Lachlan!
His bare muscled chest glistened in the sunlight, and his ordinarily neat hair was finally messed from the fight. Lachlan’s dusky eyes stared lethally at her father, his cheeks red. He readied his stance for the next strike.
Panic gripped Rhiannon’s insides. Did nobody care that her father was more than twice Lachlan’s age? And he could not use his sorcerer’s powers to outmaneuver his younger opponent.
She looked around the crowd of eager faces. Some were exchanging wagers. Others shouted and cheered. Mary stood across the field, watching with a keen eye on Lachlan. Master Grigor stood silently beside her. He caught Rhiannon’s gaze and rubbed his throat. His eyes darkened with resentment, and a chill went down her spine. He grabbed Mary’s hand with familiarity and pulled her back into the throng.
Where is Mary going with him?
The ring of metallic violence chimed across the field, grabbing Rhiannon’s attention. Her father stumbled backward and Lachlan lunged, their swords crashing together.
Lachlan pressed the attack with all his weight, ferocity evident in his eyes. Her father could not defend without using his powers. Yet, he would not use them. For her sake, he would wound his pride and take the loss.
Surely, Lachlan could see her father was tiring. Why did he push the advantage?
He was humiliating him!
Rhiannon could not stand by and watch. Pledges be damned.
With two fingers nestled between the folds of her skirt, she flicked her hand toward her father. His sword thrust forward with great strength, knocking Lachlan to the ground. Her father stumbled, then righted himself, pointing the tip of the blade at Lachlan’s throat.
“You fought well, young man,” Tremayne praised.
Cheers rang out across the field when her father held out his hand to help Lachlan up from the ground. The witch hunter nodded and dusted his breeches. “As did you.”
Lachlan’s gaze went straight to Rhiannon and she held it, locked with a will she could not control.
Her father whispered something in his ear and Lachlan glanced away. Was that guilt on his face? What did her father say?
Rhiannon entered the field to ask her father. Before she could open her mouth, Tremayne muttered beneath his breath, “Foolish lass. I would rather face defeat than to have you expose your powers.”
“But Father, I could not let—”
“Aye, you could. Do not use your powers again, Rhiannon.” He walked away with a stiff back.
Frustration rippled along her spine. She was always doing something to displease her parents.
“’Tis unusual how the laird was able to push me off. Almost as if his sword came alive by itself,” Lachlan said from behind her.
A mixture of dread and excitement from his nearness played havoc on her senses. She schooled her features and turned on her heel to face him. “My father is the best swordsman in Scotland. Consider yourself blessed to survive the melee.”
A deep, hearty chuckle erupted from him. He lifted his hands to run his fingers through his wild hair, and his tunic tightly pulled across the bulky muscles in his arms. The sweet masculine smell of his sweat was raw, animalistic. Her pulse raced at the scent. A lump formed in her throat even though her mouth became suddenly dry.
She wanted to lean into him, press herself against his body. Kiss the throbbing vein that pulsed in his neck. Run her tongue…
“Milady?”
She widened her eyes, forcing herself to concentrate.
“Aye.”
“I asked, at your convenience, if we could arrange a moment together. I have many questions that need answering, and…”
“Aye. When I have time.” She waved and ran away. She needed to get as far away from this man as she could. Just his nearness clouded her mind. If her wits were distracted, how long could she keep her powers from emerging?
She must visit the gypsy this eve, even if it meant accessing the sorceress within and using dark magick. It was a chance she had to take.
Chapter Seven
By the time Lachlan left the soldier barracks, the mountain blocked the afternoon sun, casting shadows across the keep. His men had orders to garner information from the local farmers outside the battlements. Sometimes people relaxed a little more around his plain-clothed soldiers than with an aristocrat. He could do with the advantage. The villagers of Gleich Castle remained loyal to the chieftain and his granddaughter. They dismissed all accusations of witchcraft and professed Rhiannon to be an angel that fell from the sky.
He found it amusing to study the telltale signs of their obvious lies. Eyes shifting, change in voice, fidgeting hands that over-sweat. If indeed they truly felt Rhiannon was an angel, why would they treat her as if she was a leper whenever she was near? He did not miss the way people walked around her and avoided eye contact. These were typical signs of living with a witch. So why did they not tell him the truth? Had the chieftain threatened them?
Hopefully, Grigor had less luck than he did at finding the truth.
Lachlan walked passed the well in the bailey when a flash of blue fabric caught his eye. A mysterious slim figure in a hooded-cloak dashed around the corner of the castle.
He frowned with curiosity.
Why would someone rush down that alleyway? It only led to a dead end where the castle wall meets the battlements.
He ran after the figure only to find the alley deserted. “Where did he go?”
The grinding of stone on stone came from the sidewall. A small entranceway shifted back into place.
A siege door!
He ran his hand over the stones, searching for a loose rock opening the hidden entrance. Just when he had touched every boulder on the wall, his fingers glided across a wobbly, square stone. He pulled on it and the wall grinded open at a snail’s pace.
A part of him considered returning to the castle for a hot meal. What did he care of a lad sneaking out the castle so late in the day? But his instincts told him to follow the clandestine figure.
