Fifteen

Janet’s hand went to her head reflexively. She was surprised to find smooth strands of hair under her palm instead of wool. “Oh, I didn’t realize.” She thought back. “It must have fallen off last night, when I slipped from the horse.”

He swore again, which was redundant in her opinion, as the look on his face said it all. He was furious. Beyond furious, actually. Irate. Stormy. The forty-days-and-forty-nights kind of stormy.

“That must be how they are tracking us.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”

He stood and hauled her to her feet. She was half-surprised that he didn’t take her by the ear like a naughty pup. “Damn it, I told you we needed to be careful. No wonder they were able to follow us so quickly. You led them right to us.”

He didn’t need to say it; she knew what he was thinking. This is why a woman doesn’t belong here. A woman has no business in war. Go back to your nice little box and stay out of it.

She’d wanted so much to impress him, to show him that she could help as much as he could—in a different way, perhaps, but in a manner that was also valuable. Instead she’d proved his point. How could she expect him to see her a certain way if she made silly mistakes?

Janet wanted to argue with him. Her instinct was to defend herself, to try to talk her way out of it. But for once she didn’t have an excuse or an explanation. He wasn’t being unfair, he was only speaking the truth—even if most people wouldn’t have spoken it so plainly. But avoiding hurt feelings wasn’t Ewen’s forte. Nay, he was honest and straightforward to a fault.

Usually she didn’t mind. But she was scared and tired, having slept only a few hours in the last couple of days, and feeling unusually vulnerable after what had happened earlier. They’d shared something in the forest: an honesty of emotion that she wasn’t going to let him deny. She’d been so sure he was going to kiss her. So certain that he’d put aside whatever reservations he had. But he’d turned away from her again. And now …

Her hands twisted, a sick feeling growing in her stomach. “It was an innocent mistake.”

“A mistake that could have gotten us all killed.”

She flinched as much from the steely hardness in his gaze as from the verbal lash that went along with it. “I’ve said I’m sorry; I don’t know what else I can do.”

“Nothing. But next time I tell you something, try to follow orders.”

Janet had reached the limits of her passive acceptance of guilt. “I am not one of your men you can order about.”

“That is painfully clear. My men are much better disciplined.”

Now he wasn’t the only one who’d lost his temper; hers sparked like wildfire. Her twisting hands fisted at her side. “Fine. Women have no place on the battlefield—is that what you want me to say?”

His eyes flashed. He leaned closer to her and growled, “It’s a bloody good start.”

Janet wanted to stomp her foot in outrage. But as that would no doubt give him more fodder for treating her like a bairn, she tossed her head with a loud harrumph.

He was the most infuriating, patronizing, brutish, and blastedly unreasonable man she’d ever met!

And yet, even as he stood here taking her to task—which unfortunately in this case was deserved—a silly part of her still hoped that he would take her in his arms and tell her it was all right. Comfort her, as he’d done before. For such a formidably built man, he’d been surprisingly gentle.

But comfort was the last thing on his mind. “You’ll have to take off your clothes.”

She drew back. “My clothes?”

“Aye, all of them. And get in the river. You reek of bluebells; scrub every last bit of it from your hair and skin. We need to make sure they’ve lost the scent.”

“But …” She looked at the small pool below the falls. Even from here it looked freezing. And bluebells didn’t reek.

He clenched his jaw as if fighting for patience. “Damn it, can you just follow directions for once?”

Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills. She’d had just about enough of his brusque commands. A secret smile crept up her lips, as the devil inside her reared its ugly head.

I can follow directions, all right. “As you wish.”

She let the plaid drop from her shoulders and fall into a dark puddle at her feet.

He blinked.

Lifting a distinctly challenging brow, she unfastened her doublet, which joined the plaid at her feet a moment later.

He managed to find his voice by the time she’d kicked off her boots and started to shimmy the leather breeches over her hips.

“What are you doing?” he said—rather inanely, in her opinion.

She smiled, removing her hose. “Following orders.” She gazed up at him innocently. “Do you need some water?”

“Water? No, why?”

“Your throat sounds a little dry.”

And with that, she lifted the shirt over her head.

It must have been the battle. Or perhaps the physical exhaustion of the past few days. But as Ewen stood there, watching her, his limbs turned to lead. He couldn’t move. He didn’t have the strength to stop her.

Oh God, stop her.

But before some manner of self-preservation could take hold, her shirt landed on the ground.

The world stopped. His heart forgot to beat. His mouth was dry all right. Burning dry. Searing dry. His throat was as parched as the deserts of Outremer, and he knew there wasn’t enough water in the oceans of Christendom to quench the thirst he had for her.

She was perfect. Long of limb, slender and curved in all the right places, with miles and miles of flawless, creamy skin. The firm, round breasts that had been emblazoned on his memory were even more spectacular than he’d remembered, the nipples smaller, tighter, and darker pink, and the soft, feminine place between her legs …

Sweet God in heaven! He groaned. Desire fisted in his groin, hot and aching, pulling and squeezing with need.

