Just leave me alone! She picked up the bow and quiver and marched toward the armory. The small wooden building was cold and dark and smelled of damp. After replacing the weapons, she turned to leave, but Duncan blocked the door, his tall, well-muscled physique an imposing silhouette.
“I’m not finished.”
It had been a mistake to turn her back on him, to let him corner her. She didn’t trust herself. His being close like this always made her unable to think straight.
He closed the door behind him, making the room feel even smaller. The musty air of the armory darkened with his masculine scent and the cool air heated with the fire crackling between them. Thin rays of light streamed through the spaces between the wooden planks, providing barely enough light to see. But she could feel him; her senses honed on everything about him. Every inch of his tall, muscled frame. Every strand of silky black hair. Every thin line etched around his mouth.
He was using his size—his masculinity—against her, as if challenging her to ignore the desire taut between them. She wouldn’t let him intimidate her. But she felt a flash of sympathy for the men he’d faced on the battlefield.
“Well, I am,” Jeannie said, trying to push past him. But he wouldn’t let her go, catching her to him, their bodies brushing against one another, yet to her it felt as if she’d just caught fire. “There is nothing more to say.” Her voice shook, her nerves fluttering wildly.
“I think there is much more to say.” The deep brogue of his voice seeped into her bones. His jaw was pulled taut and his piercing blue eyes seemed to tear away her secrets as he stared down into her face.
Her heart thudded with premonition. She sensed his curiosity about Dougall and knew she had to distract him.
Or maybe that was just her excuse for what she did next.
She did the only thing she could think of when he surrounded her like this. When her body hummed with sensation. When she looked up at his mouth and her body flooded with desire.
She kissed him. Not a chaste touch of the lips, but a full meeting of mouth and body. The rope holding them apart snapped and all the passion building between them over the past weeks exploded into fierce, drowning need.
They tore at one another, trying to get closer, trying to douse the flames that threatened to incinerate them both.
His heat enveloped her. His maleness. The seductive power of his rock-hard body. There was something primitively satisfying about a big, strong man taking you in his arms.
It felt too good. Too right. She wanted to cry out with the perfection of it. This was what she’d been missing, this was what had haunted her for all those years.
His mouth moved over hers, hungrily, passionately. Every touch a brand.
He groaned, opening her lips with his, devouring her with his mouth, with bold thrusts of his tongue, with his hand as he cupped her bottom and brought her against him. His erection rose hard between them, the thick steel column nudged erotically between her legs.
She felt his size. His power.
She quivered—softened—and felt the hot pulse between her legs. Her hips circled, rubbing against him as she tried to ease the restlessness, the anxiousness, the urgency.
All she could think about was him inside her. Filling her. Making her his. Again.
Duncan was out of control. The hunger raged inside him, wild and ravenous. The taste of her passion was like ambrosia to a starving man.
He couldn’t get enough. He kissed her harder. Deeper. Drinking her in with his mouth and tongue. With every breath.
He’d forgotten how good she felt in his arms. How soft and feminine. How she smelled like some kind of exotic flower. The silky soft waves of her hair tumbled down her back over his hands. He remembered how it had felt spilled out over his chest and he groaned, sliding his tongue in her mouth with long, insistent strokes.
Her kiss had taken him by surprise, but the flare of passion that burst between them did not. For ten long years this primitive part of him had been repressed, but one taste of her and the chains of civility snapped like a silken thread.
His body raged as hot as a blacksmith’s fire. Control a distant memory. The feel of her lush curves pressed against him was too much to take. The sweet feminine surrender an aphrodisiac too powerful to deny.
Every barbarian instinct in him urged to take her. To lift her skirts, thrust inside her, and make her his. Again. But this time he would never let her go.
It had been too damned long. He cupped her bottom and lifted her against him. Blood rushed to his already rock-hard erection, pushing him to near bursting. When she rocked against him, he pulsed and nearly came. Her body told him what she wanted.
Knowing it was going too fast, that he was being too rough, that he could hurt her, he gathered every last ounce of his control and tried to slow down. To tame the wildness.
But she wouldn’t let him, moaning her protest. She circled her hips against him insistently, rubbing, and kissing him with all the frenzy he’d tried to temper.
He growled, the last remnants of nobility ripped to shreds. His need for her drove him over the edge.
Breaking the kiss, he trailed his mouth down the long column of her throat. Tasting the warmth of her skin, inhaling her fresh scent. He loosened the ties of her cloak with one hand, and then opened the top buttons of her velvet doublet to kiss her chest. To slide his tongue below her sark along the edge of her stays.
She moaned when his tongue flicked the taut bead of her puckered flesh and gripped his shoulders as if her knees had just given out.
From the edge of consciousness he realized how dangerous this was—they could be discovered at any moment—but that only heightened the excitement, the urgency. Later, there would be time to strip her naked, to lick and suck every juicy inch of her, but right now they were both too ravenous.
His tongue circled the hard peak of her nipple, teasing, as his hand lifted her skirts and bunched them around her hips.
She sucked in her breath at the blast of cold air, but he didn’t give her time to protest. His hand found her heat.
