The Highlander Who Protected Me (Clan Kendrick #1)

by Vanessa Kelly

  “So shocking that I may find myself going into a complete decline. Then who would spoil you?”

  Her smile faded. Perhaps she was remembering how very sick he was when they first met. His declining health had been no joke then.

  “I know how difficult it was for you to tell me about what happened to you,” she said. “I’m dreadfully sorry I fell apart. I promise I won’t do so again.”

  “I thought we both agreed that you needn’t keep apologizing to me?”

  “Only if you stop blaming yourself for failing me. Or failing at anything, for that matter.” She again poked him in the shoulder, but more gently this time. “You are never to think of yourself as anything but strong, Royal Kendrick. For you to have survived all those horrors and to still be the man you are . . . well, you quite put me to shame. Honestly, I’m a selfish lout compared to you.”

  He smoothed her bedraggled curls away from her face. “You were the one who saved me, don’t forget.”

  She frowned. “Your brother saved you.”

  “Yes, Nick pulled me out of that ditch and kept me alive. Mostly from sheer stubbornness—and by threatening every physician in the army if they gave up on me.”

  “That sounds like your brother.”

  He took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “But you saved me too, Ainsley. I was dying. And while my body fought back, trying to get strong again, my . . . spirit was withering. I just couldn’t seem to get over what had happened on that battlefield. And I don’t know how much longer I could have held on before I just gave up.”

  “I would kill the people who hurt you, if I could,” she said fiercely. “They’d end up in that damn ditch with a bullet in their backs, if I had my way.”

  He bit back a smile at her threat. “Not necessary, love, because everything changed the moment I first saw you. I remembered what it was like to be alive again—truly alive.”

  Ainsley appeared almost stricken by his confession. “Royal, have you forgotten how horrible I was to you? I was an absolute witch.”

  “I’ve not forgotten one moment. But even when it all went wrong, it didn’t matter. I knew you were in the world. Because of that, life seemed worth living again.”

  She briefly pressed her hands to her eyes. “What an awful thing to say to me, you brute.”

  He laughed at her unexpected response. “Why?”

  “Because you’re going to make me cry again. I hate that. It’s so messy and emotional. And my nose gets red, which I also hate.”

  “I’d say that messy and emotional just about sums up our relationship, doesn’t it?”

  She let out a watery laugh. “Very true. But I’ve never been responsible for someone else’s life before. It’s rather terrifying.”

  “Now you’re responsible for two lives, mine and Tira’s. I’m afraid you’re stuck with us.”

  “You were both doing perfectly well without me. All I’ve done is complicate things.”

  He uncurled her fingers and rested her palm against his chest. “Any complication is a small price to pay for having you in our lives, I assure you.”

  She blushed. “I can scarcely believe that, but thank you.”

  When her warm fingers curled into the thin fabric of his nightshirt, his heart skipped a few beats. It took every ounce of willpower not to lean forward and tease a kiss from her luscious lips—her red nose notwithstanding. In fact, he was tempted to kiss that too, since it was so adorably vulnerable.

  Kissing his wife was the last thing he should do, considering how emotional she was. He prayed that her gaze wouldn’t drop down to his lap. If it did, she couldn’t fail to see the erection that had pushed up the covers.

  Bloody hell, man. Get control of yourself.

  But his body refused to obey, and her gaze did wander down to his lap—and stuck there.

  “Sorry about that,” he said with a sigh.

  She lifted an ironic eyebrow, even though her cheeks had turned a shade that matched her nose. “You must be feeling better.”

  “No, it’s you. I could be three-quarters dead and I would probably still react the same way.”

  Their gazes locked and they both froze, as if trapped in amber. Her breath caught nervously in her throat, but he swore her violet gaze shimmered with longing. It was the most awkward and intensely arousing moment of Royal’s life.

  “You’d better go,” he forced himself to say.

  She jerked, as if coming out of a trance, and then glanced at the bedside table. “But I promised Brody I’d massage some liniment into your leg.”

