by Jen Holling
Her lips thinned. "I think the massage is over."
"But this conversation isn't."
She pushed off her knees and sat on her heels, glaring poison at him. "What do you want me to say? I remember you. You are a lecher. You pour out flattery like old wash water. It is meaningless."
There was some truth to what she claimed. He was known to give extravagant flattery—but he wasn't this time.
"Why would I lie to you?" he asked, his grip on her wrist tightening. "What would be my purpose?"
She yanked on her arm, but rather than loosing his hold, it set her off balance and she fell to her knee. "I know not—mayhap you mean to flatter your way to more back rubs?"
He pulled on her wrist, bringing her down closer to his level. "I didn't ask you to rub my back."
She strained away, the cords of her throat standing out in panic. "Then—then you think it's some warped way of thanking me."
He arched a brow. "If I wanted to thank you, I could think of a better way."
She was so close he could smell her. Her skin, her sweat, the sweetness of apple on her breath. And lust flooded him, all at once, powerful. Her pulse thudded wildly at her throat, her eyes locked on his. She saw the change. The rate of her breathing increased.
"Let go of me." She ground the words out between clenched teeth, but her eyes were wide, the whites shining in the gloaming.
He considered letting her go. He was not the type of man to ever force himself on a woman, but she nettled him. She thought she was above him somehow. Better. And maybe she was, in a sense. She was whole. Had painless use of her body.
But she was a witch, an outcast, too. They were more alike than she cared to admit.
His other hand slid around behind her neck and drew her in. He didn't apply enough pressure to her neck to stop her from breaking away if she really wanted to. Apparently she didn't. She resisted, leaning back, but not enough to stop him or even slow him. His lips touched hers, gently at first, testing and tasting.
She exhaled softly, as if surprised, and her lips trembled. She tasted wonderful, sweet and warm. His mouth moved over hers, feather kisses. When her lips relaxed, he slid his hand to the side of her neck. The skin there was as soft as down and he rubbed at it, wallowing in the exquisite sensation. She shivered and tilted her head but still didn't pull away.
Her lips parted and he kissed her deeper. His original purpose in kissing her now eluded him. He wanted more. He wanted her body, warm against his. Skin to skin. He tried to draw her closer. She came to him at first, sweet and willing, then suddenly the muscles in her neck wired tight and she jerked backward.
He opened his eyes and looked up at her, surprised to find himself breathing hard. His body ached now—not with pain but with arousal cut short.
She stood on her knees, the back of one hand pressed against her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.
"Deidra," he said, reaching a hand toward her, his voice rough and cracking slightly.
Black curls bobbed as she shook her head, mute, throat working. She scrambled to her feet and turned away, walking rapidly until she disappeared into the darkness.
Stephen sighed, supremely irritated with himself, and sank back to the ground. Duke returned to his side and stretched out, pressing warmly against his side. Kissing her had been a huge mistake. Certainly not the first He’d made, but in such a situation as they were in, it was one of the stupider ones. He hoped she planned to return.
Deidra paced in the darkness, torn between her fear of the dark and her reluctance to return to the camp with Stephen. She kept the fire she'd built in sight and paced a wide circle around it. She didn't really understand what had happened earlier. The entire episode—his back giving out, her inexplicable offer to rub it, and the subsequent kiss—was incomprehensible to her. She didn't know what to think or do; in fact, she hadn't been able to think or reason at all. So she had run.
Putting distance between them had given her the ability to review what had happened. In retrospect, she realized that regardless of what he'd said, the only reason he had kissed her was that he'd wanted something. Not the obvious thing a man wanted from a woman. He wanted something more from her.
Crippled or not, he was a rich, handsome man, accustomed to having his way in all things. And what he currently wanted was Deidra MacKay at his service. She had made his life difficult by denying him the comforts of home—no servants, no comfortable bed, no hot food or woman to rub his back. All of it was Deidra’s fault.
But she was here, able-bodied and fully capable of supplying him with the things he was accustomed to. He knew she would never do it for money, but she might do it if she was smitten. Did he really believe she was a silly girl who would lose her head over a bonny face?
The idea made her pace faster, hands on hips and mouth tight. The moon hung high above her, and a chill wind cut through the thin material of her dress. She pulled her araisad closer, turning back in the direction of camp. She wondered if He’d been able to get a blanket to protect him from the biting wind.
Her mouth drew tighter the moment the traitorous thought crossed her mind. She widened her circuit around the camp. Why was he doing this? Did he really believe there was a blood witch and that the blood witch could heal him? Or was this something else? A game because he was bored?
Well, she was not the smitten, silly fool he thought she was. At least, not entirely. So she had temporarily lost her head, but it was back now, firmly on her shoulders. The kiss had been unexpected, that was all. Never in her imaginings had she expected to feel his warm lips pressed to hers, nor had she expected them to be so soft and supple. And his hand, when it had gripped and caressed her neck, had scattered shivers down her spine. It was as if He’d found touching her irresistible. She shuddered, and her jaw locked in irritation.
It wouldn't happen again—she knew that much for certain. She knew what to expect now and would not behave with such wanton abandon. Now that she better understood what had caused her to respond in such a manner, she felt better—well, enough to return to the camp. She squared her shoulders and marched back to where she’d left him.
