Kneeling beneath the branches, Alex retrieved his psalm book. Though he opened the page by habit, he closed his eyes and recited the verses by rote. “Bow down thine ear, O Lord, hear me: for I am poor and needy—Ouch!” He cried out as an acorn dropped upon his head. “Be merciful unto me, O Lord,” he continued, “for I cry unto thee daily.” He drew breath to continue, only to be struck by another acorn, and then a third! “Bluidy squirrels!”
Mumbling a curse, he rubbed his head, and once more took up his psalter. “Give ear, O Lord, unto my prayer; and attend to the voice of my supplications. In the day of my trouble I will call upon thee: for thou wilt answer me.”
He startled at a sudden rustle of leaves, but there was no wind to stir them. The branches above him shook more violently, but now he had the good sense to protect himself. But this time, the hailstorm of acorns was echoed by a ripple of feminine giggles.
Alex’s gaze darted upward, searching through the thick canopy of green to a flash of billowy white. Had he somehow conjured a wood sprite? He was quick to shake off that notion. He didn’t ascribe to old folklore or superstition, and would surely burn in hell if he allowed such Highland heresy to rub off on him.
Closing his book, he stood and searched the tree more intently. The glimpse of white he’d seen transformed into a more corporeal shape—that of Sibylla.
“Sibylla?” he cried out. “What the de’il are ye doing in that tree?”
“Looking for mistletoe, of course,” she answered as if he were a simpleton.
“Mistletoe?” He frowned at her. “Ye shouldna follow the Pagan ways.”
“Is it evil and heathenish to make medicine for my clan?” she argued. “’Tis not as if I’m performing human sacrifices!”
Alexander had no reply.
“I come here often to be alone,” she said, stretching out full length. The branch barely dipped under her weight. “It’s quiet and peaceful and the view of the land is breathtaking. There’s room for two. Ye should come up here and see it.” Swinging back up to a sitting position, she dangled her bare legs and patted the place beside her.
“I willna humor ye, Sibylla.”
“Why nae? Canna ye climb?” she taunted. “Or perhaps yer robes get in the way? Ye could always do what I do and tie them up.”
His gaze tracked slowly upward from her delicate bared toes, to a set of trim white ankles, and then to a pair of smooth, shapely calves. Alexander shut his eyes before he could give in to the temptation of looking higher. He really should leave now. He’d come to this place seeking peace for his soul, but all he could think about now were the strange stirrings in his body.
“Enough of the games. If ye want to speak ye’ll come down!”
“Verra well,” she replied with a huff. “Hold out yer arms.”
“What? Ye canna mean to jump!”
She grinned. “But I do.” Bracing her hands on either side of her hips, she wiggled forward on the branch.
“Ye’ll break yer fool neck,” he warned.
“Nae if ye catch me.” Her gaze sought his. “Would ye let me fall, Alexander?” she asked softly.
“Nae,” he murmured with a slow shake of his head. “I’d ne’er see ye hurt if I could help it.”
Her mouth stretched into an impish grin. “Then ye’d best hold out yer arms.”
Before he could protest, she launched herself from the tree. Alex crashed backwards feeling like a ton of stones hit him as her small body slammed him onto the ground. While he lay stunned and breathless beneath her, Sibylla burst into uncontrolled chortles. But he found no humor in his situation. Nothing had ever disturbed him more than his present situation.
By the time he caught his breath, heat of an unfamiliar kind had begun to warm his blood and infuse his loins, as he lay beneath her soft, feminine body. As much as he wished it, he couldn’t bring himself to move—except for the parts that shouldn’t.
Awareness of his arousal came to her suddenly. Her breath hitched and gaze widened, but she made no move to pull away. Instead, they both lay fixed and still, and almost afraid to breathe. Alex willed his body to ignore its natural response, but his efforts were futile. He’d never before been so much at odds with himself.
“What is wrong, Alexander?”
He opened his eyes to find her staring down at him with a furrowed brow.
“Nothing.” He shook his head, only to refute himself a moment later. “Everything,” he said. “Everything is wrong. Nothing is as it should be.”
