Stay With Me

by Ruby Duvall

  “Iain, not like this,” she whispered, trying to squirm away. She wanted him too, damn it all, but he was drunk and she was still angry at him for it. He was so strong though. Even intoxicated with only one arm around her, he was so much more powerful than she was and she couldn’t break his hold.

  His free hand pulled aside the low collar of her dress, stretching the kirtle and smock until her bare breast slipped out. “Iain!” she squeaked.

  “Have to taste ye,” he mumbled. She tried to cover herself, tried to pull his head away but when he locked onto the peak of her breast, she went limp. A long, heavy sigh signaled her pleasure, like the sound of her resistance deflating.

  He hollowed his cheeks, moaning while lost in his own pleasure, and she moaned with him. She was no naïve virgin susceptible to first-time swoons but Iain knew just how to touch that particular nerve ending—perfectly. Every pull of his lips, every nibble of his teeth and every stroke of his tongue felt like a hard tug on a rope leading deep inside. She didn’t know when her hands came up to hold his head against her, her fingers combing through his messy hair, but she did know that she didn’t want it to end.

  She didn’t stop him when he drew her skirt up to her knees and slid his rough palms underneath. She didn’t resist when he pulled her knees over his hips, his head following her breast as she sat on his thighs. She was even encouraging him when he grabbed her hips and jerked her against his pelvis.

  Oh God, he was hard. Huge. Her pulse throbbed throughout the swelling lips of her pussy. Instinctively, she rubbed herself against him, somehow gaining immense pleasure from feeling his muscled chest and hard thighs against her softer, more yielding flesh.

  If he had wanted it, she would have eagerly spread herself open for him, accepted his weight upon her and let him ride her to a sweaty, wonderful end.

  Therefore, nothing could have surprised her more when his fervent grip on her slackened abruptly. He made a strange sound, like a groan mixed with a sigh. He slipped out of her arms, flopping onto his back.

  For a few seconds, she sat there stunned, straddling his massive erection and half-exposed. Then came the quiet snore with which she was already familiar.

  “The hell?” she panted. He was asleep? “What the freaking hell?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Angry all over again, Emma drove her fist into his chest but he didn’t react beyond a puff of air that burst from his lips. Climbing off him and off the bed, she righted her dress and kicked his shin for good measure. That got more of a reaction, though a small moan wasn’t much better.

  All sorts of unsavory language spewed out as she stood there and fumed. The man had gotten wasted, wouldn’t even admitted to being tanked and then had fallen asleep! What pissed her off the most, though, was that he had passed out only after getting her hot and bothered. She had woven this fantasy around him, one that included her nails marking his flesh as his weight pressed her into the mattress but the reality before her was a man who hadn’t made a pass at her until he was hammered on nine cups of ale. Yes, she had been counting.

  “And then he passes out,” she groaned in frustration. Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath, trying to calm down. When she opened her eyes again, she looked at him lying there on the bed and sighed. Then she noticed that he was still hard and her teeth began to worry her lower lip. As liquored up as he was, he shouldn’t have gotten so hard in the first place and yet there it was—a bulge under his tunic.

  It would be so easy to take a peek.

  With such a gorgeous specimen laid out before her, the temptation was irresistible. Gingerly, she stepped between his knees, quickly glancing at his face to see if he was still sleeping, and slowly sank down.

  Her heartbeat fluttered in her throat. Her cheeks were hot with excitement and she almost wanted to fan herself. Crouched there between his legs and savoring the giddy sensation, she laid her hands just above his knees, palms first and then one finger at a time until both hands held the muscular flesh of his thighs. He was so warm. Sucking on her lower lip, she slid her hands up his legs, gathering the hem of his tunic between her thumbs and forefingers. Then, with one last glance at his face, she lifted the cloth. Her eyes went wide and her lips fell open in a soft gasp.

  His cock was incredibly thick and as long as the distance from the heel of her hand to the tip of her longest finger. The length, she probably could have handled but the width… Her teeth bit hard into her lower lip and her pussy began aching all over again. Her body certainly wanted to see just how much of him she could take.

