He gave a growl of male aggression. Rowena felt him pull the plaid from his body, and she couldn't stop herself from taking a look.
"I knew I wouldn't be able to stop if I kissed you."
His voice was so rough she almost didn't recognize it. She cracked open one eye. It was him, all right, her dragon, his battle-tested body a beautiful thing to behold. Physical mastery had been proven in every muscle. Raw strength rested within the broad contours of his chest, his flanks. He exuded a virility that made her mouth dry. She felt a compelling need to touch him.
Slowly her gaze fell to the scars that stood out against the musculature of his shoulders. His eyes met hers. He opened his mouth to explain, but she spoke first.
"Don't say a word. Those are the scars you got when you rescued a kitten from a tree during a thunderstorm."
"I was taken as a slave in Algiers," he said in a somber tone. "Dainty and I escaped together."
"I know that," she said softly.
He brushed her hair back from her face. "Frederic isn't dead. At least he was still alive when I found him."
"I know that too," she whispered. "Aidan told me."
"I wish to know as much about you, Rowena. We will start with the secrets of your delightful body." He studied her with unashamed appreciation in the firelight. Belatedly she crossed her arms under her breasts. Yet there was not one inch of her flesh that escaped his scrutiny. "I have never desired a woman more than I do you," he said, his nostrils flaring.
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She was certain he could hear her heart pounding. She said the first thing that popped into her head.
"You are not anything like Sir Matthew."
His eyes narrowed on her face. "Brother or not, I'll kill the blessed dolt too."
Rowena tried not to laugh. She placed her hands on his chest, then shyly pulled them away. "Perhaps you ought to take up falconry in earnest, my lord. It might give you something to do besides killing people."
Douglas stared down at her in silence. No woman had ever touched him with such tender curiosity before. It undid him, that mingling of sweetness and sexuality. It reawakened a gentle side of him he would have sworn was gone forever. If it had ever existed. His loins pulsed with heaviness and arousal. Yet his heart felt pleasingly unfettered and light with hope.
"Touch me again, Rowena," he commanded her in an undertone. "Touch me as you just did."
She did, her fingertips tracing across the granite-hard muscles of his chest. He reached for her. His hand looked huge and ominous as it skimmed the curve of her hipbone.
"Be mine," he said, his gaze hooded.
The tip of his shaft rose against her belly. She buried her face in the hollow of his neck, whispering, "Yes."
He went still. A shudder tore through his powerful frame. His callused thumbs cradled her jaw. "Do you know the sort of things I've done? Do you know in truth who I have been?"
"I know." She kissed his warm brown throat. "But I believe in you, Dragon, and I believe there's goodness in you."
"And if there isn't?"
Her sigh rose into the silence. "I would be your woman anyway."
Mary MacVittie marched her band of reluctant followers deep into the woods. She would have preferred to lead them to the Witching Stone, this being an ancient Celtic ceremony. But the people of the small glen were too frightened by the violence that happened there earlier in the evening.
Revenge was certain when Neacail found out what had happened to his older brother Eachuinn. Gunther, acting on Douglas's earlier order, had instructed everyone to assemble in the castle before morning. The earl would protect them there.
"Needfire." Dr. MacVittie scowled at the bottle of aqua vitae that was being passed around the circle. "As if anyone believes in this nonsense."
A frosty moon shone down on the gathering. The promise of winter chilled the air and misted breath.
For good measure Mary had dressed in a pure white silk robe. Actually, 'twas a nightdress, but nobody in Dunmoral knew the difference. She had also enlisted the help of Old Bruce the Blind Seer, and Ailag, the village herbwoman who was said to have made a black wart grow on Oliver Cromwell's left kneecap.
Mary raised the virgin rowan branch.
Old Bruce blessed the flames that leaped from his bog-fire torch.
"Light," Mary said in a whisper. "Hold the virgin wood to the torch, and may the old gods look down on us with favor."
