by Nicole Locke
‘What do you do?’ she asked again.
‘I’m kissing you. As only I can here. As only I’m allowed to do. We can’t do any more. And this...even this may prove too much for me.’
‘How are we to kiss like this?’
Bram’s hands were now on the outside of her thighs. The heat of his palms arced up her body until she restlessly shifted to bring his hands more central.
Amusement and desire darkening and flushing his face, Bram made a choked sound and leaned his head against her stomach.
‘There’s another way,’ she whispered, realising now what he meant. ‘There’s another way of kissing.’
His amusement increased as did the curve to his lips, which looked almost wicked to her now she knew what he intended.
‘You can’t, here,’ she gasped.
‘Aye, it’s possible. Will you let me? Let me touch you, kiss you, here?’
His voice, his kisses, and just where she ached.
‘Aye, please, Bram. Now.’
As if he feared she would pull away, his hands wrapped around the backs of her thighs, his thumbs grazing the curves of her bottom.
She gasped as his heated caresses continued their path, till they were between her legs. His fingers just...there.
‘I’m liking this hunting outfit, Lioslath. Been liking it because it reveals the shape of your legs, and the shape of your—’ He stopped, but she knew what he meant as his thumbs swept upwards and she flushed.
She couldn’t speak, not when he indicated with a slight pressure for her thighs to widen. Not when she complied.
‘That’s a lass.’ His fingers caressing, his words encouraging. ‘Again.’
She widened her step again. She was fully clothed and felt bared to him, knowing she would be entirely bare to him soon.
‘There, aye.’ His eyes never left hers as he slowly stroked his hands around her thighs and up to her hips. There he loosened her hose until they fell.
Her short tunic and widened stance were no barrier to his eyes or to his hands, to his fingertips trailing from the fallen hose and up along her inner calves and around the backs of her knees.
Gentle, so gentle, and yet she was acutely aware of the roughness of his calluses, and the strength restrained behind those fingers.
She understood now why his hands fascinated her. They were capable of speaking to her body, like his voice, enfolding her not with sounds, but with touch.
Her body knew this. It knew as Bram’s fingers trailed closer and stopped. She knew as she felt the urging to widen her legs even more.
‘I mean to kiss you,’ Bram coaxed. ‘Kiss you till the ache goes away. You’ll let me now, will you?’
Was he asking permission? ‘Why ask? Why...stop?’
A bemused curve came to his lips as she surprised him. ‘I didn’t want to startle you.’
‘It’s all...startling.’
His eyes dropped to where she was bared, his fingers trailing around, coiling the heat even tighter. Making her ache...more. ‘Aye, it is,’ he whispered reverently.
‘For you, too?’
‘I cannot describe.’ His fingers were no longer skimming, but stroking. His palms, no longer hovering, but caressing and giving heat. ‘Let me show you.’
Bram kissed. Tiny encouraging kisses that were strange and wondrous and needed. So wanted and yet...and yet— ‘It’s not,’ she gasped, ‘lessening...the ache.’
Bram’s hands caressed around and between her opened thighs to stroke her there.
‘Please,’ she demanded. She felt the gripping fluttering of his fingers, the heat of his hands on the backs of her thighs and the increased pressure of his rhythmic kisses.
Lioslath fell against the tree, giving herself to the support of his hands and the bracing of his arms along her sides.
She gave herself to his kiss, to his mouth, to his tongue, her ache only increasing. Increasing again. She felt his lips, the wickedness of it. Wickedness that tightened the ache until she cried out when it broke within her.
Bram didn’t want to stop. Not his hands, nor his kisses. Not the feel of Lioslath against him, nor her taste. But when her trembles turned to shivers and he felt her tentative touch on his head, he eased away.
‘Lass, love, what you bring me to.’ He hurt, but it was the sweetest, most pleasurable ache. A pleasure he would share again and again, and they could. He continued to kiss along her thighs, felt the tremors in her lessening and his own increasing. Increasing to something he could barely contain. ‘What I want to do.’
Lioslath couldn’t catch her breath and the ache she thought was unbearable increased. It was Bram’s kisses, his words, his breaths in short bursts spilling against her bared legs.
She touched along the parts of him she could reach. His shoulders, the backs of his hands as they caressed along the width of her hips.
‘Then why doona you?’ She slid her fingers to lock with his as if to restrain him there, when she truly wanted to press his hands and slide them against her.
But he stilled almost as if she did restrain him. ‘I can’t. Not here.’
The forest was still wet. ‘Then let’s return to the keep.’
‘We can’t return to the keep. Not yet. Not when you have me like you do. I doona trust myself. I’d go too far.’
She didn’t understand this conversation. She didn’t, but they were married, so she needed to understand it. ‘Aren’t we supposed to?’
He jerked, as if she suddenly released restraints on him. Then he stilled, so still she couldn’t see his breaths. And his stillness held him away from her until she felt the cold morning mist.
Then he removed his hands from her sides and his mouth from her thighs, but he didn’t straighten her clothes or stand. He stayed crouched before her.
