Lord of the Highlands

by Veronica Wolff

Page 40

 

  “I know. ” Lily’s voice was a barely audible murmur now. “It’s the damned hormones. ”

  “I ken what’ll smooth the sadness from your brow. ”

  “You can’t mean . . . ”

  “Oh aye. I can mean. And I do. I’ve told you before,” he said. “A laird’s wife has duties. ”

  “But Ewen, I’m about to burst. ” Lily’s giggle was an arrow straight to Felicity’s heart.

  Felicity began to back away. Though she didn’t know Ewen, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to hear the masculine intent in his voice. She spun, taking the cold slate stones at a jog.

  Ewen’s voice resounded at her back. “Aye,” he was telling his wife. “They say ’twill make the babe come faster. ”

  But those weren’t the words Felicity heard. It was Ewen’s pronouncement about Will, about his dedication to duty, which echoed in her mind.

  Because Felicity had also learned well. William Rollo would never go back on his word. Will would stay where he was, forsaking all else, forfeiting his life to keep a promise to a friend.

  Felicity slipped below the surface of the bathwater, letting the hollow nothingness of underwater fill her ears. But not even the sound of oblivion could erase the chatter in her head. She exhaled slowly, and tiny bubbles blipped to the surface.

  The room was dark, candles and firelight chasing away only the most meager of shadows. She kept her eyes shut in the blackness, focusing her other senses outward. The water was soft on her mouth and soothing on eyes that still ached from recent tears.

  Her hands traced along her bent knees, to her belly. She felt full there, and contemplated the firm swell between the jut of her hipbones.

  Drifting up her chest, she let her fingers pause idly on her breasts, the flesh cool and lightly pebbled where they emerged from the water.

  Felicity reached to her hair, floating in the tub like fronds of algae, silken and weightless. Her scalp was tight, aggressively cleaned from a brick of soap that had smelled faintly of pine.

  Pushing her feet against the foot of the metal tub, she slid back up. Inhaled deeply. Her room smelled of lavender and mustiness, and her lungs clenched briefly in protest.

  The maids had startled her when they’d knocked on her door, bearing the huge copper basin and buckets of hot water. She didn’t know why she should be surprised. Lily seemed on top of everything, and Felicity didn’t see why her bath would be the thing to fall by the wayside.

  She was grateful for the tub, but though it soothed her body, it wasn’t doing much to lift her melancholy spirits.

  She hadn’t been able to wrap her mind around it, but hearing someone else speak the words had brought the truth home. Will had work to do. Dangerous work involving kings and intrigues.

  There was no place for her.

  Not because Will didn’t want her, but because Will might not return alive.

  She refused to think on it. Tried instead to be a purely sensory being, all thought pushed from her mind.

  Slowly, she traced back down her chest, back over her abdomen, and tucked a finger between her legs.

  The tender flesh there, though wet, wasn’t slick, and water rocked over her breastbone as she adjusted, canting her knees, gingerly nestling within the delicate folds of skin.

  She touched and explored, lazily waiting for nerves to awaken, wanting to feel some inner fire crackling to life. Patiently, she touched and waited, but her body wouldn’t rouse.

  Already she belonged to Will, her whole body his and his alone. And she thought the loneliness of it would drown her more surely that any water could.

  “May I help you with that?”

  She gasped in surprise, sending water sloshing onto the floor with a dull slap. It was Rollo, she sensed him now behind her. Saw his shadow flickering low along the wall.

  “How’d you get in?”

  His laugh was low. “I’m a man driven. ”

  She didn’t turn to face him. Somehow she felt too nervous, and so Felicity stared forward, listening to him walk slowly to her.

  The familiar click and shuffle of his gait kindled something deep within her that none of her own touches had been able to stir. “Deprivation makes a man clever. ”

  A little thrill rippled through her. “You’re feeling deprived?”

  “Aye. ” Will pulled a stool close to the tub. His movements were unhurried, deliberate. “And a man with needs knows no obstacles. ” He sat facing her. Laid his cane at his feet. His eyes roved shamelessly over her naked body. “And I need you, Felicity. ”

  Her skin shivered tight at the sound of desire, husky in his voice.

  “Wash yourself,” he commanded.

  “What?”

  A wicked look creased the corners of his eyes. “I want to see you wash yourself. ”

  The smile she gave him was low-key. She was sad, but she’d never turn Will away. “You think I’m dirty?”

