He had been seconds away from marching out of the water and pulling her into a kiss that would not have ended until they were both spent and fully satisfied. Instead, he had sunk deep into the water, letting the current take him downstream.
He was somewhere between joy and agony. His body demanded physical release but he knew it could only be achieved one way…and with one woman. Whatever was connecting them, drawing them together, was not going away, and pretending otherwise was not helping.
Cole reemerged and glanced toward the riverbank, hoping this time Ellenor would be looking away. His wish had been granted, but it did not bring the solace he needed. She was huddled in a ball, unmoving.
“Are your clothes still wet?” Cole asked. The question was inane, as the sopping garments had only just stopped dripping, but he needed to say something, and it was that or would you like to join me?
Ellenor heard the question and reacted automatically, relieved for something to do. She stood up and moved a step to her left to reach out and finger the outstretched garments; neither was close to being dry. She would be lucky if they would be only damp by morning. “They’re still wet,” she rasped out, wondering why he asked a question to which he already knew the answer.
Unwilling to chance even snatching a glimpse of him, Ellenor took a step backward to where she remembered tossing her slippers near the river’s edge. Pain shot through her as a prickly thorn poked into the arch of her foot. Biting her bottom lip to keep from screaming, she plucked the tiny thorn from her flesh. She then reached down, grabbed her shoes, and slipped them on, grimacing at their soggy state.
Looking around for somewhere to sit, she opted for where she was standing as good a place as any other. Ellenor pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped the dark plaid of blues and greens tightly around her.
Silence filled the air. Only the light lapping of the water behind her could be heard. Panic flooded her. She hadn’t heard any movement let alone sarcastic comments for several minutes. Was she alone? “Cole?”
Silence.
“Cole, answer me!”
“I’m here, abarach,” came a deep burr.
She jumped, vastly relieved. Then as the meaning of his new nickname for her—brazen woman—broke through her conscious thoughts, her blood began to boil once again. He loved mocking her, and jumping into the river fully clothed had provided him plenty of new ways to continue. Sitting naked, wrapped in his tartan, wasn’t exactly the ideal situation to argue back.
Nevertheless, Ellenor wasn’t about to let his gibe go completely unchallenged. “I may be bold, Scot, but unless you want me to be watching you, then you, too, will have to sing so I know that you are all right.”
Cole rolled his eyes. The woman obviously wanted to pretend that her earlier blatant stare had never happened. Fine with him. It wouldn’t work, but it was better than discussing it. “I can’t sing,” he answered in Gaelic.
“Can’t or won’t?” she returned in his tongue.
“Doesn’t matter.”
The resolute tone was unmistakable. He was right. It didn’t matter. She didn’t necessarily need to hear him sing, she just needed to hear his voice. “Then talk, Highlander. Tell me of Fàire Creachann, your clansmen, and this man Dugan.”
“They aren’t my clansmen.”
“Then you shouldn’t be their laird.”
Her counterstatement startled him. Cole doubted there was another person alive, save his older brother Conor, who would be as honest…and maybe not even him. Worse, she was right.
“But let’s say you didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Ellenor continued. “That you do feel an allegiance to these people, a desire to protect them and see to their welfare. Could this Dugan also lead these people?”
“In some ways.”
“But not in all?”
“No, not in all.”
“And could you? I mean, could you lead them in all ways?”
Cole thought about the question. He had never really considered it before now. His brother had tried pointing out some of his flaws, but he had only considered them as impediments to being selected, not as aspects of being a good leader. “I don’t know,” he finally answered.
The deep timbre of his voice spoke far more than his words did. Cole was a complicated man. “You may not believe this,” Ellenor began, “because he was English—but my father was a great baron.”
“Was?” Cole questioned.
“Yes. He died almost two years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Cole murmured, and surprisingly enough, he really was. “Tell me about him.”
“When I was young, I thought he was invincible and would have defied anyone who thought otherwise. No matter what occurred, in my eyes, he could do no wrong. My father was and had always been a great and caring leader our people adored.”
