Melanie grabbed his hand, squeezed it tightly. "We'll get to the bottom of it," she promised, wanting him to believe her. "We'll figure it out, I promise. I'll do everything in my power to solve this one for you, Aelfred. You're not alone in this, okay?"
He looked down at her, and she could see tears standing in his eyes as a half-smile crossed his features, shining through the grief on his face. "Thank you," he murmured. "I couldn't do any of this without you, Melanie…"
And then he was kissing her. She surrendered herself completely to it, feeling her body responding instinctively to his desire, his need for her, the pressure of his arms around her, the heat of his lips against hers. Before she knew it they were tearing at each other's clothing as the night closed in, the dark wreathing them, keeping their bodies safe from any prying eyes… not that anyone was within miles of their camp. They were totally alone… and nothing had ever felt more right than Aelfred's hands roaming across her body, stoking fires with every delicate touch. It was as though he knew instinctively where she wanted him, which parts of her had been aching for his touch ever since they'd met, and she found her breath catching and her heart pounding harder than she'd ever felt it as his hands strayed lower and lower, cupping her breasts, caressing her waist and her back, reaching down to cup her butt and draw her closer to him as they both laughed breathlessly. Before long, it became untenable to stay sitting on the log by the fire — their dinner forgotten, they fell back onto Aelfred's bedroll, and she reached over to grab hers and drag it closer to give them more room to maneuver.
Unclothed, the chill wind bit at them, and Aelfred dragged his cloak over the two of them to keep the worst of the cold at bay. But the cold couldn't have been further from Melanie's mind — not with the heat of Aelfred's powerful frame to keep her warm, to press herself up against, wrapping her legs around his waist, drawing him closer as he kissed her, and held her, and sent pleasure arcing down her spine with every caress. His hands roamed further, encouraged by her soft moans, her arching her back against him, the impatient way she kept deepening their kisses, and when his fingers finally brushed against her sex she fought back the urge to scream. It felt like her whole body was on fire with need for him, and every touch only made her burn for him more and more… and from the way he was breathing, the way she could feel his manhood pressing against her leg, she knew instinctively that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.
But despite their passion, they took their time… balanced on an exquisite knife edge of desperately wanting more from each other, but not wanting to rush the delight of their lovemaking, they lay for a long time, teasing and exploring each other. But before long, as the stars glimmered above them in the night sky and the cold air ghosted across their naked bodies, she felt Aelfred give in to the desire that had been boiling within them since they'd first kissed — and, if she was honest, since well before that. They rolled over until Aelfred was suspended above her, and she gazed up at him, the moonlight shining in his silver eyes as though a little piece of it was stored in each one… and he leaned down to kiss her, sweet and fierce, and tender, as he lined himself up and buried himself to the hilt inside her.
Nothing had ever felt like this… nothing had ever felt so sweet, so good, so utterly fulfilling… and when she rocked her hips experimentally up against him she choked back a groan at the utter joy of the friction between them. He drove himself into her, gently at first, working up from a slow, powerful pace to something more frantic and desperate as their passion rose, as the inevitable climax drew closer and closer. She had no time to think about any of it, to worry about whether he'd beat her to the inevitable peak of their pleasure — all she could do was hold on for dear life, her legs around his waist, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she buried her face in his throat and moaned, surrendering absolutely to the pleasure coursing through her body which seemed to build and build until it was almost unbearable…
He must have reached his peak at about the same time as she did, but it was hard to tell with her whole vision whiting out with the force of the orgasm that blasted through her body. She must have cried out loudly enough to wake the whole village, she thought dizzily as the aftershocks of her pleasure crashed through her… and Aelfred, too, was groaning against her throat as his climax shook through him as well. She felt him tug the cloak around them, the warmth of his body unbelievably pleasant as she coasted through the aftershocks of her orgasm, and the two of them lay in a tangle of limbs, utterly sated by the consummation of a passion that had been building between them for weeks.
She must have slept for a little while, or at least dozed… when she woke up, he was gazing down at her face with such a soft, tender expression that she felt a lump rise to her throat. Neither of them needed to speak, to give words to what they'd shared… they simply smiled at each other before setting about getting the evening meal ready. A late dinner, perhaps… but Melanie didn't mind the delay one bit. And once they'd eaten, Aelfred drew her into his arms again, and they lay together, falling fast asleep in each other's arms.
Something woke her before dawn — and even in her half-asleep state it made her frown. What had woken her? The low huffing of the horse — she could just make out the shape of him where he was still tethered. No — something else. Some sound or other… which was strange because there were plenty of sounds out here. She tensed a little, sitting up — and as she did so, she realized that Aelfred was awake, too. Had he heard it too? His silver eyes were blurry with sleep, but he sat up, too. She saw his hand reach for his sword automatically, and she responded the same way, her fingers finding the hilt of her short sword where it lay beside her…
Later, she'd thank God that she'd thought to reach for her weapon. Because the moment she found it, all hell broke loose.
