The Recruit

by Monica McCarty

  “I’m sorry I didn’t take you to the church. Did you discover anything about your sister?”

  She shook her head, her eyes filling with sadness. She repeated what the abbess had told her. “It doesn’t make sense. How could Brother Thomas have made such a mistake? I only hope he will return soon so that I may ask him. He went somewhere with the Bishop of St. Andrews.”

  Lamberton? Kenneth hid his reaction to the mention of Bruce’s former ally, but his senses pricked. Agreeing that it was odd, he said, “If you’d like, I can make some inquiries.”

  Her expression stopped his breath. For the first time, he knew what it would feel like to have her admiration. It was as if he’d just plucked a star from the sky and handed it to her. He’d been the recipient of such looks countless times before, but all of them together had never meant as much as this one did. It felt earned.

  “You would do that for me?”

  He suspected there was very little he wouldn’t do for her. “I still have some contacts in Scotland that may prove helpful.” Contacts was an understatement.

  He watched her reaction, but saw only concern, not suspicion.

  “You won’t do anything that would put you in danger?”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. Every day he stayed here he was in danger. “I will be careful.”

  “Then thank you, I would be very grateful if you would try.”

  Her eyes shone, and something tightened in his chest. He felt a nearly overwhelming urge to take her in his arms. But he doubted his ability to touch her and not give in to the urges that had been plaguing him for thirty-seven blasted days. Though who was counting?

  He nodded, breaking the connection. “You must be tired and wish to ready for bed.”

  Her face fell. “You are leaving? But I thought …”

  The disappointment in her voice tugged at him. Damn it, didn’t she know how hard this was? His fists clenched at his sides, fighting the primitive instincts that seemed to take over every inch of his body when he was in the same room with her. After a fight, it was even worse. His blood was pumping even hotter. “You thought what, damn it? The last thirty-seven days to the contrary, I am not a bloody monk, Mary. I want you so badly, I can’t see straight.”

  Her eyes widened. She gasped. “You do?”

  “What did you think? That I would lie beside you every night and not want to make love to you?”

  “You know exactly what I thought. I thought you were exhausted from being with another woman.”

  “I don’t want another woman.”

  It was the truth. And tonight after seeing her almost fall, he would finally admit what had been staring him in the face but his pride wouldn’t let him acknowledge: he loved her. She was going to hate him when she learned the truth, but he loved her in a way that he’d never thought possible. Apparently, he was just as susceptible to emotion as everyone else. It had only taken the right woman.

  She’d been different from the start. It wasn’t just because she hadn’t fallen at his feet—although he could admit that might have been part of it initially—but she challenged him, intrigued him, didn’t seem to be interested in his accomplishments but in him.

  He didn’t even mind when they argued. Actually, he kind of liked it. He could lose his temper around her and not feel like a bully—she just gave it right back to him. It was strangely freeing—invigorating even.

  For the first time in his life, he didn’t feel the need to impress, the need to be the best. But he wanted her to believe in him. He wanted her trust, even if he didn’t deserve it.

  If he weren’t so tormented, he might have enjoyed the look of disbelief on her face. “You don’t?”

  He shook his head. “I haven’t been with another woman since I met you.”

  It was clear she didn’t believe him. “What about the woman in the stables?”

  He wanted to tell her it was his sister, but how could he explain? He couldn’t. “It wasn’t how it looked.” Unable to resist, he reached down and smoothed the back of his finger along her cheek. Her skin was so soft it made his chest squeeze. Hell, everything about her made his chest squeeze. One look at those big blue-green eyes, those delicate features, the lush pink lips and baby-soft skin, and he was so filled with emotion there wasn’t enough air left in his lungs to breathe. “I only want you, Mary.”

  Mary’s heart was pounding so hard and loud she could barely hear. Had she really heard him correctly? Part of her said to leave it, that “I only want you” was enough for now. To take the morsel that he’d given her and be happy. The other part—the cautious part—knew it wasn’t. “For how long?”

