by Diana Cosby
“Will you dream of me?” she asked in a sultry whisper.
“Nightmares, to be sure,” he said, the brusqueness in his voice lost beneath a strained groan. He scowled. “I havena figured out why you intrigue me.”
“I do?” she asked, pleased.
“Aye,” he said on an exasperated exhale, his expression growing tender. “You are unlike any woman I have ever met.”
She shifted closer so her breasts slid across his chest. “How so?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Do you plan on badgering me all night?”
Her gaze lowered to where the mat of hair disappeared beneath his trews, the thought of him thrusting her warmth shooting thrills through her body. “If you dinna feel like talking, you could kiss me. Or,” she said at his pained look, “you could answer my question.”
“Will you go to sleep after?”
“After what, the kiss or your answer?”
He muttered a curse.
Enjoying their banter, she pressed her lips against his neck and nibbled her way down. “That isna an answer,” she purred, relishing the salty-sweet taste of him.
“And that,” he said, releasing her and shifting to his side, “isna listening.”
At the movement, firelight illuminated a Celtic cross design on his opposite shoulder. Pigments of pewter gray and black ink crafted the symbol with jade stones at the end of each tip.
Curled around the upper cross was an emerald dragon of the finest quality she’d ever seen, the wings wrapped around its body like a royal cape, as the head lay resting upon the center of the cross.
His brows narrowed. “What?”
Intrigued, she sat up. “Never have I seen such fine work, or a dragon paired with the church’s most powerful symbol.”
“’Twas done years ago.”
“Where?”
“Far away.”
Undeterred by his vague answer or lack of interest, Gwendolyn leaned closer.
“What are you doing?” he snapped.
She glanced to where her breast grazed his chest, and if she leaned but a whisper closer, her lips would be on his. “I wanted to get a closer look.”
A hard frown edged across his mouth.
Breathless, she forced her gaze to his shoulder.
Without warning, her husband caught her arms. “God’s sword, lie down!”
“If I do, I will find myself distracted,” she said, remembering their discussion of moments before. “Is one simple kiss too little to ask?”
He released a frustrated sigh. “Then will you go to sleep?”
“Aye, but this time, you have to kiss me back.”
He shot her a dark scowl. “I should ignore your request.”
“But you willna,” she said, empowered that he hadn’t set her away.
“Nay.”
Without warning, he shifted, rolling her beneath his powerful body, his hard length pressed against her thigh. The fierceness of his expression delighted her.
“You demand much,” he softly warned, “when I have stated my intent.”
Far from intimidated, she arched against him, savored the intimate pressure and how his eyes narrowed with a combination of frustration and lust. “Then there is naught to be worried about in our going too far.”
“Fine, then,” Bróccín hissed. On an oath, his mouth skimmed across her lips, teasing, moving with soft seduction until she moaned. He lifted his head, held her gaze, his own intense. “Say you want me.”
Blood pounding hot, excited by his assenting, what she wanted him to do to her this night screaming through her mind, Gwendolyn angled her head to give him greater access. “Aye,” she rasped, “I want you.”
His mouth covered hers, slow, savoring, as his tongue tangled with hers. As if a prayer answered, his hand cupped her breast and then stroked her nipple until she shuddered.
Like a man possessed, he edged down, took her nipple between his lips, suckled.
Her body on fire, on a moan she tried to rub against his hardness, but he rolled to her side and drew her firmly against him. “What are you doing?”
“You asked for a kiss but you didna say where. ’Tis done. Now go to sleep.”
Stunned, she stared at him with anguished need. “You canna kiss me like that and then stop.”
“I can and I did.” He grunted. “At least we will both suffer this night.”
Chapter 11
A shiver swept through Aiden. Wrapped within the tangles of erotic dreams, he reached for the covers. His arm brushed warm flesh.
Through the groggy haze, he forced his eyes open.
Gwendolyn lay against him, her gentle breath feathering his chest.
The muffled roar of the falls sounded in the distance as he struggled against the rightness of this moment, of how natural it felt having her cradled in his arms. Contentment settled in his chest, a peaceful serenity he’d never experienced before. ’Twas like coming home, finding peace, and being wrapped within the miracle of such, of belonging.
He sucked in a deep breath. ’Twas wrong to think of her in any regard other than that of duty. God’s sword, last night hadn’t he weighed every reason why allowing her close, in any way, was wrong?
On a soft exhale, she shifted and rested her cheek in the crook of his neck.
Heat shot straight to his loins. Her moan of ecstasy as he’d taken her over the edge last night stormed his mind. ’Twould be effortless to awaken her with a kiss, touch her until she arched against him, and then bury himself deep inside her.
On a hard swallow, Aiden eased her head onto the blanket. However tempted, he wouldn’t be foolish enough to tread down that dangerous, sensual path.
Last night’s teasing her had left a heavy price. For hours he’d feigned sleep, each one enticing him to awaken her to make love.
Within the shimmer of firelight, her thick lashes flickered and then stilled.
An ache built in his chest as he watched her, savoring this unguarded moment before she awoke.
