Twenty

Ewen sat on a stool before the iron brazier that Margaret had thoughtfully provided for his warmth in the barn, drawing the edge of his blade over the oiled whetstone with long, slow, deliberate strokes. It was something he did before battle, to calm himself and keep his mind off what was ahead. A ritual, he supposed. They all had them. Most of the Guardsmen tended their weapons, but MacSorley liked to take a short swim, and Striker read from a small leather-bound folio he carried around with him like a talisman. There were always a few prayers—and a few long drinks of whisky.

But tonight, like the ale and the swim in the loch that had come before it, the ritual wasn’t helping. Nothing was helping to keep his mind off Janet and what lay ahead. And it sure as hell wasn’t helping to ease the restless energy teeming inside him. He felt as on edge as this damned sword.

He wished he could say it was just lust. God knew, he’d been pushed well past the limit that any hot-blooded man should be expected to endure. He wanted her so intensely his teeth hurt just to look at her. But although a hard cock was a part of it—a large, painful part of it—it wasn’t all of it.

Lust wasn’t what made his chest burn every time their eyes had met tonight. He hadn’t missed her reaction to Margaret’s condition and the longing on her face, just as he hadn’t missed the way she’d looked at him afterward.

It wasn’t possible, damn it. Why was she tormenting him with things that couldn’t be?

Because she didn’t know they couldn’t be.

One more day. One more day and this would all be over. He could be damned sure she wouldn’t be looking at him like that after tomorrow, and what he wanted would no longer make a difference. But he could find little joy in knowing that she would hate him, even if it was for the best.

Doing the right thing shouldn’t be this hard, damn it.

He swore as his hand slipped and his thumb met the edge of the blade. A line of blood gushed from his fingertip, a few drops landing on the whetstone before he could draw it away.

Bloody hell! Good thing he didn’t put much store in omens. If he did, that was a bad one.

The door burst open just as he got to his feet. Even in the shadows he recognized her. “What happened, are you all—” Janet stopped, her eyes widening as she took in his bloody finger. “Your hand!”

She took a step into the barn, but he stopped her. “It’s nothing.” He picked up a piece of the bandage left over from wrapping his leg, and wrapped it around his thumb. “I nicked myself on the blade. I happens all the time,” he lied, although it was true that the cut was merely a nuisance.

Unlike his leg. That hurt like the blazes, which was odd as it didn’t appear any worse. What little blood there was seemed thin—watery-looking, actually—but it was alarming. After going for his icy swim in the loch earlier, he’d wrapped the wound in a fresh linen, and it felt a little better. But he had to admit he was concerned. Not concerned enough, however, to have her touching him. If that was why she was here—although he didn’t see any ointment or linens in her hands. Whatever the reason for her appearance, it wasn’t a good idea.

“What are you doing here, Janet? It must be after midnight. You should be sleeping. Get back to the house.”

She ignored him. “We need to talk.” Closing the door softly, she walked toward him. As she drew closer, she came into the light.

God’s blood! He felt as though someone had just landed a fist in his gut. A fist of temptation. She was a walking fantasy. A siren sent to lead him straight to Hades. She looked like she’d just rolled from bed. Her golden hair tumbled around her shoulders in a mass of slightly mussed—sensually mussed—waves that caught the flickering candlelight in a silvery halo. His plaid was wrapped around her shoulders and clutched together at the front, but he could still make out the thin linen chemise that she wore underneath. All that she wore underneath. Below the edge he could see a hint of bare leg and feet that she’d hastily shoved in her shoes without hose.

She stopped a few feet from him and he tried to breathe, but the air in his lungs seemed to have turned solid.

For the first time in his life, the hunter experienced what it was like to be caught. Like a deer in the bowman’s gaze, he couldn’t move.

He watched her gaze flicker back toward the darkened stalls, where their horse and a few other animals were housed, and then to the small corner where a comfortable-looking pallet had been laid out for his use. In addition to the brazier and the stool, there was a small table with an oil lamp. The smell was earthy from the peat rather than pungent, and the air was sultry and warm.

Coupled with the way she looked, it made him think of …

Hell, everything about her made him think of that. He was balancing on a sword’s edge. He clenched his fists, one hand balling around the bandage. “You need to leave, Janet, now. Whatever you have to say can wait until morning. This isn’t right. You shouldn’t be here with me alone like this. What if the Wallaces wake and notice you are gone?”