Without looking back, he lowered his head, walked through the wall, and came to the slope of the mountain dotted with white flowers. The air filled with a sweet, flowery scent along with the afternoon’s cool dampness. He scanned the incline of the mountain, but no one was there. Then he surveyed down the steep hill to find the figure running toward a thick forest in the valley.
He followed as closely as he could without revealing himself. With little cover on the side of the mountain, Lachlan was thankful the person did not look back. Whomever he followed clearly did not think anyone knew of the secret passage.
The person leaped over a boulder and into the ravine. The hood of the cloak slipped off, revealing luscious, golden hair.
Rhiannon!
Lachlan stopped in his tracks. His heart skipped a beat. What was milady doing out here? She walked along the ravine and into the dark forest without a care in the world. Any woman with a sense of fear would not enter such a place. Soon the eve would be upon them, increasing the dangers of the forest. Forget hungry wolves eager for an easy meal, there could possibly be unscrupulous men looking for unsuspecting travelers to rob. Why was she being so careless with her life, her virtue?
Unless she was meeting someone. A lover, perhaps?
He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and followed her into the narrow gorge. He ran the rest of the way to the entrance of the forest. Glimpses of Rhiannon’s azure cloak guided him through the thick foliage. He dodged a low hanging tree and jumped over a fallen log.
He looked up. His pulse quickened. Where did she go?
Scanning the forest in every direction, all he could see were trees and scrubs.
The mighty witch hunter had lost a slip of a girl.
He scoffed at himself and studied the ground for footprints. Glancing up, he found a broken tree branch beyond the thick berry bush. Pushing aside a sharp, low hanging branch, he stumbled into a small glen surrounded by trees. The last light of the sun created a magical aura arou
nd the area, as if God had granted this a sacred place.
He walked into the clearing and found Rhiannon’s cloak laying flat on the ground. He studied the area but she was nowhere in sight. Squatting on his heels, he touched the fabric. It was still warm.
“Why are you following me?”
Lachlan lurched to his feet and pivoted. Rhiannon held a load of wood in her arms. Her fair skin appeared extra soft in the fading light.
“What are you doing out here, alone?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips. Was she going to lie to him?
Rhiannon gracefully walked passed him and dumped the firewood into a pile. “I’m going to practice dark magick so our neighboring cow’s milk dries up and the farmers’ crops fail,” she said in an even tone, her blank stare and rigid stance reeking of sarcasm.
“You should not jest about that.”
She shrugged her shoulders and proceeded to light the wood.
“Are you meeting a lover?” he asked and held his breath, waiting for her answer.
Her eyelashes flew up. “Aye, so you had better leave.”
She walked close to him, so close he could smell the woodsy scent on her ivory kirtle. She looked at him for the longest time, and the stillness magnified between them. He wanted to reach out and touch her face, feel the silky texture of her golden hair, kiss her pink lips, but he remained motionless.
“I want you to leave,” she said slowly. The flicker of yearning in her eyes belied her words.
“I will go only if you kiss me.” The moment the words were out, he regretted them. What was he doing? By all indications, she was a witch. He should drag her back to Edinburgh for a witch trial. Instead, he asked for a kiss?
He was about to recant, excusing his boldness when she answered, “All right. I will kiss you.”
A shiver of awareness rippled through his blood, filling his loins. A battle of emotions spoke loudly in his mind. He wanted her more than any woman he had ever met. Yet his sense of honor demanded that he leave this lady…this witch, and do his duty.
She rested her hands on his chest; her cool fingers branded his skin beneath the thick tunic. Even though her skin was cold, his flesh warmed with heat that spread throughout his body, bewitching his mind with instant pleasure. An unstoppable lust he feared he could not control made him dizzy. Everything blurred except for her lovely face. What was happening to him?
No longer were his thoughts mixed. He had to have her. All of her.
She pressed close to him, and he gathered her snuggly into his arms. Lowering his head, he did what came naturally. He sealed her lips with a possession he had never felt. She was his. Now and forever.
He plundered her sweet mouth, his tongue exploring, tasting, devouring her delicious essence. She returned the kiss with enthusiasm. A moan coming from deep within her sent a bolt of lust through his body, warming his soul. The fact that she felt the same as he, the same erotic connection, encouraged his boldness.
Every inch of his skin wanted to press naked against hers, cover her soft curves with his own hard contours. He pressed his straining erection against her, to show her how she affected him, then broke the kiss and hugged her tightly to him. Nuzzling her neck, he whispered, “I want you.”
Rhiannon groaned and she relaxed into his arms, as if her knees were about to give way. “Make love to me.”
The witch hunter pulled away from Rhiannon, leaving her chilled. A dimple appeared on his cheeks when he gave her a smile that melted her insides. He walked around the fire; orange light illuminated his striking face.
She should stop him, stop her raging emotions, but could not find the words. Her skin burned for his touch. She could no longer resist her body’s desire.
His intense stare never left hers as he unwrapped the cloak from his shoulders and threw it gracefully through the air for it to land next to hers. He pulled his tunic over his head and unlaced his breeches, the flaps opened only enough to tease her with what was beneath. His torso was rock hard, cut with muscles that made him superior to all males. Casually, he sat down, crossed his ankles and leaned back on his hands. The lure of confidence and leisure marked his subtle look. “Undress for me…slowly.”