“I dinna understand ye.”
“Neither do I,” he replied. “’Tis why I came here—to be alone and to figure it out.”
“Do ye want me to leave?” she asked.
He knew what he should say. He knew what he should do but, somehow, he was powerless to resist the lure of her warm, soft body. “Nae,” he replied after a moment. “I dinna want ye to go.”
“I’m glad.” She smiled. “I dinna want to leave.” To his dismay, her gaze drifted down to his mouth. She leaned closer until her silky hair brushed his face. “If ye dinna mind, I would verra much like ye to kiss me, Alexander.”
He knew he should not but, God help him, he wanted to. “Kissing leads only to temptation,” he replied.
“But a kiss in itself isna sinful or wicked,” she argued. “A kiss can mean many things. Are there nae chaste kisses? Kisses of friendship? Affection? Kisses given as greetings? Kisses to say goodbye?”
“Aye, but that’s nae the kind of kiss ye wish for, is it?” he asked.
“Nae.” She shook her head with a grin. “I’ve had all of those kinds before. What I havena known is a lover’s kiss.” Her grin faded and her eyes entreated as she whispered, “Would ye oblige me, Alexander?”
If he allowed himself to respond to her request, the dam would surely break. Alex shut his eyes, trying to marshal both his wits and his faltering will, but he failed to block out her subtly fragrant scent that seemed to come straight from heaven above, her warm, sweet breath, and her pliant breasts pressing against his ever-tightening chest… and then her petal soft lips brushing lightly over his. He felt her hesitancy and wanted to reassure her but sheer force of will restrained him. He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to kiss her back. His bones ached with the need to respond, but he knew very well that his resistance would crumble to dust.
“Did ye nae like it?” she asked.
He opened his eyes to find uncertainty clouding hers. He reached up to touch her face. “I dinna kiss ye back, Sibylla, nae because I dinna want to. I dinna kiss ye because I kenned I would only want more.”
“And do ye?” she asked breathlessly. “Want more?”
It was not the response he’d intended to evoke. “Aye. I do.” There was nothing else for it. Unable to resist any longer, he drew her closer, slowly closing the inches between them until their lips were but a hairsbreadth away. Gently cupping her head, he pressed his mouth to hers, testing and tasting in a gentle exploration. He felt awkward and unschooled at first but let instinct guide him.
With a sigh, Sibylla twined her arms around his neck, fitting her body to his. Warm, and responsive, her lips met his. Their mouths melded and breaths mingled as the kiss lengthened. Alex experimentally flicked the corner of her mouth with his tongue. She opened on a tiny gasp. A puff of her breath entered his lungs, making him suddenly lightheaded. More. It wasn’t enough. He needed more.
He licked again along the seam of her mouth. She parted her lips. The first contact of tongues nearly blinded him with sensation. The tender torture intensified as each slick stroke of their tangling tongues stoked the flame. This was so much more than just a kiss. It was as heady and powerful as a magical potion. Passion made his pulse pound and dulled his mind.
God in heaven. I am truly lost.
“Sibylla,” he moaned her name.
He broke the kiss to explore her face and neck with his mouth. Moving his hands up her arms and shoulders, he lightly skimmed her silky smooth skin. With trembli
ng fingers, he grazed her breasts, wanting to feel her soft, feminine flesh in his palms. She pressed her hand on top of his over her beating heart. Her actions silently indicated that she wanted the same thing—to feel his hands on her skin.
Loosening the neckline of her tunic, she bared one milky white shoulder and then the other. His eyes feasted. Biting her lip, she let the gown slip lower until the tops of her breasts were bared. They were small and firm, and would fit snugly in his palms. He wanted to see more of her. Much more. He wanted to touch and taste every inch of her, but he had already gone much farther than he’d meant to.
Guilt mixed with the fire that raged in his blood. He’d never before understood how King David had broken faith with God over his desire for Bathsheba, or how the mighty Samson had succumbed to the seduction of Delilah. But now he was beginning to comprehend the overwhelming power of passion. ’Twas passion that drove men to reckless acts. Through the fog of desire, Alex came slowly back to his senses. He had not yet dishonored her, but anything more could not be undone.
