He needed to get her warm and dry or she’d perish. He pulled the odd-looking shoes from her feet then grabbed the toes of the socks and jerked them away. She wore trews like a man, but the cloth was thick. He slid his fingers beneath the snug waist and tugged. They didn’t budge. His urgency growing, he drew his knife and used it to cut her clothes away. Her skin felt icy cold beneath his hand and was as pale as a full moon. Her hands were cupped beneath her chin. He left them there and wrapped her in his blanket before picking her up.
“Home,” he said. Bennie led the way while Maggie loped beside him.
Torkel ran, stumbling and catching himself, but never loosening the hold he had on the woman in his arms. The rain blinded him. He ignored it and continued on. It wasn’t the first time he’d been wet and cold. It wouldn’t be the last. Reaching the stream, he saw that it had become a raging river from the rain flowing down from the mountains. Crossing it with the lass in his arms would be treacherous, but he had no choice. He wouldn’t die, but she would if he didn’t get her near a fire and warmed up.
He held her high and waded into it. The water reached his waist, swirled around him, and made his feet slip from beneath him. Bennie and Maggie swam beside him, their big bodies bracing him. He fought the current, and they finally reached the other side. The dogs shook the water from their coats while he adjusted her in his arms and took off again.
Soaked to the skin, they reached his cottage, and he practically fell through the open door. The inside was dark and cold, the fire nearly out. Teeth chattering, he carried her to his bed, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him. Water puddled at his feet as he stood with her in his arms next to his bed. The wool blanket he’d wrapped around her had protected her, but he’d need to remove it before he laid her down or the linens, the only ones he had, would be soaked as well.
He laid her on the floor then rose with his dagger in his hand when the door slammed behind him. Expecting to see one of his men in his cups, instead, he saw Bennie with his front paws against the middle of the door.
“So, now you learn to close a door,” he said and watched Bennie flop down where a draft crept beneath it and cooled him.
The sound of chattering teeth drew his attention back to the bundle. He found the edges and unwrapped her then used a dirty cloth to dry her before he scrubbed it over her long hair. It was too dark in the cottage to see her but she felt nice beneath his hands. Her skin felt silky and she had curves in all the right places. His arousal increased to the point of painful need, and he had to fight the need to have her right then. Reminding himself that he was an honorable man, he clenched his fists then wrapped her hair in his last clean cloth. His fingers brushed a thick chain around her neck and he traced it around to her fist. She held something, guarding it almost. He let her be knowing he’d see it in the morning.
Standing, he undressed, then lifted her to his bed and tucked the blankets around her before he hurried toward the fireplace. The sight of flames blazing froze him in place. Was the lass a witch? He’d had enough of witches and curses.
Maggie yawned then stood and used her paw to bat a small piece of peat into the flames. She glanced at him then lay down again.
“So, you’ve learned to do that after all but have chosen to let me do it while you stay on my warm bed,” he said before placing another briquette on the flames and giving her a scratch behind the ears. Shivering, he hurried back to the bed, slid beneath the blankets, and wrapped the lass in his arms. She felt familiar, he thought, as they shivered together and the blankets warmed around them.
A few minutes later, Bennie and Maggie jumped onto the bed and stretched out, one on each side of them.
He’d just begun to relax and feel warm again when the lass turned in his arms and an icy foot slid between his legs. He held his breath and fought the urge to move away by trying to remember the last lass to slide a cold foot into his space. Before he could cold fingers slid into his armpit and stayed there. He clenched his teeth and shivered so hard, the bed shook, but she slept on.
His body responded to her presence, his erection growing, and his body throwing out heat like a bonfire. Moving slowly, he pulled the cloth from her head and buried his face in her hair, closed his eyes, and drew in a deep breath. She smelled like flowers and woman.
Rolling onto his back, he took her with him. She cuddled up to him, warm and sweet. Her presence and the aching in his body meant a sleepless night, but he’d endured much worse. Centuries of loneliness and despair.
