by Jessi Gage
She screamed with frustration inside her own head.
Wilhelm had rucked her skirts up to her knees. He stilled his movements with fists full of fabric at her hips. Cold air found its way beneath her dress to chill her heated private parts. She was going to miss the warmth of that underwear. Maybe she could find it and see about mending it when they stopped for the night. She was going to need it around Wilhelm, because the feeling of being bare down there shot her level of friskiness through the roof.
Oh, heck. Who was she kidding. It was Wilhelm who made her frisky.
Wilhelm pressed his forehead to hers. “Forgive me. I forgot myself.” He smoothed her dress back into place. When he met her gaze, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were silvery bright. While she watched, the fierce light seemed to bank itself and his irises returned to the blue of a winter sky, their normal color, though the word normal fell far short of describing something so beautiful. It had to be her imagination making her romanticize the emotions she read in his gaze. Surely his eyes didn’t actually glow.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” she assured him.
When he tried to back away from her she grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms around her waist again, like he’d done with her the night before. Stickiness on his right hand made her look down. Blood. It had come from inside his sleeve.
Goodness. The wolf had broken his skin. Worry tightened her throat.
“How badly are you hurt?”
“Dinnae fash. ’Tis but a scratch.”
She snorted. Scratches didn’t bleed enough to create a slick of blood several inches from the wound.
“Come on. Let’s take a look.” She flicked his armor with a finger. “Get all this off. I might have some supplies to fix you up if it really is ‘just a scratch.’” She thought of the first-aid kit in her backpack, hoping it was still there and that his injury wouldn’t require stitches.
While Wilhelm removed his armor and went to work on the buttons of his pourpoint, she crouched with her back to him to look through her backpack. Wilhelm and Terran had most likely seen the contents, but it seemed foolish to flaunt them, especially when she had no intention of explaining them to anyone in this time.
On initial inspection, everything she’d packed for her morning hike with Leslie seemed to be there, though the upside-down tourist book and the rumpled silk scarf proved the contents had been rifled through. But never mind that. With a rush of gratitude, she lifted out the first-aid kit and opened it on her lap.
A glance over her shoulder showed Wilhelm still working his way down the buttons. While he disrobed, she discreetly removed the Johnson & Johnson packaging from several sterile pads and added a giant glob of antibiotic ointment to a self-adhesive bandage. After tucking an Ace bandage with its metal fasteners and a small glass bottle of hydrogen peroxide into a pocket in her dress, she carefully packed everything else away and returned to her wounded warrior.
He was sitting with his back to their tree, torso bare. His muscular chest gleamed with traces of sweat. The way he sat was incredibly masculine, knees spread and pointed to the sky, forearms resting on said knees.
She’d always heard Scotsmen wore nothing under their kilts, but Wilhelm had a baggy kind of undergarment covering his loins and hose that attached to them with ties. She knew this because she could see it all plainly.
His posture was so very male. So very alluring. Heat rushed to her cheeks.
Wilhelm must have noticed, because he grinned knowingly and said, “I doubt I shall ever look upon a birch again without my staff stirring. Were it summertime, you’d ken for yourself how you affect me. I only wear all the layers because I despise the cold.”
Heavens. He bantered with her as if they were lovers. The familiarity of it flooded her with tender feelings. Even Milt had always held himself somewhat in reserve with her. There had been comfort in the formality of their relationship. Comfort, but not much happiness.
As she often did when faced with her own feelings, she turned her laser focus to the task at hand. Clearing her throat, she knelt beside Wilhelm. “I’m more interested in your arm than your tree at the moment. Give it here.”
He barked a laugh, and she realized what she’d just said.
“I mean the tree. Our tree. Oh, you know what I meant.” She reached for his wounded arm.
He chuckled silently while she inspected it. Her cheeks flamed hotter than ever.
