Crouching together behind the grey stone as the reivers charged along the Kershope track and on up the valley, Michael's heart pounded loudly against his ribcage. He was unsure whether the blood coursed through his veins from the thrill of the chase, or from the fact that Alexandra was in his arms once more. Held safely against his chest, his arm circled her waist from when he'd pulled her off her horse.
Even after the Armstrongs - for it was them, he recognised Dod Armstrong in the lead - had passed, her right arm remained wrapped around his shoulders.
It brought her face to a level with his own, and made him uncomfortably aware of the rise and fall of her bosom under the thin tunic she wore, and the tumble of dark hair that framed her head like a halo. He swallowed, trying to ignore the stirring in his loins. For she was captivating, and each minute that he spent in her company she intrigued and beguiled him even more.
"Thank you," she breathed, turning her face towards him, eyes wide, cheeks flushed and lips full.
In that moment, he was undone.
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