Highland Fire
Page 21
“Oh, my lady. I have been waiting up for you,” she said. Then, seeing Kieran in the sitting chamber, she bowed her head and began to withdraw. “Forgive me, my lord. I thought the lady was alone.”
Megan knew that the servant could not retire until her task was completed. Recognizing her distress, she said to Kieran, “Excuse me, my lord. I will be but a few moments.”
As she crossed the room she saw him stride to the fireplace and stare deeply into the flames as he lifted the goblet to his lips. He seemed filled with a restless energy.
Following Aileen into her sleeping chamber, Megan allowed her maid to remove her soiled clothes. While Megan washed herself in a small basin, the little maid brought forward a clean gown for her approval.
“Nay, Aileen. I will dress for bed.”
“But my lord O’Mara…”
“Will not mind if I do not dress appropriately to sup with him.” Her laughter trilled in the quiet of the room. “I know that Mistress Peake would have your hide if she thought you did not prepare me for bed before taking your own rest. So,” she added conspiratorially, “you shall prepare me for bed and then you will retire for the night.”
“Oh, my lady. You are so kind and thoughtful.” Aileen laid out a nightgown of palest ivory.
“Nay. I am merely being practical. You need your sleep. And I needed to be rid of those soiled clothes.” As she dressed, Megan felt the whisper of silk against her skin. Over the nightgown Aileen helped her into a flowing robe of ivory silk inset with delicate lace on the collar and wide sleeves.
Aileen brushed Megan’s hair until it gleamed, then caught it up in two ivory combs.
“Do you require anything more, my lady?”
“Nay, Aileen. Go now and take your rest. Mistress Peake cannot accuse you of shirking your duties.”
“Good night, my lady. And thank you.” The little maid stifled a yawn as she made her way across the room.
In the sitting chamber Mistress Peake bustled around with an air of importance, taking care that every detail of the late-night meal was perfect. A table was set before the fireplace with snowy linens and gleaming crystal goblets. A sideboard groaned with hastily prepared dishes of cold venison, partridge and dove and breads toasted in the fire for the lord of the manor.
When all was in readiness, the housekeeper dismissed the servants and bowed her way from the room.
Megan stood hesitantly in the doorway, studying the man who still stood, his hand resting along the mantel, his brooding gaze fixed on the flames.
He had removed his cloak and tunic and tossed them carelessly over a chaise. He wore only an ivory shirt and slim fitted breeches.
Where did he go when he shut out the world and stared without seeing? Was there some secret place within him? A place where she could never go?
Gathering her courage, Megan lifted her skirts and entered the sitting chamber.
Kieran turned to watch her. God in heaven, she was beautiful beyond belief. When she crossed the room he was drawn to her. But he would not yet allow himself to touch her. For if he did, he feared he would take her like a brute.
He held her chair as she sat at the table.
“Ale, my lady?” He filled her goblet and offered it to her.
“Thank you.” She sipped and felt the warmth of it swim through her veins, chasing away the chill that had suddenly come upon her.
Though he was attentive to her every need, he seemed aloof, as though his thoughts were far away.
He filled her plate and his own, and together they began to eat.
“I will have to remember to tell Mistress Peake she gets better with each meal. Or perhaps,” Megan said with a laugh, “I am so hungry that anything would taste good.”
Kieran leaned back, sipping his ale and watching her over the rim of his goblet. His food was barely touched.
“You are,” she said, taking a sip of ale, “a man of many surprises, my lord.”
“In what way?”
“When I first awoke in the forest, I thought you were a villain. And later, when you admitted having escaped from Fleet, I was certain of it.”
“And now?”
She smiled. “There are so many Kieran O’Maras. The fierce warrior, the loving son and brother, the loyal friend, the noble leader of his people.” She arched an eyebrow. “Which one are you tonight?”
He reached across the table and caught her hand in his. Instantly her pulse leaped.
He gave her a dangerous smile. “Which one would you like me to be?”
“Be whatever you want to be.” She was suddenly uncomfortable. He was so quiet. Quiet and thoughtful. And she knew she was babbling. “I should retire now, my lord.”
She set down her glass and got to her feet. But when she stood, he was standing beside her. Their hands were still linked.
He saw the confusion in her eyes. He looked calm and determined.
“What is wrong, my lord?”
“Something happened tonight, Megan.”
“Aye. A child stepped back from death’s door.”
“Nay. Something of even greater import.”
She waited, watching his eyes.
“I realized I was in love with you.”
Megan’s heart seemed to stop beating for several seconds. “You are confused, my lord. You are merely mirroring the gratitude of the crofter and his wife.”
“Nay.” His voice was low, almost stern, and his gaze was steady. “All the confusion is gone. I see clearly now what I have tried for so long to deny. I love you, Megan. What is more, I made a vow that I would share my love with you before the morrow.” He gazed beyond her to the balcony window. “There are still several hours before the dawn.”
Tremors rippled through her. Fear? she wondered. Or anticipation? She should be shocked. But though her pulse leaped at his words, she knew it was what she wanted, too. For too long she had denied the feelings in her heart for this man.
