Page 40 of Glasgow Rogue
She shook her head, not quite trusting her voice.
Where his hands encircled her was awfully close to her breasts.
His thumbs practically grazed the undersides.
And, for some unexplainable reason, the fact that he was not touching them made her nipples peak.
Hopefully, her jacket hid her response to him. “I…am fine.”
“I doona think ye have cracked any ribs, but I want to make sure.”
As Niall’s fingers gently slid down toward her waist, something clenched low in her belly.
When he traced lightly over her hips, wet heat began to pool between her legs, followed by a throbbing at her core as his hands settled on her thighs.
Her breath hitched again and Annie fought for a gulp of air, trying to ignore the sensations that racked her body.
If Niall’s examination continued much longer, she’d be whimpering and wiggling like a puppy, in need of a whole lot more touching…
“Ouch!” The pleasure she’d been feeling turned sharply to pain as Niall picked up one foot and started to rotate her ankle.
He stopped immediately. “Ye must have twisted it when ye fell.”
“Is it broken?”
“’Tis hard to say without removing your boot, and I’d rather keep it on for support until we get home.”
Annie smiled ruefully as the pain subsided somewhat. “My horse is probably already there.”
“Nae matter.” Niall put one arm under her knees and the other about her shoulders and stood, lifting her as though she weighed no more than a sack of feathers, and started toward his horse.
“Your leg!” Annie said. “Ye should nae be putting so much weight on it.”
“My leg is fine. ’Tis yours I am concerned with,” he answered and then placed her on the saddle while he vaulted up behind her. “The sooner we get ye tended to, the better.”
He edged forward, lifting her slightly until her legs dangled over one of his thighs and her bottom was settled firmly against the other.
It was surprisingly comfortable even though she was seated sideways across the horse.
Niall’s arms went around her, cocooning her warmly inside his embrace, filling her nose with his scent.
It wasn’t until the gelding started trotting that Annie became aware of something hard bumping against her hip in rhythm to the gait.
All of the earlier awareness of him came rushing back like a kindled fire.
Heat rippled through her, igniting all her vulnerable spots.
Annie didn’t dare look at Niall. She knew from her experience with Broderick that men’s bodies hardened when physically close to a female. She didn’t want Niall to see in her face what she was feeling right now. Instead, she closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest, feigning sleep.
Which was probably an even bigger mistake. Lord, but Niall felt good.
****
“How do ye like the stallion?” Ian asked as he and Niall were returning from a good gallop across the nearby glen. “Gunnar is Jillian’s favorite.”
Niall petted the sleek neck of the Andalusian.
“’Tis a fine animal.” The stallion was well-trained, but spirited.
Passing through the village, he’d picked up the scent of a mare and given Niall a bit of a challenge, one that Niall had met gladly, since he could identify with the randiness of the horse. He felt the same way.
This was the fifth day since Annie’s fall and their ride home together.
He could still recall—in achingly vivid detail—each time his hard cock had pounded against Annie’s hip.
It had taken every ounce of his considerable willpower not to pull her on top of him so he could at least get partial relief.
Thank God the ride was only a mile because he didn’t know how much longer they could have kept pretending…
Annie for “sleeping” so she could ignore his unwelcome assault or him for trying to act as though he weren’t ready to explode like a green lad.
“The bairns sometimes keep Jillian busier than she likes,” Ian said. “The horse needed exercising and he does nae take to many people.”
“Glad to help,” Niall replied and wondered if the stallion hadn’t perhaps felt an affinity for his own needy predicament.
It had come as a surprise to him that the herd of beautiful Spanish horses had been Jillian’s dowry and that she was the one who bred them.
Evidently there were English women as well as Scottish ones who didn’t follow traditional roles.
Annie had all but crowed like a rooster when she’d learned of it.
She’d already asked Jillian about books on breeding and how active she was with the actual sale of the colts and fillies.
As they rode through the gate into the bailey, Niall looked for Annie.
Luckily, the ankle had only been sprained and she’d been up and about for the last two days.
Usually she was outside with the twins, but today the courtyard was empty.
He and Ian led their horses into the barn and rubbed them down before heading into the castle.
It was also eerily quiet. Ian’s bairns were probably napping in the nursery upstairs, but usually the twins could be heard if not seen.
Neither Jillian nor Annie met them in the entryway either, which was unusual.
Ian exchanged a glance with Niall, about to make a comment when they heard the murmur of low voices coming from a room down the hall that Jillian had converted into a parlor.
Jillian and Annie were seated on the sofa, the twins occupying chairs on either side. A man Niall had not seen before sat stiff and upright in a chair across from them.
“Who are you?” Ian asked.
“Charles Curtis, from the magistrate’s office in Glasgow.” The man stood. “Mr. MacQuarrie sent me.”
Niall felt the hair at his nape prickle. “MacQuarrie? What does he want?”
Annie held up a piece of paper Niall hadn’t noticed she’d been holding.
“We have to return for questioning,” she said.