‘Nae, we aren’t supposed to,’ he said, his voice just as cold as the mist. ‘We’re never supposed to. Not like that, not fully... If we do, I cannot leave.’
It was as if he pulled her suddenly out of her precious canopy of trees and into the most unforgiving sunlight. The harsh rays burned her skin, burned through her as she remembered every single word he told her when he proposed marriage. Her insides burned to ash as she remembered every single word of their conversations since then. It was wrong. She had to be remembering wrongly.
She pulled at her clothes, her fingers clumsy. But her anger was dagger sharp. ‘You’re leaving.’
‘As we planned, as we discussed. As soon as the clan is secure, after winter, I will go.’ A little frown. ‘I told you this, that we’d have a marriage like your father’s.’
‘My father married your sister.’
‘Aye, a temporary marriage.’
Surely it was a cruel jest. So much damage had been done. So much pain. So much permanent loss had been caused by that marriage. ‘There was nothing temporary about it.’
‘You didn’t know? How could you not know?’ Bram stood, his breath shaky. ‘I thought you understood! It was a marriage for a year only. A marriage in name only. It was perfect for your father and perfect for us as well.’
She searched his eyes for his familiar amusement, for some sign his words were a lie. It was happening so fast, but everything was happening so fast. And she was clumsy, unused to people, unused to sophisticated talking. She forced the words out. ‘Nae, this isn’t true. You...you jest.’
‘Nae! You get what you truly desire, protection, my wealth, and then I will leave. You get me off your land. You’ve wanted nothing more than to have me leave. You wouldn’t, couldn’t, want a marriage in truth!’
‘You...you cannot mean this.’
‘Aye, I mean this and so did you. We agreed to a temporary marriage like your father’s. It’s the only reason you so readily agreed, surely. You agreed because you
want me to leave, to disappear, haven’t wanted me here at all. So my staying—’
‘Is temporary.’ She bit out the words. Her insides, burnt to ash, were blowing away to leave her empty. If she stood here much longer, listening to his words, to this agony he caused her, she knew there would be nothing left of her at all.
Her marriage wasn’t real. All the expectations for the clan brimming inside her today were temporary.
She was temporary.
Humiliation fumbled her fingers on her hosiery ties. Shame had her tightening the fabric until it bit her skin. She sacrificed herself to save her clan and it was all for naught. Before there was nothing left of her, she tried to push past him.
But fear stopped her.
Chapter Seventeen
His body thrumming with desire and burning with anger, Bram blinked hard against the terror in Lioslath’s eyes.
When the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, he understood the danger they were in.
The forest was quiet. Too quiet. Which meant there were larger and far more dangerous creatures than them nearby.
‘Lio—’
‘A wolf, to my left in the shrubs.’ She pressed herself firmly against the tree. ‘I can’t see the others.’
Wolves hunted only in packs.
The deer she shot lay far behind him on an incline to gently drain the blood from its body. They could have laid no better lure for the wolves.
It wouldn’t take long for the wolves to realise it was only them to protect the horde of free food. Anything they did to protect themselves would appear like a threat when the leavings were so good.
At least Lioslath’s back was to the tree; he only had to protect her front. To do so, he needed to release his sword.
‘He’s only inspecting us,’ she said. ‘I still can’t see the others.’
Neither could he, which meant they were most likely surrounded and some could be creeping behind the oak.
‘My dagger’s there by your foot,’ she whispered.
He’d have to crouch to get it. If he did, he might appear docile or fearful. The only advantages they had were their size and the wolves’ innate desire to avoid them. If he appeared weak in any way, they would be killed before he could turn his sword to pierce them.
‘It stays.’
‘Nae.’
Did she think she’d defend herself? It was a good hunting knife, but it could only be used up close. He’d die before he’d let them get that near to her.
Then he saw them. Two wolves, one on either side of them and circling the tree.
The one on his right was brown, gaunt. Its head was bent low and its eyes were fixated on the deer behind Bram.
The one slowly approaching on his left was magnificent. He was a bright silver grey with streaks of white. Impossible for him to hide and he was a wolf in his prime. The only way he had survived to his age was through battle. The moment Bram turned to brandish his sword was the moment he and Lioslath would die.
‘We’re surrounded,’ Lioslath whispered, the wolves coming into her vision.
‘Stay still,’ he whispered.
‘You have a weapon.’
‘We let them take what they want.’ The deer was prize enough. As long as he and Lioslath were never perceived as a threat, they wouldn’t be attacked.
‘I can see them now. You cannot. They’re looking at us. They’ll kill us.’
‘Only if we move,’ he said. ‘If we let them take away the food, they’ll leave us alone.’
She shook her head; her face adamant.
Fear. He’d never thought he’d see fear in her eyes. Starving, half fainting, she defied him from the first.
‘I know wolves. These ones won’t leave. I need my dagger.’
Her hunting skills surprised him. But he had no intention of giving her freedom now.
Her back was protected by the great oak. If he could turn around, he’d be able to protect her front. It was his duty and right as her husband to keep her safe. It was all he intended to do.
Slowly, he released his sword from his side and heard a sharp growl from the wolf in the low shrubs.