Staring into the darkness, he blamed the blurriness of the ceiling on the dim lighting. He was the leader of the most feared warriors in the Highlands and a mighty warrior in his own right. He hadn’t wept since he’d been a wee lad if then, and just because he found her, it didn’t mean she was meant for him.
He tightened his arms around her, and whispered, “Have mercy.”
Torkel sat at the table and watched the lass as the sun came up and filled the room with light. She slept on her side, facing him. She was a bonnie lass with a fine face. The sight of her body was a memory he’d never forget. He’d seen it when he’d climbed from his bed and the blankets had slid off her. He’d covered her again but not before he’d noticed her nice, firm breasts with his insignia ring trapped between them!
He’d examined it and had seen the stag and the words carved next to it. He had no need to read them though as he knew them by heart. “Sapientia vincit gladio.” Wisdom conquers the sword. He’d held it and remembered the day he’d returned home after fighting the English at Lochmaben Stone in 1448. Disillusioned and sick of blood and death, he’d stayed in his cups for months until his uncle, Fergus MacAsgaill had thrown him in the loch. Eventually, Fergus had fished him out, dried him off, and tossed a bundle at his feet. He’d opened it, seen his clothes, and wondered if he was being banished. Not caring, he’d dressed and Fergus had given him the ring that had been passed down in the family from second son to second son. He’d tried to refuse it, but Fergus had insisted, then told him to get himself to the University of St. Andrews in Fife.
Torkel had nodded, thrown his sword into the loch, and left home against his father’s wishes. He’d been miles away when several of his men had caught up to him. They’d called him insulting names and insisted on going with him. To protect him, they’d said as only an idiot would throw his sword into the loch. He’d laughed and continued on, knowing they would spend their time in the taverns while he studied. He’d appreciated the comradery, and the decision to leave had saved his life, in an odd way even though it had eventually led to him being cursed by Aileen.
He glanced at the ring again then studied her. Long hair as dark as his own, but curly framed her face. Nicely shaped brows curved above her eyes, thick, black lashes rested on her cheeks, and she had a straight nose, pleasing. Her lips were plump, rosy, and tempting. A rounded chin surely indicated she wasn’t a stubborn lass or a nag. No man wanted a nag although he figured he’d take one if that was all he could get. The thought made him grin.
Smooth skin covered her forehead and he didn’t see any wrinkles although there was a maturity to her face even in sleep. He’d guess her age at around eighteen or so, but he hadn’t seen her teeth yet, and they were always the giveaway. He’d seen many a fair maiden disguise her age behind veils and shy smiles. It was tempting to lift her lip and take a look, but he held back. He’d know soon enough when she woke, and he fed her an oatcake. They were hard and dry as rocks and took a lot of effort to eat.
Watching her, he wondered if his ring indicated she was meant for him. He and his men had discussed the curse over and over but they’d finally agreed they’d each know their one true love when they saw her. Now though, he wondered if that wasn’t how it worked although he’d been having very satisfying dreams featuring an unknown woman lately. He’d never seen her face clearly though so as far as he knew, she could be a well-shaped, horny hag. She did have long, dark curly hair though. Like the lass’s hair and it always smelled of flower
s in his dreams.
The moment he’d touched her, a feeling of knowing her had filled him, but that made sense. What man wouldn’t be drawn to a female after being without one for centuries? Maybe it was just a coincidence that she had his ring, but then he didn’t believe in coincidences although he believed in magic and curses. He and his men were proof of that, thanks to Himself, the bastard! Riled at the thought of his twin, he stood and paced the room.
It was possible she’d found the glen by accident, or she was here for one of his men. He was a MacAsgaill, and they were considered kin, although not related by blood. His ring could identify her as belonging to one of them. That thought displeased him. He didn’t want to tell them about her and give them have a chance to win her heart. Disgusted with his selfish thoughts, he reprimanded himself. He was the leader, it was his job to make sure that they had everything they needed.
