IAIN PULLED BACK, STARING down at her. It was almost humorous, how tight and fierce her grimace was just now. Almost. He didn’t think he’d ever received quite this reaction to his kiss.
He shifted, drawing her near, while her fingers pinched with greater panic over the back of his hand. He paused, not meaning to frighten her. “Just a kiss,” he coaxed, purposefully sliding his closed mouth along hers, left to right, and back again. Some sound emerged from her. He convinced himself it was half-wonder. He opened his mouth and covered her cold, berry red lips with his. She remained still and rigid before him, but not for long, as her nervousness forced her to breathe through her mouth, this done with a burst of breath and a strangled whimper.
“I’ll no’ take more than a kiss,” he promised against her mouth, his voice naught but a whisper, and then suckled upon her ridiculously tempting bottom lip. He wet her top lip with his tongue while she panted against him but otherwise did not move. “This will be much more enjoyable if you kiss me back, Maggie Bryce,” he promised, his voice as light and encouraging as he could make it just now.
This would see her startled out of her shock, would likely have her pushing violently away from him, he thought with some regret when the words were said. She might now rail at him and perhaps swipe an indignant hand across his face. Instead, little Maggie Bryce, who vowed she would give herself to God and not any man, opened her eyes and said to him, “I don’t know how.”
He smiled inside, maybe outwardly as well. And it was fairly triumphant, he imagined, as this was more than he could have hoped for. Slowly, he tugged her even closer and slanted his head to her. He decided it was not fear, but curiosity that showed in her glorious eyes just now. “Aye, but I’m happy to show you, lass.” His lips met hers again, warm and wet now. Her fingers still clenched around his hand, but her short nails no longer indented his skin. He sent his tongue once again, tracing it along the soft fullness of her lips while he fought with himself, aching to crush her against him though he knew he must proceed slowly, without any fantastic menace. He pressed on, covering her mouth fully again, and sliding his tongue within. He caught her reacting shiver and pushed on, tracing his tongue around, inside her sour berry sweetness.
In the next moment he felt her tongue meet his. So tentatively, so briefly, he slowed himself at once, moving his own tongue only near her lips until he felt hers touch his again, giving consent. Iain was invigorated and thrust his tongue with larger intensity, caressing and tasting and exploring. Aye, and the lass who claimed with such passion that she wanted only to serve God responded beautifully, eager and hungry and willing to learn. Iain could not say if mere seconds or many long minutes had passed, lost as he was in everything that was Maggie Bryce.
But his name was called. The sound penetrated all else. It was Duncan’s voice, booming up the side of the hill, though his captain was still a distance away, likely at the cave yet, wondering what delayed them no doubt.
Iain lifted his head and stared down at her, wonderfully breathless. He laughed or smiled, he did not know, but it opened her eyes. The green of her eyes was bright, he thought her cheeks might be pink now in the twilight, her lips a perfect shade of very-kissed red. They stood there, breathing heavily onto each other, silently marveling at their kiss. Her gaze darted here and there, from his left eye to his right, and then to his lips.
Duncan called again, pulling them further into reality.
Iain puffed out a huge breath and turned his face toward the sound. “Aye! Coming!” He called back. When he faced Maggie Bryce of the tantalizing kiss, he found only the top of her head, as she’d lowered her gaze between them. Her fingers clung still to his, where his own held yet at her cloak. Slowly, he unfurled his fingers, the slight movement sending hers away from his.
With her face still hidden from him, that all he saw was the tip of her hood and only a small section of her shiny hair, she said, “Did you do that—kiss me—because you wanted to show me how ungodly I truly am?”
He shook his head immediately, a smile of wonder tugging at him, even as he was sorry for the sadness that tinted her voice. “Nae, lass. I kissed you because I wanted to feel your lips against mine. Have you no’ ever wanted to kiss a man before?”
She shook her head slowly back and forth and put more distance between them.
He felt no guilt, felt nothing but...her. He’d had to kiss her, that was all. He’d make no other justification, but that he’d had no choice. But how did he explain to her the why of it? Iain almost floundered, considering the extent of his reason.
