Chapter 11
Rosalyn closed her eyes, trying not to panic, and took in a long, calming breath, until Lachlan squeezed the air right out of her and she started gasping.
“Just a little lower, my love. With this kind doctoring . . .”
“Let me go,” she demanded, interrupting whatever suggestive words he had for her. She squirmed against his hold. “You don’t understand.”
“All I know is that one moment I’m winning a horse race against the bishop, and the next you are in my arms.” He gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “You are a gift from God. The bishop knew what I needed to be right again.”
“God’s teeth, you are not right in the head,” she said, her tone more irritated than she meant. “God would not punish me to make you whole.”
Rosalyn wasn’t sure if it was her words or her wiggling that had the desired result, but after a few moments of pushing against him, she broke free.
Rising up from Lachlan’s chest, Rosalyn smoothed her tousled hair away from her eyes, then with a tsk, she adjusted her bodice back in place.
When she gazed down, wondering why he’d given up so easily, Rosalyn was greeted by a placid Lachlan, looking very much like he was asleep.
She wanted to slap him and tell him to quit pretending. But then she noticed his heavy breathing and relaxed, almost angelic, face.
Lachlan angelic? A hero? No wonder Ursula had looked at her as if she’d joined the ranks of the jesters. Where had her sensibilities gone? Was it that disarming smile?
Just then, the wagon jolted forward and began to move, rocking her onto his chest again. As much as it flustered her, this time he did not grab her. Instead, he lay still, her body rising and falling rhythmically with his breathing. This time she was able to move away at will.
The poison. No doubt it was giving him some lucid moments between bouts of delirium. As she gazed down at the peaceful, sleeping aristocrat, she was reminded of her dislike of everything English. Could she make an exception for Lachlan? Was she going all soft on him because of his one kind gesture? But she sobered when she considered the consequences of her actions without his intervention.
For now, she would try to like him until he did something to change her mind. At least until she saved him.
Rocking back on her heels, Rosalyn touched his forehead to check for fever. She was grateful to find him cool now, but she was still concerned. Ursula had said she’d made the poison strong enough to make him sick, not kill him. Could she trust her?
Rising, Rosalyn headed to the low altar and busied herself preparing the herbs, thankful that she was able to do this alone and not under the eagle-eyed scrutiny of Ursula.
Besides the herbs, it didn’t take her long to find the other items she needed stored neatly under the altar’s skirting: a pestle and mortar, and a flask of water. She unwrapped the bishop’s herbs from the fuchsia silk and laid them out.
Taking pinches of valerian, horehound, and sage, she placed them in the mortar, then added a few drops of water. Using the pestle, she formed a sticky paste. Once satisfied with the concoction, she headed back to Lachlan’s side, on a mission to save him.
“Lachlan,” she whispered, “wake up.”
He groaned and flipped over on his side facing her.
“Lockie?” She tried the nickname he’d asked her to use, hoping it might illicit a better response.
“Ursula?”
Ursula! What?
“Yes,” she lied. “It’s Ursula. I want you to eat something.”
“Eat? No!” He almost shouted the response.
Hmm. What to do if he refused the antidote?
Time was her enemy now, and she couldn’t wait until his constitution changed. She glanced about the tidy wagon trying to figure out how to feed him the herbs. Nothing. No bread or fruit to use as a serving tool. Stumped for a moment, she relaxed her breathing and began to sort through what might make Lachlan open his mouth.
Finally, deciding saving his life was more important that her squeamishness, Rosalyn scooped up some of the paste on to her middle finger, then she lay down on the floor facing him.
Because his arm was draped under his head, she was able to scoot right next to his chest and get close enough to suit her needs. Once situated, she said a little prayer, asking God to let the herb and his power save Lachlan.
Following a reluctant sigh, she whispered, “Here, suck on this.” With her palm up and middle finger cocked back filled with the antidote, she gently placed her free index finger to his mouth. Tracing over his top and bottom lips yielded the desired results, allowing her to slide her index finger into his warm mouth.
“Mmm,” he groaned in a pleasant way.
Immediately, something in her core fluttered and pulsing heat surged through her groin. She almost withdrew her finger, but Lachlan had a strong hold. Groaning even more, he took his free arm and draped it over her waist. Rosalyn’s eyes widened and her heart began beating wildly. He wasn’t holding her down, but she felt trapped. Images of Lachlan, naked, in Ursula’s bed filled her head, his erect cock rising before he did.
With flushed cheeks, she couldn’t help but glance down at his crotch. Oh, no, it’s happening again.