Not that it wouldn’t be nice to have a lass in his cottage, and not just for the sex although the thought of making love to her sent him to the window where a cold draft cooled him. He stared through the wavy glass, then shivering, grabbed a blanket, and wrapped it around himself as he sat down and thought about keeping her.
She shifted in her sleep, and a nicely shaped leg slid out from beneath the blankets. Long and slender with a fine ankle and muscles that flexed beneath smooth skin when she moved it. That surprised him. She appeared too healthy to be a peasant. Females of that social standing usually worked at home, or if they didn’t have a home, they worked in the taverns. The thought of that bothered him. Tavern girls were usually well-fed and rounded like this lass, but they flirted with other men and earned a coin with their bodies.
Frowning, he got up and paced again, then gripped the mantle and stared into the fire. Aye, he didn’t like the thought of her laying with other men. Hearing a movement behind him, he glanced at her and saw the leg disappear beneath the blankets. She was cold. Concerned, he placed another block of peat on the fire. It was a waste, but he’d not have her suffering.
Moving to the table again, he sat down and waited for her to wake, but she slept on. If she was a tavern girl, she was a lazy one, he thought and decided he would have to teach her to work. There was no time in the glen for sloth.
Watching her, he thought about the things she could do if she was willing. She could cook, repair his clothes, and clean the cottage while he worked in the fields and cared for the animals. She would also be someone to talk to in the evenings. Maggie and Bennie made good company, and there were always his men, but it would be nice to have a lass in his home. He was oddly content with his life. With the peace and quiet…and no killing.
If he was the only man in the glen to have a woman, he’d have to fight to protect her. He didn’t want to share her, and he didn’t want to have to kill any of his men. They’d been together a long time, and they were like his brothers—only better than Himself, the bastard!
The thought of his brother reminded him of the many women who had cried on his shoulder. Women who had been used by the bastard and tossed away. Or women who had visited his home, seeking marriage, and had turned out to be nags, bossy, and spoiled. Thinking of his home and its extravagance, he looked at his cottage with new eyes.
The lass would hate it. She’d complain about the dirty dishes that covered the cupboard and the pile of dirty clothes on the filthy floor. The room smelled, and his clothes stank, and he stank because of them even though he’d bathed recently in the loch where he’d nearly frozen his balls off.
He could clean the room a little before she woke, but he wanted to see her reaction and hear what she had to say when she saw it. He’d let his home go while he’d made several of his men spend the winter with him and stay out of the ale. They’d only returned to the village a day ago, mostly because he’d run out of ale and almost out of food. But there’d be no explaining that to her, not in his experience of women like her. Women with soft hands. Women like his mother and sisters who were spoiled and useless.
Damn, Angus and his heather ale. Old Angus, not Young Angus. Young Angus had become as pious as a monk, rarely spoke, and was never to be found when there was work to be done.
He shoved his fingers through his hair and continued watching her, willing her to wake. She didn’t stir. Resigned, he decided to leave her to her dreams. It was past time to tend to his animals who would be awake and glad to see him.
“I’m back, Lass,” he whispered, his breath warm against her nape.
Laughing, Ella turned, saw the desire on his face and scurried away from him and around the table. He stalked her, his huge body moving silently. She loved the way he was always eager to see her. She loved the feel of his hands on her as she fell asleep and waking to his touch in the early morning hours.
She looked into his eyes, seeing they’d darkened with his need for her. He took a step to his right, and she mimicked him, step for step until he feinted to the left and nearly caught her. She screamed, and ran away from the table knowing he’d catch her. He did before she’d taken three steps. Laughing, she flung her arms around him and held him while she nuzzled his neck. He smelled of the loch and the crops in the fields.
He settled into his chair and arranged her with her bare feet on either side of his hips and her bottom balanced on his knees. He held her waist for a moment longer, the warmth of his hands penetrating the gown she wore, then he reached for the bow between her breasts.
