"Do you still taste as sweet as a peach, Abby?" he breathed drunkenly, drawing her head around with a thumb, kissing her lips with gentle pressure. She trembled under his touch, tasting him, his lips moving away as his tongue flicked over the tip of her own, tasting the tang of the medicinal tonic, wanting him as she had before; shocked at her own audacity, the mere fact that one day had not been enough to cool her ever increasing ardor. He could feel the pulsebeat racing beneath her jaw and pulled away.
"Do you fear me, Abby?"
The whispered question startled her and she half turned to look up at him. It was almost too dark to see in the dense forest but her eyes were well accustomed to seeing in the dark. His eyes glistened in his well-formed face and his forehead was deeply creased in a frown of consternation. He stared back at her in uneasy silence.
"I do not," she answered truthfully, meeting his gaze. "But a part of you fears me; and I fear my response to you."
"Why?"
"Because I haven't felt this way for a very long while. I didn't expect to be feeling anything at all...and yet, I do. I cannot help myself."
He smiled slightly in relief, the white of his teeth gleaming brightly. "A couple weeks ago you admitted that you saved yourself for me, Abby. Sounds like you're sayin' you... love me." It was more of a statement than a question and she stiffened involuntarily.
"I knew it would be you whilst in the dreamworld, Micah, so, aye, I did save myself for you. That is what brought me back, the gift o' my innocence meant for you... no other." Struck by a thought, she met his eyes with a look of disbelief. "Sweet Brigit, did you believe I've been away in Scotland learnin' the art o' sex for fourteen years? That I would come to you unpure?"
"You nearly did; you said so yourself."
"Aye, and yet I didn't. You took me, painted my sheets with the mark o' Venus no but five days ago." Slightly vexed, terribly offended, Ailill turned away, pulling back on the reins hard enough to make the mare snort and shake her shaggy mane in annoyance as she came to an abrupt halt. Lifting her leg in preparation to dismount, Ailill found Micah's hands around her waist, barring her from moving an inch, his strength inhuman.
"Just so you know, it was thirteen days ago, not five! You slept for almost two weeks. We were scairt for you, you slept so deeply. Please don't go, Abby," he said softly into her hair. "Please stay with me. I understand how you feel."
Suddenly angry, she hissed, "No, you do not." Keeping her back turned, she exclaimed, "Until you, I've really never done too much more than kiss a lad; one lad, that's all, Micah, my own innocence well guarded even by that one laddie, knowing that he must give me up to you and to Jacob first. I never even went so far as to lay a finger on his tadger, nor has he dared touch me so intimately, not once in all these years! And now? Well, now he has made it clear that he does not want me for me, the lass he claimed to love, in words and spilled blood. No, he bids me to hurry only because it is required by...by, mphmm... ah, fuckit!"
Sliding her leg up over the back of the horse, Ailill turned her body around, sitting so that she faced Micah and, lifting herself, wrapped her legs about his narrow waist. She kissed him with frantic feeling, placed his large hands firmly on her buttocks as she did so. Micah pulled away in surprise, half hoping that the horse didn't decide to suddenly take off at a trot.
"You want me, I ken it well ," she said quickly. "I felt you... the morning I arrived. You wanted me then, when I washed and changed into clean clothes. I waited... for you to come to me, to see you, but you didn't. I ken what happened there. I felt it, Micah, as I felt it when we made love; as I do each and every day; the burning deep within, the want; the desire to do anything you can think of, no matter how kinky it might seem. I know that Jacob wants me more than he has ever wanted for anything, any one; and I know that you would willingly share me, take me to bed and put me through the hell of two lovers at once because you love the lad so much. I've half a mind to meet the challenge... my senses scatter to the four winds with but the touch of your hand, your breath."
Her breath came quick between her words, her own hands lifting his shirt, touching his body all over at once; with a quick jerk the lacings of her nightdress fell away, baring her breasts; she rubbed them enticingly across his own chest, a soft moan sounding from deep within, and he thought his head would explode from the unexpected sensation on the sensitive erectness of his nipples. She reached below his kilt, boldly seeking, and he thought he would die right there atop the horse, his senses overwhelmed with the unusual drug, the feel of her.
