Her womb clenched again and again around Cull’s throbbing staff as he seized her tight, groaning her name into her hair, arriving at the same paradise. She clung to his shoulders, her legs twined tightly with his, and gasped, her eyes wide, into the night, knowing only joy that he filled her womb with his seed.
Afterward … they lay in each other’s arms, warm and still breathing hard. It was then that the magnitude of what had just occurred truly struck Derryth, straight through the heart.
* * *
Cull lay, staring into darkness, still trying to calm the beat of his heart and his racing mind, when he realized Derryth was crying.
He half turned on the bed to peer down at her, his heart tight in his chest. “I should have waited. You weren’t ready. I hurt you and—damn, I bled on you like a savage.” Seizing a corner of linen, he gently removed the stain from her shoulder and breast as best he could, which only made him feel like more of a savage. “Curse me to hell for being so—”
“No,” she interrupted, holding him tighter and pressing her face to his neck. His vision blurred with the pleasure of her embrace, her voice in his ears. “That isn’t it.”
“Then what?”
She sat up, eyes glistening, her tousled hair falling over her pale shoulders, to frame her pink-tipped breasts. One look at her like that was all it took for his body to come alive again. But he forced himself to be still. To listen. She looked at him so earnestly. He wanted to hear what she had to say.
Tenderly, she touched his face. “I didn’t know it would be like that. That it would mean so much.” She exhaled softly, her eyes filling again. “At least to me. You’re a man, a handsome and desirable man. I know you’ve been with other women—”
“Hush.” He touched his fingertips to her lips, his throat closing. Not wanting any other person between them. No part of his past in their present. “Everything is different with you.”
He whispered the words, feeling vulnerable just speaking them. Perhaps … perhaps he should guard himself as he always had … but somehow, he knew he could not. He could only speak the truth to Derryth. His armor had been pierced, and she would forevermore be his weakness.
“I feel the same.” She nodded, and squeezed him tight, her scent—now something he craved—filling his nostrils. “But it makes me so afraid.”
Her voice broke.
“Come here,” he murmured, pulling her tight against him, and touching his hand to her hair. With his thumb, he wiped the tears from her cheeks.
He wanted to protect her from harm and heartbreak. But how would he protect her—and still be true to himself, and all he had striven for? The answers did not present themselves, but he would not regret claiming her for himself.
“I can’t lose you,” she whispered. “But Cull, neither will I turn against them.”
He flinched inwardly, hearing the words … but they came as no surprise. Her heart was loyal, and she loved fiercely. It was just one thing that made her Derryth, and one thing that made him want to be loved by her.
Indeed, he could not muster one bit of anger toward her for hiding the truth of her Kincaid relation from him. But she belonged to him now, and she might very well be carrying his child when this night was over, a possibility that sparked a flame, deep inside his chest. Did he not now owe it to her to do everything in his power to protect not only her and himself … but her loved ones as well? And yet he must do that while satisfying his duty to the Crown.
“Don’t worry about that now,” he said. “Trust me. Give me time to think.”
Already, his heart weighed heavy with the prospect of morning, but when Derryth suddenly left the bed, his attention shifted instantly to follow her.
He stared at her naked bottom and legs as she disappeared into the shadows on the far side of the tent. The slosh of water sounded, and he knew she was washing. Reappearing just as gloriously naked as before, she cast him a shy smile and returned to the chair. There she lit a small lantern, bathing her hair and her naked skin in golden light. Desire hardened his cock, causing it to jerk against his thigh, as his gaze moved over her round breasts, and her pink nipples. Her rib cage … her waist … and the shadowy space between her thighs. But he had just taken her innocence. She would not be ready for his passion again just yet. Perhaps not again that night.
“Come here,” she said softly. “Let me stitch your wound.”
He arose from the bed, and after also taking a moment to wash, he lowered himself into the chair. Her gaze swept over his nakedness, and rested briefly on his aroused member. Color rose into her cheeks, making her even more beautiful.
“I’ve never closed a wound before,” she said, lifting the threaded needle, and looking slightly nervous—but also mischievous. She bit her lower lip.
“As long as you’re naked,” he replied wickedly. “I doubt I’ll feel a thing.”
He meant it. This close to her, all he could think of was sex. Already, desire enflamed his blood and his hands ached to touch her.
She bent over him, and as she did, her breasts swayed, full and tempting, just beside his face. In a flash, his hands were on her waist, and his mouth latched onto a tight pink nipple.
“Stop!” She wiggled against him, laughing, pulling away—but only an inch. “I almost stabbed you in the eye with the needle. You must be still.”
He loved the sound of her laugh, and this new familiarity between them. It felt so easy and right.
“I will be still.” He pulled her near again, kissing her … smiling, gently dragging her astraddle his hips. “But I think you’d have a much better vantage here, to do your work.”
“You are wicked,” she exclaimed, her eyes alight.
“Mmmmhmmm.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “But am I not right?”
“Cull, what is that, underneath your arm?” She bent to examine his torso. His mood dipped.
“’Tis nothing—”
“Another wound?”
“No.”
“A bruise, then?”
