“Raven,” he whispered. His heartbeat quickened, and his stomach muscles clenched as if in response to her words. He steadied himself, or tried to, but he was shaken to the core. And even as he told himself not to, he leaned closer to peer through the window beside the door, where the pretty white curtains stood slightly parted.
Raven St. James reclined in a large metal tub, water and bubbles brimming around her. Her arms moved, long and graceful and shiny-slick with moisture. One hand squeezed a cloth she held high above her as she leaned back in the tub. Water trickled over her neck and shoulders. Bare skin glistened in the candlelight as she tipped her head back, eyes closed as if in some secret ecstasy. And he wondered if she was thinking of him as she continued to sing.
For two years, in secret, I’ve yearned, my love Forever it seems I have burned, my love, our love is forbidden, you can’t want me, too. Come to me, sweet Duncan, and tell me you do.
She ran her fingertips slowly along the underside of her chin, tracing a path down over her neck, her chest, and lower, to where he could no longer see.
And then, quite suddenly, she stopped. Slowly she lowered her head and leveled her gaze on the very window he was peering through, and Duncan caught his breath. Her eyes met his—though he was certain she couldn’t see him out here in the darkness. Still they met his, and held them. He couldn’t look away. Not for the life of him. It seemed to Duncan as if every cell in his body came to vivid life in that moment, stirred by her gaze and aroused to action. He tingled with awareness. As if he were the one caught naked and she the one shamelessly looking on.
And as he remained there, riveted, he heard a voice call the woman’s name from another room. Raven’s head turned toward its summons. A brief glance toward the window again, and perhaps a very slight smile. So slight he could have easily imagined it. And then she rose from the water like a Pagan goddess of old, and Duncan felt himself burn. Rivulets streamed down her body. She gleamed in the golden light of the dancing candles. Gleamed and shone as she daintily stepped from the tub onto the folded rug beside it. She showed no shyness, no shame as she blotted herself dry with a small cloth. Nor should she, for she was truly magnificent to behold. Sensuality surrounded her like a nimbus, her every movement as graceful as a dance. And he was aroused, tempted as he’d never been before.
‘Twas said by those who’d taught him that to bathe fully naked was sinful. To touch one’s own body with the deliberate caress with which she’d run her hands over hers was to incite forbidden desires. Even to bathe too often was to embrace the sin of vanity. He’d never agreed with all of those teachings, and bathed often himself, feeling ‘twas better to be vain than to stink. But for the first time, Duncan realized that perhaps there was wisdom in those particular teachings of the Church. For his loins were on fire as he watched her. She was, in that moment, the very temptress he’d been warned against.
But unwittingly. She was innocent. She couldn’t know he was watching. And in fact, ‘twas he who was to blame for the fire burning in his soul right now. For he had no business peering through the woman’s windows. And yet, ‘twas as if he’d been drawn there by some power beyond his will. And then held there by the force of her gaze.
She moved like a seductress, every inch of her body exposed to him as she turned and reached for a robe. And then she pulled it on, covering her feminine curves and delicate thighs and full, ripe breasts. And finally she moved out of the room, toward the sound of her aunt, calling her name once again.
“Is she as beautiful as you thought she would be?”
Duncan went rigid as the feminine voice came from behind him, and he whirled to face a small, fair woman he’d never seen before. "I...that is, I was only—”
“You’re the preacher, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Aye. Duncan Wallace, mistress.” He fought to regain his composure.
“Well, Duncan Wallace, if I thought she’d mind your snooping, I’d gut you right here. Lucky for you I happen to know she wouldn’t mind. Not at all.”
He felt his face heating and lowered his head. “I wasna snoopin’, as you put it, mistress. My attention was drawn by her singin’, and—”
“Like a songbird,” the woman interrupted. Then she turned toward the door and pulled it open. “Well, come on inside. You may as well let her know you’re here.”
Duncan, uncomfortable at being caught looking at Raven, and yet sensing somehow the small woman beside him held no judgment over him, stepped inside.
“Raven,” the woman called. “You have a guest.”
