by Rae Monet
"I have a mark on my shoulder.” He lifted his hand over his head and touched the back of his right shoulder. “Some say it resembles the black bird of death.” He shrugged, not caring one way or another what others thought.
"Is it from your people?” She bent her legs up at the knee, swinging them back and forth.
He sighed; there was just no avoiding this bonny lass's questions. “Yes,” he answered, hoping he had appeased her curiosity.
"May I see it some day?"
"No, you may not.” He attempted to look fierce.
"You are special to your people, aren't you?"
She shifted subjects so quickly Richard automatically answered. “Yes.” Then he cringed when he realized how much he had revealed.
"Why did you leave?"
He turned his head to the side, closing his eyes to hide a flash of pain.
"Megan, cease with your interrogation!"
Caine returned. Megan jumped up and returned to the field, waving to Richard as she bounded off. He automatically raised his gauntlet-clad hand at her and waved back. He shook his head but could not stop a smile. She was infectious with her energy.
Richard loosened his leather gauntlet and surveyed the marks tooled on the inside. One was the crest of Robert the Bruce, given to him for his faithful services as a healer of Robert's people. This crest allowed him safe passage throughout Scotland.
It seemed like so long ago that Richard and his sister, Serena, traveled each fortnight from their secret location in the Highlands to a pre-arranged location to meet Robert. He had saved many of Robert's war-weary people from death.
He traced the two interlocking circles, the sign of his people, the Solarian symbol. These circles signified long life and happiness. Megan's laughter distracted him. His eyes traveled from the gauntlet to her frolicking in the field with Caine.
I could be happy with her.
With this beautiful woman, so full of purity and cheerfulness, he could definitely be happy ... if he could just let her in.
Chapter Four
Megan quietly made her way through the forest as she approached the springs.
She knew that Richard had gone there. She had been following him, watching him, studying him for the past three days. She had watched his every move, every look, had worked so hard at trying to draw him into talking to her, to make him touch her. But the stubborn man had resisted.
Now she was determined. She crouched down low behind the bushes that lined the spring.
She saw him. Her heart hitched in her chest.
Stripped naked as a newborn bairn, he lay on his stomach. He seemed to be sleeping, absorbing the rays of the sun. His body glistened from a recent dip in the springs. Small specks of water clung to every inch of his muscles as they slowly dried on his skin.
Megan slowly let her breath out. He was spectacular. Her gaze feasted upon the planes of his sculpted body. She had seen bared men before—she had three brothers—but with this man it was different.
Each groove, each indentation, every inch of his lightly tanned skin drew her attention. She felt her heart speed up as her eyes ran down his hard body.
Her perusal stopped at his shoulder. She saw a dark mark that appeared to be a tattoo of some sort. She couldn't make out exactly what it was at this distance, but she was intent on discovering what so many others had said was the mark of death.
Using the skills she had mastered as a child, Megan silently slipped up to him.
Resting two feet from Richard, Caine lifted his head. He saw her, and the fierceness in his eyes changed to welcome. Then he sighed and rested his head back between his paws.
It was easier to win the favor of the wolf than the man.
Megan stopped her approach a foot away from Richard. He hadn't moved. Megan had noticed his fatigue earlier. His face was turned toward her and she studied the lines of it. His skin was golden, lightly tanned. His dark hair spread free onto his shoulders with that slight reddish tinge, contrasting sharply against his sun-kissed skin. The combination was alluring.
His hawk-like, chiseled features had drawn her in from the first moment she saw him. The wonderfully striking green eyes behind those closed lids reinforced the pull. At times he appeared so sad and lonely, she would do anything to make him smile. Sell her soul, if need be.
She saw his mark clearly now. Two intertwining circles with a sword running between them and a black raven lying on top. So that was the mark they said was death.
Megan shook her head in disbelief. It was beautiful.
Her eyes ran over his body. In the three days she had known him, he seemed to regret every word she coaxed from him, and sometimes he regarded her as if her smiles were more lethal than the tip of a sword. Megan reached out tentatively, hesitantly at first; then her fingers lightly skimmed his shoulder over his mark.
Rough yet soft, and cool yet hot. When the flesh of her fingers met the flesh of his shoulder, the sensation was so strong she felt as if she had been burned.
The flaming sensation began at the tips of her fingers then fanned out and ran up her arm. She sucked in a breath, hoping, praying she would not awaken him. He murmured and moved slightly under her hand. But he did not awaken, so Megan released her breath.
Her hand became bolder.
Her fingers fanned out, running over his shoulder, tracing the design of his tattoo. She was fascinated by it and by him. He was so different from her, yet in some ways so alike. She wanted to touch more of him. She wanted to run her hands all the way down his strong back to his steel tight buttocks. She wanted to plunge her hand into his dark hair and hear him sigh with pleasure.
What am I thinking?
Megan quickly pulled back her hand at her thoughts, holding it to her rapidly beating heart.
She had never had carnal thoughts about any man before.Why this man? What was it about him that touched her heart so deeply?
He continued to sleep, Caine by his side. The water that had dampened his skin was drying.
