Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(74)
“Dinna move, lass.” A muscular arm encircled her thighs and snugged her up against an even more muscular torso. “Close yer eyes, Mistress. I’ll have ye free in but a moment, and I’ve got ye held good and tight so ye dinna fall.”
Boy, I wish I were right side up. Katie closed her eyes and covered them with her hands for good measure. “I’m ready for whatever you’re gonna do.” She decided that of all the accents she’d heard while traveling, first with her father on his archeological digs and later as an astrophysicist with tenure at Princeton, the Scottish brogue was now her favorite—especially when that accent came attached to such nice-feeling muscles.
Her savior hugged her legs even tighter, then roared out a guttural growl, shouting a stream of some sort of language that definitely wasn’t English. Something hit the moon-roof panel right in front of her belly button, shattered it into pieces, and sent them raining down into the car.
“Shit! Don’t drop me!” Katie uncovered her eyes and braced herself against the headrests of the car seats, locking her elbows and gritting her teeth.
“I’ve got ye, lass. Ne’er ye fret.”
Eyes squinted shut, Katie felt herself being pulled out of the car, shifted upright to her feet, then draped over what had to be the largest shoulder she’d ever had the pleasure of being draped across—not that she’d ever been thrown over a shoulder before, but a girl had dreams. She finally opened her eyes when she felt herself being gently rolled backward to lie upon the gentle rise of the embankment.
She blinked hard, then rubbed the inside corners of her eyes. Damn. All that blood rushing to my head must’ve made me hallucinate. Not wanting the vision to end, Katie slowly pulled her hands away from her eyes, blinked hard, then opened them again. Nope. Not a hallucination. Wow.
Her dark knight stood over her with what looked like some sort of medieval spear clenched in one hand, the long, broad head of the weapon shining silvery and pure in the moonlight and the end of the black staff propped beside his boot. His hair was longer than she’d thought at first glance. He had it pulled back from his face in a leather-bound braid that more than likely reached past his shoulder blades and probably made it nearly to his waist, judging by the drape of it over the front of his shoulder. Unbelievably broad shoulders. Taut waist. Tight hips. Even in the shadows, his dark shirt and jeans looked like he’d been melted and poured into them and he was pure muscular gold. Maybe she was really unconscious and this was all a dream. She caught her breath as he bent and held out his hand.
“Come, Mistress Katie. Dubh and I’ll get ye seen to and make certain yer well.”
“Dubh?” Katie took his hand, rose to her feet, then fell forward against his chest, getting even weaker in the knees when he wrapped one arm around her waist and caught her up against him. “Wow. Sorry. Guess the blood’s not back to my feet yet. I was hanging there for quite a while trying to get my bag.” She wet her lips, struggling to stop babbling while she smiled up at him, then patted him on the chest. “Now…who’s Dubh?”
“Dubh, introduce yerself to the lady.”
A velvety nose appeared over her rescuer’s shoulder and gently snuffled Katie’s face. “Dubh is m’horse. His name means ‘black’ in Scots Gaelic.” The barest hint of a smile flickered across her knight’s moonlit face as he barely tilted his chin with the regal grace acquired through royal DNA or learned from memorizing the history of centuries past. “And I am Ramsay Danann MacDara. At yer service, m’lady.”
“I’m Katie. Katie Jenson.” Wait. Did I already tell him that? She patted at his chest again, then snaked both arms around his waist and held on tight. Head swimming. Gonna pass out. Or puke. Or both. “Can you make me a promise?” she asked as a sudden cold sweat across her body made her shiver.
Brows knotted together, Ramsay frowned down at her as she sagged against him. “What promise, lass?”
“Promise you’ll still be here when I wake up.”