Ella covered his hands, stroking her fingers over the scars on the backs. His hands were large and made hers appear small and delicate. “You’ve been working all day, and you haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“My belly can wait. My need for you can’t.”
Hearing his desire in the tone of his voice, she moved her hands and rested them on his shoulders, giving him free access to her body. His muscles flexed beneath her fingers, and she knew it pleased him she was always ready for him. “I need you just as much. Always.”
He tugged on the ends of the bow, untying it, then held the sides of her sarong-style dress apart while he gazed at her body. “You’re so beautiful, lass. I’ll never tire of looking at you.”
He released the material, and it pooled around her hips as he slid his hands over her breasts, across her belly, and down to her thighs. “Touching you.”
His touch woke every nerve in her body, and Ella moved restlessly, needing more. Wanting more. He gripped her hips, pulled her toward him, and ran his nose over the tops of her breasts as he inhaled.
“I love your scent. Flowers and sex.” He licked her nipple. “You taste like woman. My woman.”
She trembled and slid her fingers into his hair, hoping he’d never stop wanting her. Loving her. Everything about him aroused her. The sound of his voice, the touch of his hands, and his scent…a combination of fragrances she couldn’t identify but would always recognize.
He sucked on her nipple, flicked his tongue over it, then released it and claimed her mouth with firm lips that he ran back and forth, teasing her until she tried to capture them. He chuckled, his breath warm, and nipped her bottom lip before he traced her top lip with the tip of his tongue, then placed little smacking kisses over her mouth.
She sighed and let him have his way. He finally slid his tongue between her lips, kissing her deeply, completely. He played with her tongue, sliding his over it, then wrapping his around hers, holding her captive before freeing her. He left no part of her mouth untouched, unexplored, unclaimed.
Breathless, heart pounding, she sighed with pleasure when his hands slid over her back and stroked down on either side of her spine. Reaching her bottom, he ran his thumbs over her waist then splayed his hands over her belly and moved to her hips and the tops of her thighs. He trailed his fingers down each leg, circled her ankles then released them and stroked back up to her thighs. His hands were rough from work, but he touched her gently, reverently as if she was a priceless gift.
She kissed his cheeks, his lips, his neck while she tugged and shoved his
clothes away. He rested against the back of the chair, letting her have her way and giving her access to his body. His beautiful eyes closed, his face relaxed but dark with arousal. She knew he loved her touch, so she massaged his shoulders and stroked her hands over the muscles of his chest. His nipples hardened. She played with them for several seconds and watched as the vein in his neck pulsed faster.
He reached out for her. She caught his hands and placed a kiss on each palm. He fisted them, and she moved them to the arms of the chair before she fanned her fingers over his taut belly. The muscles rippled, then went taut when she slid her hands to his erection and grasped it, drawing a groan from him. Tightening her fingers, she pumped her hands up and down and rubbed her palm over the crown before stroking all the way down. He moved restlessly, and she knew she didn’t have much time before he took control back. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes and slid his hands between her legs.
“Open for me, Lass.”
She moved her legs farther apart and watched as he slid a finger into her and circled her clitoris with his thumb, making her ache for him to fill and complete her. He fingered her, working her, preparing her. Her arousal grew. He added a second finger. She moaned with pleasure and rocked her hips against his hand. He pleasured her with his fingers then slid her back a few inches and lifted her. Holding her above the head of his shaft, he waited until she looked at him before he lowered her onto him, and the head of his cock entered her.
“Fucking you.”
The words were crude but arousing, and she loved the way he said them.
“Yes, fuck me.”
“Don’t close your eyes. I want to see your pleasure.”
Ella forced her eyes to remain open when all she wanted to do was close them and concentrate on the pleasure she felt when he filled her. His hands tightened around her waist, and he slowly let her slide down his shaft, impaling and filling her. For a long moment, the world stopped and then they moved, together, rocking against each other and letting the pleasure build and build.
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