  He was holding himself so still, only the burning intensity in his eyes as he looked at her betrayed the fierceness of the emotions battling inside him. He knew what she was asking him. She wanted commitment. Fidelity. A promise.

  He didn’t hesitate. “For as long as you want me.”

  She stilled, everything inside her coming to a sudden stop. Her heart seemed to be hanging on the edge of a precipice, ready to tumble over at the barest nudge. “What if that is forever?”

  He gave her a wry smile that tugged at every string in her heart. “Then you’ll make me a very happy man.” He tipped her chin so she would meet his gaze. “If you haven’t guessed, I’m in love with you.”

  Mary’s breath caught high in her throat, hearing the words she thought would never be meant for her. She was stunned, awed, and full of disbelief at the same time. It seemed impossible that this could be happening. She’d thought her chance for happiness was behind her. That any hope of the love she’d once dreamed of as a girl was gone. But here was this incredible man telling her he loved her.

  If she listened to the voice of experience, she had every reason not to believe him. He was every bit as handsome, every bit as magnificent, every bit as popular with the women as Atholl had been. But he wasn’t Atholl. And this wasn’t the past. If she listened to her heart, and judged him on himself, she knew it was true. From the first, he’d always treated her differently. She’d recognized it, but hadn’t wanted to believe it.

  She slid her hands around his neck and raised up on her tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss on his mouth. Their eyes met, and what she saw there gave her courage. She spoke the words that fear had kept at bay. “I love you, too.”

  It was as if a dam had burst and all the emotion, all the feelings, that had been held back between them came rushing out in a torrential wave.

  He groaned, wrapped his arms around her, and covered her mouth with his.

  He kissed her. God, did he kiss her! He kissed her until her knees were weak and her heart wanted to weep with joy. The warm slide of his tongue sent ripples of emotion fluttering through her heart.

  But perhaps “kiss” was far too ordinary a way to describe the perfection of his mouth moving over hers, of the gentle stroke of his tongue, of the aching tenderness of emotion he elicited with each deft caress. He didn’t just kiss, he devastated.

  It was incredible. The warm, soft heat of his mouth on hers. The dark, spicy taste of him. The smooth stroke of his tongue, delving … coaxing … entreating.

  There had never been any doubt of her husband’s expertise in matters of lovemaking. He knew just what to do to make a woman weak with pleasure. The skilled movements of his lips and tongue could rouse her passion in an instant.

  But this was different. This wasn’t just about passion. The soft caress of his mouth over hers, the heart-tugging strokes of his tongue, were gentle and sweet, tender and inquisitive. Not a plunder but a promise. A bond. A vow.

  This wasn’t just a kiss intended to make her body hot and needy; he seduced her heart and soul as well. It was everything she’d fought against. Everything she’d struggled to deny but had been between them from the first. Not just passion but emotion. A deeper connection. A joining not just of bodies but of souls. Finally, she let herself accept all the tenderness he’d been trying to give her that she’d tried for so long not to w
ant.

  It was hard to believe the same man who’d fought so brutally hours before, who’d seemed hard, unyielding, and merciless, whose big, muscled body could be used as such a deadly weapon could be touching her so gently. Nor could she have imagined that the cocky, arrogant warrior she’d first seen in the barn, who’d exuded passion and virility, would be capable of such tender emotions.

  Cradled against the big shield of his chest, Mary felt as if she were the most precious woman in the world. She felt cherished and protected. And most of all, she felt loved.

  It was so heartwrenchingly perfect, so achingly poignant, it almost hurt—which it did, when he stopped. He lifted his head, and she cried out in protest at the loss.

  He smiled, gazing down at her as he held her tightly in his arms. The warmth of his body around her was something she would never get used to. It made her feel as if nothing in the world could hurt her.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?”

  Seeing the challenging glint in his eye, she hesitated to ask. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “No more chemises, Mary. No more hiding. I intend to see every gorgeous, naked inch of you.”

