Two days after Kieran’s departure, Drake called himself every kind of a fool as he held his wife while she slept, while dawn crept through the cottage’s lone window.

He should release her. Only a fool deep in the muck of love would hold her without cause, without seeking her body. And he was not in love, despite Kieran’s suspicions.

I say you love her.

Why could he not dismiss those words from his mind?

Averyl was his wife, and he could hold her for whatever reason he sought. ’Twas his right. Just now, he enjoyed her softness, her scent. Men enjoyed such things.

Aye, his explanation was simple. Logical. Uncomplicated.

Then why had he dashed to her side last night when some manner of a dream caused her to cry out in her sleep?

With his silent comfort, Averyl had quieted quickly, and he could not dismiss that satisfaction. True, sleep was one of life’s necessities, especially while being chased by a pack of angry clansmen bent on execution.

True, all of it. Yet none of it explained why he felt joy in helping his wife, felt reluctant to release her now.

Against him she stirred. Moaning softly, she rolled closer and pillowed her head against his chest.

Amidst the intimate crinkling of the mattress, the mysterious floral scent of her flesh tugged at his loins. She snuggled the rest of her body closer to his length. He swallowed hard. The length of her arm across him, her unrestrained breasts beneath her linen shift lay against his chest, teasing his memories.

His manhood rose against her, hard, impatient. Aye, this was the reason he could not let her go. He was weak where her flesh was concerned. The soft thunder of her responses danced at the edges of his mind, taunting him. Drake knew he’d never held another woman like her, never reveled in the soft catch of another’s moan, never felt driven to give every ounce of pleasure possible.

That did not mean he loved Averyl. Nay, he simply responded to her on a primitive level. Man to her woman, driven by the urge to claim her in every way possible.

But not because he loved her. True, her wit and spirit, while surprising at first, were not part of her charm. It only meant she was likely to have a scheme of some sort, and not one he liked. After all, she’d hit him over the head with his own fire poker and rushed into the night to steal his boat.

Unbidden crept in the memory of her tears on the windswept cliff as she clung to him and told him of her mother’s murder, of her fear of darkness.

Frowning, Drake resisted an urge to comfort her, stroke her bare arm, and ignored an odd warmth growing in his chest.

Without a doubt, Averyl was a disobedient wench, not the dutiful wife nearly every man wished for. Such was doubly irritating, Drake thought, for he had never wanted a wife, much less a hellion. Why, she had escaped at the fair under his very nose! While that proved her clever, it also proved her foolish. She would have been raped by three drunken fools had he not been following her. Aye, and he would have loved to kill all three of those rogues for such intentions.

Realizing he’d squeezed Averyl more tightly to him, Drake loosened his hold. A small smile curled at the corners of her tempting red mouth. The warmth in his chest grew to an ache. He shifted on the bed to find a more comfortable position.

Indeed, she was a damn fool, believing herself homely. Aye, her father had planted the notion in her head, but she’d allowed it to take root and grow. Drake knew he’d been right to scorn such a ridiculous belief. Any sane man would.

And then there was her blind trust, her faith in him. Once, he’d been touched. Now he realized she was simply too naïve to believe badly of the man she’d wedded and bedded. She knew him not. Not really, despite her words to the contrary.

God willing, she never would.

Certainly, his intense desire for her sprang not from her devotion to the foolish concept of love. He found her dogged perseverance in the foreign emotion most irksome. Nothing short of a thousand-man siege could crush her belief. When she believed something, she believed in it fiercely, devoutly. Good qualities to have in the soldier at one’s side, but in a wife? Nay. Though she was intelligent and loyal, who would love a bride possessed of such a wide stubborn streak?

Drake shrugged. There, he’d proved he could not want her for any reason but her body. And to prove further she meant naught more to him, he would resist even that. He could give up the sweet wine of her kiss, the sugary delights of her skin. And giving up other contact, conversations, for instance, would be no struggle at all.