The fierceness of his tone didn’t seem to make any impression on her. She lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “We’ve been alone for almost two days. The Wallaces are fast asleep, and even if they do wake, I suspect they will know exactly where I have gone—Margaret especially.” She took another step toward him, and he had to force himself not to take a retreating step back. But his skin drew tight over his bones. His blood pounded through his veins, and his heart was hammering like a drum. “What I have to say is important and cannot wait.”

He frowned, a prickle of concern piercing through his anger at her invasion and the urgency to just get her the hell out of here. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head.

“Then what is it?”

She bit her lip, as if she didn’t know what to say. Given that she always knew what to say, his concern grew.

“I’ve changed my mind.”

“About what?”

“I do not think that I wish to be a nun.”

Some of his anger returned. “And this is so important that you sneak out of your bed in the middle of the night to come to find me?”

She shot him a glare, her mouth pursing. “It means that in the right circumstances, I might consider marriage.”

He stilled. The air seemed to have left his lungs. Actually the air, the blood, the bones, and pretty much everything else seemed to have left him as well.

Was she trying to say that she would consider marrying him?

From the way she lowered her gaze and the soft pink blush on her cheeks, he suspected that was exactly what she meant.

Jesus! Though he was wearing only a tunic and a thin pair of wool breeches, he felt a sheen of sweat gathering on his brow. What the hell was he supposed to say?

“Janet, you know that the right circumstances will be decided by the king. If it is your wish to marry, Bruce will be the one to find a husband for you—a suitable husband.”

Her mouth tightened distastefully. “Robert isn’t like that. He will consider my wishes.”

Ewen swore under his breath. How could he tell her that “Robert” had already found a husband without considering her wishes at all? Not to mention that the king had warned Ewen to stay away from her.

He shuffled uncomfortably, suddenly feeling as if he were walking through a garden of Sutherland’s black powder bags—with sparks on his boots. “He will find you a husband who has more than a finger of land and a half-built castle.”

Rather than discourage her, his words seemed to embolden her. “But what if he could be persuaded? Don’t you see, I could help you. If you were to marry me, it would improve your position with Robert. He would be sure to return some of your land to you, and—”

“Stop!” He took her by the shoulders and shook her, not realizing what he was doing. “What you are saying is impossible. Damn it, do you ever hear the word ‘no’? It isn’t going to happen.”

She drew in a hard breath, staring at him with a hundred questions in her eyes. “Why not? I thought you …” Her eyes turned to his, tearing at him. “I thought you cared about me. Don’t you want me?”

Bloody hell! He let her go as suddenly as he’d grabbed her, not trusting himself. He wanted her with every fiber of his being. He wanted her so desperately, it took everything he had not to pull her into his arms right now. “It isn’t that simple, Janet.”

“Why not?”

The hurt in her voice nearly broke him. He knew there would be tears in her eyes if he looked, so instead he dragged his fingers through his hair and paced a few steps before the iron brazier. “It just isn’t.”

“But I love you.”

His feet stopped. His heart stopped. Everything seemed to stop. It took a few moments for the words to sink in. For one instant he felt a burst of something akin to pure happiness—happiness like he’d never experienced before. But then it was tamped down under the bitter weight of duty and loyalty. People were counting on him, damn it. She belonged to another man.

He wasn’t going to be like his father, even if it bloody killed him. He would not do this. Discipline.

He turned and forced himself to look at her, every muscle in his body drawn as tight as a bow. His jaw was clenched, his fists were tight, and the pain in his chest doused whatever he’d been feeling in his leg.

She stared at him with round eyes, looking more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

“What would you like me to say?” He hadn’t meant it to sound as harsh as it did, but he’d never been good with words. He’d never been good with any of this. As the mess he’d made of everything proved.

She flinched, her fingers turning white as she squeezed the plaid tighter. “I thought.…” She stopped, choking on a silent sob. “I thought you might feel the same way. But I can see I was wrong.” The first tears slid from her eyes, each one a lance of pain through his heart. “I should not have bothered you. I’m s-sorry.”

He could barely hear the last word through the tiny sob. He could see her shoulders shaking as she turned to leave.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let her leave like this. “Janet, wait.”