Nae, something was not right with his own answer. He kissed a woman when he wanted to bed down with her, that was all. There was never...another reason.
Until now? Had he even given thought to bedding the lovely Maggie Bryce? He didn’t think he had. He’d watched her often, continuously it might appear, for two days now, had been enchanted and beguiled and mayhap several other things. Yet he didn’t think he’d had any particular thought about anything beyond a kiss. And truth be told, it had only been just now, when they’d walked up to the third hut, when he’d held her so close, when her eyes had shown so remarkably green, when her freckles were so inescapable, dotting so adorably across her cheeks and nose and all the rest of her face, that he had his first distinct thought that he must kiss her. That he must know if she were as bonny as she appeared, if she would taste as sweet, and feel as soft....
Jesu, he might well be Hew, with reflections such as these, as if he were untried and unprepared for a new and brilliant kiss. As if he’d not bedded his own fair share of wenches in his life.
“Are you regretting now...that you kissed me?” She asked, raising those green eyes and freckles—the culprits, he was convinced, or at least one of the reasons he’d needed to kiss her.
Regretting that he’d kissed her? That he’d been assured that all that he’d imagined was true, that her kiss was as captivating as she? Nae, he regretted nothing, save his own unexpected response, whatever the whole of it was.
I don’t know how. Ah, the lass’s first kiss. And now this, this anxious gaze, the near trembling of her lips that he must assume had little to do with the cold, as heat still fired every nerve in his body. Iain moved his head side to side. If nothing else, the lass must not ever think that.
Iain let a smile show, ignoring Duncan’s third call, keeping his gaze steady on her. He let the smile display some reverence and adoration, for this near stranger who could kiss a man senseless on her first try and then wonder that he might not have liked it. He stepped forward again, intent on showing her exactly how much he enjoyed their kiss.
But she shocked him by wondering, “Am I in danger now?”
This wrought a fantastic and swift frown from Iain and stopped him in his tracks, until he understood the exact reasoning behind such a sad question. Of course, it made sense. She—this entire situation—made her extremely vulnerable. The kiss would not have settled fears but raised them. It wasn’t unreasonable, the question, but it sat unwell with him, nonetheless.
He was eager to discourage her from allowing that line of thinking to expand. “I’m no’ in the habit of forcing a woman. ’Twas only a kiss.” And now it was ruined by her suspicion and this last, the lie he’d just told her. Ruined, indeed, that she was not as affected by the kiss that her mind was able to be seized by other concerns.
Grounding out a mumbled curse, he said, “I shouldn’t have kissed you.” But the sparse apology tasted bitter. In fact, he thought what he meant was, I am sorry you did not like the kiss because I enjoyed it tremendously. “Let’s get back before Duncan begins to have fits.” He hated that he couldn’t entirely conceal the rancor from his voice.
Maggie rushed forward and tugged at his sleeve as he turned toward the opening.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I—I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I only thought—”
“Dinna apologize.” He pulled his arm away from her grasp. “Let’s forget the whole—just forget it happen
ed at all.”
She was still and small at his side. “I...I don’t know if I can do that.”
Internally, he rolled his eyes, now sincerely sorry that he had kissed her. Sighing, he turned and confronted her. “I’ve said you’d come to no harm. You needn’t have any worry that I will—”
“Kiss me again?” She ventured. “Have I removed that possibility?” A wince appeared, in both her words and on her face.
Iain stared at her for a moment, trying to make sense of her, of what had just happened. He couldn’t, or didn’t want to assume anything further, that he required clarification. “What is it, then?”
With a fortifying breath, she rushed out, “I’ve offended you with my fears—which are unfounded as you’ve been very kind to me. It’s just that you caught me so completely unprepared and...truth be told, the...kiss rather muddled my mind.” She lifted her hand and jerked her gaze from his lips to his eyes to clarify quickly, “But not in a bad way, just...it was unexpected. Still, I did not....” She let this trail off, her voice shrinking into nothingness.
