Chapter Ten
Lillianna lay facing the fire, willing herself to sleep and not think of Angus and the kiss they had shared, but it was useless. His kiss was the only thing she could think of. Despite her desperate tiredness, her mind would not allow her to rest. She could still feel his lips on hers. She’d never been kissed before. Oh, she’d imagined what it would be like, but nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared her for the way Angus’s lips on hers, their tongues twining, would make her feel as if warmth enveloped her from head to toe and a fire burned in the pit of her belly.
Her lips still tingled from his searing kiss. Her belly felt tied in knots, though her pulse had finally calmed to a slower, steadier beat. He’d tasted slightly of mead and smelled of wood and fire and horse and water. He’d felt… She sighed as she recalled the ripple of his muscles under her fingertips, and then she frowned as she recalled his words.
He’d said he was sorry for the kiss, and she didn’t doubt he was since he didn’t wish to be entangled with her any more than she wished to be with him, but he desired her. He desired her for her and only her. Maybe his kiss had been driven by a need to affirm their lives after the fight, but the kiss had been full of passion. A kiss that searing had to be fueled by pure attraction to her. A heady sense of power she’d never felt filled her, but then she gave herself a little shake. She could not allow him to kiss her again, no matter how good it felt, no matter how good he seemed. Because if he wasn’t as good as he seemed and she allowed her heart to become engaged, she knew instinctually that he would break it.
She forced herself to draw deep breaths, yet it did not seem to help quiet her thoughts. She flipped onto her back and lay there for what seemed like forever, and then she rolled onto her right side, making sure to keep her eyes shut in case Angus’s were open. At first the fire kept her back warm, but after she’d been lying there for a bit, she no longer felt heat from the fire. Cold seeped from the ground into her skin and seemed to burrow to the center of her core, and she started to shiver, but finally, after a long while, she fell asleep.
She awoke the next morning no longer cold. In fact, she was cocooned in heat and the ground was not near as hard as she recalled. Something tickled her forehead, something warm. And then something moved, and the long, distinct sound of a slow inhale filled her ears. Her heart started to thud, and she opened her eyes, seeing only a wide expanse of very well-muscled chest.
She lay facing Angus, and he had his arms wrapped around her. Her heartbeat went from thudding to thundering as she glanced up and saw his face peaceful in sleep. His broad shoulders rose with another deep breath. She needed to move, to disentangle herself from him, for she could now feel that even their legs were tangled together. One of his heavy, hot legs was slung over hers and his other leg was under hers as was one of his arms.
He was cushioning her, she realized with a start. Even in sleep the man seemed to be honorable. She glanced down at the sliver of space between them. The blanket he’d given her was underneath them. So he had come over to her and lain down with her. But why?
She ought to move, yet his closeness was so bracing, so comforting. She allowed herself to examine him, knowing it would likely be the only chance she got. He had a small, half-moon scar on his lower abdomen near his hip bone, and up a little farther he had another scar, this one in the shape of an almost perfect circle. The muscles of his stomach cut slabs across his abdomen, and unable to help herself, she reached out and touched him. He was hard as steel. She could hear his breathing, now harsh and uneven, but instead of moving her hand, she traced it light as a feather over a long scar that ran almost the length of the left side of his stomach.
His chuckle froze her breath in her throat. “I’m verra ticklish.”
Her cheeks burned instantly, but she forced herself to look up into his face. His gray eyes flashed like silver lightning as he swept them over her, then caught her gaze once more. Her toes curled at his hungry expression. At the base of her throat, her pulse beat and swelled as though her heart had risen inside her.
Without a word, he caressed his thumb over her sensitive skin of her neck. “It’s verra dangerous for us both for ye to touch me like that,” he said, his voice rough and deep.
“I…I’m sorry,” she said as she disentangled herself and sat up. His eyes did not waver from hers. He watched her steadily with an almost wary look. She cleared her throat, pretending not to be as affected by him as she was. “How did you come to be over here?”
He sat up with ease, his strong body moving fluidly, the muscles rippling. “The chattering of yer teeth was keeping me awake, and I had to do something. I came to wake ye, and when I touched ye, ye were ice cold.”