Her embarrassment was nothing compared to the pain he had to be in. A deep puncture wound in his bulging forearm muscle welled with blood. Smaller puncture wounds showed where other teeth had bruised him near the bony portion of his elbow. The main wound had to have been from a canine tooth.
She hissed as she inspected it. “Does it hurt?” Dumb question. Of course it hurt.
“Aye.” He said it softly, not making her feel dumb in the least. “My thanks, lass.”
She glanced up to find his eyes crinkled with fondness. Her heart fluttered pleasantly even as the depth of affection she felt for this man terrified her. “Thank me when I’m done,” she said, keeping her voice all business. “This will hurt. I need to clean it.”
“Go on with it, then.” He tilted his head back against the tree and closed his eyes.
She pulled the hydrogen peroxide from her pocket and unscrewed the lid. To distract him from the pain when she poured the liquid over the wound, she asked “Is there a plan for if the wolves come back?”
He groaned deep in his throat as the liquid foamed and did its work, but he didn’t move his arm an inch. “Saint’s teeth. What is that?”
“A cleaning agent. It should keep you from getting an infection. The wolves. What will we do if they come back?”
“Ride away,” he said through gritted teeth. A waggle of his brows told her he was making a joke.
“Brilliant plan.” She dried the wound and wiped off the excess blood. “Wish I had thought of that down by the water.” They both knew she’d had no chance at gaining the saddle atop a spooked horse. Connie suspected if the wolves came back, Wilhelm would fight them again. He’d fight to protect her as many times as it took.
That shouldn’t make her feel as good as it did, her being an independent woman and all. She fought her own battles, and usually won. But this was another world compared to where she was from. It might come in handy to have a “native” looking out for her while she searched for a way home.
Wilhelm smirked as she placed the self-adhesive bandage over the wound and smoothed its edges to seal the antibiotic ointment inside. Well, his mouth was smirking. His eyes dropped to her chest and darkened with hunger.
The dress the monks had given her had a modest neckline that hit near her collar bones, but when she leaned forward, it sagged just enough that he was probably getting an eyeful. She decided to let him look if it would help keep his mind off his injury.
He’d seen it all before anyway when he’d bathed her. She couldn’t hold back the memory of that tender washing. It made her bite her lip as she wrapped the ace bandage around the wound to offer it some extra protection.
“You are lovely when the color rises in your cheeks.”
Damn the man for noticing every time she had illicit thoughts about him. “Only then?”
“Especially then.”
She didn’t want to explain the metal fastener for the bandage, so she slipped it into her pocket and simply tucked in the tail to fasten it. To keep Wilhelm’s mind off the stretchy synthetic material, she decided to encourage his flirting. “Have I told you how incredible I find your eyes? I know it has to be a trick of the light and their unique coloring, but sometimes I could swear they glow.”
“My mother tells says the same, only she claims my eyes are because I have the soul of a berserker.”
Finished wrapping his injury, she stood and offered him a hand up. “A berserker?”
He accepted her help. Once standing, he leaned against the tree and drew her to stand chest to chest with him. His scent of clean
musk and leather filled her with the desire to wrap herself around him more securely than any bandage.
He touched her hair, stroked it behind her ear and ran his fingers through it. The rush of adrenaline from the attack followed by history’s best make-out session had left her feeling wrung out. They might be set upon by wolves at any moment, but as she rested her cheek on Wilhelm’s chest, she longed to stay like this just a bit longer.
She’d never been within nuzzling distance of a chest like Wilhelm’s before. With skin the color of Ivory soap and muscles to put any buff beefcake to shame, his chest was simply irresistible. A light dusting of blond hair fanned over his pecs and tickled at her cheek. A little searching with her tongue and she could probably find his nipple. It would be hard in this cold weather.
Don’t do it, Connie girl. You’d be starting something you can’t finish.
She couldn’t act on it, but the lust was there, and it was powerful. Add to their physical attraction the qualities of the man himself—his mind, his passion for justice and truth—and it was like he’d been engineered for her and her alone.