He would not miss her in the least.

“Good morn,” she whispered, her voice heavy, bewitching.

At the sound, Drake jumped from the bed like a guilty child caught filching a tart, then chastised himself. The woman could hardly read his mind. Shaking off a vague sense of guilt, he reached for his tunic and scrambled to push the garment over his head to cover his erection.

“Drake?” she called huskily.

He gritted his teeth, feeling his manhood stiffen further. How could she do that? How could Averyl, with a mere word, incite a pounding need to roll her to her back and make love to her from one sunrise to the next?

He grunted in reply and turned away to the hearth. Behind him, he heard the rustle of sheets as she left the bed, then the groan that accompanied her stretch each morn. Had it been only last week he’d teased her about her feline movements? And why could he see her body in his mind’s eye reaching for the sun?

Drake looked down to find his hands trembling. With a curse, he thrust the kettle back to the hearth. “If you want aught to eat, make it yourself.”

Air. He needed air. Fresh air, not that tinged with Averyl’s floral-scented flesh.

Whirling around, Drake made for the door. Two, maybe three strides, and he would have peace. The urge to collect her against him, ravage her mouth, brand her forever would blessedly leave him.

As he feared, Averyl blocked his path, stopping his barreling gait by placing her small, warm hands upon his chest.

His heart pounded, and he cursed beneath his breath as his eyes slid shut. He’d had her, dozens of times now, more than he’d had any one woman. Why could she not leave his thoughts? Why could he not cleanse himself of this unruly desire?

“Wait,” she entreated, pale curls streaming to her waist in a silken curtain. “I would talk to you this morn.”

Drake made fists at his side in an effort to keep his hands from her. “I’m in no mood for talk, woman.”

When he stepped around her, the image of her, ethereal, warm, burned in his mind. He clenched his fists harder.

Just before he reached the cottage door, he felt Averyl’s hand at his elbow. “Why not release me?” she asked. “I will not wed Murdoch. You know I can never share a life with such a man, much less the intimacy of a marriage bed.”

With a swift rush of indrawn breath, Drake admitted he could not bear to see such, either.

“Since our marriage is consummated, he cannot wed me.”

What Avery said was true. But the thought of letting her go enflamed a barrage of refusals within him. The issue of her safety remained. And he was certain, if he thought for a moment more, he could conceive other reasons why she should not leave.

As Drake looked at Averyl, it seemed to him as if she brought out something that opened the festering wounds of the past, ripped aside the barriers of his heart. He felt. Not lust. Such was simple to classify. Nay, he felt a rush of too much at once. Guilt, desire, fear—all easy to note. But there was more… He wanted to turn to her, find succor in her arms. He yearned to cling to her, fit her against him and hold on until the tidal wave of feelings swept past him.

Drake knew he should run, flee from her presence before he did something he would regret, something to make her believe he loved her. He should let her go. And he would, soon.

“Nay,” he said finally. “You will stay with me.”

“Why keep me? You care less for me than your muddy boots.”

Gritting his teeth, he snapped, “Would I have bothered to rescue my muddy boots from three randy attackers?”

“Maybe you should have let them have me.” She shoved a curl behind her ear. “’Twould have saved you from plying me with lust that is naught more than convenient and fleeting.”

“Convenient? Oh, aye. ’Tis so opportune to desire you until I feel near exploding. ’Tis so fleeting, I spend entire days and nights hard for wanting you.” He grabbed her, bringing her face beneath his. “I’ve spent hours of late thinking of how I could make you cry out beneath me, atop me, before me, around me. I dwell on using my hand to make you scream, my mouth to give you pleasure. And that’s before I would use my body to completely make you mine. What say you to that, wife?”

Averyl stared, speechless. What could she say? Heaven above, were even half of that true… Nay, he had mentioned his lust, not love.

But Lord knew she was weary of denying her love for him.