Suddenly, the camp was full of a flurry of activity — the pounding of boots, the shouts of angry men, what felt like hundreds of them, swarming around the camp. With a scream, she lunged to her feet, adrenaline carrying her straight up, faster than she'd thought she was capable of moving — and Aelfred, too, was on his feet, his sword in his hand. Sparing a dizzy second to feel grateful that it had been cold enough to dress again last night after their lovemaking, Melanie raised her sword, dropping back automatically to put her back against Aelfred's before sizing up the situation. Men — at least half a dozen, maybe more — all wielding clubs and weapons. They'd surrounded them. Dawn was close — there was enough cold gray light to see by, though she could tell by the chill in the air that the sun wasn't up yet. And she realized with a lurch that she recognized these men. At least three of them had been in the inn the day before, leering at her, watching silently.
"Did my father send you?" Aelfred shouted. —
But the men had no interest in what he had to say. They lunged without warning, and Melanie raised her sword, blocking the blow, adrenaline coursing through her, tempered by her training. Her mind went to her stance, to her posture, to the sword being an extension of her arm… and she felt a flare of satisfaction at the look of surprise on the face of the man who'd attacked her. What? Had he not bargained on a woman who knew how to fight?
Aelfred, who stood with his back to her, with his sword, shouting furiously as he drove a foot into the chest of one man then bashed another with the hilt of his sword. Even now, she realized, he was avoiding lethal blows — though the edge of his sword was more than capable of doing serious injury to these men, he was opting for non-lethal strikes instead, causing them pain instead of mortal injury.
But she wasn't going to be so polite — she didn't have the skill, not yet. She pressed her advantage with the men who were attacking her, narrowing her eyes as she advanced — one of them lunged forward, and she blocked his blow with a ringing clang of metal, realizing with a shock that he, too, was wielding a sword, not a club like the others. Aelfred had turned away three of the men. She could see them stumbling away, one of them clutching his shoulder, and as she watched, Aelfred's blade whirled and sl
iced deeply into the wrist of a fourth man, who screamed and dropped his weapon. The sudden sight of the blood shocked her — and gave the man she was fighting the opening he needed to dart around her and bring his sword down hard.
The pain hit her like a truck, and she felt her legs go out from under her. That was what was truly shocking — the way her body just gave out in the wake of the pain, sending her crashing down hard onto the bedroll even as she yelled out in shock. Her back was on fire — she could feel a strange, wet heat seeping into her clothing, and the burning, scraping pain made her catch her breath as she struggled to rise from her prone position. She saw Aelfred, his silver eyes wide as he looked at her, and the look of horror and fury on his face told her all she needed to know about the seriousness of her wound.
A wave of frightening dizziness washed over her, almost obliterating her vision. As the stars cleared, she saw Aelfred with his blade held high, roaring loudly enough to wake the entire village, though somehow the sound seemed distant to her. She struggled more, but there was a curious weakness in her body, a failure of her limbs to obey her instructions. What was going on? There was blood on the bedroll, now, dark and thick, and she struggled to reach up, frustrated by her inability to see her wound… her sword had fallen a few feet away and she saw one of the men reach down for it. Two left, she thought dizzily, Aelfred could handle two men, surely… and when she looked up at him, even she felt a chill run down her spine. He was a transformed figure, his face burning with rage, his whole body emanating deadly purpose as he swung his sword with terrifying speed. The man who'd picked up her sword screamed, an ugly, guttural sound unlike any she'd heard so far. There was a thud — had he dropped her sword already?
No — her heart clenched as she saw it. Aelfred had cut off the man's hand, and it had tumbled to the ground along with the sword it had been holding. She felt sick to her stomach — but whether that was a result of her wound or the sight of the amputation, she couldn't say.
But Aelfred wasn't done. The final man turned to face him, and she realized with a shock that the blood dripping from the sword he was wielding was hers. Aelfred's rage was like a physical force — he roared at the sight of the blood, lifting his sword, reckless, opening himself up to an attack in exchange for getting more power into his strike. She wanted to cry out, to tell him she was alive, that he didn't need to avenge her — but she didn't have the strength. And then he brought the sword crashing down, impossibly fast, before the man could respond at all.
Another dull, horrifying thud was the last thing she heard before consciousness left her. And as the darkness closed in, her last thought was that it hadn't been a hand that had hit the ground this time.
It had been the man's head.
Chapter 28
Melanie woke slowly. She was lying on her front, she realized — that was strange. She'd always been someone who slept on her back, ever since she was small… maybe she should roll over, she thought dizzily, shifting a little. But pain stopped her immediately, and she tensed up, memories crashing back over her in a dizzying wave. The camp… the morning attack… the dozen men attacking them with swords and clubs… she took a sharp breath in, struggling awkwardly up onto her elbows, then grimacing at how unwieldy she felt. What was going on?
Her wound… her mind caught up. Someone had bandaged her wound. It must have been serious, to require so much attention… she reached up carefully with one hand, found a mass of cloth there, tied around her midsection, keeping whatever dressing was there in place. There was a dull, sick pain running down her back, and she took a few steadying breaths to cope with it. Badly hurt, she told herself firmly. Stay put. She was grateful to have woken up at all.
But where was Aelfred?