  The image of Ainsley’s slim hands rubbing his thigh almost undid him. If she didn’t leave the room at once, he expected he’d explode. And that would be the final, humiliating end to an already trying day.

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said.

  She eyed him with a degree of uncertainty. “Brody seemed to think it was necessary.”

  “Brody is an old woman. I’ll just have another whisky, and everything will be fine.”

  “You’ll have no more whisky.”

  She scrambled sideways as he reached for the glass on the side table. Royal grabbed it, twisting to keep it out of her reach. His thigh muscles immediately went into spasm.

  “Dammit,” he gasped, almost dropping the glass.

  “Now look what you’ve done.” Ainsley snatched the crystal tumbler from his hand.

  He was too busy trying not to pass out from the pain to answer. Ainsley placed the glass out of his reach and pressed him back into the pillows.

  “Lie back and catch your breath before you expire from your own stupidity,” she said.

  Despite her tart words, her hands were gentle as she brushed the damp hair off his forehead. She murmured soothing, nonsensical words under her breath—the same as she did for Tira when she thought no one was listening—while blotting the sweat from his face and neck with one of the small towels from the night table. When she started massaging his temples, his nausea began to fade.

  After a minute or two, his eyes drifted closed. He sank into a velvety dark, lulled by the heat and gentle crackle of the fire. Her hands were better than whisky and better than any laudanum he’d ever forced himself to drink. If she kept it up, he just might be able to sleep.

  “Better?” she whispered after a few minutes.

  He pushed his head into her hand and murmured his approval.

  “Good. Because I’m going to put some liniment on that leg right now.”

  Royal opened his eyes to see Ainsley hoisting her skirts and then caught a glimpse of her pretty ankles and calves as she scrambled up onto the bed. The tops of her breasts merrily jiggled over the confines of her bodice as she scooted over to him.

  God, she was truly going to kill him.

  “Hand me the bottle, will you?” she asked.

  Royal found himself clutching the covers around his chest like an outraged maiden aunt. “No.”

  As she pulled the bedclothes away from his leg, wadding them to the side, she glanced up at him with a frown. “Are you worried I’ll hurt you? I promise to be very careful.”

  “The only thing I’m worried about is how I’ll control my reaction if you start touching me.”

  She briefly eyed his erection, once more tenting the sheets. “That thing? I suppose we’ll just have to ignore it, won’t we?”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “If I can pay it no mind, then I’m sure you can too,” she said, sounding a bit like a stern schoolmistress.

  Perversely, Royal found that image even more arousing.

  “Besides,” she added, “massaging in the liniment probably won’t feel very nice, so I suspect that will take care of the problem.”

  He made one last effort. “The scar is gruesome.”

  “Royal, I am not hen-hearted,” she scoffed. “Now give me the bottle.”

  When she held out an imperious hand, he sighed and handed it over.

  She folded the sheet over twice, deftly obscuring
his embarrassing erection. Of course, that also left him lying with only his nightshirt between them.

  “Can you lift up the hem of your garment?” she murmured. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  He shifted as he reached down, wincing at the stab of pain. Carefully, he exposed his mangled thigh.

  Her harsh intake of breath conveyed her shock at the appalling brute of a scar high up on his leg—one the width of a hand. The skin was puckered over the damaged muscle, white in some places and faded purple and red in others. The doctors had stitched and braced him as best they could, but the combination of the lance and the trampling had turned his leg into a horror. The bones had eventually knit, although not perfectly, and the flesh had pulled together into the ghastly scar. It had taken months, the wound opening twice in the process and resulting in even more stitches.

  Finally, though, the muscles had bulked up and were growing stronger every day. But it would never be less than a vile sight, and he couldn’t help flushing with embarrassment under her gaze.

  “This was a mistake,” he said, reaching for the hem of the nightshirt.

  Ainsley swatted his hand away. “Don’t be an idiot. I had to see it sooner or later, didn’t I? We will start sleeping together at some point.”