22
Douglas grinned, the grin of a predator on the verge of a conquest. "You will start obeying me now, Rowena."
"I am a princess, Douglas. I do not take orders."
"You are a woman first."
He buried his head between her legs. Rowena wanted to hit him for his boldness, but her body apparently had a will of its own. It wanted to submit to the man. It wanted to be mastered. She wriggled to sit up, but by then Douglas was holding her bottom firmly in both hands. She was helpless.
"You're not—"
"I am," he said, his wicked voice a whisper.
His tongue taught her the meaning of pleasure. His breath burned and aroused her. He nibbled at her with his even white teeth. The sensations that burst in the pit of her belly could only be called indecent—he was making love to her with his mouth. She strained upward from the floor as he suckled her sensitive nubbin of flesh, then separated the dewy folds beneath.
"You were made for loving, Rowena," he murmured as his tongue drove even deeper inside her. "I have never tasted anything sweeter."
Rowena wondered if she would faint. He unleashed sexual feelings that stole her breath. She gasped. She might have sworn. He did not halt his invasion. Then when release came like a sunburst over her dazzled senses, she knew she wouldn't faint. Oh, no. She was going to die. Her body convulsed. Her heart actually stopped cold in her chest. Douglas didn't look anything like a mournful man, however. He was grinning up at her most luridly from ear to ear.
He drew back from the plaid. Rowena gazed up at his thickly muscled body in wonder and apprehension as her own throbbed and pulsed with dying impulses. She raised her hand to touch his thigh. He shuddered as if in mortal pain.
"I want to make you mine," he said, his voice raw with need.
His black gaze branded her naked body as his possession.
"Does this mean that you have given up the vow of chastity you took before the village?" she whispered innocently.
Douglas laughed, the dark notes of his voice echoing through the ruined hall. Before the sound died away, he had pinned her down on his plaid.
Chills ran over her as he nudged her thighs apart with his powerful knee, spreading her wide for his entry. Then his mouth covered hers in an intimate kiss, taking everything she offered. His hard shaft pressed against her. The groan she gave blended into his growl of male dominance.
She tensed as he thrust through the barrier of her delicate tissue. His mouth absorbed her cry of discomfort. Slowly the burning inside her eased. He began to rock against her in a ritual she couldn't resist. Her back arched, and he slid his big hands under her buttocks to drive inside her, thick muscle stretching her, slowly making his mastery complete.
Fire shot through Douglas as he penetrated her to the hilt. She felt so fragile, and he worried he would hurt her. Yet he couldn't stop himself. Her sweet flesh sheathed him so tightly he could barely keep from thrusting like an animal. Primitive desires clawed at his control. His face was drawn into a mask of self-restraint. He'd wanted her for too long, and when she began to move against him, it sent blood rushing to his head, and male instinct took over.
They moved together in a mating dance even after the fire began to flicker low and darkness closed around them. He slid deeply inside and withdrew, repeating this arousing rhythm until they were breathless, reduced to raw sensation. She was his woman now, and he was deeply satisfied as he spilled his seed in the sweet depths of her body. She would have to stay with him forever.
The virgin branch caught fir
e. Its flames burned blue-gold and pure, shedding radiant light into the sky. The pinewoods glowed with soft gilded shadows.
Mary MacVittie sighed with satisfaction. Then she handed the burning branch to the young strapping man behind her. "Run now and light every fire in the village from this branch. The castle too. The flames must be kept alive in at least one hearth for a year, or the ritual will not work."
23
Douglas drew the plaid around Rowena's damp shivering body. Morning had just broken over the abbey. He had needed the rest for the battle that he knew he must face. He would not stop again until Neacail was brought to justice. "I wish I could let you sleep another hour," he said in a deep voice. "Drink some brandy, Rowena. I will add more kindling to the fire. Thankfully it has burned all night."
She began to draw her knees inward, but he stopped her, frowning. "There is blood on your thighs. Give me my shirt."
"I can do it, Douglas."