Lioslath’s eyes darted to her dagger on the ground.
‘Stay still,’ he ordered.
He knew when the wolves reached the deer, their unearthly silence now marred with voracious growls.
Lioslath shifted and he leaned forward to block her the best he could. Her eyes stayed riveted to the scene before her. His eyes stayed on hers, but he heard the wolves behind him. The crunch of leaves, the menacing breaths of communication between them.
Moments passed as Bram felt the sweat trickle down his back and his sword hand tightened with nerves. He flexed his fingers.
‘They’re taking the meat into the trees.’ She enunciated each word. Her eyes met his, and he saw the beginnings of relief. Then he heard the increasing growls and Lioslath’s eyes widened.
‘The deer seems to be...seems to be snagged on something.’ Her voice shook. ‘They can’t take it that way. The grey is beginning to drag it towards us. The other one doesn’t want to.’
There was no way he’d be able to keep his back to two fighting wolves.
‘The brown one keeps looking at us.’ Her eyes pleaded with Bram. ‘I need my dagger.’
‘Nae.’
‘If we doona move, they’ll attack.’
‘We’ll move out of their way.’
‘With your back turned?’
No more arguments. Hunching his shoulders and keeping his head down, Bram slowly turned.
The two wolves instantly lifted their heads; their long snouts pulled back to bare their blood-reddened fangs. Their muzzles and sides were now bloodied from the deer stretched between them.
The wolves were much nearer than he thought. A cold intelligence gleamed out of both their eyes. The grey had two different-coloured ones. There was nothing other than curiosity in him until he saw Bram’s sword, and then his eyes went to Bram’s again.
‘Seen one of these before, have you?’ Carefully, he hid the sword behind his back. If the wolf attacked, he’d lose precious seconds, but there wasn’t another way to convey he wouldn’t use his weapon.
After tense moments, the grey bit the deer to drag it towards their tree. The other wolf tugged it the other way. The wolves’ growls increased until the third wolf gave a piercing howl.
When they swung their eyes towards the agonised sound, the wolf collapsed. No longer hidden by the shrubbery, the pregnant female wolf started labour.
The grey bounded away from the deer and Bram rounded with sword out, to protect them, but that wolf paid them no heed.
Too late to realise he’d taken his eyes off the brown wolf.
He attacked. Instantly, Lioslath hit the ground. Before she could reach her dagger, before Bram could complete the downward thrust into the wolf’s neck, it clamped its jaws on her lower leg.
Lioslath cried out. Bram roared and sliced through the wolf’s neck. He swung around to the other two before the wolf crashed to the ground.
The grey stood sentinel over the female. His fur was on end, his ears were flat, his snarl was vicious. But he did not leave his female and neither would Bram leave his.
He pointed his sword towards the grey before he darted his eyes towards Lioslath. Awake, in agonising pain, tears streaked down her cheeks. Her eyes were angry and accusing.
All his fault. ‘I have to get you out of here.’
‘Not yet.’ She clenched her teeth.
Too much pain. He didn’t want to move her, but there could be others. ‘We must.’
Bram knew the grey would not attack. They both had their females to protect and the third, now dead, had instigated the fight. In the law of the forest, Bram was w
ithin his rights to defend.
Keeping his eyes on the grey, he swiped his sword against his legs. He would lose the use of his sword arm while he carried Lioslath, so he would use the dripping of wolf blood to warn any others they’d pass.
When he resheathed the sword, the grey returned his attention to his female.
And so did Bram. Clutching her leg, Lioslath seemed diminished. Blood poured from the gash on her leg.
Kneeling beside her, and tearing off his tunic, he said, ‘This is going to hurt.’
‘It hurts now,’ she bit out.
Noticing her hands trembled in pain, while his in fear, he ripped and tore his tunic into jagged strips. ‘Is it broken?’
‘I can’t tell.’
Too much pain. Laying his hands and cradling her leg, he felt along it. The bone was straight, but he felt no relief. They had far to travel. He could harm her merely by carrying her, but he couldn’t leave her here to seek help.
Carefully, he tightly wrapped the strips around her leg. Lioslath’s whimpers through pressed lips sliced his insides more than any sword could. Then he knotted and bound a longer strip around him and her leg for support while he carried her.
He glanced at the wolves, who waited for them to go. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
‘I’m lifting you,’ he said.
Her breath coming in quick pants, she gave a curt nod. Fluidly, he rose and blackness claimed Lioslath.
Chapter Eighteen
They hadn’t reached the outer homes before the villagers gave an outcry.
It was the children who reached them first. Eoin’s and Gillean’s eyes were wide with fear. Fyfa’s eyes darted to him as much as to her sister.
He knew what they looked like. Wolf’s blood splattered across their faces and torn clothes. Lioslath, unconscious, draped in his arms. Her head was at an unnatural angle as he supported her leg. Her skin was pale with a deathlike sheen.
‘She’s alive,’ he told them. ‘I need Donaldo.’
‘I ran to get her,’ Fyfa answered.
‘She’s bleeding!’ Gillean reached out.
‘She’ll live,’ he assured him. ‘Thanks, lass, for getting her.’