  She wished she could go further, for her fingers ached to stroke that hard, velvety shaft, to wrap around its breadth and feel it grow even thicker but without him awake and watching her touch him, it wouldn’t be right and wouldn’t mean anything.

  Dropping the hem of his tunic and heaving a sigh, she stood up. He couldn’t remain on his back, so she went about the monumental task of rearranging him. First taking off his shoes, she noticed an odd bump on the inside of his right kneecap. An old injury? It would explain his limp.

  A couple of minutes later, she had him on his side, head tilted up and his position shored by his arms and legs. Just in case, she set a bucket on the floor in front of him. As she cleaned up, she couldn’t help frowning with resentment and disappointment.

  She was no closer to understanding the locket’s purpose in guiding her to Iain than when they had met ten days ago. Had it really been only ten days? She had begun to think—to hope—that she and he had actually been chosen for each other but they didn’t get along well at all. The physical attraction was there. Undeniably. Unequivocally. More often than not, though, one or both of them ended up yelling.

  Finally lying down on the extra bed, she mulled over her first theory again, that Iain was merely a link in a chain of events, someone she was only supposed to meet. Anyone else who met her now would think she was just another woman. Iain and his family knew differently but she had her own clothes now, a basic understanding of how to run a household. She could pass as normal. It wouldn’t be easy to hide her necklace or come up with a good story but maybe it was time to move on.

  Tears welled up just from thinking about it.

  —

  “Serves ye right,” Aili harrumphed. Emma looked up from stirring a fresh pot of stew to glance at Iain. Having just come back inside from the rainy day, no doubt to answer Nature’s insistent call, Iain complained of Aili’s grating voice and how it pierced his brain like a rusty knife. The small bit of water he had drunk last night had apparently done little to stave off a dehydration headache. Aili wasn’t finished scolding him though. “Drinking all that ale, not greeting the day until it is half over… ’Tis irresponsible.”

  “If I agree, will ye close that mouth of yers?” With one hand pressed to the side of his head, Iain looked from Aili to Emma. The annoyance on his face didn’t ease but became something else—regret. It made Emma furious to see it. She continued stirring the pottage, though she didn’t know if anyone was going to be eating it that day. Kenneth and the farmhands also had very late starts, all of them hung over to the point of nausea. Thomas wasn’t even going to come that day too wasted to move.

  Still grinding some cheap spices as if on autopilot, Aili continued unperturbed, “Now that yer lordship has risen, ye might be interested to know that the war party returned just before dawn this morning.” Emma immediately looked to the old woman, mouth open. Why hadn’t she said something earlier? “A few got away but James and his men did well and I hear that the laird is considering making an example of the one ye caught,” the old woman reported. “The man would do better to worry about the bastards still running around.” She then checked her progress and continued grinding.

  “How many is ‘a few’?” Iain asked.

  “How should I know?” Aili said irritably. “I had to hear it from Rachel. No one tells me aught, a poor old woman. Ignored, run over by horses and woken in the dead of night by some fool yelling about MacGre
gors…” Emma met eyes with Iain as Aili rambled on. His gaze flicked briefly to Aili, his lips pressing together, before settling upon her again.

  Emma knew instantly that he wanted to talk to her—just not in front of Aili. He remembered last night after all. She’d be damned if she went anywhere with him though, so she simply looked away. She could imagine the frustration on his face. As always, he tossed some excuse over his shoulder about checking on the animals and stormed out of the house.

  “There’s time enough to talk later,” Aili said, ceasing her mutterings. “I doubt Iain even knows what he wants to say right now.”

  Emma’s jaw fell wide open. “How did you know?”

  “That ye two had a fight? Dear, ’tis as clear as daylight. Iain hardly ever drinks that much.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The one other time I recall him being sick with drink was after his mother and sister passed. For nearly a week, he and Kenneth drowned themselves in ale. The only reason they came out of it was Beth. I may be half-blind but last night, I could see that Iain was about to boil over. Something about ye has him riled.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” Emma said wryly.