And that’s when he made his mistake. He reached for her.

Janet was too hurt to be humiliated, although she was sure that would come later. Heaven’s Gates, she’d practically asked him to marry her! She’d given him her heart, and he hadn’t wanted it. Her chest felt as if it had been crushed by an enormous boulder—or ground under a heavy boot.

She couldn’t breathe—didn’t dare breathe—for fear the hot rush of emotion constricting her throat and chest would pour out in a flood of torrential sobs.

Do you ever hear the word ‘no’?

Aye, she’d heard it. Loudly. Dear God, how could she have been so mistaken? Was this just another example of her barreling down the mountain like a rolling stone? Had she imagined something that wasn’t there?

Her lower lip trembled. Her shoulders shook. The tears began to flow. Oh God, she had to get out of there!

She heard him call after her and would have ignored him if he hadn’t caught her arm.

“Let go of me!” She tried to shrug him off, not wanting him to see her cry. Not wanting him to see how badly he’d hurt her. Could he not leave her one shred of pride?

Apparently not. He wouldn’t let her go; his big warrior’s hand closed around her upper arm like a steel manacle. He spun her around so she was facing him, but she wouldn’t look up. She kept her gaze pinned to the embroidered neck of his linen tunic. But even that hurt. It tied at the neck, and she found herself staring at the dark patch of skin underneath. Skin that she still wanted to touch.

The heat of his body enveloped her. Cruelly. Teasingly. Taunting her with memories of things that would not be.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She gave a sharp laugh that came out as more of a broken sob. It was rather late for that. “Then what do you want, Ewen?” She looked up into his eyes, a flash of reckless anger restoring some of her boldness. “Oh, wait. I know what you want.” She leaned her body into his, her nerve-endings sizzling at the contact. But desire wasn’t love. “How could I have confused this for anything else?”

He made a harsh groan, twisting her arm around to cinch her in even tighter against him, although she didn’t think he was aware of what he’d done. “Stop it, Janet. That isn’t true.”

His face was a dark, tortured mask. His mouth a hard line, his eyes chips of steel, his jaw clenched.

Her heart seized. She hated him for making her want him so much. For every one of the hard muscles pressed against her that made her body heat, even now. For being so handsome it made her heart ache to look at him. For making her lose sight of her plan and believe even for a moment in faerie tales. And most of all for not loving her back.

“What isn’t true?” she taunted. “That you don’t want me?” She pressed her hips against him. “I’d say your body disagrees.” Her eyes bored into his. She was shaking with anger, frustration, and hurt. She wanted to lash out. She wanted to hurt him just as badly as he’d hurt her. “But you know what, Ewen? That is no longer enough for me. I no longer want you. So let me go!”

Panic rose hard and hot inside him. She meant it. Ewen could see it in her eyes. She didn’t want him anymore. He’d pushed her away one too many times. It was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He’d thought so. But as they stood there pinned together, sparks of anger and desire clashing between them in a fierce battle of wills, he knew he couldn’t let her go. If he let her walk away now, it would be too late. He would lose her. She would never come back. It would be over.

He could fight desire—he might have even been able to win—but he couldn’t fight the fear wrought by thoughts of a future without her. She’d battered down his defenses until he just couldn’t fight it anymore.

To hell with it. His mouth covered hers in a hot, possessive kiss meant to leave her no doubt of his intentions. He was going to make her belong to him, in the only way he could. For the first time, Ewen didn’t hold anything back, giving his desire free rein.

He proved her a liar with his lips and tongue, entreating—nay, demanding—with each deft stroke, until she was returning his kiss with as much heat and passion as burned inside him. She did want him.

The plaid she was clutching—his plaid—fell into a pool at their feet as her arms circled around his neck. Her tiny body stretched out against his and he sank into her, breathing her in in hot, heavy draws.

It was incredible. Her warmth. Her softness. The heady scent of her hair. He delved deeper, fitting her body into his, digging his hand through the silky golden strands to cup her head, and sinking his tongue deeper and deeper into the sweet, warm cavern of her mouth.

He couldn’t get enough. His mouth was ravenous for her taste, his hands eager to roam every inch of her, and his body aching for more pressure.