“Oh?” She stepped from the small bedroom, then went still as she met Duncan’s eyes. “Oh,” she whispered.
Was she embarrassed? Did she realize he might have heard the words of her song? His name floating from her lips with such longing? At that moment he battled the urge to sweep her into his arms, even knowing how inappropriate that would be. They barely knew each other. And yet it felt very much as if they did.
“I see you’ve met Arianna,” Raven said, as if searching for something to say.
“She didna tell me her name.”
“I got the distinct impression you could not care less about my name, Reverend,” Arianna said. “Raven, take the man out for a moonlight walk. Show him the gardens, introduce him to Ebony, for heaven’s sake.”
“I...all right. If you want to, Duncan.”
He nodded. “Aye, I’d like very much to walk with you, Raven. We have...much to talk about.”
Nodding, she took a dark cloak lined with fur from a peg on the wall, and Duncan impulsively stepped forward, taking it from her hands. Moving behind her, he gently draped it over her shoulders. His fingers brushed the flesh of her neck before moving away. God, how he wanted to touch her.
"Th-thank you.”
His hands settled there on her shoulders for a moment. He didn’t want to take them away. But he had to, or she’d surely know the direction his thoughts were taking.
He opened the door and let her lead him outside. Her hair was still wet, and as he walked close beside her he could smell the scent of honeysuckle clinging to her skin.
She didn’t show him the gardens, or introduce him to anyone named “Ebony.” Instead, she led him out to the very edge of the cliffs. The wind gusted there, lifting her wet hair from her shoulders and snapping it like a whip. She faced the sea, staring out over the churning water, glancing down at the sheer drop to the rocks below.
“This is my favorite place,” she said. “I love the sea.”
It struck him that he’d been thinking the very same thing, as he’d been walking out here. That he loved the sea.
“There’s a small island out there, not far at all from shore. It sits all alone. No one ever seems to go near. I’ve felt like that...alone. Isolated from the rest of the land and surrounded by an element very different from me.”
“I’ve often felt that way myself,” he told her. “As if I dinna quite fit in with the rest of mankind. Dinna ken the way their minds work. Canna make sense of them.”
She nodded, and was still for a moment. Then, “Why did you come?” She asked the question of him, but she didn’t face him.
He stood beside her, staring out over the water just as she did. “I dinna know,” he told her. “I was compelled to come, Raven.”
She nodded.
“I couldna forget you, after that cold dawn in the square. But I’ve told you that.”
“Yes.” She turned to race him. “I believe a bond was formed between us on the gallows, Duncan. Easy enough to understand, really. You were the only man there who seemed to care.”
“I did care,” he said. And he clasped her shoulders now, stepping closer to her, staring down into those ebon pools. “One look into your eyes, and I cared more than I’d cared for anythin’ in my life. Raven, I tried,” he whispered. “I swear to you, I tried to stop them.”
Her hand came up suddenly, palm flattening to his cheek, cupping it in a way that was somehow soothing. “I know
you tried, Duncan. There is no reason for you to feel guilty for what they did. I knew you were no part of any of that. You risked your own life to prevent it, in fact. You do not need to convince me. I was there.”
He nodded. And overwhelmed by feeling, by desire, he turned his face against her palm, let his lips touch it, kiss its tender center before rubbing his cheek against it once more. “Aye, you were there. So you know what I do. Raven...there is something here. Some powerful emotion between you and me. You must feel it.”
She lowered her hand, and then her head. “I feel...desire for you, Duncan.” Then she closed her eyes. “But ‘tis a desire you believe will damn your soul.”
He was stunned at the bluntness of it. He’d never met a woman who spoke so plainly. But he cleared his throat. “I dinna believe that at all. I spoke without thinkin’. Raven, I burn for you, ‘tis true. But I feel for you, too. And what I feel is the purest and most holy sort of carin’ I can imagine. It canna be evil. It canna be damning. An’ if so, it wouldna matter, lass.”
Slowly she lifted her head, met his eyes again. “And what do you propose we do about this feeling?”
Her black eyes fairly blazed. Duncan drew a breath, battled temptation. “We resist it, Raven. But only until we can be married.”