"You want me, always, and here I am." Kissing him again, it took his breath away when she pulled back and whispered, "You can have me. Do it now, Micah, fuck me now!"
She was holding him tightly in her small fist, hips rolling over him in a frenzy of crazy desire. With a jerk she pushed the head of his erection into her slick opening and gasped, suddenly afraid to move, fearful of letting him enter her. Her body throbbed with longing, muscles taut with fearful indecision as she fought a wicked sense of propriety, his own questions, his hurts demanding attention more than her selfish needs, her mind in turmoil; if she pushed all reasonable thought away, she knew, she could easily believe that he was Tiernan, her heart's desire. She could use him, and he would know naught of it.
"I can't," he gasped painfully. "I can't, Abby; not like this. It ain't at all what you deserve... upon a horse?... but I-just-can't-stop-myself!"
Eyes opened wide as saucers, Ailill pulled slowly back, just enough to look at him. He groaned loudly and she felt a stiffening in the erect organ in her hand, a quaking build up of pressure. She let go as if she had been burned. Reaching around her waist one handed, he yanked her forward, filling her until she felt his insistent caress on her womb, and further, to the point of pleasure and pain as strong hands jerked her roughly against him. The rapid motions made her lose herself completely, her whispered demands met, reciprocated, his own hoarse mutterings echoed in a wordless song of worship as they moved together, backed off, only to come together again. He bit her then, hard, making her rake her fingernails down his arms, his back, to keep from crying out, the belief that he would drain her of her lifeforce if he didn't let go bringing her quickly to one peak, then another before her head exploded in a whirlwind of lights, sounds of her own breath, panting, begging for mercy until he drew away at last, a low growl of utter satisfaction filling her ears as he moved her slowly, drawing out the last of his seed.
For what seemed a very long time he did not move, barely breathed, his head bowed low above her own. When she felt wet drops hit her shoulder and glide down her arm, Ailill became concerned. Her soft, husky voice held fear and just a touch of curiosity when she asked, "have I hurt ye, Micah?" Looking up into his face, her eyes wide enough that he could see the darkness of the irises, she raised a hand, traced the glistening silver trail of a teardrop down his cheek with her fingertip. "You're crying. I think I have hurt you."
Letting out a long sigh, Micah shook his head and pulled her close, frightened of himself, of what he might have done, because in the end he had wanted so fervently to possess her that he felt a strangeness come over himself, a change unlike anything he had ever felt before.
"I'm not hurt, Ailill," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Not by you. I am...that was...I mean..."
He stopped, obviously embarrassed, and cleared his throat with a grimace.
"Incredible," he croaked, pulling her close, burying his face in the soft mass of her hair. "I'm pleased is all, not hurt, I've never been so fulfilled. It was... different, that's all. I scairt myself a little. Did I hurt you?"
"No, you didn't, though I had begun to wonder if you might kill me with your lovin'." Her tone was soft, almost tremulous; he had frightened her as well; she wanted desperately to look at him, to study him closely, to see the change that had come over him before it was gone; his face was painted in shadows.
"Make me a promise?"
"Aye?"
"Don't tell Jacob that I did that,
that I took so much. It ain't right in the first place, yet, I can't help myself with you. I want you so much, all the time; it's a good feeling, but a bad feeling, too, Ailill, and it only got stronger. I feel like you drugged me, no control, you know?"
Smiling through the darkness, Ailill gave his hand a squeeze. "I did, only it was you who overindulged on the dun-belle. I only meant to lessen the pain, Micah, not make ye feel badly. I will not tell Jacob. You have my word."
He leaned down and kissed her tenderly, sealing the promise with the small action.
"We better get going. Jacob'll be waiting for us," he said after a few moments. Without a word, Ailill rearranged her clothing and turned around, settling herself with a snap of the reins. Micah's arm came up around her waist automatically, his claim on her, his hopeful expectations, apparent in the comforting weight, the warmth of his light embrace.