“And was he?”
Ellenor bent her head and studied the dark threads woven tightly against each other. “He was.”
“Then why…” Cole gulped, wondering if he should ask such as a sensitive question. “Then why are you so sad when you remember him?”
“Because while I knew he was a wise man, I didn’t appreciate him. I didn’t listen to him when he asked me to.” She pulled the tartan even tighter around her. “But that is not the point of this conversation. Visitors were not uncommon to my home and I was silly and often flirted with anyone showing me any interest. Then one day, my uncle stopped by to meet with my father. I hated it when he came. He was…” She shivered.
“Not a nice man,” Cole finished.
“No” was her simple reply, but it was enough to convey everything Cole needed to know.
“He was especially vicious one day. My father and he argued and he became very angry. He exploded, calling my father a liar and just as guilty of treason as he. I was hiding in the vestibule—listening. Unable to stand hearing any more, I jumped out, screaming how wrong he was. My uncle laughed and then told me that my father was dependent upon him for protection and funds. Without him, my father was nothing. Ashamed, I ran away.”
“It’s a rough day to learn your father is not perfect.”
“Indeed. But just like you, he found me.” Ellenor smiled against her knees and fought back a yawn. “And he was a great leader, partly because he believed all of his people—whether soldier, baker, or even daughter—could contribute and he found ways to make use of their best skills. He could have had a large army, but he didn’t feel like he needed one. And the money he took from my uncle…he felt was of better use for his people than anywhere else.”
A quiet stillness filled the air. Ellenor had been doing most of the talking, and Cole had enjoyed listening to the soft melodic rhythm as she spoke in his own language. An ability that must have taken years to cultivate, but how? He watched the slow rise and fall of her shoulders and guessed she had fallen asleep.
Quietly, he slipped out of the water and threw on his leine. He moved to check on her garments. Finding them still sodden, he quickly wrung the material and spread them on a bush closer to the river, hoping the steady night breeze would have a better chance at drying them out. Next, he collected her bag, his belt and tartan, and then moved to her side. Carefully lifting her, he gathered her close and turned toward the campsite. His hands caressed her back, molding her to him as if she were made for him, and only him.
She stirred only once as he laid her down still wrapped in his tartan. She opened her eyes and said in almost a childlike voice, “You would be a wonderful laird, Cole. And wouldn’t it be great if Dugan could be your commander?”
“My commander?” Cole choked, letting her go. But before he could move out of reach, her arm whipped out and cupped his cheek. Her eyes were glazed, as if she weren’t looking at him, but a dream of him. A sudden rush came over him and he wished that someday she would look at him that way when she was fully awake—warm, sensual, and aroused.
“Mmm-hmm. It would make everyone happy. Your people happy, Dugan happy to have a
place of importance, and best of all, you could teach him how to be a great man.”
And then Ellenor did the unthinkable.
She curled her hand behind his neck and pulled him down to a waiting kiss.
At first, Cole tried to ignore the soft full lips moving erotically against his. She was half-asleep and not aware of what she was doing, but his body didn’t seem to care. His ability to resist suddenly crumbled, and with a moan, he invaded the sweet, vulnerable warmth behind her lips. He heard her groan softly and felt her grip tighten on his neck.
The kiss was a drug on his senses. His heart was beating rapidly, his imagination was going wild, and he could feel his body trembling. Her lips burned against his, igniting flames that could burn out the aching emptiness inside him.
He turned onto his side and eased Ellenor onto her back, deepening the kiss. The blanket fell down to her waist and he covered her supple body with his own. His tongue swept her mouth, devouring her lips, and instead of pulling away, Ellenor responded. She arched into him, pressing her frame against the length of him. It felt so good, so right, so wonderful, he knew he had finally found perfection.
Need tore through him, ripping away all of his carefully constructed defenses, leaving only the agony of knowing this kiss—this phenomenal, earth-shattering kiss—would be all they would share.