  “Ah . . .” he said, sounding exactly like an idiot.

  “And since that is the case, let’s take this opportunity to get used to each other. Practice, as it were.”

  Her gaze held a complex mix of emotions. He saw sadness there, along with more than a bit of nerves. But mostly he saw determination, a need to rise to whatever challenge this represented for her. And if she needed this, how could he say no?

  He gave her a rueful grin, trying to lighten the moment. “When you put it like that, how can I possibly refuse?”

  She flashed him a quick, relieved smile. “You know, you’re really much smarter than people give you credit for.”

  He had to laugh outright.

  But his amusement died when she uncorked the liniment bottle and carefully tipped the viscous liquid into her hand. “Ready?” she asked.

  He nodded, unable to utter a word but nearly undone by the thought of her hands finally touching his body.

  When she placed her soft hand on his thigh, tentatively rubbing the liniment into his skin, Royal swallowed a groan. He squeezed his eyelids together to shut out the sight of what she was doing to him. He would control himself. He’d die rather than frighten her, even though he all but shook with the need to drag her up to his mouth for a devouring kiss.

  Thankfully, the burgeoning pain as she massaged the tight thigh muscles did enforce a necessary discipline. Sweat prickled along his hairline as she worked to ease the spasm.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He gave a terse nod without opening his eyes.

  For the next few minutes, he was caught between heaven and hell. As the liniment heated under her surprisingly assured touch, odors of cloves and menthol teased his nostrils, and his skin began to tingle with the familiar warmth of Brody’s potion. As she worked his thigh with increasingly firm strokes, the spasm finally began to ease, and he relaxed into the pillows.

  “Better?” she quietly asked. “Shall I continue?”

  He dragged open his eyelids. She regarded him earnestly, her complexion flushed from her efforts. The light from the bedside table cast a warm glow on her creamy breasts. Kneeling as she was and leaning slightly forward, her position allowed him to see straight down to the shadowy edge of her nipples, a dusky tease that he felt deep in his groin.

  She was so lovely it all but stopped his heart.

  “You don’t have to,” he gritted out.

  Her tiny snort was both feminine and knowing. “Close your eyes, Royal. Just relax.”

  He should tell her to go, especially for her sake. But when she started up again, her long, sensual strokes pulled a moan from his lips even as his eyelids shuttered once more.

  With every touch of her fingers, desire added fuel to the fire in his belly. Her touch soothed yet tortured, one moment lulling him to sleep, the next stoking his lust. It was the most delicious, frustrating experience of his entire life, and all she was doing was massaging his damn leg.

  The leg that had not felt so good in a very long time. His wife was a bloody miracle worker.

  When her hand suddenly slipped down to the inside of his thigh, tantalizing close to his straining cock, his eyes shot open.

  “Ainsley, what the hell are you doing?”

  Their gazes locked. Royal suspected his eyes were bugging out of his skull, but hers had turned a dark, velvety blue, slumberous and enticing.

  “I’m touching you,” she said, rather breathless. “And I think I’m going to kiss you, too.”

  Too stunned to respond, he simply stared at his beautiful wife as she planted her hands on his shoulders and proceeded to do just that.

  * * *

  Royal’s brawny shoulders stiffened under her fingertips as she pressed a trembling kiss to his lips. She caught the faint tang of whisky and felt the stern set to his wonderful mouth. When that mouth held its unwavering line, Ainsley’s heart pounded like Thor’s hammer.

  Had she misread him?

  His body’s reaction, barely concealed by the sheets, suggested she hadn’t. But what did she truly know about a man’s wants and needs? Perhaps it was an unexpected physical reaction he couldn’t control. Perhaps he was just as stunned by what was happening between them as she was.

  Or her bizarre timing could be putting him off. She was supposed to be nursing the poor man, not seducing him. Given his level of pain, it was a miracle he could even have a sensible conversation, much less return her clumsy advances.