Jacob was, indeed, waiting for them to catch up to him and, as they neared Rosewater, he stepped silently out from behind a tree, spooking Ailill's mare so, that she nearly unseated both riders. Jumping down lightly, Ailill settled the frightened equine instantly with the gentling touch of her hand, soothing words spoken in Gaelic.
The house stood only a few hundred yards away from the spring fed pond. The roses that grew wild around the perimeter of the bank gave the place its name and in the warmth of the late Spring eve the new blooms filled the air with a heady perfume that wafted across the yard and in through the open windows whenever the breeze blew just right. The house, a massive three storied log structure comparable in size only to a mansion, or a medieval castle, if one were to include the outbuildings as part of the keep, was dark against the clouds gathering above; a single narrow beam of light from the kitchen peeked through the darkness, swathed the shadowed ground in a golden veil that reflected invitingly over the surface of the placid water like so many facets of a gem.
Ailill's keen ears picked up the sound of voices coming through the open kitchen window and she stepped soundlessly through the brush, to the tree line, listening. Bawdy laughter let her know that Annie had returned, with guests, male ones by the sound of it, the deeper rumbles of masculine voices conversing merrily made her smile to herself, feeling happier, more at ease than she had since her return. She wondered idly whom her mother had brought back with her, unable to get a sense of them, as if her way had been purposely blocked by a lead blanket; she turned away, paused briefly, eyes narrowed as they took in the view.
Both Micah and Jacob watched from where they warily crouched in the shadows as she came toward them, stepping over and around deeply shadowed obstacles as silent and sure footed as a doe though her eyes never left the face of one or the other. It did not take much thought to figure out that the tiny woman was as at ease in these woods as her own father. Watching her was enough to make both men wonder exactly what other accomplishments she had under her belt; she never did say...
Micah struggled with a dizzy feeling of intoxication, his head still reeling from his encounter with Ailill, his sense of touch still heightened considerably by the drug, making him wish that she was ready now so that he could have her again. She hadn't said one word to him the whole way back and he wondered if she regretted her hasty actions back in the forest; if she regretted him.
Stepping up in front of the two silently brooding men, her athletic frame stiff, commanding as she stared down at them, Ailill glanced at the sparkling pond water and said one word.
"Strip."
Staring up at her in startlement, Jacob bit back the sarcastic retort he had been about to make as he saw the dark, unopposing gleam in her bright blue eyes. Turning his gaze on his twin, he laughed aloud at the look of shocked expectation on Micah's face; he turned back to Ailill with a wolfish grin.
"What did you do to him?"
"Nothing that is your concern, Jacob," she replied tartly. "He's stoned, because he cannot follow orders. I am glad to see that you can. It was only a wee headache, after all."
Jacob snorted with laughter, holding onto his ribs. "Can't follow orders!" he wheezed. "I'd like to see him not follow orders given by you, darlin'. Now, why do you want us to strip for you?"
"Not for me. For yourselves," she answered acerbically. "Because you are both filthy and I plan on makin' you presentable before I take you home...to my mother and her guests. Have ye not bathed once whilst I slept the days away?"
She turned away to grab her pack from the mare's rump as Micah began to undress; not because she was embarrassed; where she came from nudity, outright open sexuality in fact, was as natural as eating, as breathing; she had seen far too many bodies in every natural state while growing up, as well as while she studied vis medicatrix naturaethe healing power of nature- to be ashamed by such a natural wonder as the human body. Ailill turned away simply to hide her thoughts. She could still feel Micah's touch on her flesh, still taste the tang of her own blood, of sweat and the medicine he had drunk, on her tongue; when she moved she could smell the scent of him, the musky, earthy smell of male sweat and seed, on her skin, in her hair and clothes. The stickiness of his essence between her legs made her feel both good and bad, for some strange reason. It was supposed to have been one of the brothers who finished the deed, after all; who opened her for the required duty of bearing the many children it would take to begin a brand new generation all on her own, as had been predetermined for her by so many. Who better than the quiet, sensitive Micah, who had claimed that he had saved himself for her all these years? Wanting him more than once was a natural desire; she could not help herself, in truth, no more than she could help any other type of hunger. Seeing Jacob made her feel almost guilty about it, though, his patience already beginning to wear thin. And then there was Tiernan...
