“Aye,” they chorused.

“We shall make much progress this day and cover many miles. I’m hoping we’ll be arriving in Edinburgh afore gloaming.”

“Are you wanting to run the horses into the ground, then?” Angus asked, staring at the fire.

Alasdair stiffened. He hated his authority questioned, but Angus was his cousin and ten years his senior, so he oft spoke his mind.

“Nay,” Alasdair said with obvious patience. “If we don’t make it by then, it cannot be helped.”

He ran his gaze over the men. When they looked him in the eye, he dared any one of them to challenge him. He would not have them passing judgment on something they knew nothing of—his feelings for Gwyneth and what existed between them. Best to face the issue head on.

“I can see you’re all wondering what the hell I was doing coming out of Gwyneth’s tent. In truth, ’tis none of your concern. And I won’t tolerate your judging her for it. She is a lady now and always, deserving of our respect.”

“Forgive me, Alasdair,” Angus said. “But are you sure you’re showing her respect?”

“Aye, though I ken you don’t see it that way.” He refused to explain his relationship with Gwyneth to them. He would not have them know he’d proposed but she’d turned him down. He was not yet done convincing her to change her mind.

“Do you care for her, then?” Angus asked.

Padraig’s arrow-sharp gaze cut through Alasdair.

Boyd, Sweeney and Tomas cleared their throats, rose and drifted away to saddle the horses.

“Aye, that I do,” Alasdair admitted.

“Have you thought of marryin’ again?”

Alasdair tried to hold back his grin. “Don’t fash yourself, cousin. I’m working on it.”

Padraig clenched his jaw so hard, he was certain to crack a tooth. And his glare only intensified.

“Do you have something to say, Padraig?” Alasdair asked.

He shuffled his feet and lowered his eyes. “Nay. Just that…Lady Gwyneth is kind, and she’s been through hell. You shouldn’t take advantage of her weakened state…m’laird…with all due respect.”

Alasdair knew Padraig was a wee besotted with Gwyneth, but he did not know the extent. He couldn’t speak harshly to the kind-hearted man who had been loyal to him, and his father before him, for many years. As well, Alasdair couldn’t tell them Gwyneth had sought him out last night.

“’Haps ’tis true I’m a rogue, but I have the best of intentions. Just give me a few days.”

***

Gwyneth awoke to daybreak and the rumble of male voices. She couldn’t understand their exact words, but she recognized Alasdair’s voice among them.

Alasdair. Oh, goodness!

She covered her head with the blanket and recalled the details of their encounter. The way he had given her comforting kisses and seduced her, body, mind and soul so that she forgot her troubles. Forgot her darling Rory within the clasp of a London knave.

Oh, dear lord, I am a weak wanton. She knew she shouldn’t have gone to Alasdair last night. She had been safe in her tent. Safe and good and afraid…but most of all, lonely. She had craved holding someone in her arms. And needed someone strong—Alasdair—to hold her. She didn’t normally accept comfort from anyone, but he had been out there, so close. She had needed his deep voice murmuring in her ear, words of reassurance that everything would be all right. She believed him; she trusted him. His hands, so warm and comforting, smoothing over her. That’s what she had wanted.

But the rest—the carnal bliss that he unleashed on her—was part and parcel of their connection. Something she needed like her next breath, yet at the same time, she knew it was folly. She could not seem to learn her lesson. Sensuality was to be her downfall, her most horrid sin.

But then he’d said he loved her in his lilting Gaelic tongue. The beauty of the roughly whispered words had shattered her composure. No man had ever said those words to her. As well, she had never loved a man. But she did love Alasdair, with her whole being.

Why did this have to happen to me?

Their lives were on different paths, going in opposite directions. They could not have a love match, no matter how much she dreamed of it. She had to think only of her son and his future.

I must stop!

She threw back the covers and dragged her clothing onto the pallet. She shoved her head and arms into her smock—which Alasdair had so hastily removed the night before.

No, I will not think of last night and the forbidden, delightful things he did to me.

She put on her corset and fastened up the front with ties. Her breasts were tender where he’d nibbled at them. His mouth had been a tempting torture.

She blanked him out of her mind and struggled into the rest of her clothing. With the comb Alasdair had given her, she removed the tangles from her hair, recoiled it, then tied a kertch on her head.

She emerged from her tent to find Alasdair sitting with his cousin by the fire. Alasdair’s sleepy but intent gaze lit on her and lingered. He had the look of a dissolute debaucher with his midnight beard stubble and his tousled mane. She had run her fingers through it numerous times the night before and knew well how soft and silky his hair was.

I am not embarrassed.

Well, maybe a little. She glanced at Angus, and he dropped his gaze to the fire. Did he suspect anything had happened last night? She hoped they had not wakened anyone.

“Good morrow, m’lady.” Alasdair grinned. “Angus reheated some bannocks—if you can stomach them.”

“I didn’t force you to eat them,” Angus grumbled.

Alasdair laughed and slapped his cousin on the shoulder. “Indeed, they’re gusty as ambrosia.”

“I must excuse myself first.” She gave a shallow curtsy and headed toward the bushes. The scent of horses and fresh horse dung was strong in the air as she passed their mounts. When she heard someone following, she glanced back to find Alasdair behind her.

“I will stand guard. If you require assistance, call out.”

She nodded. “I thank you.”

Once she was finished, she found Alasdair with his back to her, staring off into the distance and whistling. Hiding her smile, she washed her face and hands in the cold water of the stream, then dried them with the only thing available, her sleeves.

With a bow, Alasdair motioned for her to precede him.

Trying to fight back the memories of last night, she sat down on a rock by the fire. Alasdair gave her a warm bannock and cup of ale. The wholesome oat scent gave her hunger pains of a sudden.

“We must be on our way quickly if we are to catch up with Southwick. I’m hoping we’ll be arriving in Edinburgh afore nightfall.” Alasdair glanced at Angus. “’Twould give us about eighteen hours at this time of year.”

“Do you think Southwick stopped in Edinburgh with Rory?” she asked.

“’Tis possible.” Alasdair seated himself opposite her. “But the city is so large, ’twill be hard to find them. Once we’re there, we must find Lachlan and have him join our party. He has spent more time in London than I have and will be much help to us if we end up having to go there.”

“I see.” Lord! She didn’t want to go to London. Not only would Rory be harder to reclaim there, the mere thought of running into people who knew of her disgrace took her appetite.

But she would go through the fires of hell if required, to save Rory and have him back beside her. What significance were a few stares and snide remarks in the grand scheme of things? She would survive them as she survived everything else.

“Is anything the matter?” Alasdair asked.

When she glanced up, she found herself sitting alone with him. Angus had taken himself off somewhere.

Alasdair’s gaze fixed upon her with concern. “Of a sudden, you’re pale as a banshee.”

“I was thinking, I won’t be happy to have to see my father and some of those other Londoners who have told many a lurid tale about me. All true, of course.”