“Shhh,” he whispered, his lips delicately caressing her ear. Soft nibbles traveled down her lobe, over her jaw line and down her neck, sending delicious shivers down her spine.
“Stop,” she moaned, though she put no meaning into the word. Her mind screamed betrayal as she said it, but wanted to know why he had left. “Where were you? Why did you leave like that?”
“I needed to make space,” he murmured, his kisses trailing even further down to the neckline of her simple white shift.
Morgana didn’t understand, but her will to converse was quickly dissipating. Streaks of pleasure were lacing through her at every touch of Gregor’s lips, making her body and mind warm and pliable. She didn’t want to think. Didn’t want to worry. She just wanted to give in to her desire for him. Finally letting go, Morgana’s body relaxed into Gregor’s arms.
As she did so, he groaned in pleasure and turned her in his arms, capturing her mouth with his own. Liquid heat gathered between her thighs as her nipples suddenly hardened through the sheer fabric of her simple white night shift. Her body felt hot, needy. As if every part of her desperately needed to be touched, or she’d combust into flames.
Giving in to her desires, Morgana thrust her fingers into Gregor’s hair, and she pulled his lips hungrily down to hers. As she did so Gregor let out a primal growl, and swept her up into his arms. With their lips still locked, he walked her over to the white-sheeted bed and laid her down among the pillows.
As he lay her down, Gregor slid his body temptingly over hers, careful to only apply the sweetest of pressure. His lips came down on hers and kissed her until her mind was reeling and her body was writhing against him. Only then did he rise up on his knees between her legs, take the fabric of her shift, and rip it the entire length of her body from bosom to hem.
Desire coursed strongly through her as she felt the gown tear away from her body, exposing her to his view. As she looked up at him, it was impossible to ignore the sexual need that radiated from his eyes. His gaze raked over her figure greedily, making her shiver every time they lingered on her breasts or her sex.
She wanted him to want her, to desire her the way she had desired him from the moment she had first seen him in the graveyard. Every moment they had shared since then only added fuel to her growing attraction for him, and she didn’t want to deny it any longer.
“Touch me,” she moaned, unable to take his heated gaze anymore. She rose up, a feminine power taking over her, and captured his mouth once more. Her back arched seductively into him, her breasts pressing tightly into his chest. Where the brazenness of her actions was coming from, she didn’t know, but she welcomed the power of it.
Gregor did too, for he moaned and pulled her into his lap, pressing her sex tightly up against his own. Between her legs she could feel his manhood throbbing exquisitely, making her glisten. His rigid shaft pressed from her mons all the way up to her navel, letting her know what was in store. Unable to keep still, her hips began to rock against him.
“Wicked little thing,” he chuckled darkly.
Gregor slid his thumb slowly over Morgana’s lips, and she drew it into her mouth to taste and nibble until he pulled it away. His eyes watched her hotly, as if fascinated with the way she suckled him. When he pulled his thumb away, he only did so to bring it down to her nipple. With a gentle breath, he blew on the taut peak as his wet thumb made small circles over it.
“Oh!” Morgana asked, the sensation sending shivers throughout her body. Unwittingly she arched into his touch, wanting more.
“I can play games too,” he rasped, suddenly pinching the flesh to make her gasp again.
To further prove his point, he pushed her back down into the bed, spread her legs wide, and continued down her body. His hands and mouth traced fire over her abdomen, lapping and caressing until he reached the apex of her thighs. For a second he looked up, grinning wickedly, then his head disappeared to do the unthinkable.
As if licking dew from a flower, Gregor’s tongue twirled around the delicate bud of flesh that rested just above her soft, glistening petals, and drew it into his mouth. His lips and tongue then began to worship the little bead, making her body undulate beneath his ministrations. She gasped at his brazenness, but it quickly turned into a moan.
Gregor’s tongue lapped at her greedily, as if her juices were the fountain of youth. The heated coil in her abdomen was curling tighter, pulsating more and more pleasure through her body until she felt it ready to release something exciting and unknown inside of her. Under his ministrations, Morgana moaned with each breath, unable to keep silent.
Whatever was about to happen to her body, she not only wanted it, but needed it. Control was a thing of the past, and she gave into the carnal desire, her hips rocking, nails clawing at his back. All she wanted to do was feel the explosion that was building inside of her, to let it burn her up and bring her salvation.
“Yes,” she moaned, feeling the coil ready to spring. “Yes, Gregor, yes!”
Suddenly his ministrations stopped, and a voice she had come to dread for over a decade flooded her ears. Pleasure turned to utter horror as Morgana looked down and saw not the Laird, but Sir Fordun, the witch-hunter. His dark, cruel eyes were staring up at her, glittering with a sick, twisted pleasure.
“I knew you were a harlot,” her enemy laughed, rising up only to pin her down by her wrists. His eyes raked down her exposed body and Morgana felt her stomach wrench. Shame filled her as he continued to look at every exposed part of her, and she felt ready to vomit.
