A Gift of Myrrh

by Jodi Lynn Copeland

  He said it so matter-of-factly for a long moment she could only blink, and then she put all her strength into being free. She pounded at his chest and kicked his shins, but he gave no quarter, merely held her within his grasp as if she were nothing more than a helpless puppet. “Have you gone completely mad then?” she asked breathlessly.

  “Tell me you don’t want that, darling. Tell me you don’t want this.”

  This? What was this?

  His intention registered the same moment that his mouth slammed over hers. He drew her tight against him, the hard muscular wall of his chest a solid strength against her. A warmth and comfort she yearned to sink into. Only she could not. She would not. She was a lady, not some strumpet to be made into a man’s plaything.

  Even if that man did kiss so expertly he made her forget her name. His forceful tongue spilled into her mouth, swirling and dipping, violating her in the most pleasurable way imaginable. She fought the urge to kiss him back, to glide her tongue over the coarseness of his and feast upon his masculine flavor. But when his hand slid from her arm to pull her hair free of the bun she’d secured it in, she lost the fight.

  His fingers drove through her tresses, winding in their length, tugging gently, yet in a way that shot straight to her womb. Her blood boiled with raw need, her thighs trembled, and a low cry of ecstasy broke from her lips.

  He moved his mouth to her neck and grazed his teeth over the sensitive flesh. She shivered with the delightful sensations swirling through her body, whimpering when his teasing nips turned to nearly painful bites. His mouth went even lower and his tongue dipped beneath the edge of her garments to caress the farthest reach of her breasts. She wanted him to go farther, ached to feel his tongue foraging on her nipples, on her belly, on the swollen, damp folds of flesh between her thighs.

  As if he knew where she longed to be touched, he let free his hold on her arm and slid his hand down her skirts to press against her aching mound. Through the many layers, his touch was restrained and still she could feel it. Wanted to feel it more completely. Without the layers, without anything between them at all. Skin on skin. Body on body. Hardness to softness.

  “You wish to feel my hands upon your flesh, don’t you, Kristiana? To feel my tongue dipping into your slippery pussy. My cock buried deeply inside you?” Tavish questioned between plying her chest with damp and biting kisses.

  “Aye…” she breathed, her voice strained as the press of his palm came ever harder against her throbbing sex. He was pushing her back to that edge, the edge of climax he had brought her to several times since his arrival, and this time she did not wish to stop him. “I want that¼so badly. Make me explode, Tavish.”

  “Here?”

  She registered his astonishment, before she closed her eyes and ground her hips against him. She moaned at the feel of his impressive erection sliding along her cleft, tickling the nub buried beneath too many layers. “Aye. Here. I can’t wait any longer.”

  He pulled back slightly and lifted his thumb against her mound, petting her inflamed center though her gown. She wanted his hands beneath the material, but couldn’t find her voice to say so. He increased the pressure of his thumb, dipping harder and faster, slicing through her cleft as if nothing but air separated them. His other hand went to her bottom and caught her up in a hard grip.

  Instinctively she bucked against his palm, needing more, yet already feeling so much. Blood roared through her ears and her heart took off as he worked his hand between her butt cheeks to roughly grasp and squeeze one in his hand. He caught her neck in his teeth and nibbled ravenously, and any strength that still remained in her legs gave way. She was so close to falling over the edge, so close to feeling the rush of orgasm rippling through her body. One touch of his hands on her slippery sex and she would be gone.

  She searched for her voice. “I¼I want¼“

  “Yes, what do you want, darling?”

  “¼you to touch me.”

  His laugh was rough, erratic, as if he struggled to hold himself back. “I am.”

  “Nay. Touch me for real.”

  “Kristiana—”

  “Do it!” she demanded, balling her skirts in her hand and lifting them ever higher.

  The hand at her backside fell away and Tavish did as she asked, grabbing her skirts up in a flourish until all that covered her was a thin layer of cotton. With an audible groan, he parted the slit in the center of her undergarments and finally his thumb was upon her mound. She arched up as it coasted over the rim of her swollen lips, daring him to bury it into her center with her helpless, erotic mewls. And then he did enter her, just far enough to rub along the sensitive nub that shuddered for release.

  “Oh, aye,” she sighed loudly, as he strummed the rough pad of his finger against the swollen bud. Tremors shook through her body, and he gathered her ever closer in his arms, growling as he once more claimed her neck in a bruising kiss.

  His fondling grew to a furious pace that mimicked the onslaught of shivers crashing through Kristiana’s body. Her insides felt like liquid honey, heated beyond the boiling point—then they passed that point—bursting into a tumultuous explosion. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung for dear life, as the orgasm tore through her, drenching her undergarments, her thighs, and his hand with the sticky juices of her arousal.

  He held her in his embrace another few seconds then he removed his thumb from her slit to bring it to his lips. Her breath snagged as he pulled it into his mouth and slowly suckled away the juices that cloaked it. His dark gaze registered every bit of the lust he felt, the same lust that still ate at her, making her yearn for more.

  “You taste exquisite, my lady. I shall count the minutes until my tongue is inside you, licking at the folds of your cunt, suckling at your clit until your come flows freely.”