Averyl chewed on her lip thoughtfully. Her mother’s wisdom about seizing love when it appeared filtered through her mind. Could she, even if ’twas only for today? Even if he may never love her?

Such would be naught but foolishness.

Ah, but someday soon, he would leave her. What would she have of the man she loved but memories?

Swallowing, Averyl stood locked in indecision.

“Well, what say you?” he barked, challenging her.

He claimed to want her. Lord knew, she loved him. Could she let him leave her forever without taking something for herself by which to remember the only man who would ever possess her heart? Nay, and she wearied of resisting what she wanted more than her next breath.

Now, all she could think upon was satisfying her need to be whole with him once more.

She loved him, and ’twas no use denying that anymore.

Averyl stared at Drake. The white tunic he wore clung to his wide shoulders and sculpted torso, boldly outlining his ridged chest. She swallowed, transfixed by his beautiful, blatant masculinity. He smelled of man and earth and sun.

Averyl cleared her throat. “I say do what pleases you.”

Drake cast a shocked glance at her, the bronze power of his hands clenching at his sides. Images of those hands upon her, stroking, exciting her, sent pleasure rippling through Averyl.

“What?” he queried sharply.

“Aye, anything. Whatever you’ve been thinking.”

Fingers trembling, she took his hand in hers and placed it upon her breast. He stiffened and cursed. But his fingers tightened upon her flesh in needy supplication.

As if her body had been made for his, she responded to his caress, her nipple tightening beneath his palm. The sharp hiss of his breath told her that he noticed.

“This cannot be real,” he said almost to himself, even as he drew her closer to his heat. “Think you that I have untapped emotion within me, and that if I let you wrap your body around me, I will give you the contents of my heart?”

At one time, she had believed so. That hope had died. Now, she could only make a memory to cling to through the years.

“I know better, Drake. I simply want you.” She caressed the hand that covered her breast, noticing that he shook.

“You’re asking me to swive you?” He raised a dark brow.

“If that is how you choose to put it, then aye.”

His eyes flared with confusion. Then he swallowed and stepped away, ripping his hand from her breast. “Why?”

“You said you wanted me until you felt ready to explode.”

She stepped closer, pressing a kiss to the damp fabric covering his chest. Though his stoic expression reflected naught but uncertainty, Averyl felt his heart beat faster beneath her hands.

He grasped her wrists and thrust her away. “Why tempt me?”

Without awaiting her reply, Drake turned his back to her, raking a hand through his hair. Her smile felt bittersweet upon her lips as she took in his restraint. ’Twas as if he held on to the vestiges of self-control, afraid of what he might say or feel if he let go.

“If you want to make love to me, Drake, why do you resist?”

Muttering an ugly oath, he whirled to face her again. “You play a dangerous game, Averyl. Stop while you can.”

She regarded him with a steady gaze. He met her, dark eyes defiant, angry. Aye, he wanted her—and wished he didn’t.

So she gave, placing her palm over his rigid staff. Shock and need vied for his expression. A groan escaped him. She curled her fingers around his length. Drake cursed.

Stepping up to the expanse of his broad chest, she whispered in his ear, “Once I thought to fight the pull of our attraction. But when we made love, you forced me to acknowledge my desire.”

“And you think I owe you the courtesy of displaying mine like an untried boy?” His sarcasm cut through the air.

“Nay. Then, you had what you wanted. Now, I will have what I desire.”

Though Drake’s face remained blank, when Averyl stopped before him, heat burned in his eyes, setting her afire. She sent him a bold stare as she fit her hungry hands beneath his shirt, touching his fevered skin. After a sharp intake of breath, his heart began to pound with the force of a marching army.

Tortured desire loomed around his pinched mouth, hovered in his clenched jaw. And those eyes, hot, knowing, troubled, and angry. Clearly, he waged some battle within, one Averyl was determined he would lose.