“Let go,” she begged.
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” he asked, his eyes lingering on her breasts. “A whore of Babylon, just like your mother.”
“No!” Morgana yelled, twisting violently to get away from him.
“Don’t worry, she’s in a better place now,” he chuckled, his teeth growing long and sharp in his mouth. “You’ll be with her very soon.”
This isn’t real.
Tears began to flood from her eyes.
This can’t be real.
“No, stop. Get away from me! I’ve done nothing wrong!” Morgana fought harder, trying to no avail to get out from beneath him.
“You like the way that man makes you burn?” he asked through gritted teeth, his grip tightening. “Wait until I make you really burn, witch. You’ll never forget it.”
Around them fire suddenly laced up the walls of the room. Flames licked at the wild rushed mattress and ate it quickly, spreading to her body that was now somehow shackled by iron to the bed.
“Only I can make you burn, you little bitch!” he proclaimed again, his voice full of pure hatred. “And by God I will make you burn!”
Morgana awoke from her night terror suddenly, dragging air into her lungs as if she’d been holding her breath. Quickly her eyes roamed over the darkened room in the church, looking for hidden figures. She knew she needed to light the fire, but she was still paralyzed by fear.
Inside her chest, Morgana’s heart hammered erratically. Needing to believe she was awake and alive; she began to feel over her body. Her nightshift wasn’t ripped at all, but it was covered in sweat. Tears of relief trekked down her cheeks as she began to accept it was just a horrible nightmare.
“It wasn’t real,” she whispered, her body trembling with terror. “It wasn’t real.”
Beside her Zeus whimpered softly, his paws kneading at her legs. Feeling him beside her let her know for sure that no one was in room with her, and it calmed her slightly. If Fordun had actually been anywhere near, she had no doubt Zeus would have alerted her.
For several long minutes she simply sat there, trying her best to rein in her fear. When she felt like she could move, Morgana slipped from her cot and worked with the coals in the fire until it roared to life. Blessed light flooded in and she once more took stock of the room. Only when she was certain that no one was hiding in the darkened corners did her mind start to calm.
More tears pricked at her eyes as she re
called the incredible dream that had descended into the hellish nightmare. It had started out so sweet, so perfect. But Fordun could never let her have happiness, not even in her dreams. Hatred for the man poured through her like molten iron, hardening her insides.
Gregor was the first man in her life she ever felt these feelings for. Aside from her father, he was also the only that ever offered her protection; that had truly been kind to her, but had suddenly gone cold.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she forced herself to remember and separate them–the man she yearned for–and the man she hated. Her mind and heart fought back and forth, battling the reality with the fear. Fordun was nowhere near. Gregor would come back, if only to explain. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she had to be patient if she wanted answers.
In moments like this, Morgana wished she were a real witch. If she had the powers Fordun accused her of, she would stop at nothing to make sure the Devil himself would drag that demon spawn parading as a holy man back down to the depths of hell where he came from.
“He’s not here,” she whispered to herself, trying to calm her mind. She had to believe it was true. In fact, he had no idea where she was. She had made certain of that when she had created a false trail heading south. His power had no control of her anymore, and she wanted to be free. Try as she might though, Morgana couldn’t convince herself it was true.
For several minutes she simply repeated the words to herself over and over again, letting them sink in but sleep was beyond her now. So, she decided to put her focus into making a new batch of medicine. It was clear to her there was no hope of returning to Gregor’s sweet touches and kisses. The least she could do was be productive with her time.
“Look at you,” Morgana cooed the next morning. She had travelled early to the village to care for the last of the patients- children who were the worst afflicted. She brought a cool washcloth over the four-year-old girl’s forehead, wiping away the last of the fever.
“You’re almost better! I’m so proud of you.” The angelic little girl smiled up at her in awe, and it filled Morgana’s heart with joy.
When the Laird of Henwen and his men had found the dead bear carcass in the fork between the river and one of the village’s streams a week and a half ago it had changed things entirely. While some guards brought back wagonloads of water barrels to the village, others worked to remove the bear from the water. With the fresh water, most were able to regain their health quickly.
Except for Caitlyn. Nearly a week ago her mother Erica had noticed that her youngest of four was not acting like the rest. Unlike the other children that had gotten sick, Caitlyn hadn’t cried over her discomfort at all. Instead she merely told her mother of a pain in her leg before suddenly falling into a deep sleep.
Erica didn’t wait for Morgana to arrive, but instead lifted the beautiful little girl with blonde curls and honey brown eyes and brought her straight to her. When she found her she begged Morgana to look at her, and she obliged immediately.
It only took a quick examination to find that a cut on the girl’s back calf that was quite infected. Morgana had handed over her supplies to Tily, who was now back to her old self, and took the little girl back to the church. Erica, a widow from the war, had to return to her home to care for her other three children, and begged Morgana to save her daughter.