Before she had a chance to figure out another way to feed him the paste, his hand slid up the side of the linen dress she wore. The covering was more like a sleeping garment than a traveling frock. She was surprised for a moment when his hand tickled her and she giggled out loud, diffusing her panic for a moment, until his hand was on her breast and he groaned with pleasure.
That moment, between panic and clear thinking, was then she made the decision to sacrifice her dignity and save him. So she returned the groan. That fueled him further, and he slid his hand underneath the neckline of her dress and began to rub her nipple. There was nothing to slow him. No ties to undo. The sensation was like nothing she’d ever felt before. She froze, wanting to hate what was happening, warring with herself not to fight the wonderful sensations that surged through her.
But like a warrior of healing, Rosalyn had to set aside her feelings and continue her mission. Knowing she’d had his full attention now, she quickly pulled out the index finger and replacing it with her paste-filled one.
At first, she worried that he’d refuse the paste. It had to be bitter and downright nasty. She held her breath as he kneaded her breast, hoping he’d swallow the remedy while she swallowed her pride.
“Um, you taste divine,” he mumbled between sucks on her middle finger and rubbing his thumb over her hardened nipple.
She let out the breath she was holding, thrilled that he was taking the antidote, but also exhilarated by the sensations surging through her. A tiny ribbon of sweat began to trickle down between her breasts. Moist heat and a primal throbbing was growing in her groin. What was happening to her?
With eyes still closed, as if his strength returned, Lachlan released her finger and caressed her cheek. Ever so gently, he put his hands about her waist, and with little effort, he rolled on to his back taking her with him.
Rosalyn came to rest on his dark chest curls. They tickled her nipples through the linen. She giggled. But her next inhale was cut off when Lachlan’s hands moved to grasp the back of her neck and he collapsed the gap between them, crushing her against his chest while his lips claimed hers. A kiss even more possessive than the one he’d stolen in the dungeon.
As her heart sped up, beating hard against his chest, she wondered if he could feel its frantic rhythm, wanting to return the passion he incited. Rosalyn had never been with a man like this before. Well, she’d never been with a man.
She was a virgin, for God sakes.
What was she willing to do to heal him? How far would she go? She was in a provocative position and he still was thinking she was Ursula.
At least the herb concoction appeared to be working. Perhaps too well. As Lachlan’s kisses fueled her desire, she found herself hating him less. His hands roamed over her back, her arse, exploring her curves while she lay on top of him.
But just as she was ready for more, his kisses slowed and his movements did too. When his lips released hers, he rolled her off his chest onto her side next to him.
Did she want this to stop?
Now that the passionate connection was broken, she opened her eyelids a crack, peeking at his face from under her lashes. His eyes were still closed and his breathing slowed. Color had flushed his cheeks and he no longer looked sickly.
Was it her willingness to join him in a romp or the herbs that were working to bring him back? She’d like to think a little bit of both as Lachlan reached out a lazy hand to find her lips and traced them as she’d done his. She nipped at his middle finger, inciting another groan from him. Rosalyn was surprised how right it felt to be with him, when it shouldn’t. She, an unmarried virgin, and he, well, no saint.
Just then, she made the mistake of letting her gaze drift to his crotch. Oh, my! The bulge was still there. She’d have to stop looking. But she was a curious girl. Interested more in practice, than theory. She’d been told it was painful for a man not to release his seed when erect, as Lachlan was right now.
Her curiosity trumped caution, though, as she began to stroke his chest, twisting her fingers around his dark curls. Slowly, she moved down to his waist and loosened his belt. He moaned slightly, but didn’t move. His breathing grew steady. Now that her heart had slowed to a normal beat, she noticed how the gentle rocking of the wagon made her feel as if she were in a safe cradle. Lachlan must have sensed it too for he wore a serene expression.
After letting the belt fall away, she tugged at the heavy linen fabric until she could slide her hand down inside his breeches. Yes, she did. As if on a treasure hunt for a prize, she walked her fingers down his midsection until the top of her hand found her reward.
Grasping his shaft firmly, she began analyzing the human reaction with her scientific mind. Amazed by the male anatomy, she stroked the shaft up and down with a firm grasp. Every so often, she rolled the palm of her hand over the top, following the instructions she’d been given by those with experience on how to please a man. Although she’d listened, she wasn’t sure she’d remember until it was time to act. But this felt right. Natural.
Lachlan groaned with pleasure as she stroked him. She had control. This man was under her spell. She held the power to make him beg.
Just then, his shaft began to quiver and he shouted, “Now, faster,” and she responded. In a matter of seconds, he had his release. But when his eyes flew open, his handsome face twisted into a puzzled expression.
“You’re not Ursula!”