She moaned and shuddered, her tiny fingers clutching—digging—into his shoulders, visceral proof of how much she wanted him.

A bolt of heat struck hard in his groin, filling him. Making him swell. Throb. Bead.

He wasn’t going to last.

Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her over to the pallet. He broke the kiss only long enough to set her down and tear off his shirt before coming down beside her.

Her eyes widened, traveling over the spans of bare skin. Nay, “traveling” wasn’t quite right. “Feasting on” was perhaps more accurate. He was not unaccustomed to women admiring the effects of warfare on his body, but with her it was different. With her, it mattered.

“My God, you’re beautiful,” she blurted.

He smiled. “Warriors aren’t beautiful, lass. I thought you were good with words?”

She blushed, even though she knew he was teasing her. “Very well, ‘perfect’ then.” Her eyes went to the cut he’d suffered in the battle with the English the previous morning. “The wound does not hurt?” He shook his head. As he’d told her, it was no more than a scratch. “What is this?” she asked, outlining the mark that bound the Highland Guard on his other arm with her finger.

Ah hell. “Nothing.”

She ignored him. “It’s the Lion Rampant with some kind of band and inscription.” She squinted in the candlelight. “Or inveniam viam. ‘I shall find a way,’ she translated. “Fitting for a tracker. It sounds like the inscription for a sword.”

“It is,” he said. He had the same mark on his sword. The Lion Rampant tattoo, encircled with the torque-like band of a spiderweb, was the mark used to identify each member of the Highland Guard. But many of the warriors had personalized it with weaponry or mottos. Ewen had done both. He had two pikes crossed behind the lion and the inscription on his sword below.

His arm flexed under her fingertips, and thankfully she moved on. She reached out and spread her hands over his chest and arms. “You look as if you are made of steel.” She lifted her gaze to his shyly. “You know, I never liked muscles before, but I think they’ve rather grown on me.” Her palm spread over the bulge of muscle on his upper arm and squeezed. “Aye,” she said, her voice growing a little huskier, “I am quite appreciative.”

Another blast of heat rushed over him. He swore and kissed her again before her words could drive him any crazier.

He had every intention to take it slow. To savor every minute of what might be the only time—

He stopped. Don’t think about it.

Instead he concentrated on how good she felt, tucked in under him. He held her cradled against his side, half-propped over her, so as not to crush her with his weight. It also left his hand free to explore, and he made damned sure to leave no part of her untouched. He cupped her breast through the thin fabric of the chemise, brushing his thumb over the taut peak, before sliding his hand back over her waist and hips, and then her bottom, lifting her against him until her leg wrapped around his hip.

Their groans and moans blurred together when he started to rock gently against her. Slowly he increased the pace, mimicking the rhythm with his tongue, as the slow, gentle circles became a fast, hard grind. He let her get used to his size. Let her feel every inch of his length as he moved his body over hers.

But the playacting separated by a few layers of linen and wool wasn’t enough for either of them. The frantic race of her heartbeat and quickening breath, between increasingly urgent gasps and moans, matched his own.

Tension pounded through his body. He was so damned hot. Fevered. His body an inferno of need. Sweat gathered on his brow as he fought the instincts pressing inside him. Every one of his muscles was flexed hard, shaking with the effort to find restraint. To find control. To make it last.

But it wasn’t going to last. Not this time. It felt too good, and he wanted her too intensely. From the first moment he’d seen her in the forest, half-naked and fierce as a Valkyrie, he’d been waiting for this moment. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that even to himself, but the truth had finally caught up to him. Or maybe it was fate that had caught up to him.

He knew it was too hurried. Too rushed. But he had to be inside her. Now.

With one hand, he unfastened the ties of his breeches and slid them over his hips. The cool blast of air over turgid skin made him groan with relief.

Finesse was beyond him. His hand felt big and clumsy as he reached for the hem of her chemise, easing it just enough to give him access. He forced himself to tease it out. To let his hand rest on her thigh a moment before he touched her. But she wouldn’t let him. She started to squirm, to moan, to lift her hips to meet him.

So he gave her what they both wanted, sweeping his fingers over her dampness, before sliding into the tight feminine heat. He groaned. So wet. So damned hot.

A sharp squeeze of desire fisted at the base of his spine. He wanted to be inside her so desperately, it took everything he had not to lever his body over hers and thrust up hard inside. The knowledge of how good it would feel crashed over him in a hot wave, nearly dragging him under.