“’Tis the slaver’s mark,” he replied, too sharply. But she looked into his eyes, and he gentled. “Forget it please. I would remove it if I could.”
“Of course,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. I did not know.”
“There is nothing for you to feel sorry about.” His hands squeezed her buttocks, and his sex grazed against hers.
She sighed blissfully, and kissed his temple … his cheek.
“You are making this difficult,” she said in a quavering voice.
“I’m making this better,” he growled, playful again.
“This must be done.” She pointed the needle at him. “Don’t move again, until I am finished.”
Though his cock was hot and hard, and torturously near her sex, he did as she ordered, and did not move, or even flinch as she stitched his skin. Such pain was minor compared to that which he’d survived in the past, and easy to ignore, especially when he could occupy himself looking at her face, and her body.
“There,” she said, as she tied off the knot, and cut the thread. “I think I did very well.”
A downward glance toward his shoulder showed an even row of neat stitches.
“No kittens?” he said, chuckling, pretending to be disappointed.
But he did not wait for an answer. He pulled her against his chest, delighting in the crush of her firm breasts and the tight peaks of her nipples against his skin. His mouth closed on hers.
“No kittens,” she breathed, laughing … blindly setting aside the needle on the table, meeting his tongue with her own.
Their laughter faded as they grappled, touching each other, each kiss more passionate than the last. Their hips moved, mutually rubbing … teasing, until his growing need made him selfish.
His hand twisted in her hair, and tilting her head back, he peered down into her eyes.
“I want to be inside you again,” he said, breathing hard … his body aching so fiercely. “But I don’t want to hurt you
.”
“I want you too,” she panted, her hand sliding down over his stomach, to curl around his aroused length. “Now, Cull, please.”
His cheeks filled with heat.
“Then take me,” he replied, kissing her, eyes open to hers.
Exhaling unevenly against his lips, she shifted against him, rising onto her knees. Still holding him … guiding him, she carefully eased her body down on his. A groan broke from his lips as her narrow, wet heat ensheathed him.
Releasing him, she gripped his shoulders, and let out a sound he knew to be half-pleasure, half-pain.
He cursed himself for wanting too much, too soon. She wasn’t ready, having just made love for the first time. But he couldn’t back away. He couldn’t stop. Not now.
“Don’t move,” he murmured—commanding himself to do the same. At least as far as his lower half was concerned.
She complied, swaying, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he bent, dipping his head to capture her nipple between his lips and his tongue. She gasped, arching. His cock responded with a hard jolt, and his vision blurred.
He smiled, gasping. “I said … don’t move.”
She stilled again. “But you torture me.”
“And myself, but ’tis for the best. You’ll see.” His hands worshiped her … measuring her waist, sliding over her delicate rib cage and upward, to cup and caress her breasts, which he slowly … languidly kissed, licked, and sucked.
Her head fell back, and she rocked her hips hard against him, clenching her thighs, agitated.
“Please, Cull,” she pled. “I want to move. I need to.”
She already did so … testing his resolve, pressing her womanhood against him.
“Aye, love,” he replied, watching her, transfixed by her passion—her desire for him. “Go on, then. Take your pleasure from me. But go easy … go slow.”
Tentatively at first, she eased along his length, before repeating the same sweet movement again. Before long she found a rhythm … she found what felt right, nearly shattering him with each slick stroke. Gripping her hips, he felt her arousal as her body tightened around his cock. She moaned intensely, rocking back, so that her breasts thrust toward him and her silken hair teased his thighs.
In that moment, he half lost his mind. His vision blurred, and his bollocks seized tight. His cock surged in size as he emitted an anguished groan.
“Cull, now … I need…” she said desperately, sounding tortured. “I need—”
Nor could he wait a moment longer. Bracing on one palm, he lifted his hips to meet her, driving deeper—
They came simultaneously, his body jerking with sudden release, exploding inside her. She gasped, her arms and legs tightening around him, her womb seizing him as their mouths joined, and their bodies embraced. Again, he arrived at a place of pure bliss, tangled with the soul-deep strike of understanding that he must protect her, and their future together, at all costs. With his life, if need be. He had never felt for another person in such a way. In a world where he’d seen life end quickly, a fearsome burden weighed his heart, just as strong as his satiation.
As their passion eased, he held her for a long time, her body against his, her head on his shoulder, kissing her cheeks and her eyes and stroking her hair. How amazing that such sensual passion could in moments transform to tenderness.
As each moment passed, the darkness crept in around them. Trepidation over what would come.
Lifting her, he carried her to the bed, where he dressed her in one of his tunics. Laying down beside her, he pulled the furs over them both. She pressed against him, quiet … pensive. He knew from the tension in her body that she was afraid.
“You must trust me,” he said again into the darkness. He held her until at last she slept.
* * *
The next morning, before dawn, Derryth glanced up from where she knelt, fastening his boots to find his jaw tight and his pale blue eyes staring hard, over the top of her head, at nothing. After making love to her once more, just before dawn, he had fallen quiet, and had remained deeply in thought since. And yet he’d been so gentle with her, his touch lingering on her hand. Her hair.