But he wouldn't let her, insisting on tenderly wiping away the dark stains with the rainwater that had been caught in one of the abbey urns. His touch was so gentle, she barely felt it. In silence he took her slender feet in his hands and rubbed until warmth spread through her.
"We will be wed as soon as I can make arrangements," he said thoughtfully. "As soon as Neacail is caught. I am grateful that I can go out again with peace between you and me."
Rowena sighed, weakened by the magic of wonderful hands. "I will have to make a petition for the wedding contract. A princess is supposed to remain pure for the bridal bed."
"This is Scotland, Rowena. Marriage is a simple matter. We need only give our mutual consent."
"Yes, my lord. The wedding contract is but a formality. However, its stipulations must be observed even by you."
He raised his brow. "What is the purpose of this contract? I do not want your money."
Rowena took a sip of brandy. " 'Tis not a question of money. The contract must be approved by the Council to ensure dynastic succession. You must be approved. With my homeland in chaos, such matters are necessary. I believe I mentioned the importance of heirs to you before."
"I believe you did," he said lazily, tracing his forefinger down her arm, smiling at the tiny shiver she gave.
Rowena paused. " 'Tis crucial to Hartzburg that you are able to perform your manly functions."
"Call it foolish pride, but 'tis rather crucial to me too, Rowena."
"Your virility will be questioned," she said.
His mouth stretched into a devilish smile. "I shall rise to the occasion."
" 'Tis a serious issue, my lord. Hartzburg cannot continue unless its men are virile."
"I feel virile enough to father a Chinese dynasty."
"But will you feel virile enough a year from now while the Council takes its time to give us its approval?" Rowena asked. "A year is required for a royal courtship. During that time we are not supposed to meet without at least two guards present."
"A year from now?" he said in alarm. "Do you mean I have to wait another year to bed you?" His voice rose. "Hell, I won't be virile. I'll be a volcanic eruption."
There was a snort of laughter from the sunken courtyard outside the hall where Dainty walked patrol. Rowena subjected Douglas to a reproving stare.
" 'Tis bad enough that I have let myself be compromised within the ruins of a religious building," she said in an admonishing whisper. "I do not wish to have the world know of it."
Douglas grinned at her. "If I'd known that you were a royal hellion at heart, I'd have compromised you in the comfort of my castle. And as to waiting another—"
He looked up in irritation as a succession of dull thuds shook the heavy oaken door. "Stop playing with that morning star, Dainty," he shouted.
The thudding continued. Then Dainty burst into an obscenity. Rowena covered her ears.
"God above," Douglas muttered, coming to his feet as he finished securing his plaid. "My men have become children. Get dressed, Rowena. I would not have anyone else take the pleasure of seeing you like that. I am a possessive man."
Rowena struggled into her smock. Then she called out after him, "Watch out for splinters, my lord! There is much debris in the dirt, and your big feet are bare."
He grunted at such a silly thought, the woman worrying over a splinter when only yesterday he had survived a deadly battle.
"Take your sword!" she added.
"I have it, Rowena."
"What about your stockings? The air is chill."
"Ye Gods," he said.
"I wish you would put on your shoes."
He stopped, shaking his head. By all that was holy, only one night together and they already sounded as if they'd been wedded for years.
With an annoyed glance to make sure Rowena was decent, he flung open the partially unhinged door. He was ready to give Aidan and Dainty a severe tongue-lashing, or better yet knock their inconsiderate heads together.
Scowling, he stepped out into the mist- shrouded remains of the abbey courtyard.
Aidan sat astride his horse on the muddied slope above what remained of the vaulted crypts.
Dainty stood against a holy-water stoop plucking arrows from his coat of chain-mail. Jerome was hiding in the collapsed rubble of the thirteenth-century arcade.
"What is the meaning of this?" Douglas demanded. "Have you not had enough fighting that you must play at it?"
Dainty disgustedly threw a handful of arrows to the ground. "Who said we were playing?"