“Married?”
The fire in her eyes seemed to cool, and she lowered her chin. He caught it in his hand and lifted it up again until she faced him. “The Scriptures say ‘tis better a man marry than to burn with lust,” he said.
“What your Scriptures say means very little to me, Duncan.” She sniffed and met his eyes. “My faith has only one rule.”
“Only one?” He searched her face. “An’ what is this rule you live by, Raven?”
“ ‘An it harm none, do what thou will.’“ She shrugged.” ‘Tis the only rule I’ve ever needed, the only one that makes sense to me.”
“‘Tis a good rule. But it doesna say, thou shalt nay marry.’“
“Marriage between us...is something that can never be.”
“But–”
“I will harm none, Duncan. To marry you...would harm you, you must see that. ‘Twould ruin you. I stand convicted of witchcraft and sentenced to death. And even here, the suspicions about me have begun to stir anew. No, I can be no preacher’s wife.”
“Were you my bride, Raven, they would no longer suspect you.”
“Perhaps not,” she said softly. “But would you?” She faced him, searching his eyes.
Duncan shook his head. “I will believe whatever you tell me, Raven. If you say you’re innocent, I willna doubt it, I swear.”
“And what if I cannot claim innocence, Duncan? What if I am what they say I am?”
He gripped her shoulders, staring down into her eyes. “Are you?”
She lowered her eyes. “That is just it. I cannot tell you what I am. I’ve seen what trusting others can do, Duncan. Seen it in my mother’s eyes just before they murdered her.”
“You can trust me, lass,” he said softly.
“But I cannot. And you would want no wife who kept such dark secrets from you, Duncan.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “Raven, I dinna care what you are.”
“How can you say that?”
“Because, lass, ‘tis the truth.”
She shook her head slowly. “Perhaps it is, at the moment. But you will care, Duncan. The time will come when you will demand I tell all, and that is something I can never do.” She cupped his face in her hands. “We cannot be together as husband and wife.”
“An’ I canna go on without you,” he whispered.
“Then be with me, Duncan,” she urged. “Come to me in the cloak of midnight, and in secret. For that’s the only way a love like ours can be. A love for the moment, fleeting and precious. Forbidden, and consigned to darkness.”
“‘Twill be more,” he whispered. “I vow, Raven, I will make it more.” And then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her as he’d been dreaming of kissing her. And it didn’t matter that she was keeping secrets, or that she hadn’t denied the charges against her. All that mattered was this, holding her, alive and warm and real, in his arms, against his body.
And perhaps loving her this way was a sin. If it was, then he’d gladly be damned, because he couldn’t resist...nor did he want to.
Chapter 8
He kissed me as I’d never been kissed by another. He kissed me as I’d been kissed only once—by him, on the Sea Witch as the fever and the ale mingled in his blood. I’d thought, in some secret part of me, that he wouldn’t have touched me had he been sober and well.
But he was sober now. And healthy. And strong.
He swept me away there on the cliffs. His hands in my hair, touching it in some kind of wonder, as if he’d never felt anything so soft. His lips, brushing my neck and caressing my ear as he whispered sweet love words in his soft, Scot’s lilt.
I’d told him I desired him. I dared not feel anything more. And yet I was not certain I could resist. He was like the sea, hurling its waves against the rocky shore below us, and slowly, steadily eroding the solid rock away. Bit by bit. As gentle, as softly as water, he wooed me. And the stone I thought was my heart began softening beneath his touch, even now.
“I’ve dreamed of this,” I whispered. “Of you.”
“And I, lass, night after endless night.”
His hands deftly untied my cloak, and it fell to the ground, shaping itself into a perfect nest. Then his hands touched the robe I wore, trembling, as if he knew there was nothing underneath. And perhaps he did know, for I’d sensed him watching at the window, glimpsed movement there as I’d bathed. One moment certain he had come to me, the next convinced I was only imagining what my mind told me.
Slowly, hesitantly, he parted my robe, and then the sea wind came in to complete his task, pushing it wide so it flew behind me like a cape. Duncan’s gaze burned on my body, sliding up and down me as if he were glimpsing Divinity itself.