His voice close and quiet, he said, “A berserker is a warrior possessed with purpose. Some say he is gifted by the gods or imbued with magic. Fate favors him and propels him toward victory.”
“Magic, huh?” She closed her eyes and relaxed into Wilhelm’s petting. Her mind was only half on the conversation. The other half was reeling at the realization that she was becoming dangerously attached to him. Every hour she spent in this time would make their eventual parting more painful.
But she wasn’t leaving yet. She’d be a fool not to enjoy him while she could, come what may.
“You strike me as far too practical to believe in magic,” she slurred, body and mind reveling in the moment.
“You are correct. I do not abide such nonsense. I fight well because I train hard. I train hard so I may defend those I love.” He tilted up her chin to give her a significant look.
He was telling her he loved her.
She’d known that already, but the words gave her a thrill. Then the rest of what he’d said sank in. “You don’t believe in magic?”
“No,” he stated with the finality of a door closing.
Her heart dropped. The wintry air seeped through her clothes and chilled her to the bone. If Wilhelm didn’t believe in magic, she could never tell him the truth about where she’d come from. He would think her insane.
Suddenly feeling very alone, she stepped away from him. “Better get dressed,” she said, turning to Justice. “You’ll catch a cold with all that skin exposed.” After pulling on her backpack, she placed her foot in the stirrup and mounted, refusing to watch the play of muscles under his skin as he slipped his arms into his shirt and pourpoint.
Leaving Wilhelm to dress himself, she aimed her temporary mount toward the beach. Intimacy with Wilhelm was out of the question, which meant she had better keep her distance from him. And she’d better keep her old-fashioned undergarments on around him. She only hoped they weren’t too badly torn.
Chapter 18
Somat about the sight of Constance on the back of his warhorse stirred Wilhelm’s pride and lust in equal measure. Never had he allowed another to ride the gelding he’d trained with since he was a lad, not even Terran. Yet somehow it seemed right she should share his trusted mount. It seemed right she should share everything he owned.
Normally, he would loathe a wintertime journey; the cold, ever his nemesis, would occupy his attention the entire way. But not this time. Having Constance with him filled him with warmth and appreciation for these rugged lands. He saw them as if for the first time, wondering how similar or different Scotia was from her homeland.
Red willow bushes, black firs, and white birches lined the southern branch of the River Spey, which they would follow all the way to the MacPherson lands. There, they would turn due north and ride straight to Inverness.
During the afternoon, the gray-white clouds rolled back to reveal a sky as blue as the silks his father liked to buy for his mother on special occasions. Yellow moss and green and purple plants splashed color along the sides of the muddied trail, but the best hues of all were those winking at him from Constance’s hair as she rode several paces ahead. He had never seen her in sunshine before. It was like seeing her for the first time.
In sunlight, her hair shone with copper and gold, lending a blonde caste to her auburn locks, where as in darkness, it teased the eye with the same burgundy as his clan’s tartan. Yet again, in the mist, it appeared a dun as soft and sleek as the coat of a doe. Just like her eyes, her hair didn’t ken which color to be, but every shade intrigued him.
What would her eyes look like in golden daylight? When the trail widened, he urged Honesty alongside Justice so he could look his fill.
She didn’t protest his presence as he came within knee-bumping distance of her, but nor did she acknowledge him, except by a straightening of her posture and a lifting of her chin. This was not a surprise, merely a challenge he intended to overcome.
His lady had withdrawn again. Back at the loch, she’d reveled in his petting and soft words, his tame kitten. Then she’d becoming the elusive tigress, almost without warning.
’Twas the mention of magic that put a swift end to her affections, or more specifically, his admitting that he did not believe in such nonsense. Interesting, since he’d sensed the truth of her denial when Ruthven had accused her of being a witch.
Not that it mattered much to him. Witch or no, she was his now, and he kent in his heart of hearts she wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless mayhap that fly was pestering a person she loved. Then, och, that fly would be better off facing a horde of rabid ants than the wrath of his intrepid lady.