He had settled them into the camp, unsaddling the horses and building up the fire. Her strong stride faltered. She had expected him to still be lying on the ground where she’d left him, but he wasn't. He sat upright, eating a bannock and tossing pieces of dried meat to Duke.
She did not meet his gaze as she crossed to where he had put her things, near his. She moved them farther away.
She prepared a bed for herself using a thick wool blanket and a leather satchel for a pillow. She could see him out of the comer of her eye, watching her every move. It felt like a touch almost, making the hair stand along her neck and arms. But when she chanced a quick look, he was not looking at her at all. She scowled at him as he dug through a sack.
“Are you hungry?" he asked, pulling out more dried meat and dried fruit.
Her stomach rumbled. "No." She rolled herself up in the blanket and put her back to him.
"You haven't eaten all day."
"So?"
He made a soft sound of exasperation. "You have to eat."
"I don't have to do anything."
"Och, is that what this is? You're starving yourself to spite me because I kissed you? Surely you can think of a better way to get your revenge."
Her teeth clenched. She didn't want to admit even to herself that he was right, so she grumbled, "I am not hungry." This time her stomach rumbled loud enough to be heard from where he sat.
He laughed. "Fine, then. You're not hungry."
She did not respond. She lay there, her back to him, mouth drawn tight. She listened to him move around, eating and then preparing for bed. Her belly cramped with hunger. She was being a stubborn fool and she well knew it, but there was no help for it now. She willed sleep to come so she could wake up refreshed and finally get a chance to eat, but sleep was elusive. Her mind refused to rest. Witticisms shot throug
h her mind—things she wished she had said to him earlier. Worry also plagued her. What would happen when she fell asleep? She was outside. There were creatures in the darkness—and that annoying horse. They pressed at her now. She felt them, in the wood around her. They had been aware of a presence for some time and were edging closer to investigate. She tried to ignore them, but it was hard when they frightened her.
As she lay there wide awake, a plan nagged at her. She should wait for Stephen to fall asleep, then sneak food. He would soon be oblivious from taking the poppy juice, if he wasn't already.
So she waited, straining to hear any sounds from him in the darkness. At some point she must have worried herself to exhaustion, because she did fall asleep.
Her dreams were vivid and strange, full of light and movement. Stephen was there and he kissed her. It was exciting at first. Her heart pounded in her throat and her head was muzzy and dreamy, but then something went wrong. She sensed it. He held her too hard, his mouth felt strange and wet. She jerked back to look at him. He was no longer a man at all but a hideously disfigured monster, and just like all the beasts, he wanted something from her. He held her by her shoulders and shook her, demanding in a strange, wet language, which she somehow understood, that she hear him.
She screamed and struggled to escape his iron hold but he held her fast, repeating, "Talk to me, Deidra, hear me," over and over and over in his monster voice.
Wolves surrounded them, watching, waiting, sniffing at the air eagerly. They whined and crept closer, tails between their legs.
Deidra fought against their thoughts, threw up a wall to block them, but she was vulnerable during sleep. She wanted to shout at them with her mind, so loud it would terrify them into silence. She knew she could, she’d done it before many years ago—but that would only open her mind to them. She shook her head, eyes burning with fear and confusion. The air sparked around her, acrid smoke blocked her nostrils and filled her throat. A murmur grew around her, uneasy. Hot, hot, bad, bad, fire. Move. A fire.
Deidra woke with a start. Her chest heaved as she fought to draw in clean air, not the dream fug of smoke and soot. Damp hair clung to her forehead and temples. She lay very still, afraid to move, staring at the moon and trying to calm her racing heart. She strained to hear over its liquid thudding in her ears. Were they around her, the wolves? Or had it really just been a dream? And what of Stephen? The memory of his monster mouth sent the hair prickling all along her back and arms.
She turned her head to the right. A large velvet muzzle was in her face. It blew hot and wet against her cheek.
Fire. Must go.
Deidra let out the breath she’d sucked in and shoved Countess's nose out of her face. It was just the stupid horse. She rolled onto her side, putting her back to the irritating creature.
But Deidra wasn't a fool. She tested the air, lifting her head and smelling. The air was clean and crisp—no trace of smoke. Nothing more than a dream.
She crawled over to her leather satchel, glancing over her shoulder at Stephen. He was a wool-covered lump a few feet away. A rolled plaid was jammed into his back. She wondered how he'd accomplished that without assistance. A pang of guilt stabbed her. She should have helped him get situated for the night. Instead she'd sulked like a child and left him to himself.
She stiffened her spine to the thought.
She was not his servant, nor would she be. He had shown himself perfectly capable of caring for himself.
She returned to her bedroll with her satchel and rummaged for food.
Countess batted her in the head with her muzzle. Deidra tried to ignore the horse, but she kept knocking her nose against Deidra’s head periodically. The horse was most insistent, trying to communicate the danger of a fire.
Deidra stood and walked the perimeter of the camp, but there was no orange glow on the horizon, nor was there the faintest scent of smoke. She wanted to convey this to the horse, but that would have required speaking to the animal, and
Deidra would not do that.
