by Ruby Duvall
When Iain stepped back inside his house, Emma was already cleaning up, her back to him as she washed the dishes in a small basin. He closed the door and lowered the crossbar into the open metal hook on the other side of the doorframe. After tending the fire and disposing of the rabbit’s remains, he turned back to the woman now staying with him. Her shoulders drooped, her movements sluggish.
Earlier when he had been getting dressed, he knew he had heard something behind him, yet when he had turned around, no one was there. After tying his belt, he went to investigate and found Emma standing just outside the door. She had looked like a startled doe ready to turn and run.
Strangely, he hadn’t been angry to know she had seen him. Hell, he had even volunteered to empty the tub, having felt sorry for her unspoken aches and having been the one doing more than simply bathing.
He wasn’t any closer to trusting her though. Her past was still a mystery despite the few things he had learned. Was she the daughter of an English lord who had run away from home? Was she a fugitive? Was she a foreigner from more distant lands, separated from her traveling companions? Were her only guardians taken by the plague? Had someone abandoned her?
That last guess put a sour look on his face to match the disgust churning in his stomach. For anyone to leave another behind with absolutely nothing…
In a circle his thoughts flowed, always returning to her other oddities—her clothes, her hair, her accent, her secretive nature and the strange things she said.
Letting it go for the time being, he turned his thoughts to sleep and that’s when he realized that he had not prepared a place for her to sleep. The frame and mattress for the bed he once used were in one of the sheds. The bed he now used had been his parents’, a gift to them from his uncle, who had been one of the laird’s carpenters.
Emma finished drying the last dish. She stacked them very carefully and carried them to the cabinet.
He waited until she had set them down to speak. “I’ve no bedding for ye tonight but I’ll prepare some tomorrow. Ye may sleep there,” he said, pointing to his bed. “I’ll sleep by the fire.” The fairy’s mouth dropped open. Had she expected him to make her sleep on the ground?
“Thank you but I’ve already inconvenienced you too much. I don’t want to take your bed as well.” Iain could guess what “in-kuhn-veen-yunsd” meant.
“Ye drew a bath, cleaned and prepared a fine meal,” he said, surprised when the words came out. It was a couple of seconds before he continued. “Aili was right to say that my mother would be disappointed were I no’ hospitable. Ye’ll take the bed. I’ve spent many nights on the ground.”
“But I’d rest easier if you took it,” she answered. Iain sighed with impatience, propping his fists on his hips and closing his eyes for a second. He waited until this fresh wave of frustration abated.
“Let us both use the bed.” Her eyebrows shot up. “It is large enough.” He watched as she contemplated the idea for a short while, her eyes unconsciously drifting to the empty bed to his right, and he saw in her the urge to deny him still. “Dinna worry yerself on that,” he softly amended. Indeed, sleeping apart wouldn’t have been safer for her even were he thinking of it. He tried not to take offense when relief passed over her face.
“It has been a long day,” he tiredly sighed, “and I need some rest.” Turning toward the bed and grateful when she followed him with no further protest, he let her enter the bed first. Without touching her bare feet to the ground, she removed her strange black shoes and began crawling under the woolen blanket, still dressed in her smock and kirtle.
“Ye’re sleeping in all of that?” he asked, watching with one eyebrow raised. He had always slept naked and wasn’t looking forward to wearing his tunic to bed.
Still kneeling in the center of the bed, she looked at him wordlessly. After a moment of indecision, she removed the layer of wool. Watching closely as she loosened the laces and pushed the gown off her shoulders, he couldn’t help fantasizing that she undressed for him, that she did it slowly to tease him. He even unabashedly stared at the points of her nipples just barely discernable under the loose linen smock.
She handed her dress to him so that he could lay it on the trunk and then quickly hid herself under the blanket, shifting as far from his side of the bed and as close to the wall as possible.
He wished she were a normal woman instead of some suspicious outsider. If she were normal, he would have taken her the second she had begun to loosen her laces.
No—the second he had closed the door.