Her voice brought him back. “Is this what you wanted?”

The husky challenge of her voice sent a fireball of lust racing down his spine. It gathered at the base, pulsing—nay, quaking—with need.

He looked into her eyes.

Damn her! The lass didn’t have a weak or vulnerable bone in her body. Even naked as the day God made her, she was bold and challenging and strong.

Strong enough to break him.

In the spate of two long heartbeats, he had her in his arms, her velvety-soft skin plastered against him.

She gasped at the suddenness of his movement but didn’t resist. Nay, she’d asked for this, and by all that was holy, she would get it.

For one fraction of a heartbeat, Janet felt a flicker of fear and wondered whether she’d pushed him too far. But then she was in his arms, and she knew he would never hurt her. Even out of control, Ewen held her with a gentleness that was belied by the strong, hard-as-a-rock body against her.

The leather and steel of his armor against her naked flesh was a shock, albeit not an unpleasant one. There was something oddly sensual about having all that warm leather and cool metal pressed against her. Or maybe it was just that she’d been so cold before, the heat radiating from his body made any discomfort seem small.

She tilted her head back, looking into his eyes.

The fierceness of his expression sent a thrill shooting through her veins.

“Damn you,” he said angrily, his last gasp of protest before surrender.

All thoughts of gentleness were forgotten as his mouth covered hers. He kissed her roughly, his lips moving over hers with a fierce possessiveness that made her gasp. And moan. More than once. Especially when he started to use his tongue. The deep, penetrating strokes definitely elicited lots of moans from her. Low, urgent moans that seemed to start somewhere deep inside—right about the place she could feel him hard against her.

She shuddered, her body responding to the primitive evidence of his desire. She was achingly aware of every thick inch of that evidence.

He pulled her in closer, bending her back, going deeper and deeper. She had to fight to keep up with him, her innocence no match for the raw onslaught of passion.

She knew he was punishing her for forcing him to this, trying to frighten her off with the intensity of his desire. But Janet met him stroke for stroke. She might be an innocent maid, but the instincts he roused in her were those of a wanton.

She wanted this. Every bit as much as he did, and the raw sensuality of his passion only fired her own.

Aye, she was hot, her skin almost feverish. She seemed to be melting, dissolving into a pool of molten heat.

He’d removed his gauntlets and the feel of his big, callused hands roaming over her bare skin—stroking, caressing, squeezing, leaving no inch untouched—only increased that heat and elicited far more of those little moans.

“God, you feel so good. Your skin is so soft.” The warmth of his breath tickled her ear, but it was his words that made her shudder. “I want to touch you all over. Every inch of you, mo chroí.”

“My heart.” The tender endearment made her chest squeeze. Janet couldn’t believe it was Ewen speaking to her like this. The silky-smooth words couldn’t have been more at odds with the brusque warrior who spoke without thought or care of social graces. It was a heady combination, the fierce, rough passion mixed with the soft, sensual words.

His hands possessed her, sliding down her back, over her bottom, lifting her a little harder against him, rocking …

Sweet Mother! She might have jumped, her entire body sparking with an energy not unlike bottled lightning. She forgot to breathe, her body clenched and waiting.

For what?

“God, you’re killing me.”

Normally, she wouldn’t think that was such a good thing, but the way he said it made her think it might be.

His mouth moved down and over her neck hungrily, setting her skin ablaze in its path.

Her heart was pounding. Her knees were wobbling. And the place between her legs …

A fresh surge of heat rose to her cheeks. She didn’t even want to think about what was happening there. She was hot and achy and … wet, with strange little flickers—

Oh! He rocked against her again and those strange little flickers started to pulse. She wanted him there. Right there. The thick column of steel wedged high and tight, riding against her.

“Sweet Jesus, you’re driving me wild.” His voice was ragged and tight with restraint.

Janet knew the feeling.

“I want to be inside you,” he whispered in her ear.

She almost cried out with disappointment when he released his hold on her bottom and the sweet pressure went away. But her disappointment lasted only a moment. His hand skimmed over her stomach to cover a breast.

“So soft,” he groaned, squeezing, cupping her gently in his hand. “Your breasts are incredible. I’ve dreamed of doing this since the first moment I saw you.”

He had?

Janet was glad he didn’t seem to expect a response, as she was having a difficult enough time breathing. The sensations his hands wreaked on her body were commanding all her attention. Instinctively she arched into his hand, having discovered rather quickly that pressure increased the sensations.

But she hadn’t anticipated the feeling of his fingers on her nipple. The rough pad of his thumb over the sensitive, throbbing peak nearly sent her jumping out of her skin again, as another one of those lightning rods sent a flash of energy shooting through what seemed to be every nerve-ending in her body.

He made a harsh sound before his mouth covered hers again.

She sensed he’d reached the end of his rope. His kiss was no longer punishing, but determined. Every stroke of his tongue, every touch of his hands on her body, seemed calculated to increase her passion, to bring her closer and closer to something that hovered just out of her reach.

She shivered with anticipation.

He lifted his head. “Are you cold?”