She returned to her bannocks and apple. Countess whinnied and stamped her forehoof. Stephen mumbled and moved. Deidra froze, bannock halfway to her lips, her breath held until he lay still again. She glared at the horse and haughtily gave the beast her back.
But it didn't matter. The horse could not read her body language, and even if it could have, Deidra doubted it would care. Countess continued to harass her, batting at Deidra's head with her muzzle and blowing at her. Deidra didn't know how much more she could take. She wanted to scream and pull her hair in frustration, and worse—she wanted to talk to the horse, to tell it to leave her alone.
She didn't want this—she had never wanted any of it. Not Stephen's troubles and kisses, or his horse's determination to make her miserable and make her an outcast and murderer again.
Deidra stared blankly into the darkness, rocking rhythmically every time Countess knocked her in the head, wondering why she was doing this. Why had she agreed to let Stephen Ross tag along? She couldn't even remember now. She looked over at him, sleeping. He was far more able-bodied than she had expected. He'd also assured her he would be fine by morning. In addition, he had managed to unsaddle and hobble the horses all by himself.
He didn't need her.
And that made what she had to do next easier. She stood and quietly gathered her things together. Countess grew agitated and tried to follow, but Deidra secured her to a tree. She released her own much quieter and more docile horse and, without a backward glance, crept away into the night.
Chapter 4
It was still dark when Stephen woke. His back didn't hurt as long as he lay still. He listened for Deidra but heard nothing, only the soughing of the wind in the trees. He tucked in his chin and rounded his back, hissing through his teeth at the pain that clamped around his tailbone. He closed his eyes and exhaled, working his back with slow stretches to warm it and wake the muscles. There was still no sound from Deidra.
He hoped she was asleep. He did not want her to witness his waking ritual. He imagined her watching him, wondering what the devil he was doing. He supposed it was unavoidable that she would see him doing this at some point, but he hoped it would be later, rather than sooner.
When his back felt sufficiently limber, he sat up, immediately looking over his shoulder. Countess was tied to a tree. He frowned, scanning the clearing.
Deidra was gone. No horse, no things, no Deidra.
She’d left him.
The idea struck him dumb for a full minute, and he found himself searching the camp again, wondering if He’d somehow missed something in the dark. But no, she was really gone.
He rubbed a hand over his forehead and laughed ruefully.
So he shouldn't have kissed her.
Damn it. His hand curled into a fist and he pressed it into his forehead. He knew better. He'd known it had been a bad idea at the time, for too many reasons to count, but none of those reasons had included being abandoned.
In truth, he hadn't contemplated such an outcome. He hadn't believed she had it in her.
Obviously, he'd been wrong. He dropped his hand and shook his head, smiling again. It was amusing, really. Had she expected him to be so dejected by her defection that he would run home with his tail between his legs? Or maybe she didn't care at all—she just wanted to be quit of him.
As he got to his feet, his smile faded from the stiff pain momentarily paralyzing his lower back. He forced himself to breathe through it. A few deep twists and he worked the worst of the pain out. But only temporarily. A few hours on horseback would bring the gripping pain back, and no amount of exercise would get rid of it. Only the deep massages that another could provide would alleviate a modicum of the pain, but that wouldn't happen anytime soon. It didn't matter. He was going anyway. A chance to be free of this pain forever—even a slim chance—was worth trying. And at least now he would be able to travel at his own pace. He could stop whenever he needed to, to rest and work some of
the tightness and cramping out of his back. He told himself that if he could bear it just a little while longer, he might be free of it forever. He refused to contemplate failure. He'd been down that road before and would deal with that if it occurred. But for now he just had to keep moving.
He gathered his things together, still somewhat amused by Deidra's flight. He knew where she was going. She knew that he knew. He might be a cripple, and therefore slower than she was, but they were both going to the same place. So she had surprised him. He’d underestimated her.
But then, she’d underestimated him, as well.
The sun rose before her, warming the chill from her bones. She thought of Stephen back at the camp and wondered if he was awake yet and what he had thought when He’d realized she’d deserted him.
She felt horribly guilty about leaving him behind. It didn't help a bit that he had been right last night. She had gone miles without seeing a single sign of life. It was only as the sky lightened that she began to see indications of human activity. A peat bog, with a long trench dug in it. The peat was stacked to dry farther along her route. And not far beyond that were a dirty-faced boy and his dog, set to watch the peat. He stared at her as she rode by but didn't say a word.
She wished she could stop thinking about Stephen. She regretted not having woken him before leaving—to say good-bye and to see if there was anything he needed.
And to give him the chance to talk her out of going on alone. No, no, no. She'd done the right thing by leaving as she had. Perhaps it had been cowardly, but was it not said that discretion was the better part of valor? She was probably twisting that adage to assuage her own guilt, and it did little to comfort her.
She came to the top of a rise and reined in her horse. A village crouched in the glen below; the largest concentration of cottages clustered about the loch. Relief rushed through her, and the tightness in her shoulders lessened the slightest bit. She was glad to finally find a safe haven to rest in for a while where she wouldn't have to fear the creatures in the wild.