by Amy Jarecki
“My appetite is returning as well.” Pulling the horse to a stop, he slid off. “Let me help you dismount.”
“I can do it.”
He looked at her with a stern eye. “I’m sure you are able, but I would be no gentleman if I didn’t give you a lift. And you haven’t tried to walk since falling this morn. Your legs could be a wee bit unsteady.”
Brushing a bit more dirt from her kirtle, she nodded, blushing again.
She placed her hands on Geordie’s shoulders as his fingers closed around her waist. Ignoring the pain in his thigh, he lifted her, fully intending to set her on her feet with finesse, but the mule-brained horse swung his hindquarters around and struck Akira’s back. With a high-pitched squeal, she plunged straight into him. Soft, delectable, round, and sumptuous breasts crushed against his chest. Her arms whipped around his neck. His hands slipped to her back, embracing her tightly.
Stunned, he stood motionless with his arms wrapped around her luscious waist, looking into those fathomless blue eyes fanned by long black lashes most women would give their right arm to possess. “You have such beautiful eyes.” His voice rumbled with a raspy growl.
She turned a lovely shade of rose and lowered her gaze. “Have I hurt you?”
“Not at all,” he whispered. Dear Lord in heaven, how could she do anything to hurt him? So enamored with the softness of her breasts pressed against his chest, he could hardly feel the throbbing pain in his leg. If his hands weren’t full of her already, he’d tip up her chin and incline those ruby lips high enough to capture them in a kiss.
“Geordie—I—what—we—”
“’Tis all right. No one is here.”
She drew in another wee gasp, but still did not meet his gaze. “Ah…you can set me down now.”
He glanced to the ground, then back to her bonny face. His knees wobbled. Och aye, powerful knees built for battle had actually wobbled. He hadn’t realized she was still dangling in his arms. No wonder his wounded leg felt like it was about to give out. “Of course,” he said hoarsely.
Good God, he was in trouble.
Chapter Nine
Against Akira’s advice, Geordie took his flintlock pistol and set out to find food. They could have set a rabbit snare, but he insisted the only way for his leg to heal was to stop cosseting it.
She could fault him for nothing, however. Gracious, for a moment she thought he might kiss her. What would she have done? She almost wanted him to try it. His body had felt so inexplicably hard pressed against hers. Thank heavens she’d stopped him, else she never would have been able to look him in the eye again. And she was his healer. She had to look him in the eye, lest her ten shillings be forfeit.
No wonder Ma forever warned Akira and her sisters against the charms of men. Geordie might speak assertively like an army captain, but the more she grew to know him, the more she realized he was a man of honor, a man who would cast aside his own pain to help her when she fell.
Akira hadn’t met many men and trusted fewer. True, as a healer, she’d helped numerous people, and some were men, but they all eyed her with guarded expressions. No one outside of her family spoke to her overmuch—and aye, she’d heard rumblings through the walls about “bringing a tinker into the house” more than once when she’d sat beside a sickbed for hours on end.
But if Geordie thought badly of her, he hadn’t let on. Though they’d known each other only a few days, it was in the most peculiar circumstances. They’d been thrown together amidst a life-and-death situation. They’d run for their lives. And somewhere out there, dragoons might still be searching for them. But given a choice between overbearing redcoats and Geordie, she’d pick the braw Highlander every time.
I trust him.
He had proved himself to be chivalrous like no one she’d ever met. Nonetheless, it was her duty to care for Geordie’s leg, not to gaze into his hazel eyes and wish for a wee kiss.
Akira knew what came after kissing, and it included a swelling of the belly, then a bairn in an unwed lassie’s arms. No, no, no. Ma would die if Akira got with child afore she was wed. Besides, she didn’t want to end up like her mother, plundered by some blackguard in the alehouse.
And she would be fooling herself to think someone like Geordie would fall in love with the likes of her.
Mr. Geordie was a man of substance. Everything about him spoke of wealth, from the coin in his sporran to the fine tailoring of his velvet doublet and lace cravat. He even spoke like a nobleman. Perhaps he was the second son of a baron or the like. A man of property like Geordie would never give a poor lass a second look.