Aroused beyond measure. She shook her head, managing a breathy, “Hot.”

“Good.” His eyes darkened. “You’re about to be even hotter.”

She shuddered again, hearing the sensual promise in his raspy voice.

He was as good as his word. A moment later when his mouth found her breast, she thought she’d fallen to the fiery bowels of hell, for surely it must be a sin to feel this good.

She cried out as his tongue circled her nipple and he began to suck. Gently at first, and then a little harder, as she arched deeper into his mouth.

The heat. The scrape of his chin. The silky brush of his hair on her skin.

It was too much.

It wasn’t enough.

She started to squirm in frustration, and he finally gave her the relief she unknowingly sought.

His tongue laved and flicked against her nipple at the same time that his fingers brushed between the juncture of her thighs.

She stilled, instinct telling her what he was about to do. She had a moment of panic. Twenty-seven years of maidenhood, of holding on to her chastity like a holy relic, was not relinquished without a small pang of uncertainty. Was this wrong?

Almost as if he’d heard her unspoken question, he lifted his head. Their eyes met, and any uncertainty she had faded in the intensity of emotion she saw mirrored in his gaze.

And then he touched her. There. In the place she’d unknowingly reserved for him for this moment.

Pleasure bloomed from deep inside her like a flower unfurling its velvety petals in the sun, as he held her gaze and stroked her. It was magical. Beautiful. The most natural, perfect thing in the world. How could it be wrong?

The sensations were building faster now, racing at a frantic pace toward a determinable end. And moments later when she looked into his eyes, as he stroked her to the very peak of passion, when her breath caught, her body clenched, and warmth spread over every inch of her, shattering into a blinding light, Janet knew something else: she was very glad she wasn’t a nun.

Ewen was lost the moment he looked into her eyes. Seeing her break apart, watching the passion spread over her face in sensual euphoria, swollen lips parted, cheeks flushed and eyes soft with pleasure, unleashed something inside him that could not be held back.

Lust surged through him, unlike any he’d ever experienced. It was more powerful. More intense. Deeper. It filled not just his cock—which was as hard as a pillar of marble—but his bones, his blood, every inch of his body, including a part of him that he wished it didn’t: his heart.

His need for her was elemental. Like water and food, and the air he breathed, he had to have her.

The last ebb of her release had yet to fade before he had her on the ground, the discarded plaid underneath her.

He fumbled with his braies. Next time, he swore. Next time he would make it perfect. This time he’d be lucky if he lasted a few minutes.

He was out of control, past the point of reason, his body moving on its own command. He didn’t want to let himself think. Blood pounded through his body, in his head. Sweat gathered on his brow. He’d never wanted anything so intensely in his life.

Blissfully cold air hit his hot skin as he released himself from the painfully binding braies. He moved himself into position, levering his body over hers, inches—seconds—from sweet relief.

He was hard as a spike, red and throbbing. Painfully throbbing. I-need-to-come-right-now throbbing. A drop escaped in wicked anticipation.

His teeth clenched. A few more seconds …

He couldn’t wait for that first exquisite moment of contact, when the hot, sensitive tip would meet warm, feminine dampness. He could almost feel her tight and warm around him, a velvety tight glove, gripping … squeezing … milking. His buttocks clenched.

Her eyes fluttered open. The smile that spread across her face squeezed his chest like a vise, cutting off his already labored breathing. So beautiful …

“That was wonderful. I never imagined …” She looked up at him. “Is there more?”

Greedy lass! He smiled. “Aye, this is only the beginning. I am going to make you—”

Mine.

He stilled. The word jarring something inside of him, rousing his conscience from its drugged slumber.

“Make me what?” she said gamely. She glanced down, eyes widening as they fell on him. “Oh … Oh!”

Her eyes shot back to him uncertainly, and with more than a little fear. It wasn’t without cause. He was built for a woman’s pleasure.

But she wasn’t a woman, she was a maid.

Is a maid, he corrected.

Every muscle in his body flexed with restraint. It would be so easy to surge inside. He bowed his head, his body shaking, fighting for control as the need of his body warred with his mind. A mind he wanted to shut off.

Just finish. You can make it good for her. She wanted this. It’s too late, damn it.

But it wasn’t too late. Not yet.

She isn’t yours. But she can be. A few more inches, and you can make it so.

But at what cost? Everything he’d been fighting to achieve? Was he like his father after all?

He swore, not realizing he’d uttered the vile oath aloud until she gasped.

“What’s wrong?” She reached up and touched his taut face.

He shrugged her off and pulled away, every instinct in his body roaring in protest.

“I can’t do this.”

“Why not?”

He was already on his feet, moving away. He couldn’t look at her; the emotion in her voice was eating away at him enough. He needed a minute—more than a minute—to get himself under control. “There’s some soap and some extra clothes in my bag. Wash off the damned flowers. As soon as you are done we can go.”

Walking away was the hardest thing Ewen had ever done. He cursed every step that took him away from her. His honor and loyalty had been pushed to the very breaking point, leaving him nowhere to go.