On a quiet sigh, Gwendolyn’s lids lifted. Gray sleep-laden eyes met his. Confusion, then a slow smile curved her lips. “Good morning, Bróccín.”
Bróccín. Aiden’s gut wrenched. “Good morning.” With a scowl, he shoved to his feet, dragged on his garb, and then crossed the cavern. He tossed several pieces of wood atop the waning fire, damning his foolish thoughts. “While you break your fast,” he growled, “I will look to see if the duke’s men have departed.”
Silence.
He glanced back.
Confusion and hurt darkened her gaze.
Aiden took a step toward her. On a muttered curse, he turned and strode into the tunnel. Several paces down the passageway, he leaned against the damp, timeworn stone. He dragged in a deep breath, the cool scent of water and earth far from smothering the burn of desire.
God’s teeth, they couldn’t remain here. Last night had been torment, pure and simple. Wanting her, yet not succumbing to her seduction was tearing him apart.
Aiden pushed from the wall and headed toward the exit. Sunlight drenched him as he pushed aside the disguised entry and then crawled to where he had a clear sight to the side of the falls. He scoured the surroundings.
Naught.
Far from convinced that the entire English force had departed, he crept to the other side of the hillock.
A movement at his side had him glancing over. Gwendolyn. A muscle worked in his jaw as she halted beside him.
“I see nay one,” she mouthed.
He worked his way to a higher position, her on his heels, the rumble of water softer now. He paused. “Nor I, but I suspect the duke has left a few of his knights behind to continue their search. Before we go, I need to locate the positions of the remaining guards.”
“I will accompany you.”
He shook h
is head. “’Tis too dangerous. Stay inside the cave until I return.”
Gray eyes narrowed. “And you decide this because…”
“As your husband ’tis my right,” he stated, finding her outrage preferable to the tenderness that made him want.
Her brows narrowed. “When you go, I will be by your side.”
Blast her! “You willna defy me.”
“Outnumbered and given my skills with a knife and a sword, one would think you would welcome my accompaniment.” She angled her chin. “Nor will I remain.”
He clenched his fingers, unsure if it was with the need to strangle her for her stubbornness or to pull her against him and kiss her.
Shaken by fierce desire slamming through him, too aware of how at this precise moment he was on dangerous ground, Aiden leaned toward her with a fierce scowl. “You will accompany me. If for naught else, to save the time ’twould take to return for you.”
“How noble,” she said, her voice dry.
Jaw tight, he moved back, aware if she touched him now, asked him to make love, he would likely be unable to deny the blaze burning between them.
“I will retrieve the few supplies we will need.” Gwendolyn stormed off.
Aiden rubbed the back of his neck. That had gone blasted well. Aye, her temper should help keep his mind on his mission, where it should have remained from the start.
A short while later, she returned.
The rumble of water roared around them as they slipped into the dense cover. Aiden held up his hand. Alone, he crept to the ledge above, peered through the clutter of brush, rocks, and grass.
A small contingent of men was camped on the opposite side of the clearing.
Aiden climbed down to where Gwendolyn was hidden.
“Did you see anyone?”
“Aye. They are some way back from the falls, the reason we didna spot them from below.”
Gwendolyn’s face paled. “We must find a way past them and reach Lord Comyn.”
“’Tis too dangerous to chance our course now. For now, ’tis safest to continue southeast and follow the river.”
After a brief hesitation, she nodded.
The tension in his body eased a bit. “If you see anything as we travel, tell me.” After glancing at the morning sun to get his bearings, he started down the incline. As before, he kept to the rocks whenever possible.
Masculine voices sounded ahead.
Aiden waved her to follow him behind a dense fir. Squatting, he caught his breath as he parted the needled boughs. Ahead, a sizable force was riding along the bank.
“They are too close to the river for us to sneak past,” Gwendolyn whispered.
“Aye. We must go inland and then farther south.” A move that would suit his plans even better.
“But we overheard the duke’s man say King Robert’s camp isna far.”
“Trust me, all will be well.” For the Bruce, aye. As for Gwendolyn’s attitude toward him once she learned the truth, that was another matter.
Though her eyes had darkened with worry, she nodded. “I trust you with my life.”
Guilt welled within him. However much he despised the thought of breaking her faith in him, of never seeing her again, he would find comfort in knowing the Bruce would ensure that she was well cared for.
Before he muddled his mind further with dangerous thoughts of her, Aiden refocused on their escape.
A warm breeze rustled the leaves overhead at midday as he halted beneath an overhang of rock shielded by trees. “We will rest here to eat. Though we havena seen English troops since this morning, we must be careful.”
* * * *
Stifling a groan at her sore muscles, Gwendolyn settled on a smooth stone, appreciating the sun’s warmth. She unpacked a loaf of bread and cheese, sliced off a wedge of each, and then handed him both. After taking a portion for herself, she stowed the fare.
Clouds slid over the sun, enshrouding the earth within a murky gloom.
She grimaced against the doubts creeping through her resolve. Was the loss of her father, as Latharn Castle, the death knell of the way of life she loved?