He was seconds from ending the thin barrier between them and discovering the rest of her secrets when a voice deep inside him made him stop. Cole wanted to ignore it, but he couldn’t. Not this voice. It wasn’t his; it was Ellenor’s, yesterday, telling him that she didn’t trust any man, but she trusted him. With a groan, he crushed her to him and kissed her one last time, wishing he could make time stand still.
With the last of his strength, he lifted his mouth from hers and looked down into emerald eyes still glazed with sleep. “Elle…God, Elle…what you do to me,” he whispered, smoothing back her hair.
“You do the same to me, Highlander.” Then Ellenor lifted her lips and pressed them softly against his cheek. “Good night,” she whispered, closing her eyes and her body suddenly went limp.
Letting her go, Cole flipped onto his back and tried to steady his breathing. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or insulted that she just slept through a kiss that would keep him awake every night for months.
Kissing Ellenor Howell was the least honorable thing he had ever done.
It was also the most manly.
Chapter 5
Cole stirred, refusing to open his eyes. The last time he had made that mistake, it was just in time to spy Ellenor tiptoeing into the trees in the dead of the night. She had wrapped the blanket around her waist, holding up the ends over her breasts. The extra material in the back created a deep and revealing swag. The memory-scorching view of her glorious honey-colored hair tumbling off her shoulder blades to the small of her back had sucked the breath right out of him and he had yet to recover. She had looked like a temptress and an angel seamlessly blended into one woman. A woman whose kiss had pierced his soul.
His body was becoming aroused, and he knew if he continued to lie still, it would only become worse, not better.
Rousting himself up, Cole had grabbed his sword and headed out after her. Minutes later, he wished he had stayed where he was. Ellenor had dropped the blanket and was wrestling with the thorn bush to retrieve her chemise. His throat had seized and suddenly he had been unable to breathe. Only in dreams did men chance to see such perfection and never was it quite as beautiful as Ellenor.
Unable to stop himself, his gaze swept over her, taking her in from head to toe and then back up again. Long, lithe legs, perfectly curved hips, the graceful line of her spine, soft ivory shoulders, a slender white neck…all pieces perfectly linked, beckoning to be touched. Kissed. Savored. And worst of all, Cole knew exactly how good it would be. He still remembered how she tasted and felt against his hands when he’d held her, all soft and vulnerable.
His body quickened at the memory, and he silently cursed his own weakness. Sheer willpower and a lifetime of suppressing emotion were the only things keeping his control from disappearing altogether.
God, how he wanted her. She just wasn’t his to have.
Pivoting, he returned to camp and lay back down. Moments later, Ellenor returned dressed in her chemise and his blanket was once again around her shoulders. In her hand was her bliaut. He guessed it was still damp because she threw several more sticks onto the dying fire and then spread the gown on the log she had been sitting on earlier during dinner. Only once did she glance his way, just before she had settled back down to sleep.
Cole opened his eyes and stared at the night sky, watching his breath mist his view and then evaporate. The once rising moon was now setting, indicating it was hours later. Ellenor was still asleep but her breathing had quickened, awakening him from his already light slumber.
Her dreams had returned. The bad ones.
He wondered what he should do—if anything.
She was curled up into a ball with his plaid wrapped tightly around her, and every so often, a soft whimper would catch the breeze. The effect was like a knife in the chest.
Every male impulse he had cried for him to go to her, hold her, and comfort her. But his survival instinct forced him to remain outstretched, uninvolved, and silent. Physically he was distant, but emotionally he was still connected to her, and none of the walls he tried to erect had broken their bond.
After Rob’s death, Cole had had no difficulty separating himself from those he loved. And while he was loyal to his men, respected them, and would readily die to save or protect any one of them, friendships were something he no longer shared…with anyone. So, why was he finding it impossible to keep his distance from this woman…this Englishwoman?