While she still wore his tunic, he was dressed in the garb of a commander, and moments away from leaving her. Her pulse increased, and fear tightened her heart, at the thought of being separated from him. She did not want to be left alone.
“What will you do?” she asked.
Chapter 15
“I don’t know,” he answered quietly. “Not yet.”
She nodded. “Buchan wrongly conspired against the father of the present Kincaid. I was not there. I cannot say what happened, but he was responsible for the deaths of the laird, his lady, and many others. What he did here, those years ago, was no honorable intervention on behalf of the Crown, but a crime.”
He nodded once—a sharp downward movement of his chin.
“All believed the Kincaid sons to be dead, but the eldest, Niall, survived that night and returned to reclaim his birthright. Another son, Faelan, is alive as well. Whatever the Wolf has done to gain the support of Edinburgh in this, was done to finish them. Perhaps to conceal his crime.”
Cull exhaled. “I believe you, but … give me time to think,” he replied. “To ask questions. To come to my own understanding.”
She nodded, accepting his answer for now. She would not make demands on him. He had already promised her so much. Other matters weighed heavily on her mind, which only she herself could resolve. There was one more secret she held from him … that she was not just a Kincaid, but sister to the Laird Kincaid’s wife. Not only that, but daughter to Inverhaven’s prior laird—a man who had once conspired with Buchan to destroy the Kincaids.
And she would reveal that truth to him. There would be no more secrets between them, only complete trust.
But she must talk to Deargh first, who, along with the others, Cull had promised to release. Somehow she had to explain to Niall’s second-in-command why she was choosing to stay here, with Cull. That while her loyalties remained just as strong with her family, Cull also had her heart.
She would send the old warrior with that message to Niall and Elspeth, and pray that instead of inspiring disbelief and anger, that they would find some solace in knowing she was doing everything in her power to ensure this conflict came to a peaceful end.
If that was not possible, she must convince Cull, if not to join the Kincaids, then to relinquish his position as commander. For if he raised one hand in violence against the Kincaids, she would be left with no choice but to leave him forever. That possibility caused her the deepest pain, but after passing the night with Cull, she took comfort in knowing he would understand.
“I must go,” he said from behind her, his hand touching her waist.
Her entire body swayed toward him, drawn to his warmth, to his strength.
He turned her, holding her close, his manner different from the night before. Gone was the playful, sensual lover, replaced by a solemn and quiet man. Tension emanated from him, revealed in the hard line of his jaw. No passion burned in his eyes for her, only thought.
“I will be here,” she answered. “I only ask that before you release Deargh and the others, that I be allowed to speak to him.”
He nodded. “Of course.”
He bent, pressing his forehead to hers, touching her cheek with his gloved hand. He closed his eyes, pressed his mouth to hers, and exhaled against her lips. “Trust me, Derryth. It is all I ask.”
She nodded, and watched him step back, so tall and magnificent in his quilted leather jerkin, his sword affixed at his hips, that he took her breath away. He was hers, and she was his. No matter what occurred from this moment on … their night of love would bind them together always. Even if they were forced apart.
“I’ll return before noonday, to see that you’re all right.”
She nodded, smiling.
Only a short time later, Derryth had just dressed when a voice summoned her to the door
.
“Lady.”
Two warriors stood just outside the door, their gazes averted, and their manner respectful. Effric was nowhere to be seen. No doubt he was still at the washhouse with the linens he’d gathered just a short time before, his manner quiet and kind, as always, though she felt certain he knew what had taken place between her and Cull the night before.
The older of the two warriors spoke. “Our commander has sent us to bring you to him.”
“Your commander?” she inquired, unwilling to trust anyone but Cull completely.
“Aye … Sir Cull, the Nameless,” he answered.
Her suspicions eased.
“A moment to get my cloak,” she replied, backing away.
No doubt Cull summoned her to talk to Deargh. Nervousness twisted her stomach, and she prayed she would find the right words to say. When she had donned her cloak, and covered her hair with its hood, she rejoined the men and followed them.
The morning camp thrived with activity, and one warrior led the way while the other followed behind. She passed men shodding horses and others sharpening sword, spear, and knife blades that she hoped they would never find cause to use. Her glance lifted, resting on the castle that protected the people she loved, and who loved and cared for her. How would Cull resolve this impossible quandary, while also remaining true to himself and his own ambitions? Ambitions she respected and admired, for of all men, did he not deserve a name? Her mind strove for the answers, but none became clear.
Moments later her warrior escort slowed, drawing to the side … and she saw it was not Cull who awaited her, but Duncan, dressed in a leather jerkin, trousers and boots, so much like Cull, but lacking in every way. Fear weakened her legs as she eyed him with suspicion.
“You summoned me?” she asked, her voice tight with tension. “For what reason?”
“Aye,” he grinned wolfishly.
“Why?” Beneath her cloak, she trembled with revulsion, remembering the last words he’d spoken to her in Buchan’s tent. That he’d imagined it was her kneeling between his legs, doing those things to him with her mouth. “And why the lie?”
The Warrior of Clan Kincaid Page 16