Bannockburn Binding (Beloved Bloody Time) Read Free Page B

“Then I cannot, either.”
    “Look at me,” he demanded harshly. When she remained still, he brought both slender wrists under his left hand and gripped her chin to bring her head around. She merely closed her eyes.
    So Rob kissed her, intending merely to shock her into opening her eyes. And they did open wide, but that was all he noticed before the sensations of kissing her swamped his senses. Her mouth was soft, pliable and tasted like ripe peaches. Everything about her was soft, warm, and delicate. His tongue slipped between her lips. Sips of honey , he thought.
    It was the last coherent thought he had. His body took over. He let it happen. The drive to have more of the taste of her, to take more, was overwhelming. He let his body press against hers, feeling her with every inch of his length where she lay beneath him.
    And her tongue met his.
    Her soft moan as she melted against him made the internal flame blaze up, demanding more and more. Silvery excitement shot through him.
    Abruptly, with a cold dash of alarm, he realized what he was doing. What they were doing.
    He wrenched himself away and she, too, slithered back until she was up against the tent pole, her arms against her chest defensively. Her veil had dislodged, revealing pale golden hair tied in a thick skein at her back. The brown eyes were very round. “What…do you think you are doing?”
    It was the proper question any maiden would ask.
    Rob spoke carefully. “I am a block-headed fool. I must be, for the only other truth is that you and I both know what we were just doing.”
    She bit her lip.
    The small sign of doubt was more endearing than anything else she had said or done this day. “We cannot,” she said and it had a hopeless, final quality to it.
    “Aye and I would not, not with you.” He got up, the heaviness in his limbs making his actions awkward.
    “Because I am English,” she said, her voice harsh.
    He picked up his dagger and slid it back into his boot. “Because ye are my captive. Only the English spoil their winnings, lassie, but ye could say more on that than I.” He pointed to the platter, which was still steaming. His hand shook. “That is for you. I suggest ye eat it, for there’s naught else to be had this night.” He threw the rope aside. “I’ll not tie ye again, so I must guard ye instead. Don’t try to go under the back of this tent, either. It’s dark now. Anyone caught wandering the camp who can’t answer the day’s challenge will be run through.”
    And he got himself out of his tent while he still could and let the leather fall across the opening. He hoped it would be barricade enough.
    * * * * *
     
    Ryan was in the second hour of the month’s three-hour review session with Ursella Shun , so the interruption was more than welcome. It was gruelling having to justify and defend Agency business to a woman who hated his kind and resented the very existence of the Agency, even though the Agency was the reason she had a job.
    He swivelled his chair as the door chimed, knowing it could only be Nayara. Nayara stood framed in the doorway as she paused for a fraction of a moment. Ryan knew she was mentally sniffing the atmosphere and assessing Ursella’s mood, which would dictate how welcome Nayara’s interruption would be.
    “This may concern both of you,” Nayara told them, taking a half-step forward, but not far enough to let the door shut. “The Sydney sales office contacted our security HQ five minutes ago.”
    Ursella picked an invisible piece of lint from her white dress. “Your tourist operation has nothing to do with my concerns, as long as they do not interfere with history in anyway.” She spoke with sharp, ultra-precise enunciation.
    Nayara glanced sideways at the petite, dark-haired woman. “This might,” she said and stepped forward, letting the door close. “They have a drop-in waiting to speak to a sales agent. The drop-in says his name is Charbonneau.”
    “ Charbonneau ?” Ursella sat