  “Och, woman, not dirty enough. ” Raising his brows, he gestured to the soap. “But for now, I’d watch you in your bath. ”

  She rubbed and turned the soap between her palms. The scent of pine drifted to her, fresh and vaguely citric. Her melancholy muted into something more poignant, more languorous.

  His stare was steady on her, brow furrowed with intensity. Felicity let the soap slip from her fingers and began to lather up each arm, holding Will’s gaze all the while.

  She rubbed lazy circles along her collarbones, between her breasts, over her abdomen, and back up again. The suds were thick in her palms now, and her hands glided easily over her skin.

  Will tensed, a barely perceptible movement recognizable only by a lover. She knew she was driving him mad, and her own desire speared her through. An aching swamped her, at her chest, between her legs. He was sending her back. The knowledge charged the moment.

  Her eyes flicked to his kilt. She saw he was aroused and it gratified her.

  Slowly, she brought her hands to her breasts. Cupping them, she circled her thumbs over her nipples. They were beaded tight. Her whole body, tight. Poised and open for him.

  Her lips parted. Watching him watch her stoked Felicity’s desire. Will’s eyes were hooded, his expression veiled in the shadows. He was so tall and handsome, like a fallen angel come to take her, to bear her off to some dark paradise.

  Her heart beat shallowly, the heat of her want, the heat of the water, making her light- headed. She felt suddenly desperate for him to hold her, to anchor her. But he just watched, still as granite, his eyes smoldering and dark in the candlelight.

  She slipped her hands from her breasts. Skimmed her palms along her belly to her legs. Spreading her bent knees, she stroked her hands down the inside of her thighs. An inadvertent moan escaped her, so hungry was she for the touch of his skin on hers.

  Will moved then. Sudden like a panther, he leapt for her. His mouth claimed hers. He tasted of whisky, and the ghost of a beard was rough on her chin. His hands were hot on her shoulders, her body chilled where the damp skin had been exposed to air.

  “You’re so bloody gorgeous,” he rasped between kisses. “It’s unbearable. ” His mouth moved to her neck, nibbled and kissed. “I can’t bear it. ” His kisses trailed higher, and he whispered in her ear. “My body can’t bear to watch you. I have to touch you. So lovely, Felicity. ”

  “So . . . ” she began tentatively, lifting her chin to urge his kisses lower. Will’s words awed and pleased her, and she recalled her conversation with Lily. “So, you really think I’m pretty?”

  “Och,” he growled, pulling his face from hers. Bathwater rocked and spilled from the tub. “You speak of pretty?” His shirt had gotten soaked, and water dripped steadily from his arms back into the tub.

  Cupping her cheeks in his hands, he said fiercely, “Aye, you’re pretty, and more than pretty. You’re exquisite. The fairest creature ever who lived. Pretty indeed, my Felicity,
” he said, raining light kisses along her face. “My bonny, sweet love. ”

  He released her. Reached for the large linen square that was her towel.

  “Come then,” he said. Will pulled her easily from the bath and situated her on his lap, tenderly drying and wrapping her in the towel as they sat on the stool.

  How many more moments like this would they share? She couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear the sadness. She placed her hands over his where they tenderly cupped her cheeks. “I love you, you know. The fates sent me here, to you. I know you don’t believe that. But I’m here now, and I love you. And in the end, that’s all that matters. Being together is what’s right. We’re right. Back in my own time, I was so lost. But you’ve shown me so much. Like . . . like being with the horses. I’m actually good at that. For the first time, I’m good at something that also gives me such joy. My life is so much richer here. So much richer with you. ”

  “Aye, love. As mine is, with you. ” His voice was hoarse with pain, with want. “Would that we’d both been born in some other time, some other place. Sometimes I think I’ll not survive your leaving. That the moment we part will be the moment I breathe my last. ”

  She shivered.

  “Och, love, you’re cold. ” He kissed her gently on each cheek, on her mouth, and then swept his hands along the thin towel to dry her.

  She sensed an infinitesimal change in his breathing. Gradually his movements slowed, became more focused. A hand that had patted her dry, chafed now, rubbing teasing circles over the points of her breasts under the coarse fabric.

  “I think I’m dry,” she whispered weakly, standing and letting the towel fall to the ground. “And this is way too scratchy,” she added, tugging at the thick layers of wool he wore. Unknotting the thong at his shoulder, she pulled his plaid from him. Peeled off his wet shirt.

  “Come back. ” His words sounded pained, giving voice to something more far-reaching than what they were sharing in that moment. He pulled her down to straddle his legs. Will didn’t enter her, and she felt the heavy weight of him brush against her leg.