Page 41 of The Iron Earl

He wanted more from her, more acknowledgment, but he didn’t want to make her admit to it again—he didn’t want to have to set her on her feet and cause her even more pain. Bending, he slipped an arm under the back of her legs and picked her up, carrying her to his horse.

He set her sideways atop the back of his horse in front of his saddle, then grabbed the reins and mounted it. “You can sit there, but it will be uncomfortable, or you can spread your legs and sit in front of me on the saddle. It’ll be more comfortable and you’ve done it once with me, but that was out of necessity. This may be an affront to your sensibilities.”

“I don’t think I have many of my sensibilities left.”

He shifted slightly back on the seat of the saddle. “Then swing your leg over and shift back here. You’re so slight it won’t be much of a squeeze.”

Awkwardly, she lifted her leg to straddle the horse. She started to scoot back but ran into the pommel. He wrapped an arm around her and lifted her, setting her securely in front of him.

Her back went incredibly stiff against his chest, the tips of her shoulder blades digging into his lower chest. She didn’t know what to do with her hands, they went to the curve of the leather pommel, then to her belly, then to clutch the cloak along her chest, then back to the pommel.

She found this awkward and not at all proper.

A smile found its way to his lips. Her reaction was oddly comforting.

Comforting until they started to move.

The sway of his horse, the extra effort it took his steed to suck each hoof out of the muck of the road, sent her backside rubbing against him in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

His arms about her sides clenched.

She riled his body—and why shouldn’t she? She was beautiful—he’d seen that since the first. Hell, his first instinct in that garden sent him to kissing her. Beautiful, but a mouse. A mouse trying to escape a teeth-gnashing terrier.

Except she wasn’t a mouse.

He knew she wasn’t. And every step she’d taken from Wolfbridge Castle had set her shoulders higher, her voice more confident.

Proud. Stubborn. Every step had taken her further from the mouse he’d agreed to take to Scotland and closer to the type of women he was accustomed to. Women that held no reserve. Women that spoke their minds. Women that carried their own weight.

He’d witnessed the transformation in Evalyn, even if she didn’t realize what she’d become.

And if he couldn’t get his thoughts under control, she was about to grow even more awkwardly uncomfortable when she realized what this rock in his trousers was that jutted into her delicious backside.

Lachlan looked around, searching for something, anything to take his mind off the maddening scent of her auburn hair just below his nose. It smelled of tangerines. How, after days traveling on the roads, her hair still smelled like citrus, he’d like to know.

His gaze studied the mostly empty oak trees that lined the west side of the road. A few leaves held to the branches, but not many. Cold was quick to the land this year.

He glanced down and caught sight of her left toes peeking out from under the hem of her skirt. He stifled a sigh. Now her feet would not only be bloody, but cold as well. He should have taken more care in what size those boots were.

His horse stumbled a step in the mud and his arms clasped tight around her. For one fleeting moment, he liked the feel of her secure in his arms, the length of her body pressing into his—oddly right.

Quite the opposite, Evalyn stiffened to steel-like consistency.

Her breath quickened and her head started to dart about.

It took him several seconds to realize what had happened. She was trapped.

He shifted the reins into his left hand and removed his right arm from her body, settling his hand on his knee. In position to catch her should his horse stumble again, but giving her a clear path of escape.

It only took a moment for her breathing to slow and for her shoulders to relax.

Lachlan stared down at the crown of her head. He didn’t even think she was aware of how her body had just reacted.

They reached the trail of his men and Lachlan sent his horse to the front of the line, setting his stallion into step with Domnall.

Domnall gave one appraising glance at the two of them, his weathered eyes pausing for a long moment on Evalyn’s bloody foot hanging past her skirt. He looked to Evalyn. “That can’t be comfortable, lass. Why did ye not speak up?”

She shook her head. “I told Lachlan it was fine. I was just about to pull my boots back on when Lachlan arrived to gather me. And gather me he did.”