“So you enfolded me in your heat,” she said, almost mesmerized by the notion of him wrapping his body around hers to keep her warm.
“Aye. I could nae think of another way to warm ye.”
She nodded and motioned to his stomach. “Your scars. How did you get them?”
His eyes widened with surprise. “Ye’re the first lass to ever ask me that.”
She smirked at him. “I take it many lasses have seen your scars.”
He suddenly looked disconcerted. “Well, I kinnae truthfully claim to be a saint.”
She chuckled. “I don’t suppose you could.”
A slow, wolfish smile came to his lips. She doubted he had any idea how devilish he looked when he smiled like that. He was so handsome, so magnetic. She imagined he had no trouble finding an eager woman to warm his bed.
Distinct jealousy stirred in her gut and made her uneasy. She had no business feeling jealous, but she did. “So how did you get the scars?”
“Well,” he said, looking down at his abdomen while kicking his long, powerful legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. He leaned back on his right hand and pointed with his left. “This scar here—” he touched the half-moon near his hip bone “—I got saving Simon Fraser, Grant’s older brother, from being trampled by a horse when we were lads of seventeen summers. And this one here—” he moved his hand farther up to graze his thumb over the almost perfect circle “—I got from a woman.”
He looked away from her, and her heart squeezed. “The woman who betrayed you?” she blurted, sure that only the woman he had once given his heart to would have ever caught him with his guard down. Angus was the sort of man who was always careful.
“Aye,” he replied, bringing his gaze back to her. His gray eyes were hard and full of dislike. “Isla Belfaine.”
His voice betrayed nothing but disgust, yet she had to wonder… “Do you… Do you still care for her?”
“What?” His eyebrows shot up. “Nay. Whatever I felt for her died the moment I discovered her betrayal.”
She wanted to ask so much more, but she decided it was probably too personal and she knew they had to ride out soon. She focused on the scars again. “What of the long, jagged one?”
He did not look at the scar but kept his gaze locked on her. “I got that scar the day I killed Isla’s father.”
The lethal calmness in his eyes made her swallow hard. “Why did you kill him?”
“Because,” Angus said, standing up, “he killed my father.”
Angus looked down at her and held his hand out to her. She took it, her skin tingling where his touched hers. He hauled her to her feet, and they stood face-to-face, only a hairsbreadth between them. “My father died because I was nae at a battle to guard his back, as I was supposed to be.” Grief twisted Angus’s features. “I was with Isla, instead. She had called me to her, and I went, like a fool. Her father had used the opportunity to kill my father and try to take our castle. If I had been where I was supposed to be my father would still be alive, as would my mother.”
The guilt she heard in his voice, the torment, astounded her and made her heart twist for him. “I imagine,” she said slowly, quietly, “that you’ve made penance for the choice you once made.”
She could see that he was clenching his teeth by the muscle of his jaw flexing. “Nae enough.”
Dear God. His hurt was heavy upon him. She wished she could ease it and give him peace. “How much is enough?”
“There is nae an amount, ye see, because the dead kinnae be brought back to life.”
“No, they cannot. But punishing yourself the rest of your life is not the answer.”
He scowled at her. “I’m nae punishing myself. Now, enough talk. We need to ride.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but his face became closed. She knew he would not speak more on it, so she simply nodded and said, “If you’ll give me a moment to change?”
“Aye.” He glanced over his shoulder, and she looked to where he did, toward the stream. Grant was striding in their direction.
“Did you hear him approaching?” she asked, curious.
“Aye.” He smiled. “Did ye?”
“No,” she admitted. “I was too distracted by you.” Heaven help her! Had she just said that?
That wolfish smile appeared again for the briefest of seconds, before he gave her a stern look. “Dunnae ever let yerself be distracted.” He winked suddenly. “Nae matter how braw the Scot.”
She laughed at that. He was a complex man, so serious one moment but joking the next. She wished… Well, she wished her circumstances were different and that she could open up her heart to him and his to her. But they were not. “I’ll only be a minute,” she said, then collected her gown, which had been thoughtfully hung on a tree branch to dry. “Did you do this?”
