Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8)

by Vonda Sinclair

  Anna's small hands massaged the tops of both his shoulders, creating a type of sensual torture. "Why did they decide to let you go?"

  "They didn't. I ken they would've eventually killed me. I had lost so much blood from the cuts, I was nearly dead already. Once my father and the clan discovered my whereabouts, they brought a small army to rescue me."

  "Oh. I'm so glad they did." Her breath stirred the hair near his ear, giving him an intense and heated shiver.

  He had always felt torn about his rescue, and he still did. 'Twas true, his life had been saved, but he had lost so much in the process.

  When he didn't respond, she asked, "Are you not?"

  He shrugged and shook his head. "During the battle, my father was gravely injured. He lingered for months before finally succumbing to infection from the wounds that would not heal. I blame myself for his death." Neacal's chest ached as he experienced the loss yet again. He had been closer to his father than anyone.

  "Nay. He made the decision to rescue you, and how could he not? You were his son."

  "Aye, but I was careless to get myself into that mess."

  "You were serving your country."

  He turned, gauging her sincere expression. "Aye, but I was too unmindful of what was going on around me." In truth, he'd let himself be distracted by a woman.

  "Mayhap 'twas his time to go, regardless of how," she whispered in a soothing tone.

  Neacal frowned. "More of your destiny talk?"

  She shrugged, her look obstinate again.

  "Was it your husband's time to go when he was murdered?" he challenged.

  "Aye, unfortunately."

  "Indeed? How do you know?"

  "He told me in a dream."

  Neacal observed her from the corner of his eyes. Mayhap he wasn't the only one who was a wee bit mad.

  "You think me insane?" Her brows lifted.

  "No more than I am."

  "We were not intended to live forever here on earth. We must all depart in one way or another."

  "Truer words have ne'er been spoken." He faced forward again, wishing to concentrate on the magic her fingers created, loosening the tension in his muscles. Instead of thinking about death, he wanted to enjoy this moment of feeling intensely alive.

  "Why did you leave your clan?" she asked.

  She enjoyed asking the difficult questions, did she not? The odd thing was he didn't mind telling her things he wouldn't want to reveal to others. "My body healed for the most part, but 'tis possible the scars on my mind will never heal. There are times when I cannot control my anger. I might… go mad and kill someone. You saw what happened in the bailey during practice."

  "So you came here?"

  "Aye, and I lived on a remote island for a time. I hated the confining castle walls. I craved fresh air and the elements… things I couldn't have in the dungeon nor the sickbed."

  Nodding, Anna massaged the slick salve over the hard, bulging muscles of Neacal's arm. She felt a slight bump in the bone from the break. How painful that must have been. Her fingers smoothed over the straight pink scars of what had obviously been knife cuts. Most had been stitched up, for the tiny dot scars on each side remained. But these were the least of the old wounds. Scars formed a jagged network across his shoulders and his back as if someone had tried to hack him to bits. Slipping a glance down over his bare chest, she saw his front was much the same, the skin over his sculpted muscles rough with irregular marks.

  Tears burned her eyes.

  Imagining the extreme pain he must have been in, a tremor moved through her. And yet he sat before her as a powerful man, a warrior of incredible skill.

  "How did you grow so strong again?" she whispered.

  "Tavia patched me up, as you know, set my broken bones, snapped my joints back into place. At least, that's what I was told. I remember none of it. I was passed out for days. I recall waking in extreme pain. She urged me to drink a warm bitter tea she'd brewed. It took the pain away and made me sleep. I learned later it was opium poppy. What must have been weeks later, when I could barely move across the room with the help of someone else, I swore to myself when my bones and skin knitted back together, I would challenge myself to be stronger than everyone I knew. At the beginning, climbing the steps to the ramparts was an accomplishment. Then, I climbed mountains. Slowly at first. But each day I went further. As you well know, 'tis amazing what we can do if determined."

  She nodded. "I admire you so much," she whispered and sat on the stool beside his. She could not even express the extent of her regard for him.

