Read Online Highland Enchantment (Highland Brides) by Lois Greiman - Free Book Online
Authors: Lois Greiman
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exhaustion, he told himself. Near exhaustion and flirting with hysteria, but still, her expression conjured up memories of a time when there had been peace between them. A time when she had been young and trusting. Before... Well, before many things, and he wasn't going to think about it. There were more important matters to consider. Survival, for instance.
"We'd best get out of these clothes." He knew better than to look at her when he said it, but he couldn't help himself.
Her eyes looked only slightly larger than their precious fire when she glanced up, her body as stiff as death.
"God's balls, Rachel, I'm not about to throw myself upon you. But I wouldn't care to explain your demise to your laird and father when you die of the ague. After all, you— "What are you doing?" he asked, jerking to his feet when her fingers brushed his neck.
"Removing your clothes," she said, rising with him.
"What?"
She reached for the ties that bound his tattered cape to his neck.
He moved his lips, trying to speak.
"We were safe enough whilst we kept walking," she said. "The movement kept us warm. But we cannot walk forever." The ties gave way beneath her icy fingers. The cape fell heavily to the floor. "There's no time to waste now, for our fire may not last long."
Panic would have well described his state of mind. A panic that nearly dulled the emotions he had felt during the fall down the river. "Shouldn't we..."
"We must hurry. We'll hang your clothes over the tree limb near the fire, then search for other wood."
He moved his lips wordlessly again, but her fingers were already on the laces of his tunic. One sleeve had been ripped off and the other severed at the cuff.
"I can..." he began, but she brusquely pushed his hands away.
The ties came open in a moment. She reached for the hem, tugged it upward, and pulled it over his head. Goosebumps followed its exit. Liam stared at her.
"The bandage is doing you no good," she said.
Looking down, he saw that her handiwork of yesterday was little more than shreds hanging from his shoulder.
She removed it quickly.
"Here. Move closer to the fire. Rub your hands together." She took them between her own and rubbed brusquely. "It'll help you..."
Her gaze snagged on his. Their breath stopped in unison. So she had finally realized the erotica of this moment, he thought. She'd finally seen that the bodice of her gown had been mangled and that her breasts, pale and magical as moonlight, swelled into view like ripe, forbidden fruit.
So she would finally find her good sense and draw away.
He forced his gaze to her face and watched her lips move. Although he knew she spoke words of caution, he could not quite distinguish them.
"What?" he rasped finally.
"You must remove your plaid," she said quickly.
Liam's jaw dropped. If he had had to guess what she was about to say, that would have been at the bottom of the list, although in his dreams... He dashed the thoughts aside with the hard image of her father's claymore. It was a huge weapon, longer than Liam was tall and wielded by a man who was notably attached to his only daughter.
"I'm really quite warm now," he managed pitifully.
But she shook her head. "We've no time to waste, Liam," she said, and skimmed her gaze down his body as if he were no more interesting than an overcooked onion. Less actually, since an onion was, at least, edible. "You'll dry more quickly without your clothes. And it'll give me a chance to see to your wounds."
And to see other stuff, stuff that, despite everything—her haughty demeanor, their mutual dislike for each other, these horrible circumstances—refused to stay were he had put it. Stuff that, ever since he'd met her years ago, still ached at the sight of her, the scent of her, the mention of her.
"I'm fine," he said.
She reached for the belt that held his plaid in place. "You must not—"
"Rachel!" He caught her arms in a hard grip. "I'm fine."
Their gazes caught again. She blinked, her amethyst
"We'd best get out of these clothes." He knew better than to look at her when he said it, but he couldn't help himself.
Her eyes looked only slightly larger than their precious fire when she glanced up, her body as stiff as death.
"God's balls, Rachel, I'm not about to throw myself upon you. But I wouldn't care to explain your demise to your laird and father when you die of the ague. After all, you— "What are you doing?" he asked, jerking to his feet when her fingers brushed his neck.
"Removing your clothes," she said, rising with him.
"What?"
She reached for the ties that bound his tattered cape to his neck.
He moved his lips, trying to speak.
"We were safe enough whilst we kept walking," she said. "The movement kept us warm. But we cannot walk forever." The ties gave way beneath her icy fingers. The cape fell heavily to the floor. "There's no time to waste now, for our fire may not last long."
Panic would have well described his state of mind. A panic that nearly dulled the emotions he had felt during the fall down the river. "Shouldn't we..."
"We must hurry. We'll hang your clothes over the tree limb near the fire, then search for other wood."
He moved his lips wordlessly again, but her fingers were already on the laces of his tunic. One sleeve had been ripped off and the other severed at the cuff.
"I can..." he began, but she brusquely pushed his hands away.
The ties came open in a moment. She reached for the hem, tugged it upward, and pulled it over his head. Goosebumps followed its exit. Liam stared at her.
"The bandage is doing you no good," she said.
Looking down, he saw that her handiwork of yesterday was little more than shreds hanging from his shoulder.
She removed it quickly.
"Here. Move closer to the fire. Rub your hands together." She took them between her own and rubbed brusquely. "It'll help you..."
Her gaze snagged on his. Their breath stopped in unison. So she had finally realized the erotica of this moment, he thought. She'd finally seen that the bodice of her gown had been mangled and that her breasts, pale and magical as moonlight, swelled into view like ripe, forbidden fruit.
So she would finally find her good sense and draw away.
He forced his gaze to her face and watched her lips move. Although he knew she spoke words of caution, he could not quite distinguish them.
"What?" he rasped finally.
"You must remove your plaid," she said quickly.
Liam's jaw dropped. If he had had to guess what she was about to say, that would have been at the bottom of the list, although in his dreams... He dashed the thoughts aside with the hard image of her father's claymore. It was a huge weapon, longer than Liam was tall and wielded by a man who was notably attached to his only daughter.
"I'm really quite warm now," he managed pitifully.
But she shook her head. "We've no time to waste, Liam," she said, and skimmed her gaze down his body as if he were no more interesting than an overcooked onion. Less actually, since an onion was, at least, edible. "You'll dry more quickly without your clothes. And it'll give me a chance to see to your wounds."
And to see other stuff, stuff that, despite everything—her haughty demeanor, their mutual dislike for each other, these horrible circumstances—refused to stay were he had put it. Stuff that, ever since he'd met her years ago, still ached at the sight of her, the scent of her, the mention of her.
"I'm fine," he said.
She reached for the belt that held his plaid in place. "You must not—"
"Rachel!" He caught her arms in a hard grip. "I'm fine."
Their gazes caught again. She blinked, her amethyst
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