Aidan dismounted and slid down the slick incline, mud splashing to his thighs. " 'Twas another of Neacail's men, a single archer, a damn good shot."
"A single archer?" Douglas narrowed his eyes. "One man made of you a hedgehog, Dainty? What in God's name were you doing?"
Aidan stared up at the sky.
Dainty gave a delicate shrug. "Placing bets, sir," he said in a mumble.
"On?"
"On," Dainty said. "On—"
"—whether you would come outside with a smile on your face, sir," Aidan answered.
"And this wager on my personal satisfaction was worth all our lives?" Douglas said in a disbelieving voice.
Dainty winced as Aidan worked another arrow free from his breastplate. "The bastard is dead. He was alone."
"And he did not shoot at you, Aidan?" Douglas said quietly.
"Aidan went after him, though," Dainty said. "But the bastard had already blown out his brains behind that wall. We covered him with stones so the princess wouldn't see his bloodied corpse when we left."
"Considerate of you," Douglas said. His gaze drifted to the arrow-riddled door of the refectory. "But if Dainty hadn't been trussed up like a turtle, it might be the princess we'd be burying beneath that tree." He glanced at Aidan. "Or even you."
"Do we give chase again?" Aidan said.
Douglas stared at the arrows littering the ground. "After I see Rowena safely locked inside the castle."
Thick tendrils of mist covered the moor.
The wind had died down but another winter storm raged behind the mountains. Douglas led his party home in watchful silence. Rowena rode with him on his stallion with Dainty and Aidan flanking her on their mounts. Jerome lagged behind, jumping at every crow and grouse that protested their passing.
Douglas drew his first free breath as they reached the drawbridge. Rowena was safe. He would do now what he needed to do with a clear mind.
"A fresh horse and food," he said as a stable boy came running out to meet them in the barbican.
Rowena dismounted stiffly beside him. "Your arm needs tending."
"I'll tend it myself." He did not want her touching him again. He didn't want to soften, anger fueling him for the fight ahead. The perfume of her that lingered on him was distraction enough.
"My lord—" She laid her hand on his forearm, but he bristled, refusing her concern.
He couldn't even pretend to be polite. His torn stitches burned like Satan's breath. In his mind's eye he saw her naked body burnished by firel
ight. He forced the image away, summoning the memory of her bound and helpless on the hill.
She drew away without another word. With a day's growth of beard, his garment stiff with blood, pistols and sword at his waist, Douglas embodied the dragon she had dreamed of—and suddenly might lose.
Hildegarde hurried up beside her, her face anxious. "May the saints be praised for bringing you back. But the man is not going off again without a night's rest?"
Rowena nodded, her throat too tight to answer as Douglas strode off to the stables.
He wiped his dirk on a clean rag in the darkless of the stables, shifting impatiently as Dainty examined and rebound his shoulder.
"Aidan could stay to watch her," Dainty said in a casual voice.
"Let Dainty stay," Aidan said, leaning against the doorjamb.
"If you're going to argue about it all the damn day," Douglas said, "I might as well just send the princess out into battle and solve the problem of guarding her here and now."
"She'd probably do a better job of it than we've been doing," Dainty said earnestly.
"She could outshoot me with a bow," Aidan said.
Douglas snorted, "That isn't saying much."
The three men burst into laughter, only to sober as Rowena squeezed into the doorway behind Aidan.
"I have brought you a warm plaid and a special medallion blessed by my father's priest, my lord," she said.
"That is considerate of you," Douglas said, his face still flushed with amusement. "Isn't it, Dainty?"
Dainty wiped the edge of his eye. "It's brought tears to my eyes, sir."
"You are priceless, princess," Aidan said with a solemn bow.
"She could teach us a thing or two," Douglas said, which set all three men off laughing again.
Rowena glared at them. "I am so happy to be the object of your private joke. Need I remind you, however, that this man is going off to confront a cold-hearted killer?"
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