He turned and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes, which was short work. He felt her shift positions and looked over his shoulder to see that she had turned to face the wall. Clenching his jaw and lying down on his back, he pulled the blanket over his legs. Admittedly, he was nervous lying next to a woman for the first time in over a year—and one he wasn’t lying atop, to boot. He told himself that his anxiety lay in the possibility she might kill him in his sleep.
“Are ye warm enough?” he asked. She didn’t jump or gasp this time, as if already aware of him.
“Yes” was her simple answer. Mumbling a good night, he closed his eyes.
He was close to drifting off a few minutes later when tiny sounds pulled him back to shore. Lifting his heavy eyelids, he listened a little longer and realized that Emma was crying. She wasn’t sobbing or blubbering but he could hear her sniffing and pulling in quick breaths.
She had elicited many emotions in him that day—suspicion, fascination, guilt, frustration and now one more. For the first time since he had met her, he felt protective. It was a familiar feeling but he hadn’t had someone under his roof to protect since…
Well, he wasn’t sure he wanted to do it again. He told himself that she was just trying to earn his pity and manipulate him. He would not let her play upon his sympathies. Deliberately closing his eyes, he shut out the sounds of her muffled crying and let sleep take him under.
—
Something shifted against him. His cock twitched as a leg slid across his thighs. A dainty hand stroked his chest.
“Take me.” A pair of breasts pressed against his arm, then a tickling as she dragged her mane across his shoulder. Her lips kissed his chest. They burned. “Take me,” she whispered.
“Ah God.” He pulled her over him, moaning at the creamy skin sliding up his body. With his hands on her waist, he brought her high on his chest. His mouth searched for a soft peak to suck. He squeezed her waist when she cupped her breast and pushed her nipple between his waiting lips.
“Yes,” she sighed. Her legs opened over him and she teased him with her hips, letting him feel her wet warmth. Bracing herself on one hand, she explored him with her other. Her fingers squeezed the muscles at his shoulders and she moaned when he drew her nipple deep into his mouth. She stroked his chest, her thumb circling his own nipple and drawing from him a gasp of surprise at the sensation.
She then shifted down, panting as she kissed the side of his neck. He hissed. Her kisses burned terribly. She licked where she had pressed her lips and the burning was eased but she kissed his shoulder next. He winced, his breath catching in his throat. She followed this pattern, kissing and then licking where her lips had scorched him. He could still feel every spot, which tingled in a meandering chain down his body.
Her mouth hovered over his groin, the head of his cock brushing her soft cheek. “Mm, shall I kiss you here next?” she said in a husky voice. His arousal jumped at the sound of it. He clenched his teeth.
“Aye,” he growled. He gripped her arm, somehow afraid she would disappear and leave him like this.
“What was that?” she asked. She blew on the wet, tender head.
“Aye!” he yelled.
Those burning lips kissed the very tip of him. His body arched, heart pounding, his cock swelling impossibly large. He felt hot all over but his fingers were going numb. Her tongue swept around the head of his cock but this time it didn’t seem to help.
> He opened his eyes, ready to pull her legs over his hips, plant his feet and bury his aching cock between her thighs but the woman who crawled over him was not the one he expected.
Emma’s hair was blood red and floated around her head as though she were immersed in water. A pair of black wings rooted in her back shivered and flexed. Her lips matched her hair and he looked down to see multiple kiss marks burned into his skin.
“You’re mine, Iain,” she said, wetting her lips. She rubbed herself over his groin. “All mine.” He shook his head, though he didn’t know why. She lifted up. “I’ll addict you to me.” She sank down. He groaned, loud and long. She seemed just as affected. Her eyebrows pinched and she let out a shuddering breath. She began to move and her wings flexed as she worked herself over him.
He gripped her hips, tried to quicken the pace but she was the one in control. His vision went hazy. She leaned down, moaning along with him. “Kiss me.” He looked at her full red lips, the ones that had marked him a dozen times already. He shook his head.