One day Akira would find a nice man who didn’t look at her with wary eyes like the townsfolk in Dunkeld. She’d make a good wife if someone would give her a chance.
After starting a fire, Akira removed her kirtle and petticoat. Goodness, she could hardly tell the gown was blue it was so dirty. She held out her shift and pointed her toe to the side. The linen was nearly as filthy as her dress, caked with mud clear up to her knees. And by the saints, the waterfall looked enticing.
She looked up the hill.
Geordie should be away for an hour or more.
She fished out a wee bar of soap she’d thrown into the satchel and headed to the far side of the pool.
* * *
Flintlock pistol in hand, Geordie rode the horse into a copse of trees. He’d have better chances hunting in the wood. With luck he’d happen on a herd of deer. Hell, he was so hungry, a rabbit or two would do as well.
Through the course of the day, the pain in his leg had ebbed a little, or he was growing accustomed to it. Damn it all, he hated being an invalid. He was born of rugged Gordon stock and would not allow a shot to the leg to get the better of him. It was time to buck up and bear down, to cast the pain and agony aside. Pain made a man tougher, stronger, and he would channel it into determination. God knew he couldn’t hide out in the mountains much longer. Sooner or later the redcoats would pick up his trail. He needed to send the healer on her way and make haste to Huntly.
Thank the Almighty he hadn’t succumbed to a bloody fever.
He shuddered, blocking such a notion from his mind. A true Gordon to his core, Geordie had never taken to his bed due to illness—a fact on which he prided himself.
Akira seemed a healthy sort as well. Where on earth she inherited such resilience, he couldn’t fathom. But then, her kind had to be tough to live like tinkers. Oh yes, Geordie liked her strength. It added to her allure. Her olive skin was as vibrant as the setting sun, and her eyes clear and more expressive than those of any noble lass he’d ever met. And then there was her hair. Bless the saints, her tresses shone with a luminous black like a raven in sunshine—a sure sign of good health.
Blinking, he cleared his throat. Of course, as he’d told himself a dozen times, he couldn’t lust after the lass.
She will make someone a good wife.
Again he shuddered.
He had almost kissed the temptress. Why in God’s name did he have to grow so lustful whenever he was near a beautiful woman? Why could he not be impervious to their allure, their scent, the softness of their hair, their feminine curves? Lord forgive him, how he adored the shape of the female form. It mattered not if a woman were buxom or slender, with pert breasts like Akira’s. He derived undue enjoyment from watching women, especially when they danced. Their skirts would billow and sway, helping him form an image of their figures beneath. And if he happened to be blessed that eve, he might even spirit a lovely above stairs and discover if his imaginings were right.
He clamped his fingers around his pistol. Damnation, he should not be thinking about women dancing. He should be thinking about how in God’s name he was going to arrange Akira’s transport home, then avoid being stopped by redcoat patrols on his journey to Huntly Castle. He should be hunting for the next meal so he’d survive to see Jane and Alexander again.
He glanced up at the sky. Without a cloud sailing overhead, the color reminded him of Akira’s e
yes. Aye, he’d grown to enjoy looking into those eyes in the past few days. Those eyes could hypnotize a man and make him forget himself. Geordie could attest to such a fact. She’d seduced him with a look more than once, and the last time she’d almost persuaded him to kiss her.
Ahead, a rabbit disappeared beneath a fern. Geordie steered the horse toward the quarry, his eyes darting from side to side. The rabbit dashed through the scrub. Geordie took aim. The rascal disappeared beneath a patch of gorse.
He lowered his weapon.
No use wasting gunpowder.
Squaring himself on the horse’s slippery back, he wished Akira would have taken enough coin to purchase a saddle. Though riding double was probably more comfortable bareback.
A grin spread across his lips and warmth swelled in his chest.
He’d been quite content when she rode seated aside in front of him. With every inhale, the scent of her hair made a restless desire swirl deep in his loins. The curve of her hip resting between his legs provided an ever-present reminder that she was oh, so delectably female. Their closeness, combined with their unintended touches, made him want to surround her with his arms and ply her with kisses.
