“Morgann?” she whispered.
“Aye, ‘tis I.”
“I am glad ye’ve come for me.” She sighed. “I’ve missed ye.”
He swallowed heavily. God’s blood, she must have fallen hard. “I’ve missed ye too.”
She beamed up at him. “It pleases me to hear ye say that.”
Delicate fingers began creeping up his arm and hooked over his shoulder, holding him closer. He frowned. “What are ye playing at, lass?”
“Dinnae ye want to keep me warm, Morgann?”
Aye, of course he did. He wished to do more than keep her warm. He hungered to strip her of her clothing and kiss her from head to toe. He wished to plunder her mouth and see if her kisses were like he’d always dreamed they would be. He wished to make her his.
But he would not take advantage of her and he needed to remember exactly why he’d taken her. If he handed her back to Laird Dougall ruined, there would be hell to pay. The fates somewhere were playing a cruel trick indeed, placing this wet, sensual woman in his arms.
He huddled up to her, tucking her head into the crook of one arm. The light rain still soaked his back but the discomfort was nothing compared to the agony of having Alana flat against him. Highly aware of her slender legs twining with his, he gritted his teeth and tried to picture something less enticing.
But nothing came. All he thought of was Alana.
She tilted her head up and nuzzled into his neck, breath heating his skin. It sent a shudder through him.
God help him.
As if to torture him further, her lips tickled over his neck and he stiffened, trying to hold her at bay.
“What’s wrong, Morgann? Dinnae ye want me?” she whispered against his skin.
“I dinnae want a lass who’s had several knocks to the head. Yer brain is addled. Ye dinnae know what ye want.”
“Are ye, the brave Highland warrior, afeared of a harmless lass?”
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