  Aili began cackling. “Ye were so quiet this morning. He must’ve boiled over after I left. Keep it up, lassie. It eases my aching bones to see him so sore.” The woman’s shoulders shook as she chuckled, her voice raspy and dry but it was somehow contagious and her lips curled into a sad smile.

  “Aili, thank you so much for everything. I don’t know what—”

  “Child, even if ye were nae a fairy, I would have helped ye. ’Tis my Christian duty and we Scots pride ourselves on hospitality.”

  “I was going to say, I don’t know what I’ll do without you.”

  It took only a second for the meaning to sink in. “Wha—but dear, ye dinna have to leave,” Aili gasped, taken aback. “Whatever it is, it canna be all that bad.” The woman suddenly looked off to the side at an empty space beyond the table. “Ye be quiet! I’ll handle this.” Uncomfortable with Aili’s slipping grasp of reality, Emma couldn’t help backing up a step. The old woman didn’t seem to notice her alarm. “It was true when I said that ye were meant to be here. Things willna be right if ye leave. Is there any way I can entice ye to stay, dearie?”

  “No, nothing you could do at least.”

  A frown weighed down the corners of the old woman’s mouth as she let out a deep breath and solemnly nodded. “I understand. We should talk about where ye can go from here.”

  The old woman kept her company for most of the dreary, gray day—thankfully with no more senile outbursts—but they spent little time talking about chores and recipes and instead discussed the layout of the immediate area, such as neighboring villages and natural landmarks. There were also customs to observe and dangers to avoid. Emma couldn’t say she wasn’t scared at the thought of being on her own again but her relationship with Iain was too volatile. She was more frightened of getting her heart broken than anything else.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t think she was going to avoid that now.

  Emma had expected the others to come for the midday meal as they usually did but only Malcolm stopped by to eat a bowl of pottage and a fistful of bread. He was the kind to shovel food into his mouth but today, he ate cautiously.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked him.

  “Better than this morning,” he said. “May I have some water?” Emma tried to hide the surprise on her face, for it was the first time he had drunk anything besides ale at their table.

  She silently poured the water and didn’t question his preference but that didn’t mean Aili wouldn’t. “The first time the drink fights back is always a hard lesson, boy. One ye’ll not forget.”

  “Aye.” Malcolm looked embarrassed, so Emma changed the subject.

  “What kind of work do you do on a rainy day like this?”

  “We muck out the barn but I couldna today,” Malcolm said. She was confused for a split second before she realized why he couldn’t do it—the smell. It had probably turned his stomach. “Iain and Kenneth told me to watch Beth today while they did it instead.” He frowned as he fed himself another spoonful of soup.

  “Aw, Malcolm, don’t be upset.” She patted his thin shoulder. He likely felt ashamed, like he was somehow less than the other two, especially when they had assigned him as Beth’s playmate for the day. “Iain and Kenneth have had more practice at being drunk and hung over. You’ll feel much better tomorrow and you’ll be able to run circles around those two old men.” Pressing his lips tightly together, he tried to remain stoic and resist her attempt to cheer him up but a crooked smile slowly overpowered the frown on his face.

  “The four of you work so much every day though. Why are there no other boys to help out?” Emma thought it was a simple, trivial question but Malcolm’s smile fell faster than when Aili had scolded him.

  He swallowed his food before gesturing with his spoon toward the southeast. “Ye’ve seen the empty house over there?” Emma nodded at his question. “A family of five used to live there. Also, the house farther west of Kenneth’s…a family of four.” All too quickly, Emma realized where his explanation was going. “We had a farmhand from each. Douglas and Neil.”

  “You don’t have to say it, Malcolm,” she said.

  The adolescent opened his mouth but then quickly shut it, screwing his lips up again. He fidgeted with his spoon, sloshing soup around his bowl. “They were my best friends.”