  Heat rose to her cheeks, but she didn’t argue. He was right. She didn’t want anything between them, even embarrassment.

  He grinned at her silent acquiescence, and in a smooth motion, swept her up into his arms. Looping her hands around his neck, she buried her face in the fuzzy warmth of the plaid he wore around his shoulders as he carried her to the bed. Depositing her atop the covers, he proceeded to remove his clothing.

  It was clear the man didn’t have a lick of shame. Nor should he, she was forced to admit. His body was incredible—as he very well knew. And after nearly two months of sharing a room, he also knew exactly how much she admired it.

  He removed the arsenal of weapons he wore strapped to various parts of his body. Then, piece by piece, he tossed his clothing on one of the chairs before the fire. Plaid. Cotun. Chausses. Boots. Shirt. And then finally, his braies.

  He stood proudly before her in all his masculine glory. And sweet heaven, his body was glorious. She drew in her breath as a warm, melting heat spread over her skin. Not even the cocky grin on his face could make her turn away. The man was arrogant beyond belief. She should knock him down a few pegs, but she feared it was impossible. When it came to his body there was nothing to fault. Unless you didn’t like lots—and lots—of perfectly defined, granite-hard muscle. Shallow female that she was, she, unfortunately, did.

  His body was a sharply honed weapon of war, every bit as hard and impenetrable as the armor he wore. From the breadth of his shoulders, to the thick, powerfully built arms, to the narrow, lean planes of his waist, to the bands of muscle crossing his stomach, it was hard to know where to look. Of course, there was also that other part of him that drew the eye, demanding attention. The long, thick column of flesh that bobbed against his stomach, hard proof of just how much he wanted her.

  “See something you might be interested in?”

  She shot him a glare. “Would you believe me, if I told you no?”

  He laughed. “With the way you are looking at me, I don’t think so.” He dropped down on the bed beside her and lay back, crossing his arms behind his head. “Your turn.”

  She balked. “I hope you don’t expect a performance like the one you just gave.”

  “Not tonight.”

  A big, strapping warrior shouldn’t look so mischievous.

  She slid her hand over the hard ridges of his stomach, letting her wrist brush over the heavy head of his erection. “Are you sure you can wait? You appear to be ready right now.”

  He groaned into her hand as she circled him, letting her draw it up and down a few times before catching her wrist to stop her. “I won’t let you distract me, Mary. I’ve been waiting too long for this. Take it off—all of it.”

  She bit her lip, her heart fluttering nervously. “Perhaps we could blow out a few of the candles?”

  “Not a chance.”

  She frowned. “I can see you are going to be difficult about this.”

  “I’m waiting, love. Make me wait much longer and we’ll save this for morning. With the clear skies tonight, I suspect it will be a bright and sunny day.”

  She gave him a sharp scowl that promised retribution, sat up, and began to remove her robes. He had to help her, and it didn’t surprise her to discover that her husband was far more efficient than any lady’s maid. “Had practice at this, have you?”

  “Some,” he said blandly, not rising to the bait.

  When she was down to the last layer of linen, she clung to her chemise like a lifeline. Perhaps she should prepare him? “I’m much bigger—”

  “You are carrying my child, Mary. I doubt there is a way you could look any more beautiful to me.”

  What could she say to that? He killed her objections with sweetness.

  Taking a deep breath, she lifted the last veil between them over her head and tossed the fine linen chemise atop the other items of clothing. Instinctively she crossed her hands in front of her, but there was no hiding the big bump of her stomach or the heaviness of her breasts.

  She couldn’t look at him, feeling far too vulnerable. She’d never been naked before a man. Heat rose to her cheeks. Why was he being so quiet? Was she so horribly unattractive to him? Eventually, she couldn’t stand the silence any longer and ventured a peek from under her lashes.