Possibly his hard scowl scared her off. And damn if she didn’t appear suddenly so forlorn.
“You did not...?” He prodded, his tone even.
She swallowed. “I did not dislike it.”
He barked out a bitter laugh. “A resounding bit of praise.” And then, at her crestfallen expression, a million curses sounded in his head. “Are you about to cry?”
She shook her head, pinching her lips. “No.”
The head-shaking was near frantic. Iain wished himself an ocean away. “Can we return? And seriously, pretend this never happened? I can assure you now, with certainty, this will never happen again.”
Chapter Eight
I AM AN IDIOT.
The laird of the McEwens, that beautiful man with the striking blue eyes, had kissed her. She hadn’t been prepared for what surely must have been dragonflies dancing in her belly, nor actually feeling her heartbeat pound throughout every inch of her body, but she knew she liked those feelings. It was only unfortunate that these reactions had so completely befuddled her that she’d insulted him in such grand fashion that he’d carried her stiffly back to this cave and had ignored her fully since setting her onto her feet.
And all the minutes from then until now were spent trying very hard not to cry.
Maggie sat as she sometimes did, on her bottom with her knees drawn up to her chest. She’d clasped her arms around her legs and tried to keep her gaze away from the laird. And his lips. She’d spent several minutes watching him talk to Duncan at one point, watching his mouth move around his words, amazed that those very utilitarian body parts could so easily and effectively have caused such delight in her as they had only a short while ago.
Her face heated with a blush when she caught Archie staring at her with a narrow-eyed and contemplative frown. She didn’t care what that cranky man thought. Laying her chin on her knees, she let the talk around her become muted, only noise in the back of her brain while she wrestled yet more with how superbly and effortlessly she’d managed to wreck the single most amazing event of her little life. She closed her eyes and tried to relive the entire encounter over and over, hoping to commit each second and sound and feel to memory, having been told there would be no repeat. A kiss shouldn’t be a life-changing thing, she thought with a bit of a frown, but in some respect, she knew she was different even now.
She closed her eyes, impervious to the cold it seemed, adrift in her own tortured thoughts. When she opened her eyes, she found the laird’s gaze upon her. She detected that his jaw was still, or once again, clenched. She tried to hold his gaze, hoped she conveyed properly her sorrow but could not be sure. Soon enough their contemplation of each other was interrupted by Archie’s grousing as others began to find their beds for the night.
“Close quarters, lad, but you need no’ be climbing on top of me.”
“And where would you have me put my own legs, Arch?” Donal wondered with a rare irritation.
Maggie blinked and Iain removed his heated gaze from her. When Duncan found his pallet next to her, Maggie laid down as well, facing the captain tonight, not sure she could withstand the chief ignoring her straight on if she’d turned in that direction. He found his own bed within minutes and stretched the huge fur over her once again. This kindness only made her feel doubly wretched for how she’d treated him earlier.
She waited until all around was quiet, until the only sounds were those now familiar nighttime noises, various persons snoring and water dripping. Shifting upon the hard ground, she angled her face toward Iain and whispered, “There is only ever once a first time for something. I’m very sorry that I’d so foolishly destroyed my first kiss.”
Despite the many minutes that had passed since he’d found his bed, his voice was not sleepy at all when he responded in a matching whisper, “It was not an irrational response. It remains, however, that I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
She needed a moment to gather the courage to press on. “And won’t again?”
His reply was a long time coming, but then was really no response at all. “Go to sleep, Maggie Bryce.”
There had been some discussion earlier, while she’d sat with her own miserable thoughts, about getting out early tomorrow, if the weather cooperated. They could be home by sunset, Duncan had proclaimed with some hope.
Too soon, she thought. She needed time to fix this, couldn’t stand the idea of parting ways with Iain McEwen while he thought she disliked his kiss.
Maggie prayed for snow as she drifted off.
She was wakened hours later as she was shaken roughly. It took her only a brief moment to recollect her circumstance. Her next thought was that the trembling was her own shivering.