Gwendolyn glanced at Bróccín. Hope blossomed, and a small smile creased her lips. No, all hadn’t gone awry. In the mayhem, he had promised to reclaim her home. How he’d tried to dismiss her help this morning smothered the warmth, a potent reminder of how little she knew about him.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She took a bite of bread layered with cheese, swallowed. “After wanting me to hide within the cave like a foolish lass, I find it odd you would think me capable of thought.”
Green eyes narrowed. “My intention was to keep you safe. When I tell you to do something, I expect you to obey.”
She stiffened. “I am not one of your men to order about.”
“Nay,” Bróccín said, his gaze sliding along her curves, lingering before lifting to again meet hers. He gave a rough breath with a decidedly disgruntled male look. “That you are not.”
The appreciation in his voice caught her off guard, more so the tinge of regret. Confused, she watched his throat work as he swallowed a bite of bread. Memories of last night, of how she’d shuddered beneath his touch, returned tenfold.
Aye, he wanted her, but after their confrontation this morning, ’twould seem his logic did not extend beyond intimacy. How had she misjudged him to such a degree?
Or had she?
The cold warrior this morning was the arrogant earl she had first met
So, who was the man last night, the one who had left her body burning with need, the one who, if he hadn’t stepped away, she would have given herself to without hesitation?
Nay, they were one and the same. Between her unwanted marriage, her home being seized by the English, and with them desperate to reach Lord Comyn, ’twas her mind that had twisted her thoughts into believing more existed between them.
A rueful laugh threatened to escape her. If naught else, their desire for the other put them on an even plane. Despite their situation, her body still responded to his potent masculinity.
Gwendolyn again searched their surroundings. Though most of the duke’s contingent had moved on, she and Bróccín were still in danger. Neither had a night’s sleep given either of them the rest they needed.
She grimaced. A night’s sleep? Far from it. She’d dozed a bit. After he’d taken her over the edge with his touch, and with the memories of how right his body had felt pressed intimately against her, how could she have slept?
“With the Bruce raising forces to overwhelm Lord Comyn,” she asked, shifting the topic to safer ground, “do you think Scotland will ever find peace?”
Her husband wiped his hands, lifted the water pouch. “’Tis a possibility.”
Mayhap, but she heard the tension in his voice. Like her, he had doubts.
He took a long drink, then offered her the pouch.
“Nay, I have drunk enough.” A slow pounding started in her head. She closed her eyes and focused on the sun’s warmth falling across her face. Her thoughts wandered back to soothing memories of walks along the beach, of listening to the waves tumble ashore. How she yearned to feel the slide of sand between her toes, to run into an oncoming swell and dive beneath, and, if only for a moment, to lose herself within the rolls of white.
“Come,” her husband said, severing her thoughts, his voice sharp, “’tis time to go. The clouds grow dark; a storm is coming.”
With regret and slight resignation, she stood, reminding herself of all that was at stake.
* * * *
Rain pelted Aiden, and he pushed branches aside to allow Gwendolyn to pass, as he had for the last several hours. “I intended to travel farther before we stopped for the night,” he said over his shoulder, “but we must find cover before it grows dark.”
“If o
nly the English hadna blocked our path,” she said, a little breathless as she followed, “we wouldna have had to go even farther south before turning east to follow the river.”
Nor had that been their only brush with the enemy as they’d traveled. Several times, they’d spotted small contingents of English knights, their aggressive search in the foul weather a testament to the duke’s determination to catch them before they reached Lord Comyn.
Another gust of wind howled through the trees. Rain stinging his skin, Aiden glanced back, proud of how she had followed without complaint.
Blond hair clung to her wet face and smears of dirt shadowed the dark circles beneath her eyes. Mouth tight, she pushed on. However strong she tried to appear, he’d seen her stumble earlier, and tiredness was reflected in her eyes. He wouldn’t push her much farther.
As he reached the next brae, the pounding water of the swollen river surged past. He searched the bank for a safe crossing, scowled.
The raging water collided against the lash of grass and rocks as it hauled limbs and small trees within the strangled rush.
Wiping her brow, she glanced at him. “I see no place to safely cross.”
“Nor I. We will find something ahead.” Frustrated, he started down the incline, half-slipping with each step. “Take care,” he called back, “’tis treacherous.”
The cool slap of rain filled the air as they followed the bank. Around the next curve, he halted.
White water churned around rocks and slammed against a fallen tree, mired in the river, long since dead.
He pointed toward the weathered trunk extending over halfway across the powerful torrent. “Once across,” Aiden said, “we will stop for the night.”
She nodded.
Rain slid down her face, her sodden clothes clinging to her slender frame, but to him she had never looked more beautiful. Aching to reach out and draw her against him, he trudged forward, prayed that the downpour had washed away their trail before any of the Englishmen rode past.
As they neared the roots of the downed tree, he frowned at the violent swirl of water. ’Twas stronger than it had appeared from above. “’Tis still too dangerous.” Aiden smothered his frustration, pushed on.