  He watched her, his blue eyes half shadowed behind his hair, the scarred side of his face hidden. He was the most handsome man she had ever met, scars or not.

  "That feels much better," he said, taking the salve from the floor where she'd set it. "Now, I'll put some on your neck."

  His words surprised her. Imagining him massaging the medicinal balm into her neck, she shivered. "'Tis not necessary."

  "It pains you. I saw you rubbing it earlier." His stark blue gaze challenged her to deny it.

  "Well… aye." She glanced down, her heart rate accelerating at the thought of him touching her again.

  He faced her. "Turn a wee bit more."

  She did as he said, lifting the stray strands of hair off her neck and sitting straight to give him access.

  At the first touch of his fingers, a chill slid over her. The salve felt cool, but the more he stroked it over her skin and massaged it deep into her taut muscles, the warmer she became. He tugged at the back of her neckline and rubbed the base of her neck. His fingers felt marvelous. She sighed.

  Soon, she realized he was massaging her neck and shoulders with both hands and her arisaid and smock had slipped down. She grasped her clothing in front to hold it in place.

  "Never have I received such a wondrous massage," she whispered, forcing herself not to moan in delight.

  His large, strong fingers gently caressing her, he leaned into her and breathed warmth against her hair, her ear. Tingles covered her, trailing down her neck to her breasts and beyond. Heavens! What was he doing to her?

  Unable to believe the way he held her in thrall, she heard an unintentional moan escape her mouth.

  "Anna," he breathed. In that one simple word, he'd expressed a thousand thoughts and emotions, deep yearnings. She did not comprehend it with her rational mind. 'Twas something that touched her soul. A connection that linked them. She leaned back into him, against the hard wall of his chest. His arms surrounded her and he drew her closer still. His lips grazed over her cheek.

  Coming to her senses, she realized she should not be doing this for several reasons, one of which was the madman hunting her down. She pulled back, eyeing Neacal cautiously, gauging his seductive gaze in the dimness.

  With one finger, he stroked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Are you afraid of me, lass?"

  She shook her head. "Of course not. But, because of Blackburn…"

  "To hell with him. You are not his wife." At close range, Neacal's fierce eyes searched hers. "Are you?"

  "Nay. 'Twas never consummated either."

  He released a breath. "Thank the saints. I feared he might have forced you."

  She shook her head. "I was sick and frail after I lost the bairn, very wan because I'd lost so much blood. He could barely stand the sight of me. He kept telling the healer and the servants to fatten me up. He wanted me to be curvaceous and healthy before he had his way with me."

  "The bastard," Neacal hissed. "I'll make him regret every pain he inflicted upon you."

  Iciness trickled through her veins. "Nay! I wish you to stay away from him."

  "Only if he never shows his face. But if he comes here, I'll destroy him for what he's done to you."

  The vehemence and passion in his voice and his gaze struck her heart with fear. "Nay, Neacal. I want you to stay safe."

  "If no one else will see justice served, I will."

  Tears burned her eyes. How could he want to ri
sk his life for her? She stroked her hand up his scarred cheek into his thick dark hair. Pushing it out of the way, she pressed a kiss to the jagged scar on his face.

  He turned his head, placing his unmarred cheek next to her. Why had he done that? Did he think his scar bothered her?

  "Nay," she said, pushing his square, bristly chin in the other direction and brushing her lips across the roughened scar again. "You are a beautiful man," she whispered, placing tiny kisses over the puckered skin of the old injury.

  "Hmph," he grunted and kissed her temple. "Nay, Anna, you are the one who is beautiful, like an angel consigned to earth." His warm lips and sweet words completely seduced her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember how to breathe normally. He kissed each of her cheeks.

  She turned her head slightly, seeking his mouth. When her lips touched his, so firm and smooth, her breath halted and need grasped hold of her. She dug her fingers into the plaid over his thigh. She wanted to rip the garment from his steel-hard body.