With a supreme effort of will, he pulled away from her.
“What’s wrong?” she asked with a pained look that made his heaving chest ache almost as much as his throbbing ballocks. He’d allowed lust to run rampant, his body ached for relief, but that would be his penance.
“Please, Sibylla!” he pleaded. “We canna do this. God in heaven knows how much I want to. How much I want ye, but ’tis nae right to dishonor ye with my body.”
“Is it dishonor if I want it, too?” she whispered. “Ye dinna force me.”
He struggled to reply as the tightness rose from his chest into his throat. “Why do ye make this harder when I’m trying to do right by ye? I wish with all that I am that I could offer ye marriage, but I canna. I have nothing. I can give ye no home. No security. ’Tis wrong to go forward when I ken this.” He cupped her face. “Please, lass, try to understand. I ne’er intended this.”
“I ken that. ’Twasna ye who started this. ’Twas me. If anyone is to blame, ’tis me.” She pushed herself upright and began straightening her clothes. She was obviously hurt and perhaps even a bit vexed at his sudden rejection but it was because he cared for her that he could not take advantage of her.
Alex gazed up at the clouds. Splashes of orange and pink streaked the sky. “Daylight fades. We must head back before we’re missed.”
She bit her lip. “What if we’re seen together?”
“Ye’ll go first and I’ll follow ye.”
Twilight made a rapid descent on Cnoc Croit na Maoile, cloaking the forested part of the path in deep shadow and making the way difficult. Twice, she stumbled and a short while later, caught her foot on a root that sent her sprawling to the ground.
Alex was there swiftly to help her back up. “Are ye a’right, lass?”
“Aye. I’m nae hurt,” she lied.
He could clearly see that her face was scratched, her palms were scraped, and her tunic had been torn by a limb. He gently brushed away the dirt and tenderly kissed her palms before entwining his fingers with hers. “’Tis best if I lead ye now.”
Although the rest of the way was easier, Alex was reluctant to release her hand.
“Ye still havena told me what troubles ye, Alexander,” she said, breaking the silence.
“I’ve learned some things about my family since coming here,” he said.
“Aye?” She stopped to face him. “How did this come about?”
“Yer uncle recognized my sgian-dubh. He says he kent my faither.”
“He did? How? What did he tell ye?” she asked.
Alex drew a great breath into his lungs and released it on a sigh. There was so much he wished to confide, but what could tell her? How much did he dare to share? “Only that my faither was an enemy of the king.”
“The king has many enemies,” she replied, “especially in Moray. Did ye ken my máthair’s faither was a king in his own right? His lands stretched from one sea to the other, but his son, Angus, forfeited everything when he rebelled against the crown.”
“But what of Kilmuir?” Alex asked.
“’Tis an empty title. My uncle is thane in name only,” she explained. “All of these lands should have been his and much more, but now the king holds all of the lands—and extracts payment from us.”
“My faither found himself in a similar situation,” Alex said. “There was substantial… property… that should have come to him by right through his faither, but the king disagreed.”
“’Tis the Cenn Mór way to do such things,” she said.
“Dinna ye also carry Cenn Mór blood?” he asked.
“Only a quarter,” she corrected. “And I dinna regard that part of me any more than my sire regarded his Scots blood. He was a lowlander by birth who chose to be Sassenach. I, on the contrary, choose to be a Highlander.”
Her answer evoked a chuckle.
“Ye should do that more often,” she said.
“Do what?” he asked.
“Laugh. ’Tis the first time I heard ye laugh.”
“Monasteries dinna encourage much laughter,” he said dryly.
“But yer nae there anymore, are ye?”
“I am nae.”
“Then ye need to laugh more freely,” she insisted.
They’d emerged from the forested path, Alex halted and turned to face her. “If ’twill please ye,” he said. “I will try.”
“Aye,” she said. “But ’twould please me even better if ye would kiss me again.”