A groan followed by a loud cry caught his attention. Cole glimpsed at Ellenor and saw her struggling with the blanket, cursing at it as if someone—not the material—was pinning her down. Her eyes were opened, crazed with both terror and fury. She was starting to kick, tearing and clawing anything that was daring to restrain her.
The plan to keep away from Ellenor and let her fight her own demons instantly disappeared. This was no ordinary nightmare. Ellenor was once again reliving whatever had happened to her, only this time, she wasn’t able to get free.
Without further hesitation, Cole knelt beside her and began to unwrap the maddening material from her body. The second her arms were liberated, Ellenor began pounding on his chest, screaming and repeatedly drawing out the word “No!” as he worked to release the rest of her limbs.
Finally free, Ellenor jumped up and held her hand out as if it clasped a dagger and not air. “I will kill you,” she seethed, waving her fist in front of her. “Come near me again and I will slit your throat.” With her chin, she pointed to the empty, wadded blanket on the ground and said, “See him? See that nasty beast. He tried to rape me and I did that to him. I doubt even the animals will want his rotten entrails. Come one step closer and I promise I will do the same to you.”
Cole put both hands out in front of him. He needed to wake her up. In her struggle, she had ripped some fingernails and somehow gashed her wrist, causing blood to flow freely down her arm. “Elle. It’s me, Cole. I won’t hurt you.”
Ellenor jumped back, still waving her fist. Her long hair slid off her shoulder and started swinging. “You’re damn right, you won’t. How could you?” she wailed. “How could you do that to your own baron? He was my father!”
Her sorrow-filled cry tore at his heart. Now he knew the nature of her demon. No wonder she trusted no one, not even her own people. “I would never hurt you, Ellenor. You know that. I am your friend. We are soul mates, you and I. Shonuachars. I understand your pain and would never add to it.”
She had first mistaken him for one of the English soldiers who had attacked her so this time he had spoken in Gaelic. It seemed to have stunned her for several seconds. Then her eyes grew large as the glaze from sleep slowly disappeared and C
ole knew she was once again awake, with him and in the present.
Her brows furrowed, and for the first time, Ellenor looked completely unsure of herself. She looked down at the blanket, the place she had dreamt killing the man who had attacked her, and then back at Cole. “You…you now know. You know what I did. What I am.”
“Aye, I know.” His voice was deep, soft, and without judgment.
“No, you don’t,” she whispered, still staring at the twisted plaid. “You can’t possibly.”
“You defended yourself. An action I happen to admire.”
Ellenor’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed accusingly. “You don’t understand a thing. For if you knew all of what happened—what I did, you couldn’t stand to see even my shadow,” she said in a choked voice. “Do you know what it is like to loathe yourself? Could you possibly understand what it feels like to carry the burden of knowing that, because of you, someone you loved, adored, respected, was murdered?”
Cole stood there, mesmerized by flashing green eyes that challenged his comprehension of the very thing that ate at his soul. For the first time since Rob died, he had met someone who just might understand what he felt. The personal anger, the terror, the utter sadness that lived with him reflected in two shimmering pools staring back at him. “I can. That is the one thing I can understand.”
She looked at him, and if possible, her green eyes became larger and she realized he had spoken the truth. Then suddenly, her rigid form went limp. Before she hit the ground, Cole grabbed her and held her close.
With her cheek pressed against his shoulder, Ellenor felt all the loss, the pain, the guilt explode within her. Tears began to fall, and for the first time since it happened, she cried. Slowly at first, and then in torrents, clinging to Cole as if he were the one safe place in a raging storm at sea. He never let her go.
When she could cry no more, he bent down and picked her up. Kicking her blanket back open, he sat down, cradling her in his arms. Scooting back a couple of feet, he leaned against a small boulder and settled her across his lap with her head on his chest. He could feel the soft, wet flutter of her lashes when she blinked. She was no longer crying, but her mind was in the past, remembering whatever had happened.
Desiring The Highlander Page 11