  Slowly, gently, his lips explored hers. She dared not even breathe for fear he would stop. This felt like the rarest and most special moment she had experienced in years.

  When his tongue flicked between her lips, she thought she might expire on the spot. She turned, facing him more and slid her hands around his neck, into his midnight hair to grasp handfuls of the thick locks.

  He kissed her slow and easy, patiently seducing her mouth open with subtle flicks of his tongue. She drew in a sharp breath, lest she pass out from the lightheadedness overcoming her, and offered her mouth to him to do with as he would. He did not disappoint. He gained entrance and teased her tongue into a silent banter.

  A soft moan escaped him as he buried his hands in her hair and massaged her scalp with gentle fingers. His mouth grew more persistent, more determined to taste and devour every inch of hers. He was sinful seduction itself, the type no woman could resist.

  She knew she should not be doing this. A blade of guilt struck her but she could not pull away from him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Neacal held Anna's face gently between his hands. The scent of mint and lavender from the salve was strong, but his mouth retained her full attention. Deliciously devouring. She found her hands exploring the well-developed muscles of his bare chest and the scars and ridges of his abdomen down to his belt.

  A rough moan escaped him.

  She knew she had only to drop her hand a bit lower to feel his arousal. Dare she do it? She opened her eyes to find him watching her in the firelight, his eyes midnight blue beneath his lowered lashes, his expression one of a need so strong it bordered on pain.

  "Damnation, I—" He moved to arise, but she grabbed hold of his hand.

  "Nay, please," she begged. She knew 'twas her words that halted him, not her grasp. "Neacal."

  "Aye?"

  "I want…" She halted, unable to believe her own brashness.

  He released a breath, his tormented eyes searching hers. "What?" he whispered as if giving in, trailing his roughened fingers along her cheek. "Tell me what you want, lovely Anna."

  A thrill of arousal coursed through her, his compliment making her bolder.

  "I want… to make you feel better."

  His brows formed a slight frown. "And what about you? What would make you feel better?"

  "Touching you," she confessed, feeling wicked, but at the same time knowing this was something she needed to do. They needed each other.

  His dark blue gaze turned inferno hot. "You may touch me all you like," he said, blowing out a heated breath, "but only if I can touch you, too."

  She nodded, imagining his strong but gentle hands stroking every inch of her as they had the night before. She dropped her gaze to his belt buckle, the gleaming brass reflecting the firelight, taunting her. Hesitantly, she moved her hands to it and grasped the leather.

  He sucked in a hissing breath and her gaze flew to his. Saints, but he looked hot enough to ignite and his eyes dared her to continue. A rush of excitement sizzled along her nerves.

  Manipulating the leather and the brass buckle, she managed to unfasten his belt. It loosened, along with his gathered plaid. She tugged at the folds and it dropped aside, leaving him naked. Before she could get a good look at him, he turned her and drew her onto his lap. He unbuckled her belt, then pulled her clothing down to her hips. She shivered.

  He leaned forward, pressing kisses across her chest to her breast. He blew out a hot breath and tugged her nipple into his mouth.

  She gasped, arching her back, her arms holding tighter to his shoulders.

  He pushed her arisaid, smock and petticoats down over her hips. In a few moments, she was just as nude as he was. His skin felt delightfully fiery against hers.

  He lifted her, making her head spin, and deposited her on the bedroll on the floor. He tucked her head beneath his chin and held her close. His breathing was uneven, his rapid heartbeat pounding against her ear. "I don't know what the devil I'm doing," he muttered. "I should not touch you. You deserve so much better."

  How could he say such a thing? She pulled back to look into his face."Shh." She kissed his mouth, holding his face between her palms. "You are the most amazing man I know."

  His hands upon her derriere, he pulled her tight against his erection that lay long and hard against her lower belly. She moaned. He felt so astounding she was near ready to beg.

