a wee bit of fresh air, is it no’?”
“Aye, my lady,” Eamon said.
They all stood there in silence for a moment. Birdie let the cold air wash over her, dousing the flames of desire that had blazed out of control just a few heartbeats before.
“I had best turn in,” Gregor said gruffly. “Enjoy the rest of yer night, my lady.”
She lifted her gaze to catch his dark eyes burning into her for a fraction of a second before he swept past her and to the stairs. Then he was gone.
A shiver rippled over her. Belatedly, she realized she still wore Gregor’s cloak. If Eamon and Connell noticed… But nay, they’d resumed their hushed chatter about the new Gunn attack at Cam’s barn.
She hugged the cloak around her, waiting a few long, painful heartbeats, then a few more, so that her departure after Gregor’s would not seem rushed. Though he was gone, his presence lingered tangibly. His scent clung to the cloak, surrounding her. If only the warm embrace of the heavy wool could be Gregor’s arms instead.
When she was sure enough time had passed and the heat was fully tamped from her face, she turned, giving each guard a nod and a smile.
“Good night. Stay warm until yer watch is over.”
“Thank ye, my lady,” the lads said in unison.
She descended the stairs on shaking legs. She could stop in front of Gregor’s door—if only to return his cloak.
But now that their heated kiss was over, her wits were beginning to return. If he opened his chamber door to her at this hour, it would not simply be to retrieve his cloak. He would want more.
And so would she.
Without meaning to, Birdie had ventured into very dangerous waters.
But she was no longer sure she could see the shoreline—nor if she had the strength to return.
Chapter Eleven
Gregor gauged the hue of the pre-dawn sky overhead. Sunrise was more than an hour away still, but it was time to scrap the night—along with his latest scheme to catch the Gunns in the act.
“Can ye stand, man?” he said to the Morgan guard at his feet.
The lad, Arran, squinted up at Gregor and nodded, then winced at the pain the motion caused.
Gregor gestured to the others surrounding the guard, and they lifted Arran carefully by his arms. After pausing a moment to get his bearings, he shuffled slowly toward one of the waiting horses, holding his head gingerly all the while.
“The rest of ye, return to Castle Bharraich,” Lamond ordered. He turned to Gregor, lowering his voice. “I’ll patrol the border to the north and alert the others of what happened if ye wish to take the south.”
“Aye,” Gregor muttered wearily.
And what the bloody hell had happened? Gregor had failed again, for starters. What was more, for the first time, the Gunns had attacked a person rather than a herd of cattle or a building.
To keep his mind from the searing kiss he’d shared with Birdie, Gregor had once again thrown himself into the problem he was meant to be fixing this past sennight.
After the failed attempt to preempt the Gunns’ next attack along the southeast border, Gregor and Lamond had developed a new strategy. They didn’t have enough men to watch every inch of the entire border all night. Lamond had already tried to space what men they did have evenly along the border before Gregor had arrived, but it left too many holes in their coverage.
So they came up with a scheme wherein the guards were spread out in twos. One would remain stationary, while the other would ride along the unguarded space between the men. They could take shifts over the course of the night, the rider becoming the fixed watchman and back again until dawn.
The guard riding between two of his fellow Morgans was always within shouting distance of at least one of the men, which meant that if he saw aught afoot, they could rush toward an attack.
It wasn’t perfect, but at least it was a proactive response to these Gunn raiders. And given only fifty men and a long stretch of border to cover, it was the best option Gregor and Lamond could come up with in the sennight since they’d given up on the southeast corner of the border.
Despite the egg-sized lump on Arran’s head that said otherwise, the plan had worked—up to a point. An hour past, Arran had been riding along a central stretch of the border when he’d come upon two men draped in