Alex instinctively leaned toward her, wanting to give her the kiss, but knowing where it would lead. “I canna, Sibylla,” he said, stroking her cheek. “This should ne’er have happened between us.”
“But it did,” she said. “Do ye regret it so much, Alexander?”
“Regret? Nae.” He shook his head. “I only regret that it canna be.”
He’d gone to the promontory seeking solace for his distressed spirit, and found balm in Sibylla’s kiss. He knew it was far more than carnal lust, but it was futile to think they could ever be together. “I am no one with nothing,” he said. “This can go nowhere.”
“But things can change Alexander,” she said. “I believe our destinies lie in our own hands.”
“Ye do nae have faith in Divine Providence?” He wondered again at her lack of piety.
“I do. I believe God sets many things in motion but the choices we make, for better or for ill, are ours alone. I believe ye came here for a reason, Alexander. I believe our meeting was meant to be.”
Alex, once more, recalled the eerie words of her grandmother. “Lady Olith said as much.”
Her eyes grew wide. “My grandmother spoke of us?”
“Aye.” He hesitated to say more, but found himself compelled to ask, “Is she right in the head?”
“She’s a seer, Alexander,” Sibylla answered. “She has visions.”
“Have they ever proven true?” he asked.
“Many times. She kent her son, Angus, would be killed in battle. She also kent that Domnall and I would come here… what did she say to ye?”
“I dinna remember it well,” he lied. He remembered every word but speaking more of it would only give credence to what he could not, would not, believe.
“Surely ye recall something of her words,” she insisted, “else ye would nae have spoken of it.”
“Sibylla!” A shout startled them apart before Alex could respond; it was Domnall galloping toward them. “What is this!” He flung himself down from his mount with an accusing stare. “Where have ye been, Sibylla? The entire clan is looking for ye.”
His gaze darted from Sibylla to Alex and back again, and then narrowed in suspicion as he took in Sibylla’s torn gown and scratched face.
He took a step toward them with his hand on his sword. “What were ye doing with my sister?”
“Nae, Domnall!” Sibylla quickly interposed herself between them. “’Tis nae what ye think!”
His gaze narrowed. “I ken w
hat I see.”
“Alex did nothing amiss,” she said. “I fell out of a tree.”
“Ye fell?” He snorted in disbelief.
“Aye,” she insisted. “I was in the great oak at the standing stones when Alexander came and—”
His raised a silencing hand. “Enough!” Domnall pierced Alex with a challenging look. “What have ye to say about this, monk?”
“I dinna dishonor yer sister,” Alex said. “I give ye my sacred vow.”
Domnall considered him for a long, tense moment. There was no sign of their earlier camaraderie in his expression. Would he draw his sword? Alex fingered his sgian-dubh, praying he wouldn’t be forced to defend himself.
“In my experience, a vow is only as good as the man who makes it. And I still dinna ken what to make of ye. Come, Sibylla,” Domnall commanded. “Ye will ride back with me.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered to Alex as she passed, her gaze downcast.
Alex warily watched as Domnall lifted her onto the horse. Of all the sins he’d committed in his life, some might be worthy of mortal punishment, but a kiss certainly wasn’t one of them. Then again, if he had perished under Domnall’s sword, he could never regret meeting death with Sibylla’s sweet kiss still lingering on his lips.
*
Sibylla sat behind her stiff and silent brother as he urged his horse into a bone-jarring trot. She hadn’t considered the true danger of being caught with Alexander until Domnall had put a hand on his sword. Her brother had a quick temper and was far too prone to acting on it. For a moment, she was terrified that Domnall would kill Alexander, but he’d responded with unusual restraint. “Ye judge him unjustly,” Sibylla broke the lengthy silence.
“’Tis nae Alexander who most vexes me,” Domnall replied tightly. “Tis the wanton I call sister.”
“Wanton?” she repeated on a gasp.
“Aye. What other kind of lass arranges a secret lover’s tryst?”
Virtue (Sons of Scotland Book 1) Page 8