Holy hellfire, he wanted to give her a lot more than kisses. Hot, passionate, crazed plundering came to mind and made his heart pound.
Geordie growled.
No wonder he’d all but thrown himself at the lass when he’d helped her dismount. He’d been bottling up his urges for hours—convincing himself that he could never take advantage of the wee healer, which he couldn’t.
Absolutely not.
He could not prove Elizabeth right by allowing his cock to take charge of his actions. No matter how much he desired Akira, he must feign indifference.
He couldn’t entertain a relationship with the lass. For the love of God, he was a bloody duke. His miserable divorce had already dragged him through the mire with his peers. He could scarcely show his face in Parliament as it was. What would they think if he showed up with a commoner on his arm?
He almost laughed out loud. The absurd image of him greeting Queen Anne and introducing Akira Ayres, descendant of Romany blood, was almost tempting. He could even make up some fictitious Romany royalty just for a good jape.
He hated the hypocrisy that came with being a duke.
And he could never put Akira into any situation that might cause her embarrassment.
They couldn’t possibly have a future together.
And a brief liaison was out of the question.
Was it not?
Yes, God damn my wayward mind.
Dear God, she was the sweetest, kindest wisp of a woman he’d ever met. He must not think of showering her with affection, only to break her heart in the end. Besides, if anyone discovered them, she’d be ruined.
I am a duke. I am ten years her senior, and it is up to me to control myself.
On the morrow, this journey would be over. He planned to pay Akira her due and that had to be the end of it.
Geordie’s ears pricked at the sound of a snort, then another. Cocking his weapon, he crouched and peered through the foliage. A mob of foraging feral pigs headed straight for him. Holding his breath, he eased his seat, telling the horse to stand fast. As the pigs neared, Geordie’s mouth watered. What he wouldn’t do for a scrumptious bite of roast pork and applesauce right this minute.
He set his sights on a healthy sow and pulled the trigger.
The horse skittered with a sidestep. The copse erupted in a maelstrom of squeals as the mob scattered and scampered for the protection of the underbrush. When the smoke cleared, the sow lay on her side, a hole between the eyes. Geordie couldn’t have hoped for a cleaner shot. He dismounted and led the horse to the beast.
When he squatted down to shove his hands under the sow, tears welled in his eyes at the pain shooting through his thigh when he hefted the pig into his arms. His damned knee buckled and collapsed beneath him. He fell back and the dead pig landed on his chest like a keg of ale.
Gasping, he gaped at the sky. “Ballocks!”
Thank God Akira hadn’t witnessed that feat of weakness.
He clenched his teeth and shoved the animal aside, the throbbing in his leg causing stars to cross his vision as he stood. Damnation, no self-respecting Gordon would allow an injury to prevent him from enjoying the spoils of the hunt.
“You will not get the better of me, you colossal beast. A miniscule hole in the thigh cannot stop George Gordon.”
Steeling his mind to the pain, he planted his feet wide, braced himself, and heaved the pig across the horse’s withers. He slapped the pig’s rump, determined to haul his quarry back to the pool regardless. In Gordon territory he owned vast forests in which he’d led many a hunt, gracing his table with venison for weeks.
He mounted behind the pig and headed for camp, sitting a bit prouder. He chuckled, anticipating Akira’s response—the look on her face, the appreciation in her eyes. As hungry as he, she would be elated, smacking those sumptuous lips. He would fashion a spit and they’d eat roast pork until their bellies were so full neither one of them would be able to take another bite.
Trotting the gelding all the way, it wasn’t long until they stood at the top of the crag across from the waterfall.
Suddenly, all the wonderfully mouthwatering thoughts about food completely fled from Geordie’s mind. Moreover, every thought he’d ever had melted into oblivion—except one.
Perfection.