  The expression on his face made all of her insecurities slip away. He looked moved. Humbled. Overcome by an emotion she didn’t recognize.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. He reached out and skimmed the back of his finger over the curve of her breast. “Your breasts are incredible.” He cupped her in his warm, callused hand, circling his thumb over her nipple until it hardened to a taut peak.

  “You don’t think they are too large?”

  That made him laugh. “Sweetheart, I don’t think there is a man alive who would think that. They’re perfect.”

  He bent down and took the nipple he’d hardened into his mouth.

  She gasped as heat and dampness enfolded her sensitive flesh, as his tongue circled, as his teeth nibbled, as he sucked. She buried her fingers in his thick, dark hair, holding him tightly to her. Sharp needles of pleasure shot from her breasts to between her legs. She was gasping with pleasure, her already heavy breasts growing fuller, her nipples throbbing.

  But he had only just begun. He took his time exploring every inch of the naked flesh that she’d hidden from him. He caressed her with his hands, tasted her with his mouth, and devoured her with his eyes, until there was no part of her left untouched and she was weak with wanting.

  Finally, when he’d brought her to a fever pitch, when every inch of her skin was burning from his kiss, when her body was damp and writhing with restless desire, his mouth found hers again.

  She moaned, reaching for him. She held him tight, her hands gripping the hard slabs of his back and shoulders.

  He was stretched out beside her, leaning over her, and the heat of his naked skin against hers felt so good, she wanted more. She tried to pull his chest toward hers, seeking the solid heaviness of him on top of her, but he held himself away.

  He put his hand over her stomach. “The babe.”

  She didn’t think there was a reason to worry, but decided not to argue. Instead, she succumbed to the power of his kiss, letting the warmth spread through her limbs like molten lava, dissolving everything in its wake.

  But eventually, it wasn’t enough—for either of them.

  The slow, lazy seduction and the gentle exploration had reached its limit.

  His kiss turned harder, more determined. Each powerful thrust of his tongue, each possessive stroke, taking her deeper and deeper. His groans echoed hers as their passion built together. She could feel the beat of his heart against hers, pounding faster and faster.

  The hot column of his manhood pressed against her hip and instinctively she
turned toward him, needing to feel the hardness. The thickness. The sweet pressure. Her heart dropped at the sensation. Right there.

  She rubbed up against him like a cat. A warm, sensual cat. She’d never felt so free, so open. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t holding anything back. With every touch, every kiss, every long, slow slide of her body against his, she showed him exactly how much she loved him.

  Kenneth had never felt anything like this. The primitive attraction that had sprung between them, the raw unbridled lust that he’d thought couldn’t get any better, paled beneath the force of the sensations surging through him right now. Everything felt deeper. Stronger. More meaningful. The heat didn’t just surge through his blood, it burned in his heart. Hell, it went deeper than that—it burned in his soul.

  Her beauty humbled him. From the top of her golden, silky head to the tips of her tiny pink toes, she was beautiful. A dainty package of lush femininity. The long, softly curved limbs, the ripe swell of her stomach, the bouncy pink-tipped plumpness of her breasts, the velvety smoothness of her skin …

  His throat had gone dry just looking at her. But then when he’d touched her, when he’d slid his mouth over every inch of her skin and marked her with the scrape of his beard, he thought he’d died and glimpsed the peaks of Olympus. She was a goddess who brought him to his knees.

  He smiled. Who would have guessed his too-skinny gray nun would turn out to be the source of such divine inspiration?

  He never wanted this to end. But unfortunately, when she started to rub against him, his body rather powerfully disagreed.

  Breaking the kiss, he lifted his head. When he started to roll off the bed, she blinked as if suddenly coming back to earth—he knew the feeling.

  “Where are you going?”

  He moved to the edge of the bed. “Right here.” Taking her legs, he guided her around and positioned her at the edge of the mattress—which happened to be the perfect height for what he had in mind. He looped his arms under her knees and held her legs apart, probing her gently with the tip of his cock.