Dropping her gaze to a grassy patch of earth, she kicked off her mocs and strode over to the bank, overcome with a sudden desire to feel clean. Pausing just long enough to drop her clothes at her feet, Ailill dove into the cool water, resurfacing near the opposite bank as the two very surprised, very naked men slowly eased themselves into the water, both staring at her intently the entire time with their strange dark blue eyes.
After they had washed, forced into helping each other with their long, dark hair when Ailill kept a purposeful distance from them both, she spread a blanket from her mare's saddlebag on the ground, directing them to sit. Though she had no towel to hand, it was warm enough that the water soon evaporated from the skin of all three; not that either man thought much about getting dry while she, shameless as always, remained as naked as they were. Their thoughts ran more along the lines of keeping her wet, in one way or another.
Neither one said anything but she noticed that they seemed more relaxed since meeting them in the forest, and though she wondered what had them so riled, she chose not to ask. Men were a curiosity all their own; fiends and brutes on one hand, soft and childlike on the other. She treaded lightly around them, careful what she said, how she came across. There was no help for her nearness though. After experiencing Micah's reaction to her, the need of her which, now that she recognized it for what it was, he seemed to have all day, every day, Ailill thought she understood at least a wee bit better why both men stiffened at her touch. The brothers excited her in a very similar way.
When she began a careful study of him, questioning how he felt, how well he'd healed, Jacob balked to hide his fears, both of and for her, his own utter humiliation causing him to rudely taunt her with the stories of her being a witch that he had heard in town. When he should be thanking her for his very life, his cruel words came across as unduly harsh, his guilt too great, his shame hard to hide. It was easier to turn a cold shoulder to the hurt that rose up in her eyes. When she insisted that he'd heard only lies, that her help had been necessary, he insulted her vehemently, refusing her with a stubbornness that rivaled her own; frustrating her so, that she turned her back on him in obvious vexation, muttering strong oaths under her breath in Gaelic after he slapped her hand away from a small bit of puckered fl
esh near his heart, less healed than she would have liked though in just a few more days, she knew, it would be gone, as well. She wanted to say as much, to reassure the lad, but held her tongue.
Wondering superstitiously if she truly was a witch, one of the stories he had intentionally ignored, Micah watched the scene in complete silence, becoming angered by his brother's insolence, his crudity towards the woman who was, after all, only trying to help. He was certainly feeling bewitched by her. Knowing his twin as well as he knew himself, Micah easily picked up on the underlying attraction sparking between the two as they argued, knowing full well that if the stubborn girl persisted she was very likely to get one hell of a rude awakening regarding the inner workings of a man like Jacob. He could see the look in his twin's eyes; knew the same look was mirrored in his own. The desire to take her, forcibly, was unbelievably intense, even after his earlier release. At the exact moment that Jacob raised a hand to touch her, to show her exactly what her unabashed nudity was doing to his waning self-control after weeks of celibacy, Micah interrupted, skillfully drawing her attention to him instead, his head cocked to one side as he listened to the sounds coming from the house, a look of intense curiosity in eyes that stared into her own. "Sounds like Annie's got a guy for company tonight," he muttered in surprise.
"Seems so. Just wait 'til you meet him, lads," she said, almost certain it was her cousin's voice they heard briefly on the wind. "Declan's a braw, bonnie man. You'll like him, I've no doubt. You'll like them all, when ye meet them, when you go home. But him, especially. A man's man, is Declan Mackenzie. And, o' course, there would be much more help in ridding the world o' yon fiend. I truly cannot believe how Kiah Morna got away so quickly, nor the years you put up with his abuse! But my cousins will find him, I swear to you both."
Suddenly uncomfortable, she glanced down at her legs. Looking up from under her lashes, she could see a shift in their stance. No longer at ease as they had been, each had a look of wariness in his eyes as both stared down at her. Her hands came up slowly, resting lightly against the long planes of muscular thighs, her expression hidden behind the veil of auburn curls.
Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series) Page 21