Women…they were always at the root of his problems, and that didn’t appear to be changing anytime soon. This was his fate.
“Mind if I join ye and your men? I am on my way to the prince now.” She stood from petting the dog and walked to the water’s edge.
Brogan watched her bend down, dipping hands into the water, scrubbing away the muck from her arms, and then splashing water on her face and wiping it around the back of her neck. She closed her eyes for a moment, face toward the sun, and water dripped slowly from her nose to her lips, down the sides of her temple to her jawline and the long column of her neck. Brogan found himself growing inordinately thirsty. He imagined lifting her up from where she crouched, running his tongue along the wet rivulets.
Holy hell… Where had that thought come from? He needed a cold dip in the loch. Fiona was off-limits, for rational reasons. And reasons she’d proven, like her ability to up and disappear without thinking about anyone she’d left behind. Or the recklessness with which she ruled her life. To him, Fiona had only proven herself to be unreliable. And since when did he like to surround himself with unreliable people?
Stiffening, he worked a frown onto his face and hoped none of the men noticed him practically panting after her. He shifted his stance, his breeches growing tight right in the damn center. “Are ye going to run away in the middle of the night again?”
“Were ye bothered that I did?” She stood facing him, her shirt wet and clinging to her breasts.
Brogan forced his eyes up. Dinna look, ye weaselly bastard. Keeping his tone irritated, and not for the right reasons, he said, “It does bother me that ye did. Ye could have had the common courtesy to let someone know ye were leaving.”
“I told ye many times I didna want to travel with ye.” She marched back to her horse, her hips swaying gently and making it hard for him to swallow.
Brogan grunted. She had a point, and it didn’t sit well with him. Neither did the way the rest of the men were watching her.
“My men and I are a unit. Everyone works better together with communication. If ye want to be in a man’s world, then ye need to follow the rule of men.”
“Huh. All right. Then I’ll be on my way.” Foot in the stirrup, she mounted as easily as if she were climbing stairs and nudged her horse forward, prepared to depart.
Blast if that tiny increment of movement didn’t give Brogan a moment of panic. He didn’t want her to leave. And not because he wanted to strip her bare and toss her into the loch for a swim…and a kiss. And to slide his body over hers.
The lass wasn’t one to play by the rules, and he should have known that already. He was a fool to threaten her, for she simply didn’t care enough to change for him, for anyone.
“Wait,” he said, and she paused, looking down at him as though he were a petulant child and she was waiting to hear whatever excuse he might have for his bad behavior. “Ye can stay with us. But communication is essential.”
“I am no’ adverse to communication, Grant. Communication is my mission in this rebellion, ye of all people know that.”
“Then ye’ll tell me next time before ye run off.”
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Aye. And I should also tell ye that there was a troop of at least a dozen redcoats following me.”
Brogan let out a small expletive. “Ye couldna have said as much when ye first got here?”
“I was…distracted.” She eyed him, implying it was his fault.
Lord, did he know the feeling. Brogan tore his gaze from her and faced his men. “Mount up. We’ll go to my caves.”
“Your caves?”
“Aye. My caves.”
They crossed the water at a shallow point, picking up the pace on the other side.
“How far were the dragoons when ye reached us?”
“I’d no’ seen them in at least a half hour.”
“So close.”
“Aye. I’ve been avoiding them for nearly two nights.”
Brogan gritted his teeth, not wanting to shout at her, but goddammit, he wanted to shout at her. The lass was watching him, a look on her face that was unreadable. Was she baiting him, or trying to gauge his reaction?
How did she know he was going to be there? He couldn’t help but think it was too much of a coincidence that she just happened to see him upon the road.
Aye, she was the prince’s messenger, but there was a lot more to the lass than she let on. She was too good at what she did, which meant she was likely the spy he’d suspected all along.
A spot behind his ribs gave a thump. He was glad she was back, an admission he wouldn’t make aloud. Seeing her alive, knowing that no burned-out cottage he’d come across had held her body seemed to lift a weight from his shoulders that he hadn’t realized had settled there.
“Did ye find your friend?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
“Aye.” She flashed him a smile, but didn’t expound on that.
“Is she safe?”
“She should be now.”
“But she wasna?”
Fiona shook her head. “Things could have ended verra badly for her if she’d no’ left when she did. Things could still. But I trust she’ll get where she needs to go.”
Was that a silent dig at him, that he should trust she would get to where she needed to go too?
“Where is she headed?”
“East. To her brother and cousin in Aberdeen.” She turned to look at him, a challenge in her gaze. “And nay, I dinna also have a brother and cousin in Aberdeen to go to.”
Brogan held up a hand in surrender. “I said nothing.”
“But ye thought it, Brogan Grant. Ye’re thinking a lot of things.”
“How do ye know what I’m thinking?”
“I can feel it.”
She could feel it… Just the way he could feel the heat of her ire, and it made him think of other hot things. The way her body felt when he’d held her against him, consoling her after seeing so much death.
Bloody hell… He’d been too long without a woman if he didn’t think this termagant would drive him to the brink of sanity.
Och, but how very satisfying it would be… All that pent-up anger and frustration inside her, that rage just begging to be let loose as he set her to flame and vanquished her troubles in a molten vat of screaming pleasure.
Brogan cleared his throat. Where the hell were these thoughts coming from?
He needed to focus on their journey. Make certain they went in the right direction before he got turned around because all he could think to follow were the hills and valleys of her figure. Brogan tracked a familiar path in his mind from the winding river, over the moors, and up into the craggy mountains. There was a cave that he’d visited often as a lad. His own hiding spot where he could go to think, to escape the clan, to escape everything.