  She gasped at his brash words, and he silenced her with his mouth. For an instant the kiss was forceful, demanding and full of promise, and then it slowed to a chaste meeting of lips and he released her.

  Tavish grinned, his smile so broad he looked as though he had just captured the greatest of prizes. “We’ve reached an agreement then?”

  Kristiana was breathless, her body afire with rekindled need, and in that moment, as judgment dawned, realized she was also a senseless ninny. And he had in fact captured himself a prize. Or rather he could have, had he chosen to do so. She had played the part of the whore, had all but begged him to throw her back on the snow and have his way with her for anyone to see.

  Jesu! She had wanted him to take her virtue.

  Disgusted with her behavior, she narrowed her gaze and stepped backward, putting distance between them as she spoke from between gritted teeth. “Nay. ‘Twas a horrible mistake what we did. One that will never be repeated. I lied about wanting you. I don’t. I won’t. And I would rather be hanged than be your mistress.”

  And then she ran. For as much as running was cowardly, it appeared the only way to escape the desires of the devil and worse, far worse, her own wicked will to give in.

  Chapter Four

  The hollow cry of a beast shook Castle Wynderon. Her heart slamming wildly in her chest, Kristiana bolted upright in bed. She’d never been a heavy sleeper, but even if she had been, the terror in the animal’s shriek would have woken her.

  The sound was gone and still she fought a shiver. There were few wolves around this part of the Highlands, and even if the sound had been made by a pack animal, it seemed unlikely it would have echoed through the thick stone of the castle walls. Whatever the source of the wail, it appeared to have passed.

  On a deep sigh, she lay back. The odds that sleep would claim her again were slim. Four days ago she would have spent the remainder of the night perched on the parapet, awaiting the rise of the morrow. No longer would she make that trip, knowing her space might already be occupied by another. Especially not after today.

  She’d acted such a fool, the strumpet Tavish claimed her to be. If she were to find him upon the stone wall
tonight, with nothing but a coverlet cloaking the hard ridges of his flesh, his fine masculinity erect and glistening in the moonlight, she would assuredly throw herself at him all over again.

  Aye, what a ninny.

  A low cry broke Kristiana from her thoughts. Once more she shivered. The wail was deep, fierce, and far too near to be coming from outside. No wolf, but what then…

  Of course, the dog.

  Tavish’s staff had arrived just before the evening meal. A mixed group of men and women ranging from Scottish to British to an old man returned from the colonies. Along with them they’d brought their master’s hound, a hulk of an animal whose black eyes and large, honed body resembled its owner’s to chilling perfection. Aye, the mongrel hound. Surely that’s what howled into the night.

  But why did he sound so pained? Almost as if he were being tortured.

  What if the animal were lost in the winding maze of passageways? Or worse, had managed to trap itself in an empty room? The dog might not be the most affectionate of animals, but it would be heartless of her to leave it there to bawl.

  One pass through the castle, Kristiana promised as she slipped from the bed and pulled on her robe. It would only take a short while and was a far better way to spend her time than staring into the dark, trying not to think about the devil of a man who turned her insides to liquid fire and her brain to a puddle of mush.

  After lighting the candelabra she kept near her bedside, she slipped from the bedchamber and made her way down the drafty hall, waiting for the sound to come again. She’d walked the entire second floor and had made it back to her chamber door when a bellow loud enough to wake the dead lit the night.

  Heart hammering with the unexpected wail, she rushed in the direction of the sound. Once more it came, lower but still so anguished. It carried on the air, guiding her to the last place she wanted to be. Tavish’s bedchamber.

  She stopped short and scowled. If the dog was in there, he was fine.

  But the roar the animal released an instant later did not sound fine. It sounded frightened, terrified even. Without another thought, she pushed open the large wooden door and peered inside.

  Moonlight spilled through the north facing window, streaking across the massive four-poster bed. She held her breath, afraid to look any higher than the foot of the bed for fear every inch of Tavish’s hard, muscled flesh would be visible.

  On an indrawn breath, she lifted her gaze.

  He was not naked, rather wore buckskin knee breeches. The portions of his wide chest visible to the night were bared, but that isn’t what caused her to gasp. It was the lower part of his left leg that brought the sound into her throat. The flesh was marred with long gashes, raised in some spots, bumpy and rigid in others. She was across the room and touching the old wounds before she could stop herself.

  Up close, in the candlelight, the scars were far uglier. A mixture of burn marks and jagged lacerations that made her belly heave with joint forces of sorrow for the man asleep and revulsion for the man responsible for his pain.

  Who had done this to him and why?

  Perhaps his reputation as a blackguard had caught up with him. A jealous husband had sought revenge after finding him in his wife’s bed.

  Nay. As much as Kristiana might have mixed feelings for the man, she did not believe him the type to dally with a married woman. So then what? Was war to blame for his disfigurement? And were there scars elsewhere?

  Her curiosity too great to ignore, she moved to the head of the bed and lifted the candelabra higher. Once more she gasped. This time the sound was not due to old wounds. Nary a mark grazed his flesh, nothing more than a gentle dusting of dark, crisp hair lined the broad expanse of muscled sinew. Though he’d worn nothing at all the night they’d met on the parapet, she’d been too shocked by his presence, his demands, to take a worthy look at his body. Now she could not pull her gaze away.