  “I’m so sorry. I don’t think enough about my questions before I ask them.”

  Malcolm shook his head at her and she was surprised to see a smile on his face. “’Tis all right. Me and Thomas, we still have each other and we have ye now.”

  Emma tried not to think about her impending departure when she returned his smile and patted his shoulder again. She offered to prepare some food for Iain and Kenneth to eat in the barn or at Kenneth’s home but Malcolm said neither of them was interested in food yet. He did take a bowl of pottage and some bread for when Beth woke up from her nap though. Emma hated to think of how upset the little girl would be when her new fairy friend said goodbye. She was a playful, lighthearted child and Emma was going to miss her.

  As the afternoon wore on, the rain grew heavier, accompanied by low, rolling thunder. Malcolm stopped by once more to say that he was going home and Emma insisted he take some food with him, wondering if she would see him one more time before she left. She almost hoped she didn’t.

  Just as Emma was heating up the first bucket of water for her daily bath, Aili took her leave, promising to come in the morning and help her prepare a bag for her journey. Fetching water to heat over the fire was made easy that day by the rain. She only had to set the buckets outside and catch the rainwater. By the time one bucketful was hot, the other one outside was nearly full.

  She was almost done heating a bath for Iain when he finally returned to the house, his entrance announced by a gust of cool, wet rain as the door burst open. His messy, tangled hair was matted to his forehead and neck, his tunic drenched. He didn’t look happy.

  After closing the door behind him, he attempted to wring some of the water out of his hair. He didn’t look at her as he said, “Kenneth and Beth have chosen to eat dinner at their home tonight.”

  Emma could guess why. She continued to brush her damp hair and mentally sighed. It was just as well. “It’ll be a few more minutes until your bath is ready. You’ll find plenty of soup in the other pot there.” She gestured to the vessel sitting on a stone near the fire close enough to keep it warm.

  Iain sighed. “I’ve been soaked all day. I dinna wish to continue in such a state.”

  An angry pout on her face, she resisted the sudden urge to throw her hairbrush at him. After all the trouble she went to! “Malcolm said you cleared the muck from the barn this morning. At least use what’s in the tub to wash your face and hands—with soap,” she amended. “It’s a good thing Aili brought your clean clo
thes today.” She gestured at the fresh tunic sitting on the table.

  “What are ye saying?” He frowned at her, pulling his towel off a line behind the fire and using it to dab at his face. “That my clothes stink of manure?”

  “I’m saying that your clothes are wet through,” she explained, exasperated with him. “You might as well take a hot bath and change into something dry. You can eat while you’re waiting for the last of your bathwater.”

  Tossing his towel to one of the stools near the tub, he—very wisely—refrained from retorting and came to the table. She set out some soup, bread, cheese, ale and a ration of raspberries from the basketful of fruit he had received from the laird. He began his meal as she folded up her hairbrush and squirreled it away in her purse. Then after pouring in the last bucket of hot water, she used a stool as a stepladder to hang a hastily constructed screen from the rafter just in front of the tub. The screen was made of two old pieces of cloth that she joined together with her four safety pins.

  “What’s that?” he asked sullenly. Looking over her shoulder from where she stood on the stool, she saw him sit back from his half-eaten meal.

  “It’s for your privacy. It’s too rainy for me to wander around outside today.” After tying the corner of the sheet around a crude nail jutting out of the rafter, she carefully stepped down and turned toward him. “You’d better get in while it’s still hot.” Something in Iain’s expression was ill at ease, as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t. She had the feeling it was an apology but she didn’t want to hear it.

  Breaking eye contact, he looked down at his food. She noticed his hands were clenched. He stood up abruptly, walking across the house to duck behind the sheet and start his bath.

  Sitting down on the other bench before her knees completely turned into jelly, she looked at the food on the table with no stomach to eat it. All day, she had been practicing how to tell Iain that she would depart in the morning and in her mind, she went over her speech again, hoping that she could coolly and calmly recite it.