This was not the first time she had withdrawn from him after accepting some affection. Yesterday, declaring his intent to wed her had caused a similar reaction. Through her silences, he learned more about her than she revealed with her words. Soon, he would have the puzzle of her solved.
Unfortunately, he had the feeling he was running out of time. Each time she withdrew, he felt the unmistakable truth of it. She was not playing coy, his lady. For reasons she would not confide in him, she honestly believed they could not make a life together.
This would not do.
Not only because he wanted her with a ferocity he’d never before experienced, but also because she wanted him just as badly. That too was a truth that shivered all around her every time she turned her gaze his way.
“Let us rehearse what we will say once Kenrick finds us a magistrate,” he said, kenning she would talk with him if the topic was somat other than the barriers to their love.
She looked at him then, and her eyes caught the sun like raw gold in a blue-green pool. Truly, she had eyes of every color. Never had he seen beauty like her eyes, not in any living or manmade thing.
“I thought we were going to give testimony to clear your name. I was planning on telling the truth: That bastard Ruthven ordered me burned at the stake without justification and without giving me a chance to speak for myself. Worse, he ordered Aifric’s execution claiming she had fornicated.” She scoffed. “We both know Ruthven is Anice’s biological father.”
His heart skipped a beat at the victory of luring her into conversation, but anger welled in his chest at her confirmation of what he and Terran had feared. “She confided this to you?”
“No.” Her voice softened, and her shoulders relaxed. The lass adored the pair of them, Aifric and Anice. “But I gathered as much from some of the things she did tell me. Did you know Ruthven himself came to take her away from her parents when her pregnancy began showing and the gossip started? He came alone at night and threatened her parents with harm if they breathed a word of it to anyone.”
He grunted. This did not surprise him.
“He put her in his dungeon, and she remained there until that night. No daylight, no bed. Only bread and water to eat for months. Makes me sick. I want that man to suffer ev
erything he put her through and then some.”
Wilhelm sighed, his heart heavy. He wanted that as well. But… “The truth is always a good place to begin. However, we must remember that Ruthven’s influence spreads far and wide. ’Tis not certain we’ll find a magistrate who isna in the baron’s pocket. We would be wise to take this into consideration and adjust our testimony to bring minimum offense. The goal is, as you said, to clear my name and Terran’s of the specific charges Ruthven named: interfering with a necessary spirit purging and attacking a member of the clergy. Our testimony must speak to those issues while avoiding openly opposition to Ruthven himself.”
Constance’s tongue poked at the inside of her cheek while her eyes bored into the space in front of her. The woman was stewing.
“You doona agree, I surmise.”
“No. I doona,” she said. “I thought you cared about justice. If anyone deserves to meet the business end of the law, it’s that…that…”
“Wretch, toad boil, pig’s arse?”
A flicker of a smile curved her lips, but they remained pursed.
Quietly, he admitted, “I would relish the chance to skewer that fiend on the very law he manipulates for his own advantage. But I canna bring justice against men like Ruthven and incite the kind of change I wish, the kind that shall make Scotia a more just place for all.”
“Why can’t you? For that matter, why can’t you skewer him on your sword? If anyone deserves it, that man does.”
“Respectable men of parliament meet their enemies pen for pen instead of sword for sword. They battle within the bounds of the law, as proscribed by the crown. As in warfare where one man might have an advantage of size or strength, certain political foes have influential allies. Ruthven happens to have many. It would take an outlaw to put him in his place, and I am not an outlaw.” He winced. “At least, I shan’t be much longer if all goes well in Inverness.”
She was quiet for a while. At last, she said, “I think you’re more of an outlaw than you give yourself credit for.” Her eyes twinkled when she looked his way. “You went outside of the law to recue me and Aifric, and you did it in front of a whole gaggle of powerful men. You were very courageous and honorable to do that.”