“Aye. I’ve sisters, remember? I ken well that women dunnae like to don a damp gown and undergarments.”
“Just your sisters have taught you that?” she teased. “Not other lasses?”
“I dunnae ken the preferences of any lasses but my sisters,” he said, his tone serious.
She didn’t doubt his words. Likely, he’d never let a woman close enough to learn her likes and dislikes. The notion made her happy that no one else knew him intimately, which disturbed her. She hurriedly grabbed her gown and brushed past him and Grant, murmuring, “Good morning,” as she went.
Just as she reached the thick trees, Angus said, “Dunnae go farther than ten paces. We’ll nae be able to see ye, but I’ll be able to hear ye.”
She bit her lip on a grin that he was concerned for her welfare, but then she shook her head at herself. She really had to get control of how good he made her feel.
Angus could not tear his gaze away from Lillianna as she walked away, shoulders back and head held high. He frowned as his body heated for her. He could not act upon his yearning again, and it was putting him in a foul mood. He thought he’d gotten control of it lying on the hard ground last night, but when he’d had to lie beside her to warm her, his desire for her had flared brighter than ever.
Even more disconcerting was how easy it had been to fall asleep with her in his arms. It had felt so right to have her there, unlike anything he’d ever experienced with a woman in his life.
It was likely because they had shared personal stories about themselves, and he’d spent more time with her since he’d met her than he’d ever spent with a woman. She was certainly getting to him.
Grant stopped in front of him and smirked. “Sleep well?”
“The lass was freezing,” Angus said in defense.
“Well, if she’s freezing again tonight and it’s too much temptation for ye, I’ll be happy to wrap myself around her as ye did last night.”
“Dunnae even think of it. And I’ll nae be doing so again. We can take turns keeping the fire stoked through the night tonight.”
“That sounds like less fun than tangling myself up with a bonny lass like Lillianna.”
Angus narrowed his eyes upon Grant. “Lillianna is nae a wench for ye to bed, do ye ken me?”
“I ken ye,” Grant said, his tone light. “It’s nae all right for me to bed her because ye want to.”
Angus wanted to throttle the younger man. “No one will be bedding the lass, and if they do—” he eyed Grant “—they’ll be marrying her.”
“I could nae agree more,” Grant said with a wink. “I simply needed to be certain ye were as honorable as I recalled.”
Angus found himself gaping at Grant. “Did ye honestly think I’d allow myself to bed the lass and nae marry her?”
“I’d hoped nae because from what I see, the fire burning between the two of ye is about to consume ye both.”
Angus grinned. He couldn’t help it, but he quickly got control of himself and wiped away his smile. “We may desire each other, but nae anything will be happening.”
Not again.
“If that’s the case—” Grant began, but Angus cut him off.
“Nay. I’m nae going to stand around and watch ye try to woo the lass.”
“Why nae?” Grant demanded. “’Tis better I woo her than some man ye dunnae ken, is it nae? Ye ken well that I’m honorable. I’d treat her well, and—”
“Nay,” Angus said again, more forcefully this time. He damn well refused to watch Grant woo Lillianna and then possibly wed her. His blood was now rushing hard through his veins. If he felt so possessive of Lillianna now, how would he feel in the next sennight it would take to get to the MacLeod hold? He could not allow himself to think on it because however he felt would change nothing. She was his mission, and that was all. He said it in his mind over and over, even as his gut twisted.
“Fine. I’ll nae argue it,” Grant said. “There are plenty of lasses to woo.”
Nae like Lillianna, Angus thought to himself.
“We need to ride,” Grant said.
“Aye. We will shortly. I promised the lass a quick lesson with the dagger.”
Grant cocked an eyebrow at Angus. “Do ye always make promises to lasses that dunnae mean anything to ye?”
“Shut up,” Angus growled, at which Grant chuckled.
“I’ll go ready the horses,” Grant said as Lillianna came strolling back to them, half-dressed in her now-dry gown. It hung loosely from her, telling him she needed help lacing it.