Love. Aye. She loved him. And had for a long time. But the very thought of showing him her love had her terrified.
“You do not know me, my lord. I am a stranger even to myself.”
“I know everything I need to know about you, Megan. You are a rare woman. And you own my heart.”
She backed away until his fingers laced with hers held her firmly. “I…” She licked her lips and tried again. “I believe that you care for me, Kieran, but…”
“Care for?” He drew her fractionally closer. “I care for my steed. I care for the people of my villages.” His eyes blazed. “But I love only one woman, Megan. And I will wait no longer to show you how much I love you.”
He brought his hands to her shoulders and stared into her eyes as he drew her close. His mouth covered hers in a savage kiss.
There seemed to be no gentleness in him now. He was all fire and passion and need. His lips moved over hers, taking, then giving, then taking, until she was drained. His tongue sought hers, thrusting, demanding, until she was breathless.
Feelings pulsed through her that only his kiss had ever awakened. Each time they had come together, he had uncovered another layer of passion. But this time the passion bordered on pain.
“Say you will stay with me this night.” His words were muttered fiercely against her lips.
Touching a hand to his proudly chiseled face she whispered, “I had once thought I could not give my love until I learned my name. But with you, my name no longer matters. Show me, Kieran. Teach me.”
For a moment Kieran was speechless as he stared at her. Did she know what effect her words had on him? There was nothing she could have said that would inflame him more.
“Oh, my lady.” Lifting her hands to his mouth, he buried his lips in first one palm, then the other. “I have thought of nothing but you for so long now. God in heaven, I am consumed with the thought of loving you.”
Their gazes met and held, and he saw that her fear had been replaced with something else. Taking her hand he led her toward his sleeping chamber.
Kieran crossed the room, leaving her alone for a moment, and she glanced at the door. But though it tempted her, she could not run. She was bound as surely as if he still held her in his arms. Bound by a need as strong as his.
She watched as he held a taper to the fire. Setting it on the bedside table, he moved to her, his eyes dark and unfathomable.
“I need to see you while I love you,” he said as his hands moved to the combs that held her hair. As he removed them, her hair tumbled around her face and shoulders in a riot of curls.
He plunged his hands into the tangles and drew her head back. “How long I have waited.” Slowly, hungrily, he nibbled her lips until she sighed and drew him closer. He lingered over her lips, savoring the sweet taste of her.
With strong, sure movements he undid the buttons of her robe.
In the glow of the candle his face was dark and dangerous. And beautiful, she realized, as he slipped the robe from her shoulders.
He felt her tremble as the robe drifted to the floor. “Are you afraid, Megan?”
She swallowed and cursed the fear that coursed through her, leaving her shaking like the flower petals in the wind. “Aye.”
He felt a rush of heat at the knowledge that his touch could affect her so. This proud, brave little beauty, who trembled before no man, was quivering before him. He touched a finger to her cheek in a gesture so achingly sweet she caught her breath.
“Do not fear, little warrior. There is so much we can teach one another.”
He studied the way she looked, her slender figure barely covered by the sheer silk nightgown, her hair spilling across her shoulders in a tumble of curls. He drew her into the circle of his arms and covered her lips in a savage kiss.
He could feel her, soft and pliant, as his fingers found the ribbons that laced the bodice of her nightgown. He slid the fabric from her shoulders, then bent to follow its path with his lips.
He felt her shudder as she reached for the buttons of his shirt and struggled to undress him. When her fingers encountered his bare flesh, he gave a moan of pleasure.
“How long I have waited to have you touch me.”
Her hands whispered over his skin until he could bear it no longer. With one fluid movement he picked her up and carried her to his bed. They lay tangled together in the bed linens. The only barrier between them was the silk of her nightgown, still clinging to her breasts. With soft, nibbling kisses he caressed her face. She sighed and gave herself up to his tender ministrations. But just as she relaxed, his teeth tugged at her earlobe and his tongue began thrusting, tormenting her, until she sighed and caught his face between her hands, forcing his mouth on hers.
He was hungry to touch all of her, taste all of her. He found her breast, small and firm, and he began to nibble and suckle until she moaned and writhed beneath him.
With his teeth he drew the sheer bodice of her nightgown away from her until her breasts were freed from that last barrier. His lips found her bare flesh, arousing her until she arched and cried out his name. And then, with a feeling of desperation, he tugged and tore the last of her garment savagely from her, needing her warm and naked and willing.
He left her no time to think. Now she could only feel as she moved with him, flooded by dozens of different sensations that left her dazed.
Never before had she lost control. Never had she been so assaulted by so many different feelings. Feelings that took her higher, then higher still, until she soared to the heavens.
With his lips and fingers he took her to the first crest, until she shuddered and clutched at his arms, whispering his name.
He had a desperate desire to take her wildly, savagely, but he fought down the need. Instead, forcing himself to slowly savor the moment, he rolled over, pulling her on top of him, and kissed her with a fierceness that left them both shaken.