His cock jerked at the erotic touch, at the soft silkiness sliding under his fingertips. He stroked her, a long gentle swipe along the slit of her womanhood.
“God, you are so wet,” he groaned.
She didn’t say anything, but made a soft sound in her throat and her body quivered.
He felt the dampness spread between her legs and couldn’t wait for her to come. For her body to contract and shudder around him, for her to cry out with pleasure as she shattered.
He slid his finger inside her. A slow thrust first and then more insistently. Circling, teasing. Rubbing that sensitive little spot until her breath hitched in short, demanding gasps.
He loosed the ties of his breeches. His erection sprang free, the cold air a relief to his red-hot skin. A drop of anticipation glistened on the tip. Hooking one shapely leg over his arm, he bent his knees a little to find the angle …
His stomach muscles clenched as the heavy head of his cock nudged damp swollen flesh. The muscles in his neck and shoulders tightened, straining against the urge to drive up high inside her.
He held her there just like that—flesh to flesh—and forced her to look at him. To see him. To know that it was he who was pleasuring her. That it was he who could make her feel like this. That she belonged to him.
The mindless surrender of her body was not enough.
Her gaze met his, half-lidded, soft and hazy. Her beautiful features slack with desire. “Duncan,” she said, her voice pleading.
A pure shot of masculine satisfaction surged through him, but he needed more. He wanted all of her—body, heart, and soul. The need to hear her say it outweighed even the lust raging inside him. “Tell me you want this, Jeannie. Tell me you want me.” Only me.
Her eyes widened, she appeared startled as if out of a dream. “I—”
She hesitated.
His body chilled, sensing the words before she spoke. The bite of dis
appointment snapped down on his chest like a spiked steel trap.
Jeannie fought to hold on to the passionate haze that dulled her senses—the shimmery effervescent wave, the tingling, the frantic quickening of her pulse—but it slipped through her fingers like water through a sieve. The moment was gone and unwanted lucidity forged a path of cool rationality in her mind.
Her body throbbed with complaint at the sharp curtailment of pleasure. It felt as if she’d been brought to the very edge of paradise only to be shoved forcefully back to earth.
An irrational burst of anger hit her. Why did he have to do this? Why did he have to force her to acknowledge what was happening? Why couldn’t they just forget about everything else and let desire take over?
She stilled. For the same reasons she couldn’t just say, “Yes, I want this. Yes, I want you,” and give over to the pleasure he wrought within her.
They’d both changed. They were no longer careless youths to be swept away by passion. She better than anyone knew the consequences of that.
She pushed herself away from him, horrified by the madness that had come over her. By what she’d nearly done. “I’m sorry. I … I can’t do this.”
His face was a mask of pained restraint, every muscle tight. His eyes pinned her, biting into her with a searing intensity. “Why?”
The dull hollowness of his voice made her chest pang. She’d hurt him.
Tears burned behind her eyes. She looked up at him, trying to find the words to explain. “I don’t know.”
“You want me.”
She didn’t bother trying to deny it. How could she when her body still wept and trembled from his touch. She’d always wanted him—only him.
“But something is holding you back,” he said. He caught her arm and held her to him, his face dangerously close. “What are you hiding from me, Jeannie? Does it have something to do with your husband?” She didn’t say anything, fear clamping around her throat. “With your son?”
He was holding her so close, looking into her eyes, and he saw it. The flare of panic in her gaze she could not hide.
“It’s your son you are protecting.” His eyes searched her face. “Why?”
Jeannie’s heart raced as she wrestled with something to say, with some kind of explanation to steer him from the truth. Everything she’d fought so hard to protect seemed poised on the very precipice of disaster. She was scared to open her mouth, fearing the truth would somehow slip out.
“How could I possibly hurt your son?”
Anger welled up inside her. Though she’d gone to every effort to prevent him from doing so, part of her wanted him to guess. His genuine perplexity, his blindness, grated, shattering her already frayed emotions. Tears broke free as the pressure of all she’d been keeping inside finally burst.
“Don’t you see that your very presence here is a threat to him? If you implicate my husband in this plot against you who do you think will take the blame? You can destroy my son’s future, everything I’ve fought so hard to protect,” she lashed out, coming dangerously close to the truth, but for the moment not caring.
Her accusation took him aback. “He’s a child.”
She scoffed. “Do you think that will matter to your cousin or the king?”
His silence said it all. Giving voice to her fears was a relief, she realized. It hadn’t been the entire truth, but enough of it to feel as if a weight had been lifted.
After a moment, he dragged his hands through his hair and said, “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Would it have mattered? Should I have trusted you?” She challenged. “Did you trust me?”
Their eyes met, each knowing the answer.
“And this is why you’ve refused to help me? To protect your son?”
She sensed the urgency in his voice, as if her answer was somehow very important to him. “What should I have done? Help you destroy him?”
“I would never allow that to happen, Jeannie,” he said, tilting her chin and forcing her gaze to his. For a moment his expression was devoid of the anger that had hardened it only moments ago—almost tender. “The boy carries no blame for what happened. I swear to you he will not be harmed.”