Angus gave Grant a distracted nod, his gaze glued on Lillianna. Her hair was a tangled, tumbled mess around her shoulders. Her gown was sullied and torn. She had a smudge of dirt on her right cheek, and she held her slippers in her right hand, swinging them as she walked. And never had a lass looked lovelier to him… He wanted to kiss her until she was breathless. He wanted to learn every inch of her body and then show her the ways a man could bring pleasure to a woman. He wanted to—
Christ’s blood. This mission was going to kill him. He was going to be felled by lust instead of a sword.
He yanked his hand through his hair and breathed deeply until his pulse slowed and his body did not feel flushed. Lillianna stopped in front of him and presented her back. “I’m ready after you lace me,” she said, and his mind immediately leaped to what he was ready for. He swallowed hard, deftly laced her, and then turned her toward him.
“Bring up yer dagger,” he commanded. She did as he asked. “Good. Now point it at my heart.”
The sharp edge of her weapon came close to his heart. “Like so?” she asked, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.
“Aye,” he croaked, trying to will himself to concentrate on the task at hand. “Now, try to keep hold of yer dagger while I try to take it.”
“All right,” she said, grinning, which made him grin. She was a funny lass—so delicate yet so eager to learn to defend herself. He whipped his hand up and snatched the dagger from her before she could even blink.
She frowned. “I did not even see you coming for it until it was too late! You’re very fast.”
“Nae any faster than many men. Ye need to clutch yer dagger so tightly that it will nae be taken. But yer grip is wrong and too loose to do so.” He took hold of her hand, set the hilt of her dagger in it, and situated her fingers around it. “Hold it like that, but verra firmly, like it’s the one thing between ye and death, which it verra well could be.”
She nodded, and he watched as she did what he said. She cocked her head at him, admirable determination shining in her eyes. “I want to try again.”
He nodded, but instead of giving her any notice, he simply repeated the motion from moments before and came away with her dagger again. She gasped. “You did not tell me you were about to try to take my dagger!”
“Of course nae,” he replied with a snort. “Will yer enemy warn ye before he tries to kill ye?” He handed her dagger back to her.
She took her dagger as she sucked in her temptingly plump lower lip and then released it. Yearning engulfed him. He needed to think of anything else but how he wanted her, so he concentrated on what could happen to her if he did not teach her to properly defend herself. He grew angry, imagining a man trying to defile her and succeeding because Angus had failed her in this lesson today. It worked. His desire waned beneath the fierce anger.
“Answer me,” he demanded, wanting to make certain she understood the importance of this.
“Of course not,” she said, raising her dagger. “I—”
Once her dagger was fully up, he snatched it from her again.
She gasped. “Angus!”
“Again,” he ordered, his fear for her suddenly throbbing through his entire body. He held the dagger out to her, and she took it, anger and resolve settling on her face. He stole it from her four more times, but on the fifth time, she managed to hold on to it.
“I did it!” A smile stretched across her face, and she launched herself at him, hugging him and laughing. He could feel her hammering heart through the fine material of her gown—along with every feminine curve she possessed—as her soft body molded to the length of his. Her scent of wildflowers swirled around him, and he had such an intense wish to fist his hand in her hair and cover her mouth with his that he shook as he pushed her away.
Her eyes widened, and he wondered if she knew the effect she had on him. “Angus, I’m sorry,” she whispered, splotches of red appearing on her porcelain cheeks.
“Dunnae be sorry. It’s just that I kinnae—I mean, ye should nae—” Devil take his damned tied tongue. His frustration exploded. “Ye are nae the sort of lass to bed and forget, and I’m nae the sort of man for more than that. And every time ye touch me, ye tempt me. A man can only take so much when faced with a woman like ye.”
She frowned. “What sort of woman is that?”
“Ah, Lillianna.” Despite the fact that he knew he ought not to, he cupped her cheek, telling himself it would be the last time he touched her intimately again. “Beguiling. Bold. Brave. I wish… I wish—”
“Wishing is for weaker people than we are,” she interrupted, her tone steely. “I’ll ride with Grant.”
With that, she turned on her heel and walked away from him. And he did not stop her because he feared he’d forget all the reasons he could not pursue her, and simply do so anyway with the zeal of man starved for one particularly fetching, fiery lass.