She stopped. “No,” he moaned, gripping her hips and bucking into her. She grabbed his wrists, somehow pinned them down. He couldn’t get enough sensation.
“Kiss me,” she insisted, bringing her lips even nearer. God, he was so close.
So close.
Chapter Six
Iain woke to the sweet smell of fennel. Something soft lay against his face. Though the fire should have nearly burned itself out, he was overly warm. He opened his eyes to check his surroundings.
In the faint light thrown by the weak flames behind him, he could see that he had turned toward Emma in his sleep. Her fragrant hair held the scent of the soap Aili had given her. His knees were tucked against the backs of hers and his arm was loosely draped over her side. His other arm lay between them, numb from the position, and his raging arousal was pressed against the cushion of her backside.
Suppressing a groan, he carefully took his arm off her and slid his hand under his tunic. His fingers brushed the hard shaft. He hissed. Hell, it was near to bursting!
For a split second, he entertained the thought of pushing up Emma’s skirt and finding relief in the clamp of her body. It would only take a couple of seconds to push aside the layers of clothing between them, to roll atop her and shove deep inside. From out of his throat came a low, animal-like noise.
Realizing the perilous bent of his thoughts, he left the cave of warmth they had made under the blanket and stood up. Emma didn’t stir, still asleep and looking so goddamn vulnerable. He frowned, disgusted at himself and angry that she affected him so much—even enough to affect his dreams—yet the emotion wasn’t powerful enough to ease his arousal or distract him from his need for release. His cock boldly jutted out from his pelvis to point straight at what it wanted to penetrate, fill, own.
Snatching up his belt and shoes, he went to the door, lifted the bar and escaped outside to a cool, quiet night. He didn’t feel the crispness in the air. He was too overheated with lust. Indeed, he wasn’t even steady on his feet. All the blood in his body had gathered in his groin.
Closing the door behind him, he walked barefoot to the side of the house. His shoulders hit the outside wall, bracing him as he took a wide stance. He yanked up his tunic.
“Christ,” he groaned. His eyes were drawn downward though he could barely see. He had not woken in such a state since he was Malcolm’s age and the heavy limb between his legs seemed to have swollen to the same width as his thick wrist. Palming his erection, he sucked in a harsh breath and then moaned.
He told himself that it wasn’t because of her, yet fragments of memory and fantasy had melted together and all he could think about was her—the line of her graceful neck, the faint outline of her nipples through her smock, the fullness of her lips. He wished he could see more of her and stroke his hands over every soft, smooth curve.
With a deep, relieved groan, he came. His belt and shoes fell from his other hand and he cupped himself, felt his sac twitch as his lust was spent upon the ground. Sweat poured down his face and coated his back. Only the cool air gave his feverish skin any relief. When the spasms ebbed away, he released himself and sagged against the wall of his house.
Opening his eyes, he looked up at the black sky, unable to see any stars. It showed no signs of an approaching dawn and he guessed that it would be at least three or four hours before the sun broke the horizon. He would need to stand watch with Malcolm to give Thomas and Kenneth time to sleep.
He pulled his tunic down once he had caught his breath and while he belted his tunic and put on his shoes, he thought of what he had almost done to his admittedly unwanted houseguest. The desire had ambushed him. Had he really been so long without a woman? Or had she done something to him? Had he been experiencing the true effect of the “medicine” she had given him? He would be certain not to take any more of it.
With a sigh, he returned to the front door and eased it open, entering much more quietly than he had exited. Emma hadn’t moved at all. After washing his hands and face in a basin of water, he revived the fire and checked the towel he had hung up the night before. It was still damp, so he left it there. His eyes locked onto the towel next to it.
Before he knew was he was doing, he leaned toward the other length of cloth, intending to touch what had rubbed over her buttery skin and breathe in the scent she had left. It would smell like fennel as well, he was sure. Just as his fingers brushed the cloth, he blinked and jerked away. “Damn it,” he whispered.
