with his own personal scent that she found dangerously attractive. Fiona abruptly recalled their wrestling together as he had relieved her of her weapons. A blush singed her cheeks as she realized she wanted to feel those big hands on her again; only this time they would linger and caress. It was madness, but she instinctively knew it would be very difficult to cure herself of it.

      Closing her eyes, she tried to revive the fear of strangers, of men, that Menzies’s perverted pursuit had bred in her, but it would not come. For reasons of its own, her heart would not allow her to fear this big, dark man. Feelings she had never experienced before, for any man, were stirring to life within her. A part of her wanted to let those feelings grow and soar. A saner part of her wanted to bury them. Not only was this a very bad time to discover she could be attracted to a man, could even feel passion for one, but it could prove to be a very unwise choice. After silently cursing long and hard, Fiona fought to clear her mind of all troubling thoughts. Perhaps after some sleep, she could find the strength to stand back and see everything more clearly.

      Ewan chanced a look at the woman he was leashed to. His gaze lingered when he realized she was asleep. The softness sleep brought to her face and the moonlight made her only more beautiful. He silently cursed as he was forced to admit that he could look at that small heart-shaped face for a very long time and never tire of doing so. Ewan knew that a lot of men would find her flawed because of the scars upon her face, but in his eyes, they did nothing to lessen her beauty.

      He clenched his hands into tight fists as he fought the urge to touch Fiona. The memory of the silken warmth of her skin beneath his hands as he had searched her for weapons was a hard one to banish. Nay, it was impossible, he admitted. He ached to feel that warmth again, to linger over it, from the soles of her small feet to her smooth brow.

      Simply thinking of touching her soon had him aroused to the point where it was painful. Ewan wanted to feel those firm, plump breasts nestling into his palms. He wanted those long, strong legs of hers to be wrapped around his waist. He desperately wanted to hear her cry out his name whilst caught fast in the throes of the passion he would stir within her.

      It was madness. The dreams of a fool. He was big, dark in looks and in humor, and badly scarred. Women did not flock to him as they did to Gregor. Once a year he spent a night with a whore, who took his coin and never begged him to return soon. If a woman ever cried out his name, it was in fear.

      Ewan closed his eyes and swore he would kill this attraction. For many reasons, he had decided to remain a man alone. If he was not careful, did not guard his feelings, he feared his lovely hostage could easily change his mind, could make him try to reach for what he could never have.

      Chapter 3

      Fiona dreamed of her horse tossing her to the ground and running away, leaving her to her fate. She scowled, wondering why she felt as if the contrary beast had thrown her, then fallen on top of her. Still more asleep than awake, she opened her eyes, but she saw neither grass nor rocky ground, only a blanket. That made no sense. People did not leave blankets spread about ready to catch someone thrown from their horse.

      Forcing the lingering clouds of sleep from her mind, Fiona raised a hand to rub her eyes, only to gape. Her wrists were tied together. A heartbeat later, her memory returned and her mind cleared. It was no horse on top of her, squeezing all the breath from her lungs, but her captor.

      She tried to wriggle out from beneath him, but he had her firmly pinned to the blanket. All she accomplished was to rouse him enough to make him shift his position a little. Fiona nearly gasped aloud when she became aware of exactly what was now nudging against her backside. She not only had a very big man crushing her; she had a very big aroused man crushing her. Although she told herself the way her heart raced was due to fear, she knew she was lying. There was a faint touch of alarm within her, for the man felt to be impressively well endowed. What truly upset her, however, was the sudden urge to move her hips and nudge him back. Obviously, a night’s sleep had not restored her senses at all.

      When she felt him nuzzle the side of her neck, a strange warmth flooded her body. Even as she savored that feeling, she could hear her brother’s wife