“You’re almost too beautiful to touch,” he whispered. Then he met my eyes. “An’ far too beautiful not to.”
His hands, tender and careful, came to me. Slid slowly from the column of my neck down the front of me, and I held my breath. At last he touched my breasts, palms skimming over them, pausing there as he closed his eyes.
“‘Tis heaven I touch,” he murmured.
“No, Duncan, ‘‘Tis earth itself.” I pressed myself closer. “And I’ll not break at your caresses.”
At my word he squeezed, gently at first, with more pressure when I closed my eyes and released all my breath at once. And then he pulled me to him for more kisses, and his hands slipped around to the small of my back, and lower to stroke my naked buttocks, and my thighs. I shoved my hands between our bodies to tug at the laces of his shirt and breeches. He’d come to me tonight without the protection of his dark minister’s robes. He’d come to me as a man. A man like no other.
And I knew it even more so when I’d undressed him fully and looked upon him. He hadn’t been like this before. His chest had broadened, and his shoulders seemed capable of bearing any weight. His belly was tight and hard, hips lean. He was aroused. Fully so, and the sight of him made my heart tremble. I touched him. Closed my hand around him, and understood, I think, the incredible magical power of the mating of woman and man. I’d heard of it, of course. But never had it made sense to me. I saw it now, though. How he would fill me, complete me. How the scales of nature would hover for a time in perfect balance while I held him inside of me.
He breathed again only when I took my hand away. And then I lowered myself to the cushion of my cloak, reclining slightly, and opened myself to him. “Come, Duncan. I can wait no longer.”
For an endless moment he stared at me lying there wantonly. The sea wind blew harsher, brushing over my nipples with its chilled breath, touching my secret places with icy hands. Goose bumps rose on my flesh, while inside I burned.
I lifted one hand to him, and he knelt. "I have never
...” he began.
“Nor I,” I whispered.
“We’ve been waiting then. For each other, I think.” He looked into my eyes, expecting my agreement, but I said nothing. “Dinna tell me you dinna believe it, Raven, for I know you do. I know you as I know myself...somehow. We were meant to be, you and I.”
“Perhaps,” I whispered, but I could tell him no more. To let myself believe in his romantic notions would only lead to heartbreak.
“I’ve been told it can be difficult for a woman, the first time.” He knelt beside me. His fingertips danced over my neck and my shoulders.
“Not for me, Duncan. Not with you.”
He kissed me again, so slowly, so deeply. “I’d nay harm you for the world, Raven.”
“You won’t.” My words came in breathless sighs now.
He nodded, bent to nibble my ear, taste my neck. “My best friend, he says ‘‘Tis easier if the woman is...made ready.”
I smiled, eager only to be on with it. I wanted him so much I could barely lie still. “How will you make me ready, Duncan? Rub me with sage like a turkey?”
Sitting back slightly, he looked at the nest between my legs, licked his lips. “Like this,” he whispered, and then he touched me there. Gently he parted my folds and put his fingers on me, and I drew a gasp as a bolt of pleasure shot through my loins. Slowly he rubbed, exploring, watching my face so intently I thought he was trying to read my thoughts. When he pressed inside me, I cried out in delight, and arched my hips off the ground. How I wanted him.
“You’ve made me ready, then,” I whispered.
“Oh, nay, lass. There is more my friend spoke of.”
He bowed over me, and kissed me between my legs like a worshiper kissing the feet of a goddess. He opened me with his fingers, and kissed me again, and I moaned. And then his tongue snaked out, licking me, darting at the tiny nub that seemed to be the core of my desire, and then plunging inside as if he would devour me whole. Tears filled my eyes at the intensity of what he did to me, and I moved against him, pressing closer, losing myself to utter physical sensation as he probed and licked and tasted every part of me. My hands clenched in his hair as the tension in me tightened unbearably. Finally he moved up my body, nipping at my breasts, and then suckling them hard, no longer gentle, but seeming aroused beyond the ability to be so.
Eternity: Immortal Witches Book 1 (The Immortal Witches) Page 11