She drew his mouth to hers slowly. With a mixture of desire and panic on his face, he leaned in. Averyl tensed, fearing he would stop her, refuse her this kind of control.

Finally, his taut arms rose to push her away.

“Kiss me, Drake,” she murmured against his mouth. “’Tis all I ask.”

Expression rigid, his fingers clutched her waist. Averyl held her breath. Would he accept her or reject her homely face and body as he rejected her heart?

An infinite moment of silence later, Drake pulled her against him, fingers clutching her waist. Her head snapped back until their gazes met.

For an instant, silence held, broken only by their breathing. Desire had won. Averyl saw that in the blaze of his eyes. Elation swirled through her.

Then he claimed her mouth. Completely. With a ferocity that forced the breath from her. Her elation turned to molten desire in the span of a heartbeat.

Parting her lips for his probing tongue, she groaned when he entered her mouth. He tasted of desperate hunger and need.

Again and again, he exacted her response, his mouth urgent. Her own desire soaring, pooling between her thighs, she sidled closer and returned his kiss, measure for measure. She gave everything, her mind, her devotion, her love. Gave without hesitation, without thought, hoping only that he understood.

He propelled her backwards, trapping her between the cottage’s door and his body. He anchored his palms on either side of her head, pinning her to the rough wood. Primal hunger dominated his countenance. Averyl felt an answering chord within her, a savage, twisting desire that would not abate.

“Is this what you want?” His breath came hard, fast.

She arched against him. “Aye, and more.”

He pressed his body closer, until she felt each inch of his full arousal. “And this?”

Her voice trembled. “Aye.”

His hand fell to the laces down the front of her shift. One, two, three; with speed and agility, he unraveled them. His greedy palm enveloped the newly exposed skin of her shoulders. On a moan, he murmured something incoherent and kissed her neck.

A riptide of yearning swelled within her, drowning her in its intensity. Whatever burdens had held Drake back now dwindled beneath the onslaught of desire.

He murmured her name, his lips claiming hers again. No gentle need, this raging fire between them. His tongue slid against hers hotly, salty-sweet.

He took. Demanded. In return, he gave tenfold.

Averyl surrendered, clutching the bunched muscles of his shoulders, warm against his heart, wishing they could stay thus.

Drake’s arms felt like steel as they banded about her. She felt his erection flush against her belly and arched wantonly to the temptation. He growled from somewhere deep in his chest as he rolled his hips against her in a fevered answer, a gesture of possession.

With impatient fingers, he tugged her smock above her head. Suddenly she was naked, her heated skin exposed to the morning breeze drifting through the open window. The savage desire in Drake’s eyes made it worthwhile.

His gaze whispered across her sensitive flesh like a secret. She forced herself to stand still, shoulders squared, and invite him with her eyes to look his fill.

His black stare lifted from her thighs, over her abdomen, and caressed her breasts on its way to her face.

To her shock, Drake turned her to face the door. With his heated chest at her back, Averyl felt his palm about her breast and his hot breath upon her neck. The sensation of feeling each exquisite touch yet not seeing its source heightened her arousal.

“Lass, how can you make me want you so?” he asked raggedly.

“I know not, for I am equally cursed to want you.”

Drake’s breathing was hard, labored. “Aye, ’tis a curse,” he said finally. “Truly, you have bewitched me.”

His hand left her breast to ignite a trail of fire across her belly, then down into her woman’s flesh damp with want.

She gasped as his one hand held her steady at the hip and his lips burned a path from the slope of her shoulder to the crook of her neck. The other hand found her pleasure bud with unerring ease. He circled the nub in rhythmic strokes. Tingles built to tightness, tightness to aching pressure. The aching pressure burst, and she cried out at the pulsing release.

He did not stop.

“Aye. Let me feel you again,” came his warm command.

Amazingly enough, with a few strokes of his fingers, pleasure exploded, awashing her again, leaving her trembling.