I wish I were that water. Running down his body, heating his skin before cooling it.
She shook her head. Unable to resist, she reached out her hand again and laid it on his shoulder. She smiled at his moan. Her hand ran lightly down from his shoulder to his spine, a path she had longed to take since she first saw him.
Suddenly, Richard turned.
Megan was under him with a dagger to her throat before her scream rent the air. His eyes sharpened and the dagger that pressed against her throat pulled back an inch.
"Megan. What are you about? I could have killed you.” The worry in his expression touched her heart. He didn't release her immediately. It was almost as if he couldn't. The length of his body lay atop hers. His legs were clamped around hers in a defensive posture. The arm that didn't hold the dagger was pushed against the side of her head so she couldn't move.
He could have killed me in that moment, she thought. Finally he sighed and dropped the dagger.
"You would not have killed me,” she said with confidence.
She saw a quirk of his lips as he tried not to smile.
"How do you know that?” His other hand came up to lie next to the side of her head. She was his willing prisoner. He pinned her arms to her body, surrounding her, holding her, his beautiful light green eyes scanning her face.
"Because I know you. I know you better than you know yourself. I know that you are not a killer."
"You know naught about me!” His face jerked closer to hers as if to emphasize his point.
"Yes, I do.” She loosed her arms and grasped his hand, pulling it to her breast, toward her heart. He resisted her actions, tugging against her hand. Her eyes met with his and she told him with her eyes that she wouldn't hurt him, just as she did the animals she tried to soothe. She told him to let her touch him.
His resistance slowly ebbed. She placed his hand right below her breast where her heart was beating.
"I know you in here. I know you in my heart. I feel you th
ere. I feel your gentleness. You're not a killer."
* * * *
Her hand was on top of his as she connected with him. Her heart was beating frantically. He had not touched someone like this in over a year. He feared this connection. He rebelled against the pain it would bring him.
"Touch me,” she whispered. “Really touch me. Open yourself and feel me."
Richard tried to snatch his hand away. His heart raced. He feared what would happen if he released his senses and touched her in the way that she asked. His body began to tighten and tremble, but she wouldn't allow him to pull back his hand. She kept hers on top of his, forcing his hand to remain.
"Megan, I cannot,” Richard growled, agony in his voice. “You don't know what you ask of me.” He stopped before he revealed any more.
He began panting as his fear mounted and started to claim his body. Her hand came up and she lightly ran it over his throat and onto his cheek. He closed his eyes and savored the feel of her hand against his cool skin as she heated each inch of the flesh she touched. It had been so long since he had let someone touch him like this.
"I think I do know what I ask. You have nothing to fear from me.” Her breath caressed his neck. “Touch me, Richard."
This time he couldn't resist. He felt caught like an animal in a snare, but he could not deny her sweet request. He so badly wanted to touch her. He had wanted to since he'd laid eyes on her. It had been forever since he had touched anyone in that way, yet he still feared the reaction, feared the pain.
He reached his hand out tentatively at first. Then his mind decided. He plunged his hand into her hair, bundling the mass in his hand, and he truly touched her.
He groaned in anticipation of what was to come as he opened his senses to the touch. He waited for her pain, her unhappiness, any past deaths she had experienced. He waited to absorb these emotions, as was his gift.
His body tightened in panic and expectation. He held his breath and his eyes met with her green ones. He waited in agony. He waited for the pain he was sure would explode in his head and eat at his gut. He waited and watched while he noticed the rise and fall of her chest. She was breathing as heavily now as he was. She looked just as frightened as he felt.
His hand tightened tenderly in her hair. A warm sense invaded his body starting at the tip of his hair and radiated though his chest and settled ... he groaned at where it settled. He broke into a sweat as his cock swelled against her body.
But then—he didn't feel any of the agony he had expected to rip through his mind and his gut. There was no pain, no bad memories, no unhappiness. All he felt was desire—deep, pure, white-hot desire. It blanketed his body, stoking a fire in his belly.
Richard watched Megan as he hardened against her. He threw back his head at the joy of her touch and truly laughed.
God's Blood, he was drunk with this feeling.
For the first time in his life, he felt an all-encompassing desire and pleasure rather than another's pain. It was frightening. It was exhilarating. It was so many things that he couldn't even fathom how to identify it. His craving for Megan seemed to block his ability to sense her pain. Never, never had he experienced this before.
"Ah, Megan, my beauty, I think it would be wise for you to leave. Right now."
"Ach, but I never do what is wise. I always do what is in my heart."
His smile died. He leaned toward her. Then her hand on his back moved, running the length of his spine to settle on his bare buttock.
"I am reckless that way, you ken that,” she whispered against his shoulder as she placed a gentle kiss there. Her Scottish accent flowed over and through his desire-soaked mind. “Keep touchin’ me and dinna stop."
"If you do not leave now, I do not know if I can stop touching you,” he ground out, aflame with a blazing heat for her.
"I know.” Her other hand ran down his back too.
"You do not know what you are doing!” Richard cried as her hand squeezed his buttock and he instinctively thrust his hard cock forward. “God's Blood,” he cursed, his body burning with longing and desire.