And also, where was she? She frowned a little, peering around her. A small room, comfortable and cozy, though clearly not often used… she winced a little as she turned her head a little too far, tugging at the wound. It was a bad slash, she realized, reliving the moment that she'd been struck by the man's sword. What a coward, to strike her on the back. No wonder Aelfred had been so angry… where was he? Outside, probably. Waiting for her to wake up. She called out, hoping to summon him… but when the door opened, it was Father Caleb who bustled in, looking tired and worried.
"You're awake," he said, relief palpable in his voice. "Praise God, you've come back to us."
"What happened?" she wanted to know, trying and failing to get up. He reached out to press her firmly back down, clicking his tongue.
"You mustn't try to move," he warned her. "From what Olivia said, that wound of yours is nasty. She did what she could to clean and dress it, but you'll re-open it if you move too much."
"I have to find Aelfred," she said, teeth gritted. "Those men who attacked us —"
"He's safe," Father Caleb told her, exhaling as he pulled up a seat to sit at her bedside. "I'll tell you everything if you promise to stay put, alright?"
She wasn't going to promise anything, especially if Aelfred was in danger… but she nodded anyway, feeling resentment beginning to build in her as she realized how much her wound was hurting. Already, she suspected she'd done it more damage in her attempts to get up… her worry was beginning to mount. How was she going to be able to help Aelfred figure out what was going on if she couldn't even get out of this bed?
"You're in the church," he told her softly. "A spare room, in my quarters — it hasn't been used much."
"How long have I been asleep?"
"Most of the day," he told her softly. "Aelfred brought you in this morning and Hannah was able to see to your wounds."
"What aren't you telling me?" she demanded, narrowing her eyes, not interested in being polite right now. He was hiding something. Her career had taught her how to tell when people were hiding things from her, and she wasn't playing around right now. Father Caleb sighed.
"The situation is … tricky. Aelfred, it seems, was responsible for the death of one man and the dismemberment of another. The families are calling for justice. Aelfred, as a result, has been jailed."
Her eyes widened. "They attacked us in our sleep," she snarled, grimacing as Father Caleb reached out to stop her from getting up. "They tried to kill both of us — he was acting in self-defense —"
"That's not what the witnesses say, I'm afraid," Father Caleb said, shaking his head. "They're telling a ridiculous tale of witchcraft, claiming that they were only trying to keep the villages safe by dealing with a supernatural threat …"
"That's what the Watch does," Melanie said faintly.
"I know that, and you know that, but Aelfred is a Watchman, and he's currently in jail on the suspicion of murder," Father Caleb said heavily. "The Watch has sent representatives, but… well, they're worried about making the situation worse."
"I have to see him," Melanie said, bracing herself. "I have to get up, I have to tell everyone what happened — if it's his word against theirs, of course the people are going to believe them…" But Father Caleb pressed her back down to the bed, his hands firm on her shoulders. "Father, you have to help me."
"I've sent for a healer," he promised her. "But Melanie… if you get up now, you're not going to be able to make it to where Aelfred is being held, let alone speak in his defense once you get there. The streets are…" He hesitated, his hand lifting to his face, and her eyes widened as she finally got a proper look at him.
"Father! What happened?"
"Oh, this?" His hand was trembling a little, but he was bravely attempting a smile. "A black eye. Rather exciting, all told."
"Somebody hit you?"
"A friend of Bran's, I'm afraid," he said heavily, shaking his head. "It seems our new friends are… well, they're in town, calling for Aelfred to be hanged for murder. But striking me… well, my flock are rather protective. I'm afraid the streets are… unsafe. Rioting, I think is the word."
No wonder he looked so tired and shaken, Melanie thought, dread now taking the place of the worry and frustration she'd been feeling.
She'd been asleep for a day and missed all of this? "I'm sorry this is happening," she said softly, wishing she could reach out to the priest. But he shook his head, a surprisingly steely look in his eye.
"Not your fault, child. None of this is your doing." He sighed. "I just worry for the wellbeing of my flock."
"So, the streets are dangerous," she said softly, trying to picture it. Worry gripped her. "What about the healer? Will they be able to reach the church safely?" She needed to get on her feet as soon as possible… what if they hanged Aelfred before she could reach him, speak in his defense? Her heart was pounding. But Father Caleb surprised her by chuckling.
"I don't think there's a force on Earth that could stop this particular healer getting where she wants to be," he said, shaking his head. "But for now, you'd better rest. I'll bring her in as soon as she arrives."
Melanie could no sooner have gone back to sleep than she could have lifted off the bed and flown to where Aelfred was being kept prisoner. She had a suspicion she knew who the healer was… and an interminable period of time later when the door creaked open, her suspicions were confirmed. A shambling heap of fabric motored into the room, and she felt a smile break out over her face when she recognized the woman.
"Maggie! It's so goddamn good to see you."
"Swearing in a church," Maggie said, not skipping a beat. "My kind of girl. Now, what on Earth have you done to yourself?" She began fussing with the bandages on Melanie's back, and she propped herself up on her elbows to give the woman full access, grateful to see a friendly face. The wound stung as Maggie peeled the last of the dressings away from it, and Melanie heard her click her tongue. "Nasty."
Trusted By The Highlander: A Scottish Time Travel Romance Page 23