  Inside, she already ached for him. Her arousal and her absolute devotion to him combined to form a tempestuous emotion and a need so wild and out of control she didn't know what to do. Kissing him, she wrapped her arms around his neck. His heart pounded hard against her chest, and her own heartbeat drowned out all other sounds except his deep, rough moans.

  "Anna, mo ghraidh." Taking control, he rolled between her legs and continued kissing her, his lips and tongue stealing her reasoning. She could think of naught but having him immerse himself within her, the dark corners of his soul touching hers.

  When he nudged his shaft against her most sensitive flesh, she gasped and clung tighter to his neck.

  "Damnation, how I want you," he ground out between clenched teeth.

  "Aye, take me, Neacal," she whispered, opening herself to him, tugging him closer.

  "'Tis madness. I should not."

  "Please. I want you, too."

  "Are you certain?" His dark, tortured eyes said he did not believe her.

  "Of course, I'm certain." Sliding her hand down his firm, ridged lower abdomen, she reached for him. Her hand encountered his hard shaft. She palmed him and stroked up his length, then grasped him and guided him exactly where she wanted him.

  He hissed again, then murmured Gaelic curses. Pressing his forehead against hers, he entered her slowly, inch by torturous inch. Though her body was unused to such an extreme invasion, she did not flinch at the intensity which bordered on pain.

  Clinging tight to him, she thrust her hips. "Hurry, please," she breathed.

  He gave a harsh growl, holding her head between his hands. He looked into her eyes, into her soul, and drove himself to her depths. She groaned and dug her nails into his firm arse. Holding still, he kissed her cheeks, her closed eyelids and her lips.

  When he withdrew, she cried out at the thrilling, divine sensation. Not wanting him to go, she pulled at him. "Again."

  He thrust, driving himself deeper still.

  Crying out, she wrapped her legs around his waist. "Oh, please."

  "Anna," he breathed. "Nothing has ever felt this good."

  "Aye, Neacal. More."

  Once he started moving, he propelled her into a pleasure so profound she had never even imagined it. His passion was dark and rich, so delicious and powerful it edged on pain. He drove her through a pleasure of unbearable intensity. She could do naught but cling to him in desperation, crying out, losing control.

  He suckled her nipple and she thought she might die of the rapturous bliss. Then, he found her other nipple and drew it into his mouth. She arched her back as he p
lunged into her and she felt herself falling. She screamed, holding onto him lest she go flying off the edge of the world.

  He locked his lips onto hers and continued to test the limits of her endurance. The pleasure burst within her like a thousand shooting stars. Feeling like she was flying and tumbling through the air, she screamed out.

  Holding himself deep, he shuddered and growled in her ear. "Anna," he rasped.

  She hugged him tightly to her. How precious he was, how dear to her.

  They lay unmoving for long moments, simply breathing, absorbing the impact, holding each other. Neacal inhaled deeply, his heart still pounding with excitement. He could not grasp what had just happened. The absolute bliss had been unfathomable. How could such unimaginable pleasure exist in a harsh and painful world?

  Though he didn't want to, he withdrew from her, lay down beside her and pulled her tight against his chest.

  Aye, he'd bedded women many times before, years past, but never like that. Never a touching of souls. What on earth had Anna done to him? He no longer controlled his impulses, nor did he want to.

  Some odd, light feeling bubbled up from the core of his being and a short laugh burst from him. He tamped down the urge and drew back, searching out Anna's gaze.

  She grinned, watching him with understanding. Giving him permission to feel the joy? Did she feel it, too?

  Unable to stop his smile, he stroked her face, so smooth in the firelight. What perfection she was, a gift only for him. At least, that was the illusion, but 'twas not true. She was not his but instead was bound to another man. The brief moment of happiness dimmed like cold embers. As elusive as sparks falling and fading in the frosty air.

  He turned onto his back, disquiet worming through his body. "I am a madman. This confirms it."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Making love to a woman who is taken."

  "I'm not taken," she said with soft intensity. "'Tis why I'm here and not with the bastard."