“How can you make such a promise?”
“I can do nothing about your father, but I will ensure that your husband’s name is kept out of this.”
She sucked in her breath. Her eyes scanned his face, seeing only cold resolve. “You would do this for me?”
He nodded. “Aye. You have my word.”
She wanted to believe him. Looking at him it was hard not to. In his fine black leather and metal-studded garb, he looked every inch the fierce, indestructible warrior—the black knight of legend ready to defeat all who challenged him. His head nearly touched the ceiling, his shoulders were as wide as the door, his chest as hard as a shield—every inch of him honed to a steely weapon of war. But it was more than his size and clothing. The stamp of authority was plain not just on his proud, noble features, but engrained in every movement, even in the way he spoke. He seemed more a chief than an outlaw.
But he was an outlaw—a dead man if his cousin’s soldiers caught up with him. How could he protect her son?
Yet, all her instincts cried out to throw herself into his arms, close her eyes, and give over to the powerful force that drew them together. It seemed so easy, but she’d learned to be wary of easy.
It wasn’t just him she didn’t know if she could trust, she realized; it was herself. When it came to him, her judgment had never been sound.
Her uncertainty must have shown on her face. His hand fell from her face and he took a step back away from her. “I can’t undo the past, Jeannie. Nor can I force you to move beyond it. I wronged you. I should have listened to you and given you a chance to explain. But I’m not the same man now as I was then.” He gave her a long penetrating look. “God knows I tried, but it seems I couldn’t forget you. You are in my blood—in my bones. I want to see if there is anything left to salvage between us, but I cannot do it alone. I can’t force you to trust me, but neither will I have half of you.”
The cold resolve in his voice left her no doubt he meant what he said. Duncan had thrown down the gauntlet at her feet: all or nothing. Wasn’t that always how it had been between them?
Never far from her mind was the knowledge that he could be taken at any time. The close call at the inn came back to her in full force. What if she decided and it was too late?
Before she could respond he turned and left, never once looking back. She stared at the door, the panic that she’d felt moments ago welling up to claim her heart. Her heart that shouldn’t care. But the armor of the past had rusted away, leaving her unprotected and vulnerable to him.
Don’t go. The voice of the girl she’d been escaped before the resolve of the woman she’d become could quiet it.
Would it ever be completely quiet?
She feared she knew the answer.
Duncan left the armory, cursing stubborn women. Jeannie was his, damn it. Couldn’t she feel it?
He refrained from slamming the door and venting some of his considerable frustration, and clenched his fists at his side instead.
The disappointment that had knifed through his chest at her refusal to acknowledge what was between them had done nothing to take the edge off the unspent lust that still coiled through his veins. He felt like an angry tiger in a cage and heaven help anyone who got in his way right now.
She sure as hell better make up her mind soon, because time was the one thing he did not have.
There were a few people milling about the courtyard, but they took one look at his face and turned the other way. He glanced in the direction of the practice area, near the place where he’d first seen Jeannie. He’d hoped a good sword fight would help ease his tension, but had been disappointed to discover that the guardsmen had yet to return from their morning ride. Jamie had thought it better that Duncan stay within the walls of the castle until they determined how t
o proceed. Having already come across more than one party of soldiers looking for him on his way south, Duncan was inclined to agree and not press his luck.
He crossed the yard, heading toward the keep, half expecting the lad to come bounding down the stairs and intercept him.
It was the boy she was protecting—not her husband. Why hadn’t he realized it before? It put an entirely new perspective on her refusal to help him—one not burdened by jealousy. But it infuriated him to think that she didn’t trust him to protect her son.
Duncan almost regretted his offer to show the lad some of the hand-to-hand combat moves he’d learned as a lad … almost. But he’d heard the shame in the boy’s voice and it had struck a chord. He remembered only too well what it was like to be picked on. His bastardy had made him a target, and when he was Dougall’s age, his size had made him an easy one. Fortunately for him, he’d grown quickly and significantly in adolescence.
But even if the lad stayed on the small side, it didn’t mean he couldn’t distinguish himself as a warrior. Duncan felt a strange urge to help him, but knew it wasn’t his place. Jamie would see to his training.
Still, like Ella, something about the lad unsettled him—even more so. He’d felt that same heart-squeezing pain upon seeing him, and a fleeting moment of wistfulness, knowing that had circumstances been different they could have been his. With a certain amount of wishful thinking, he’d studied the boy’s face, searching for a connection and seeing only the stamp of Jeannie’s features. From what he remembered of John Grant, Jeannie’s brother, the boy looked quite a bit like him.
Duncan frowned. Except for the hair color. Like Francis Gordon, John Grant had blond hair. But then she’d kissed him and he’d forgotten everything but the passionate woman in his arms. Had that been her intention? Had she been trying to distract him?
He was halfway up the stairs when a woman cried out his name, “Duncan!”
His heart stopped. For a moment he thought it was Jeannie. But even before he turned and set eyes on the tiny, wisp of a woman who’d just come storming through the gate he knew it wasn’t her. Disappointment cut through him.
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