A stab of excitement shot through her. Never had anyone demand she undress for them. She stared at him and unlaced the ties on her lily corset. Lachlan’s eyes glowed in the firelight. He was the predator—the witch hunter—and she, his captive.
This was a new feeling of exposure for her. She usually controlled men, their sexual desire and pace. Lachlan was different. In this moment she would give him anything. He had only to ask.
Lifting the kirtle over her head, Rhiannon unfastened the chemise and allowed it to drop to the ground. All she had on was her pendent, the silver metal cool against her heated chest.
He rose with controlled strength and agility, and stalked around her, judging her nakedness. Rhiannon wanted him so badly her hands shook. Her nipples hardened not from the night air, but by his nearness and perusal of her body.
He stood behind her. Not touching, speaking or kissing her.
He was in control.
Gathering her hair, he pushed it to the side. The warm, silky tresses fell over her shoulder, sensitizing the tip of her breast.
Moisture gathered between her legs, the ache demanding to be touched.
Lachlan’s rough hand ran a line from her neck to her buttocks, leaving bumps on her skin. His palm cupped her backside, and he placed a kiss on her shoulder. “You are very lovely.”
Rhiannon drew in a deep breath, trying to ease the twinge in her lungs. The excitement built within her, leaving every inch of her in anticipation.
A hard chest pressed against her back while two hands snaked around her waist, spanning her stomach. Rhiannon closed her eyes and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
Lachlan kissed her neck and slowly moved his hand upward to palm both her breasts. With his finger and thumb, he rubbed her erect peaks. She released a breath of pent-up air.
The forest night was chilled, but a safe glow covered her from the intimacy of their embrace. His touch left her feeling desired, wanted and cherished.
Lachlan shifted his hips and a smooth penis slipped between her legs, the velvet tip smeared her hot slick juices against her entrance, causing an erotic sensation within the pit of her stomach. She ground her backside against him, granting his member slippery friction against her sensitive nub.
A lustful growl escaped his lips. Passion flowed into her like warm honey.
“You feel so good,” he whispered.
His fingers glided over her abdomen to reach around her hips, and dipped inside her moist folds. The tip of his head was at her entrance and she shifted, giving him open access to enter.
“Please,” she begged, moaning when two skilled fingers deliciously rubbed up and down her slit. Her limbs went weak from pleasure.
“Tell me you want me inside you,” he commanded. “Tell me this is what you want.” He rimmed her entrance with the head of his cock, teasing her to pleasures she craved beyond anything.
“I… I want you inside me. Please, please,” she said breathlessly.
In one swift movement, he thrust inside her passage, filling her being and powers with sexual energy. She gasped at the erotic feelings and gritted her teeth against the surge of pleasure.
His tongue licked her earlobe while his muscled body tucked into the contours of her back, his hips grinding against her buttocks, pushing his member in and out of her. Together, they found the rhythm that bound their bodies.
Forest noises disappeared into the night until she could only hear their moans and breathing. Her body quivered with the onslaught of sexual bliss and she held a lungful of air, waiting for the intoxicating release to steal all thoughts from her mind.
She screamed into the night, her body shuddering, experiencing the heightened sensations she so loved and enjoyed. Having his cock inside her was an obsession she never wanted to end.
> Riding the last of her peak, she bent over at the waist. He grabbed both her hips and increased his strokes, faster, and faster his enthralling cock thrust inside her. A surge of ecstasy stirred within her again. Her lungs burned as she gasped for air, her body experienced an erotic flame she had not felt before. A sense of inhibition and vulnerability created an arousal that rippled through her body.
She screamed in her mind.
Drowning in a floodtide of freedom from her mind and body, waves of deep rapture spun in and out of her being in sweet agony.
He groaned and thrust one last time, his warm seed spilling within.
She forgot who and where she was, focused only on the shared intimacy of the man behind her rooted her to ground. With her hands on her knees, she wheezed for air, her senses slowly returning to reality.
His flaccid member slipped out of her and he helped her straighten and turn to face him. His striking face glowed with a satisfied smile. A trace of sweat lined the side of his temples. He looked exhausted, and was the most appealing she had ever seen him.
He pushed her matted hair out of her eyes and lightly kissed her lips. Contentment and peace flowed silently between them.
She did not want to speak for fear of breaking the enchantment surrounding them. Lifting her head, she stared into his glossy eyes and he nodded as if he knew how she felt. Taking her hand, he led her to their cloaks on the ground, and together, they lay down on the thick material.
Lachlan gathered her in his arms and held her close to his bare chest. She recognized for the first time, he had an unusual shaped cross on his skin. Yawning, she went to ask him about it, but her words came out as a mumble. The vibration of his heartbeat lulled her into a lover’s contented slumber.
* * * *
The sound of a bird flapping its wings near her face ripped Rhiannon from her sleep. She quickly sat up, but could not see a bird. She touched her face. She swore the breeze from wings brushed against her skin.
Witch Hunter Page 5