  But with her husband stretched out under her hands, all her difficult, surging emotions had crested into an irresistible tide. Feeling that tough, masculine body respond to her touch, hearing the deep groan rumble quietly in his throat, she’d simply given in to the impulse she’d been fighting for so long.

  Tentatively, she kissed first one corner of his mouth and then the other. Still, though, he refused to yield, stiff as a plank of oak beneath her. She obviously had made a mistake and had no idea how to get out of it other than to slink from the bed and scurry to her bedroom as fast as her weak knees could carry her.

  Squeezing her eyes shut against a rush of shame, she started to retreat but didn’t get very far. Royal’s hand shot up to wrap around her neck, keeping her face only inches away from his. She reluctantly opened her eyes, fearing disapproval in his gaze.

  His cheekbones were glazed with a dark flush, and his pupils were huge, making his eyes look more black than green.

  “Sweetheart, exactly what is happening here?” he asked in a low, rough voice.

  His breath, warm and whisky-scented, brushed her cheek with an invisible caress.

  “I . . . I’m kissing you,” she stammered. “Is that all right?”

  “I don’t know. Is it all right?”

  “What does that mean?”

  He reached up with his other hand to gently tap her nose. “It means I don’t want you doing anything you’re not comfortable with.”

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. “I must be very bad at this, because I do wish to kiss you, Royal. I’m sorry if I’m making a hash of things.”

  He ran a featherlight finger along the top of her upper lip, making her shiver with pleasure.

  “Love, you’re doing it perfectly,” he said. “I can barely keep my hands off you.”

  She felt shaky with relief. “Then why are you?”

  “Because I don’t want you to do this because you feel sorry for me.”

  “Royal, is that truly what you think is happening here?”

  He gave a casual shrug, as if it didn’t matter. “You wouldn’t be the first woman to bed me out of pity.”

  Ainsley had to repress the impulse to whack some sense into him. “Are Highlanders always this dense? I am not doing this out of pity. And may I just a
dd that I insist on being the only woman who sleeps with you from now on. If you have any notion of sneaking off to consort with a local barmaid or anyone else, you can simply forget it. I won’t put up with it, Mr. Kendrick. I’d murder you first.”

  With a vague feeling of surprise, Ainsley realized that might not be an exaggeration.

  His big hand gently cupped her head. “I have no intention of touching any woman but you, Mrs. Kendrick, not ever,” he said in a smoky voice that made her muscles go weak.

  It was a good thing she was already sitting on the bed.

  She mustered a chippy tone. “Then what, pray heaven, is the problem? I wish to be with you, and you wish to be with me.”

  “Because I don’t want to rush you, love. You’ve had a difficult day—”

  “Rush me, by all means.”

  He tilted a skeptical brow, but his other hand moved to cuddle her waist. And she could feel the evidence of his impressive erection nudging her thigh.

  Snuggling closer, she slipped her fingers into the gap of his nightshirt to caress his bare skin. His harsh intake of breath was immensely gratifying.

  “What happened to you was horrible, and I won’t pretend it didn’t affect me,” she said.

  In fact, she’d almost burst into tears when she’d first seen his awful scar. But there was nothing weak or damaged about Royal Kendrick. He was a beautiful, hard warrior who’d overcome challenges that would have put most men in the grave.

  “But your injury doesn’t make me feel sorry for you. It’s a part of who you are, Royal. And who you are is the best man I’ve ever known. You’re my husband, and I want to be with you.”

  “That makes me exceedingly happy,” he said in a gruff voice.

  “Although it’s sadly evident that I don’t know what I’m doing when it comes to the marriage bed,” she said ruefully. “I’d like very much to please you, though. Perhaps you could show me how.”

  His mouth curled into a smile so seductive that it made her insides quiver. “I’d be happy to. But first I’d like to please you.”

  “Oh? That sounds rather nice.”

  “So, let’s start with kissing again, shall we?”

  He took her hands and placed them around his neck. “But I want you to tell me if I’m going too fast,” he added, “or if I’m doing something you don’t like. I’ll stop right away.”