Unable to stop himself, Richard's lips closed the distance between them, breath by breath until he settled against her soft fullness. He squeezed his hands in her hair and angled his head to deepen the kiss.
It wasn't enough. Without hesitation, his lips began savaging hers, rapidly devouring, kiss after kiss. Nibbling, tasting, it was as if she were a fine wine he could not stop drinking.
"God, Megan,” he murmured as his lips continued to move over hers, kiss after kiss, touch after touch. He felt the small palms of her hands moving up to his shoulders to clutch at them, then wrap around his body.
All Richard could feel was her need. He sensed the longing that answered his own.
"Megan, Megan, Megan,” he chanted as he tried to put some sanity into their situation. He lifted his head, the green of their eyes locking. Her lips were rosy red and wet from the touch of his mouth against hers.
"We must stop,” the words tumbled out even as he gave in to the pout of her kiss-swollen lips and devoured them once more. His hands moved to cover her breasts, stroking the mounds under his hands. She moaned and arched just slightly.
Richard kneaded her breasts and his lips shifted to move down to her jaw, feather light kisses lapping at her alabaster skin. He was intoxicated with the flavor of her, with the smell of her, with the desire he sensed in her.
His mouth moved to the sensitive area where her neck and shoulder met. He paused, trying hard to stop himself. His lips rested against her skin, his breath heaving out of his chest.
He closed his eyes, attempting to rein in the too long repressed feelings that were unquestionably out of control. Now that he had touched her, now that he had tasted her, he knew a whole different type of torment besides absorbing someone's pain. Trying to calm his frantically beating heart, he took several deep breaths and ceased all movement.
"Richard?"
Her small hands delved into the darkness of his hair. He groaned and pressed his cock into her, pushing.
She was testing his resolve, that much was certain. Richard launched off her so quickly that she cried out. He grabbed his breeches and donned them but not before she got a good look at his hardened body.
He reached out his arm to help her up. She tentatively stretched out her hand, and he pulled her to her feet so fast his bare chest rubbed against her. He enfolded her into his arms, his head resting on top of hers. He sighed in satisfaction. Only then did he release her and lightly pat her behind as he pushed her toward the trail leading back from the glen.
She turned and must have realized he was making her leave for her own good, as well as his. He jerked his head, smiling at her, telling her to leave with his actions.
"Please, my beauty, test me no more today,” he pleaded, his voice breaking at the end.
She nodded, and Richard watched her pull her dress back up on her shoulder. When had he taken that down? He had been out of control. He was still hard with desire for her; even now he wanted to wrench her back into his arms and make slow burning fervent love to her all night.
He jerked his head again toward the trail. “You are too passionate for your own good. I do this for you. Please understand."
She smiled with that dimpled look, the one that melted his heart.
"Will I see ya on the morrow then?"
"Aye, you will, do not doubt that,” he reassured her. Her eyes strayed down, caressing his naked chest.
"You touched me Richard, you really touched me.” Her mouth broke out in a fantastic grin.
He grinned back. “There is no question about that. You are much too sweet and vulnerable, which is why you are now leaving."
He pointed to the trail once more.
She took one small tentative step toward him and he exhaled noisily. She took another and another until she stood before him. Her bright red hair was fluffed around her head like a halo. She laid a small hand against his chest and he moaned at
her touch. Pleasure shot through his body. Only pleasure, no pain. Only extreme enjoyment, no agony.
"If I leave, will you touch me again?” The tips of her fingers traced gentle circles on his chest.
Richard raised his hand and tenderly pressed it against her cheek. She was so soft, so warm, it was as if she had been made for his touch alone.
He watched his hand as it explored, running down her cheek over her ear to cup the back of her neck. He felt her shiver all the way to his toes and he knew it was from her gratification of his touch. He gently delved his hand into her hair. Pulling her face to his, he rested his cheek against hers.
"Oh yes, my beauty, I will definitely be touching you again,” he whispered into her ear. He felt her smile against his face, aware of the dimples deepening in her cheek.
"You need to go now.” He lightly pushed her away from him, and guided her to the beginning of the trail. His hand reluctantly released hers as she stepped away.
He nodded to Caine and the wolf slid in close to escort her. When she was ten feet away she pivoted and waved her hand. He waved back.
Sending her away had been probably the hardest action he had ever taken in his life. When he was sure she was gone, he dove under the cold water of the cascade.
It did little good.
Chapter Five
Hiding behind bushes, the three dark-haired men followed the exquisite red-haired woman with narrowed eyes. She was the youngest of the McKinney laird's daughters and certainly the most beautiful.
Returning from one of several trips she had taken to the springs, she passed them in the bushes. They stepped back slightly. The wolf at her side raised his head to sniff the air.
A predator itself, the wolf instinctively sensed a threat. They held still, not daring to even breathe as the wolf growled in anger. The girl stopped and crouched next to the animal. She put her arm around it as if to assure him all was well. He stopped growling. She stood and began walking. The wolf followed her, but the fur along his back was raised straight and his head kept turning as he surveyed the area.