Before she could take a breath, Drake turned her to face him. Fingers of iron clasped her hips, lifting her. His mouth closed over her breast, the soft abrasion of his tongue like kindling to a fire. A whimper stuck in her throat as he pulled on her flesh with his lips and a gentle nip of his teeth. Averyl arched closer, drowning in his scent, something heady, musky, indisputably male.

His breath came in short pants as he tore off his tunic and worked out of his breeches and braies. “I can wait no more.”

Hunger hung in the air between them, sharp and tangy, as he backed her to the door again. Against her belly, she felt him bare, rigid, urgent. She thrilled to the primitive realization that he meant to take her here, claim her now.

She met the thrust of his tongue earnestly as he filled her mouth with his taste, surrounded her body with his raw power. His fingers blazed like wands of fire as they delved between her thighs, urging them apart.

His lips teased the sensitive spot behind her ear when he plunged his fingers within her. She gasped, clutching him tighter, silently begging. The strength of her desire roared like a beast, demanding its way. She answered the call without remorse, glorying to the intensity of his need.

“Now!” she insisted.

“Aye, now,” he groaned, lifting her, drawing her legs about his waist.

With one hard push, Drake was around her, inside her, filling her every corner with ecstasy.

Then she had no time to think. He found a rhythm, one uncivilized in its domination, ruthless in its ability to render her mindless. Excitement bubbled within her, erasing all thought from her mind except of Drake and this joining.

She tightened her arms about his shoulders, her legs about his hips, as sensation swept over her in a hot gush, crashing through her body without mercy. Arching against him with a cry, the feeling burst within her like an explosion of the sun, glittering, bright, brilliant. Drake drove into her again, then spilled his seed deep inside.

Averyl opened her eyes slowly as they sank to the soft carpet of earth beneath them. Drake still held himself inside her, with her above him. She wilted across his chest, listening to the rhythmic pounding of his heart and the chugging cadence of their breathing, accompanied by a lark’s song outside.

Never had she felt so complete, the moment so perfect. He’d responded to her completely, holding nothing of himself back, even when he resisted sharing aught. She knew it, felt it in his need for her, demonstrated by his mouth, his body, instinctively knowing he’d never before given this much of himself to anyone. By his own admission, she had bewitched him.

And she, homely Averyl, had been the one to unlock those feelings. She had been able to persuade this strong-willed warrior to share his emotions through his touch when he’d wanted nothing more than to keep such locked within his soul.

As he stroked her hair away from her damp temples, she felt a new truth dawn: She was not ugly, except in her father’s eyes. Today, Drake had taught her to believe differently, for ’twas clear he did, and she had been the fool for taking her father’s opinion into her heart.

Relief soothed her like a mother’s touch. Tears of repletion, of joy, welled in the corners of her eyes, spilling onto the hot flesh of his chest. She sniffled, trying to stop them, but it was too late.

“Here now,” he whispered, lifting his head to look at her. He wiped her tears away with gentle fingers. “What’s this?”

“’Tis nothing,” she lied, even as his very tenderness caused the tears to come faster.

“Nothing makes you leak like a sieve?”

Against her will, she smiled at his teasing. “You are incorrigible.”

“Me? Nay, ’tis you, my beautiful, wanton wife.”

Her mouth trembled into a smile. “Thank you for making me believe that.”

“’Tis truth and always has been.”

Drake placed the softest of kisses upon her forehead and stroked the slick skin of her back. Never had he been this tender after their lovemaking. Of great relief was the fact the haunted pain had left his eyes, replaced by a soft satiation. Mayhap she had succeeded in helping me to see love’s goodness.

Hope made her cry again.

“Ach, more tears. Why, Averyl?”

Chin trembling, new tears burning her throat, she stroked his cheek, her heart diving straight into the concern filling his dark eyes. She could no longer restrain the truth.

“Why?” Her voice shook. “Because I love you.”