Page 70 of The Hawk Laird

The heat of his body was close and welcome in the intimate, damp cave. Her heart thundered. She kept still, loving the delicate web of feelings running through her at his touch.

He patted her shoulder them. “A sorry sort of braid, but ’twill do.”

She half turned her head. “You have a gentle hand.”

“I have learned well from hawks.” He smoothed a tendril of hair over her ear, his thumb caressing down her neck, sending tremors through her. She wanted to turn in his arms, her body pounding with an urgent, startling need. But she stayed still, trembling, waiting.

“Ah,” he said, lifting his hands away. “I will regret sending you to your betrothed, I think.”

“Will you?” she breathed.

“But you must go back—for your father, and for Janet.” He paused. “And for Leslie.”

She bowed her head, feeling a sad weight upon her shoulders. “Not for Sir Ralph.” She heard his indrawn breath. “He only means to use me—for the prophecies.”

“The others used you too. They kept you away from the world, caring more about the prophecies than the prophetess.”

“I know that now.” She glanced at him. “Thank you for—showing me kindness and patience.”

He sighed. “Lass, I mean to use you as well, to barter for Janet. I am not a champion or a saint. I am a rogue and will not change.”

“But you never forced me to your will, as a true rogue would have done. And when I insisted on freedom, you were willing to give it to me, even if it deprived you of what you wanted. And you—”

“What?” His voice was soft. She wanted to melt into its warmth. And though she bowed her head protectively, she spilled her thoughts like the water pouring over the rim of the cave.

“You asked me to help you. I valued that. So much, you cannot know. I have—few friends.”

“And so you want to stay with me, as a friend?”

Only in part, but she did not say. She waited, heart pounding. What she wanted, what she needed, crystallized then—as if she had been blind for a long time, and now saw a ray of light.

But she did not have the courage to say that she wanted to stay. And she hesitated to name the reason for the urge. She did not want to seem foolish or needy.

He touched her hair. “Isobel,” he said. “I have been a fool.”

Now she looked at him. “A fool?”

He nodded, tilting his head. “I should have kept you a hostage.”

Disappointment plunged through her. “Oh.”

With a finger, he lifted her chin. “I should never have let you become a friend. Become close. Now I cannot so give you up.”

“You do not have to give me up.”

His thumb traced her jaw. “I must.”

She drew a breath, leaned toward him. “Jamie, you—”

“Och!” A voice called from above. “Look at that! Janet will not like that!”

Isobel jumped as if stung. James turned and they both looked up to see Quentin and Patrick peering down at them with delighted grins.

“Aye,” Quentin told Patrick. “She will not like it at all.”

“Then we will not tell her,” Patrick said. “Can we come down, or do you want to be alone?”

Isobel felt a hot flush spread into her face. Quentin winked at her and Patrick grinned.