But he had to make her ready for him. She was an innocent, damn it, and he was going to make this good for her, even if it killed him.

And it bloody well might.

Lifting his head, he broke the kiss to watch her face as he pleasured her.

He felt something squeeze hard in his chest. She was so beautiful. Locked in the throes of passion, her cheeks flushed with pleasure, her golden hair splayed out behind her head in wild disarray, her eyes half-lidded and her kiss-swollen lips gently parted, she looked like some kind of sensual goddess. Knowing that he was doing this to her humbled him. It was his kiss that had swollen her lips, his week’s worth of stubble that had reddened the sensitive skin around her chin, and his touch that was making her wild.

But not quite wild enough.

Janet felt as if she were caught up in a whirlwind. A hot, frantic, devastating whirlwind. She’d gone from utter despair to ecstasy in a matter of minutes.

Whatever had been holding him back was gone. When he’d kissed her, she knew he’d made his decision: he’d chosen her. Her chest swelled with happiness. She hadn’t been wrong to give him her heart.

Swept up in the heat of his embrace, she gave herself over to the passion. She gave herself over to him. Surrender had never felt so good. The feeling of his fingers inside her—stroking her, bringing her to the very peak of pleasure …

Oh God, she couldn’t stand it! She moaned, writhed, felt the overwhelming urge to press her hips against his hand. An echo of the memory of what he’d done to her taunted, as the sensation flickered just out of her reach.

“Not yet, mo chroí,” he whispered in her ear with a wicked chuckle. “I want to taste you first.”

Janet didn’t want to try to tell him what to do, but she rather preferred this right now to kissing.

She gave a little mewl of protest when he slowed his stroke, and tried not to get irritated when he chuckled. “I promise you’ll like this, lass.”

She felt her first flicker of premonition when he scooted down, not up. My God, his face was right between her …

A sudden flood of embarrassment cooled some of the heat. Instinct brought her legs together hard. “No! Don’t! You can’t.”

He looked up at her, a wicked gleam in his steel-blue eyes. One thick chunk of dark hair slung over his brow, giving him a distinctly roguish edge. He buried his mouth right at the apex of her closed legs, the warmth of his breath making her gasp. He smiled. “I assure you, I can.” He nuzzled her again, gently nudging her legs apart. “You’re going to like this, love. Just let me have one little taste.”

Oh God! She shuddered—and not with mortification—when he nuzzled her again, this time giving her a flick of his tongue that sent ripple after ripple of sensation right to her toes. Her legs relaxed even more, opening a little wider as embarrassment quickly gave way to the wicked cravings of her body.

When he kissed her there, pressing his warm, firm lips to the most intimate part of her, she cried out in shock and pleasure so acute it set every nerve-ending on edge. Or rather, turned every nerve-ending inside out. She was a ball of raw, inside-out nerve-endings. Hot, sensitive, and poised for his touch.

He teased her with gentle flicks of his tongue and soft kisses until she couldn’t stand it anymore. She started to lift her hips against him, wanting more pressure.

“Do you like it, love?”

Like it? Good heavens, she’d never imagined liking anything quite so much. She hoped he wasn’t expecting her to speak; all she could manage was a breathy gasp.

She forgot to be embarrassed and didn’t offer a single protest when he settled himself firmly between her legs, looped her legs over his shoulder, and cupped her bottom to lift her more fully to his wicked, wonderful mouth.

The first loving stroke of his tongue sent every one of those inside-out nerve-endings to tingling. But it was the pressure of his mouth and the grate of his stubbled jaw against the tender skin between her thighs that made her lose all shame.

She started to shake. Started to arch her back and lift her hips harder and harder against his lips and tongue. She told him not to stop. She begged him to make it stop. Faster. Deeper. Harder.

Oh God, yes … yes! A rush of heat surged from between her legs to the warm suction of his mouth. He held her there, drinking her in, as she catapulted into a different realm, as her body came apart in wave after wave of hot, undulating pleasure.

Through the mindless haze, she heard him swear. “I can’t wait any longer … have to be inside you … sorry.”

His voice sounded almost strangled.

Why was he apologizing?

It didn’t take her long to find out.