This was not the case. Iain McEwen was talking in his sleep, not pleasantly, and his hand—settled upon her hip at some point—was gripping the fabric of her skirt and jerking it angrily.
“Go on with ye!” He grumbled, the voice not his own, not low and deep and warm, but disjointed and nearly frantic.
Maggie turned around toward him, her skirts now twisted as he held her gown so tightly.
His eyes were closed and while his jaw was clenched, his teeth were bared. She understood in an instant that he was having a nightmare. This in itself was so...unreal—this huge and mighty soldier beset by nightmares? And to such a degree that behind the easy-to-interpret anger, she thought she detected either worry or fear.
Impossible. Iain McEwen, fearful?
It just couldn’t be. More words came, but Maggie could not decipher them, but for thinking she caught the phrase “a wee critical something”, which made no sense to her. Tentatively, she nudged at his chest, pushing her fingers against the leather of his breastplate. She jabbed several times, to no avail. The fingers at her hip began to dig into her flesh as he became more and more agitated by his night demons. At the same time, his speech became more and more unintelligible.
“Duncan,” she called nervously, hoping the captain was wakeful, or made so by his laird’s fussing.
He was not. There was no sound to indicate that any other McEwen was awake just now.
“Break his neck, go on then!” Iain growled quite clearly through his clenched teeth. His entire body began to spasm with his distress. The soft golden light of the near-dead fire showed beads of perspiration on his forehead, showed that his eyes remained closed.
“Sir,” she whispered frantically, then once again, more harshly, trying to rouse him from his dream. “Chief McEwen.” This seemed only to agitate him further and she thought his entire body might be twitching and jerking just now. And still he mumbled and cursed.
Some instinct lifted her hand further and she placed her palm against his cheek.
“Sir,” she said softly.
His eyebrows lifted, as if he might hear her, but his trembling did not cease.
Maggie rose onto her elbow and moved her hand along his cheek. “Everything is all right.”
The first thing to settle was the hand at her hip. His fingers no longer dug into her, though they still clung to the fabric of her skirt. Yet still, he growled low.
“Come back,” she urged softly. “Wake up.”
Perchance he would rouse now and be embarrassed for his night terror, because she had witnessed it. He did not wake though. He mumbled more and the hand at her hip jerked, drawing her abruptly against him.
Unafraid, knowing he only dreamed, she caressed his cheek more to quiet him. “Shh,” she cooed. “’Tis but a dream.” She brushed at the short hair at his temple, her touch soft and slow. “Shh.” The lines on his forehead lessened. “Only a dream,” she insisted in a silky voice.
His hand left her hip and moved up and over her arm, and settled on her face, his thumb under her chin. “Aye,” he murmured gruffly. He threaded his fingers into her hair, around her nape, and drew her to him.
Maggie went willingly, let her lips join his, suddenly and once again made breathless by this man. He kissed her gingerly, almost reverently. She might have wept for this, a second chance at her first kiss. It wasn’t that exactly, certainly not if he slept still and only dreamed he was kissing her. She didn’t care, she let him do it, participated even in this splendor. It was so easy to push everything else aside. His mouth was wonderful, his lips warm, and his tongue hot.
But they were not alone, she was reminded soon enough that she pushed at his chest to end the kiss.
She pulled her lips from his. “You are dreaming still?” She guessed.
“I must be.”
Maggie dipped her head but refused to allow this to dampen the small joy she knew just now. To her surprise, he pressed his lips to her forehead, this kiss slow and lasting several seconds. Closing her eyes, she felt only that, his touch, the sweetness of it. Wanting one more moment of this bliss, she laid her head against his chest and knew a larger delight when his arm wrapped around her, holding her close. Instantly she was imbued with a strong sense of security. There was safety here, and warmth, and something else she could not name but thought was lovely. The entire feeling of being wrapped so steadily in his sleepy embrace was both new and wondrous.
The Truth of Her Heart (Highlander Heroes Book 5) Page 9