A soft rustling drew his attention and he looked to see that Emma had curled into a tighter ball. He had been hasty to leave the bed and so the blanket no longer covered her upper body. He approached the bed to simply flick the blanket over her but once he leaned down to grab the edge, he found himself gently drawing up the excess. Her sweet scent wafted up to his nose and the glimmer of her locket caught his notice from where it sat against the front of her shoulder. His eyes found the crease of her cleavage, her pert breasts pressed together by the weight of her position.
A familiar heat began to pool in his loins. Dropping the blanket and covering up the smooth, pale perfection of her neck and shoulders, he leaned back, impatient to leave before he became any worse. Beating another hasty retreat, he didn’t slow his pace until he was halfway to the barn. Poor Malcolm wouldn’t have a kind awakening.
—
The tiniest of sounds fell through her open lips as Emma came out of the dregs of sleep. The sound was more like a pained exhalation than a moan, for a full moan was too much effort. For a second, she woke with the hope that she would be in her bed at her parents’ house but her shoulders were killing her and she all too quickly remembered why. It felt as though frozen rubber bands were the only things holding her arms to her body and that the slightest movement would snap and shatter them. The smallest of consolations was that she was warm but still, her bag was at the foot of the bed, sitting on the ground and getting to her tiny supply of aspirin seemed like a Herculean task.
She wished that she could slip back into her heady dreams, where she had been cradled in a warm set of arms and sleep away the rest of her life, oblivious to everything.
If only she could.
Slowly and yet much too quickly, she rolled to her back and realized that not only had she been lying in the center of the bed but she was alone. Where was Iain?
“Did ye sleep well, dear?” Aili’s familiar voice called. Emma turned her head to look across the house and she saw the old woman sitting at the table, arranging some pans and buckets.
“What time is it?” she asked in a scratchy voice. She carefully stretched. The other woman stood up, grabbed her cane, and shuffled toward her.
“Time? Time to get up. I hardly sleep more than a few hours myself. Young people.” It was a complaint Emma had already heard many times and it was somehow comforting to hear it again. She sat up and swung her legs off the bed, pushing the blanket away. Exhaling through the new round of pain, she immediately regretted ab
andoning the warmth of the bed. It was much colder above the blanket. A full-body shiver stole over her.
“Child, where is yer kirtle? Ye didna lay with the man, did ye?” Aili shoved a cup of milk at Emma. Lay with him?
“I slept next to him, if that’s what you’re asking.” She took the cup from Aili and downed a few gulps. It wasn’t very cold and tasted a little strange but it felt good to wet her throat.
“No, no. I mean to say, did ye lay under him?” Emma nearly spat out the milk in her mouth. Instead, she half-choked on it and ended up coughing. “A night’s sleep and ye still look exhausted. He didna force ye, did he? Ooh, I’ll wring his neck when I see him.” The old woman slapped her on the back, making her sore muscles twinge and not really helping her coughing fit but a few more swallows of milk extinguished the fire in her throat.
“No, I did not ’lay under’ him. I’m just not used to this kind of life.” Ugh, how lame. Was she so spoiled that she couldn’t handle some farm work?
“Ye’ll be used to it soon enough. Get dressed and hide that hair again.” Aili turned away and spoke over her shoulder as she walked toward the table. “I’ll be teaching ye many things today. We’ll start a batch of soap and a batch of ale—though I suppose ye willna be drinking the ale. Oh and I’ll also show ye the household chores that ye’ll do every day.”
Emma wanted to heave a sigh but settled for another swallow of milk. Could they really do all of that in one day? Reaching for her bag and grimacing as she dragged it closer, she dug through its contents to locate her aspirin. She was going to need it.
“Come on, girl, the day is wasting! Iain and Kenneth are already about their work. They’ll need something to eat that’ll stick to their stomachs.” Washing back a pill, Emma set the empty cup on the ground and slipped into her shoes, thankful that the skirt of her dress was long enough to hide them most of the time. She stood up to grab her kirtle and as she pulled it over her head, she couldn’t help but admire Aili. The woman was three times her age and yet three times as energetic.