Bless the stars above, a pure goddess had replaced the Gypsy nymph, and in her place stood the most beautiful woman he’d ever cast his gaze upon. Completely naked, Akira waded in water up to her thighs. Standing before the waterfall, her movement as graceful as a swan, she cupped her hand under the cascade. She raised her chin and encouraged a stream to shower her skin, making her flesh glisten like pure amber.
He’d never seen a profile so alluring, so flawless. When she turned, a deep yearning clamped deep and low, and he leaned forward for a better glimpse. God’s bones, the woman’s breasts were fuller than he’d imagined, rounded and tipped with tantalizing rosebuds—flowers he wanted to caress between his fingers and suckle. His gaze trailing lower, he recalled how he could touch his thumbs when he placed his hands around her slender waist.
Aye, he wanted his hands there now.
Dear God, no woman should be endowed with such a delectable splay of feminine hips.
He rubbed his fingers together, imagining how soft her skin would be to his touch.
No wonder he’d been so impassioned by the curve of her hip pushing against his cock. His fingers flexed, itching to sink into her soft, rounded flesh and inhale the jasmine fragrance of her sex. Another stuttered exhale escaped his lips as he regarded that black triangle of curls at her apex.
An invitation wrapped in black silk.
Good God, he was hard. He could race the horse into the ravine and in seconds, he’d have her in his arms, strip off his clothes, and make love to her beneath the waterfall, feel those hot thighs wrap around his waist as he lifted her up and buried himself deep inside her sleek core.
Geordie shifted his seat and licked his parched lips.
Akira raised one arm and rubbed it with a slim bar of soap, the motion so lithe, so delightfully tempting, Geordie’s balls ached with a searing fire. The woman’s wet, raven tresses plastered to the sides of her hips while she cleansed the other arm, then her neck and shoulders, her breasts, and oh, for the love of everything holy, between her legs. Water sprayed around her like a fountain as she turned her back to him.
Dear Moses, it was as heavenly as the front! Her long, glistening tresses hung past her waist, clinging to the enticing flare of her hips. Then she pulled her hair aside and allowed the water to shower her, revealing the length of her feminine neck, the curve of her back, the perfection of her form.
Geordie inched the horse toward the trail.
Looking up the hill for the first time, Akira dropped into the water, submersing her hips.
“Eeep!” A high-pitched squeal echoed and swirled through the ravine. Crossing her arms over her breasts, Akira sank clear up to her neck.
Geordie tapped his heels into the horse’s barrel and walked the gelding down the incline. He couldn’t shift his gaze from the lass. His hands shook, his damned cock was harder than the steel rod of a smithy’s hammer. Och aye, he wanted her.
“I’ll be done in a minute,” she said, her eyes fearful, her voice too shrill.
Something clicked at the back of Geordie’s mind.
Take control of yourself.
She glanced to her clothing, spread across the bushes in the sun. “I-I didn’t think you’d return so soon.”
“Just arrived,” he croaked, hardly able to find his voice. “We’ll be dining on roast pork this eve.”
“Such good news…but”—she bit her bottom lip—“can you wait a wee bit longer? I-I-I’ve nothing to wear.”
Geordie forced himself to drag his gaze away. By the looks of her clothes, held secure by the thorns of a yellow gorse, they would be wet for hours. “You could wear my shirt whilst your things dry.”
“Will you not be c-cold?”
“Nowhere near as cold as you are now.” He visualized the erect tips of her breasts and his cock pulsed, leaking seed. He slid off the horse and untied his cravat. “Sorry I haven’t a clean shirt to offer, but mine will cover you whilst we roast the pig.” He couldn’t help staring at her lovely face, her enormous blue eyes framed by black eyelashes. Her face, the color of honey, glistened with water droplets reflecting the afternoon sunglow.
After removing his doublet and pulling the shirt over his head, Geordie’s hand shook as he waded into the water and held the garment out to her. Devil’s bones, he stood so near—with one more step he could cast the blasted shirt aside and pull her into his embrace. Wrap his arms around her and enjoy the thrill when her wet breasts molded into his chest—skin to skin. Dear God, the temptation ripped through him like a bolt of lightning shooting from his chest and out the tip of his cock.