Leaning on one elbow, she tentatively touched a hand to his chest. Abruptly he went very still, loving the feel of her fingertips on his flesh.
“Did I do something wrong?”
From beneath lowered lids he murmured, “Nay, little warrior. Touch me again.”
With awkward, halting movements she touched a finger to the scars that marked his chest. “I cannot bear to think that a cowardly jailer inflicted these on you. Oh, Kieran.” With an anguished sigh she bent her lips to the scars. “If only I could take away all the pain you have endured.”
His stomach muscles contracted violently. With a wild rush of heat he plunged his hands into her hair and drew her face down for a kiss. “You already have, love. All the pain of the past is forgotten when you touch me.”
“I love touching you.” Growing bolder, she knelt, and with her hair swirling around them both, traced a finger across his lips, then bent to follow the path with her tongue.
For long minutes he lay still while she kissed his throat, his chest, his stomach. But when she brought her lips lower, he moaned before catching her in his arms and rolling over her.
“Please, Kieran. Love me,” she whispered.
But still he held back, raining kisses across her cheek, down her neck, across her shoulder.
Steeped in pleasure, she could only lie helplessly beneath him as his lips and fingers stripped away her last shred of control. She was no longer the fiery warrior. There was no thought of battle, of winning. Here there were no rules of warfare. There was only a wild abandonment, a wanton desire to glory in his touch and fill herself with this man.
Her stomach quivered as his lips moved across the flat planes and along the flare of her hip to her inner thigh. She arched toward him, begging him to end this torment. But still he drove her higher.
This was how he had dreamed of her. Passionate, desperate. His woman. Only his. He knew from her reaction that she had never before given herself to a man. That knowledge fueled his passion until he felt himself slip over the edge toward madness.
He could no longer bank his desire. He took her with a fierceness that left them both gasping.
She had known he would be a reckless, dangerous lover. From the beginning she had sensed the unbridled passion that lurked beneath his infuriatingly cold demeanor. Cold. Nay. There was nothing cold about the man who had taken her to the very edge of madness, then beyond. The heat, the fire, the passion burned her as they moved together in a wild, throbbing dance of love.
She moved with him, matching his strength, matching his needs, as they climbed higher. When they reached the crest, her eyes opened, meeting his. Their breath trembled from between parted lips.
He wanted to remember her always like this, dazed with need, hungry for fulfillment.
He cried her name, or thought he did, as they soared through a black velvet night and lost themselves among the stars.
They lay, still locked in an embrace. With his lips pressed to a tangle of hair at her temple, Kieran held her as tenderly as if she were a fragile doll.
He kissed away the sheen that beaded her forehead, then lightly touched her lips with his.
He loved her. The thought filled him with such wonder, he was still dazed by it. Love. That he should love this wild little creature, who had first captured his admiration as she stood in a meadow with a sword in her hand, was a source of amazement to him.
He saw her eyes fill with tears and quickly rolled to one side, gathering her close.
“God in heaven. I have hurt you.”
“Nay.” She turned her head, ashamed of the tears. “It is just that I have never known such a feeling. Oh, Kieran,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her lips in his throat. “I love you so much.”
“You love me?”
She could not speak over the lump in her throat. Instead, she merely nodded and began to weep.
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“Oh, Megan. My wild little warrior.” With his lips pressed to a tangle of her hair he began to murmur words of endearment. She loved him. It was more than he had hoped for.
He felt a wild surge of protectiveness toward this fierce, brave little woman. She was so far from her people. So alone. But, he vowed fervently, she would never be lonely again.
He kissed the slope of her shoulder, then buried his lips in the little hollow of her throat. It was not possible to want her again so soon. But as he held her and comforted her, he felt his passion rising. With kisses and touches and whispered words, they tumbled once more into a world reserved for lovers.
Chapter Seventeen
P ale dawn light filtered through the balcony window. Two figures lay tangled together, their breathing soft and easy.
Megan lay very still, studying Kieran as he slept. All night they had loved, slept, then loved again. And each time they had discovered something new about each other.
Shyly at first, then more boldly, she had explored his body as he had explored hers. How different his body was from hers. And yet how perfectly they complemented one another. Her gaze moved over him. How strong his jaw. How smooth his brow. His long lashes made spiky shadows across his cheeks. In repose he looked younger and much less fierce, as though he had not a care in the world.
She stared at his lips. Such inviting lips. She longed to trace their outline with a fingertip, but she feared waking him. Her gaze moved over his chin and throat, darkened with a stubble of growth. It was somehow oddly appealing to see him like this.
Who would have ever believed she could love that savage villain who had so frightened her during their early encounters? Yet she did love him. With a fierceness that astounded her.
“Do you like what you see?”
His words startled her. Glancing up, she saw his eyes, heavy-lidded, watching her.
Laughter lurked in her eyes. “I have always been fond of hairy creatures, my lord. Dogs. Goats.”
“Goats? Are you calling me a goat?”
Sitting up, she touched a hand to the stubble on his chin. “A bristly boar, perhaps.”