  The wide berth of his upper body dipped to a narrow waist. His breeches fit snugly over his thighs and his immense masculinity pressed so fiercely against the buckskin, she couldn’t help but wonder how he managed to keep it contained during the day.

  The feral sound that had brought her to his chamber rang through her ears. She snapped her gaze to his face as she realized the source of the noise.

  It was he. Not his hound, but the man himself.

  As the sound grew more caustic, his dark head thrashed against the pillows. His expression drew into one of suffering, his brow knit heavily and his lips pressed into a fine line. Though she’d thought nothing of it before, she realized now he wore no covers. The tail end of the bedclothes was wrapped around his neck.

  Holy Mother, he was choking to death!

  “Tavish.” Her voice came out a shaky whisper she knew would never pull him from sleep. Slumber that would become permanent did she not do something soon. She tried again, louder. “Tavish! You must wake up.”

  His helpless wails ceased as did his thrashing, and he was silent. Too silent.

  Kristiana’s heart crashed against her ribs as the ramification of his stillness sank in. She could not let him die. He was their laird, their savior! The devil who dared to make her want things she shouldn’t.

  Aware she needed the candelabra’s light to see by, she quickly placed it on the table near the bed. Drawing on her courage, she threw herself over him.

  “Tavish!” she cried, shaking his shoulders in a desperate attempt to frighten life back into him. “Wake up, damn it! You will not die!”

  Still he made no sound.

  Bloody hell, what was she to do?

  Could she possibly work the bedclothes from his neck? She had to try. Curling her fingers beneath the cool linen, she attempted to pry it from his heated flesh. Her hand stilled and she drew in a hasty breath when she felt his erratic pulse.

  Thank God, he was not dead. Yet.

  Damnation! She had to get the infernal bedclothes off his neck. Using the haphazard grasp she managed to attain, she jerked at the linen again and again, but the bedding stayed firm, corded around his throat. Suffocating him.

  What? What to do?

  She lifted her head and searched his closed eyes for an answer. If only she could wake him, he could remove the murdering bedclothes himself. But how…

  Her gaze fell to the hard, compressed lines of his mouth and the answer that came to her stilled the air in her throat. Nay. She couldn’t. What if he thought—

  His hollow cry of misery cut her off and she knew she was out of options. If it were her only chance, she must do it. Sliding her legs down to straddle his middle, she drew a steadying breath then lowered to his lips.

  Just one kiss. If that didn’t work…It would work. It had to.

  * * * * *

  The bloody battle scene before Tavish’s eyes faded to a haze of red and black. He couldn’t make out his surroundings, but he felt safe, secure here. That the battle had passed. No more pain, no more suffering. Only the quiet of peace.

  A softness pressed over his body, warmth splintered through his limbs. The faint smell of a lady’s perfume stimulated his senses. And the pressure on his lips…soft, wet. And was that a tongue? A kitten’s tongue perhaps, lapping at him like some fine cream?

  “Mmm…”

  The throaty feminine murmur sent the fog that had settled over Tavish’s brain scurrying away, and all at once he realized this was no dream. This was really happening. He knew this taste, this sweet flavor mingled with the enticing taste of sin. A kitten for sure. A wanton sex kitten who worked magic on his mind and body.

  Lady Kristiana. She’d come to him.

  After she had run away from him, that look of abject horror spoiling her lovely face, he’d had second thoughts about making her his mistress. But as she lay over him now, licking and sucking so fervently at his mouth, those misgivings vanished.

  He lifted his head far enough to remove the bedclothes that had once again found their way around his neck, and then slid his hands over the slimness of her back. H
e tugged her lush curves to him as he took over the wild kiss she’d begun.

  Plunging his tongue past her parted lips, he drank of her flavor, of the heat she so willingly offered. Continuing the duel, imbibing in the recesses of her mouth, he slid his hands beneath her robe to cup the plumpness of her ass. She wriggled against him, panting into his mouth when he gripped her buttocks more firmly, parting the cheeks with his grip. His cock pulsed in response, the buckskin that cloaked it painfully tight.

  He dared not free his tumescent penis yet, for he wanted to sink into Kristiana’s luscious, young body far too much. Once they were skin to heated skin, the taut control he struggled to hold in check would snap. He wouldn’t fuck her so hastily this first time. Not when there would be endless opportunities to do so in the future.

  Tavish broke free of her mouth to nuzzle at her neck. He nipped and bit at the sensitive skin, each of her throaty whimpers bringing as much pain as pleasure to his heavily confined shaft. Needing to take the added weight of her body from his erection, he rolled them until she lay on the bed beneath him. Once more he claimed her neck, biting her flesh almost cruelly as he caught the thin material of her nightdress in his hands and worked it upward. Her frantic huffs and puffs ceased for an instant when he uncovered her naked mound. Then they came louder, her hands drawing up from the bed to tangle in his thick hair. She urged him on with barely audible whispers of desire.