Morgana had crushed up some dried mushrooms and brewed them into a tea for the girl’s fever and infection, and fed it to her by dipping a cloth into the brew and dabbing between the child’s lips. When she was sure she had taken enough Morgana prepared for the surgery.
Infection at this stage had to removed, and could not be cured with just an herbal remedy. It had been meticulous work, but she had been able to do it successfully. Afterwards she cleansed the cut with an herbal wash and bound it with clean cloths. By the time she was done, Caitlyn’s fever had already started to go down. Now, she was all but back to health.
“Thank you for taking care of me, me lady,” The little girl replied sweetly. “Will Mam be coming to get me today?”
Morgana smiled. “I think so my darling,” she replied, brushing a wild blonde curl from the little one’s face. “Your mother tells me your brothers and sister are doing much better now. I bet they are all incredibly excited to see you!”
The girl had been a wonderful patient, and if she was honest she was a little sad to see her go. Once she had been strong enough to sit up, she had even asked to help Morgana, and had taken to tearing leaves off of stalks to do so. But it was obvious that she missed her mother, and wanted to return to her as soon as possible. Still at times mourning for her own mother, Morgana understood Caitlyn’s sorrow all too well, and sympathized with her.
From the back room where she and the girl had been resting, they both heard the large doors of the church open and close.
“I think that might be her now,” Morgana smiled, feeding off Caitlyn’s excitement. “Why don’t you wait here and I’ll go get her?” Smiling from ear to ear, the girl nodded.
Morgana was not sure to what to do or say when she found the Laird of Henwen standing there, and not Erica. Visions of the sweet part of her dream popped into her head, and she tried not blush. It had been two weeks since the night he had kissed her. Two weeks since he had come to see her or try to speak to her about it. A mixture of anger and relief welled up in her as she looked once more at his dark handsome features and impressive stature.
The way he was looking at her made her knees feel wobbly, and she wished she didn’t feel that now familiar stir of arousal rise in her belly when she looked at him. It was so frustrating that it made her want to slap him and kiss him at the same time. Haughtily, Morgana tossed her hair over her shoulder and lifted her chin.
“My Laird,” she greeted stiffly, not coming any closer to him.
She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw twitched.
“I’ve asked ye several times to call me Gregor,” he replied.
“I don’t think that would be appropriate,” she responded primly. Needing something to do, she went to her worktable and started moving herbs about to seem busy.
“Morgana, please,” he implored, walking over to her. “I can explain. I can–”
“You don’t have to do anything,” she cut him off. “Nor do you have to explain anything. Of all people who understand how heartache works, it’s me.”
For the first time since they’d met an awkward silence stretched between them. Morgana was intuitive, and it hadn’t taken her long at all to realize why the man had run so quickly from her that night. From what Tily had told her, Gregor had sworn off marriage and love after the Lady Isabel had passed. He mourned her, missed her. She had realized that. But what Morgana hadn’t realized was just how much she would miss him.
Every day he had been gone she found herself looking for him. Whether it was while she was passing from home to home delivering medicines or late at night working on the new batches of medicine. Every time she heard the sound of footsteps her heart had leapt and her eyes would move toward the door. Now here he was, and she had no idea what to do other than keep him at a distance.
“Thank you for all you’ve done,” she sniffed, unable to look at him. “With the pollutant out of the water I was able to get the village back on their feet in no time. Now that everyone is better though, Zeus and I will be returning home.”
“Morgana, wait,” he urged. “Don’t go. Ye’ve done so much good for me people. We all want ye to stay.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she responded stiffly. “Bad things happen when I spend too much time among the people. It’s best I go back to the wood. Anyone is more than welcome to visit me for remedies when they need them.”
Gregor’s fist suddenly came down on the table with a bang, making her jump. “God’s teeth, lass! Would ye stop? I need to tell ye things!”
“Then tell them!” she shot back, not backing down from his temper.
“I…I, och, bloody hell,” Gregor cursed.
Suddenly he grabbed her arms and pulled her into a hard, passionate kiss. Morgana struggled at first, her fists pushing at his chest as she writhed to break her lips from his. But when his hands moved from her arms down to her waist, drawing her into his warm, delicious embrace, she felt her body melt for him again and gave in to the kiss.
Wanting more, Morgana laced her arms around Gregor’s neck and parted her lips for him. She wanted to feel him kiss her like he had in her dream the night before, with their tongues entwined. Gregor groaned as she did so and quickly obliged, his taste reminding her of spiced mead. Liquid heat poured from her lower belly and splashed over her thighs as the kiss deepened quickly.
Also between her thighs and impossible to ignore was the hard, thick length of Gregor’s manhood pressing into her. The feel of it throbbing so close to her flower made her entire body tremble with desire. Her steeliness toward him quickly vanished, and she moaned softly.
Lusting for the Highlander: A Steamy Scottish Historical Romance Novel Page 9