Leila’s Legacy

by Madeline Martin

  He propped one of his legs up, bracing her weight with his muscular thigh. She straddled his leg and immediately noted the delicious pressure against her intimate place. His mouth ran down her throat as his hands guided her hips to move over his thigh.

  Leila blinked in surprise at the rush of pleasure as she ground herself against him. She arched her head back to give him better access to her neck and panted at the incredible sensation wrought by arching against him. Her fingers worked free the top few buttons of his doublet and explored his strong chest beneath. His skin was lightly dusted with wiry, golden hair and lines of hard muscle teased at her touch.

  It made her want to see all of him, explore all of him. She gave a frustrated whimper she had not intended and began to work free several more buttons.

  The Lion broke from their kiss with a ragged groan. “Nay. We shouldna be doing this. I never should have…” The longing on his face did not match the regret of his words, especially when his gaze dipped to her mouth.

  Leila tucked her lower lip into her mouth, savoring the sweet memory of the feel of his mouth on it. “Kissed me?”

  His reply was a mere grunt. He had not pulled her from where she straddled his leg still.

  “I liked it.” Leila slowly reached out and slid free another button of his doublet.

  It was foolish to do, to encourage him further when he was ready to stop, to know that every kiss, every moment of longing brought her closer to loving him and thus closer to her own demise. But she could not stop, even if she wanted to. And she did not.

  He gave a short groan and caught her face in his hands, kissing her once more. This time, the first meeting of their lips was explosive with lust. Their mouths moved frantically, tongues tasting, licking, stroking. His hands were all over her body, sending ripples of delight through her.

  She moaned as she rocked her hips against him. He lowered his leg and pulled her into his lap, so she straddled his body. The hardness of his arousal pressed between her legs through his trews and her dress. Leila cried out and moved her hips the way he’d shown her.

  The Lion worked at the top of her gown with blind fingers while he kissed her hungrily. Finally, he managed to tug it down enough to reveal her breasts above the lowered neckline. He lowered his head and caught one nipple in his hot mouth.

  More tingles, more heat, more pleasure. So much, she could only gasp at the overwhelming and wonderful sensations whirling through her. She had worked free his doublet and pushed it from his body, so he wore only the linen shirt beneath. She was just beginning to lift it from his torso, revealing the banded muscle of his stomach beneath, when his hand slipped under her dress to her naked calf.

  “Do ye trust me, Leila?” he asked.

  Leila.

  Her lips curled into a languid smile. She liked her name on his lips like that, without “lady” before it. It was intimate, sensual. Like him.

  She nodded in reply, for though she should not, she did trust him. After all, mayhap the vision of her death might be one that changed. She knew better, of course. She’d had the dream too many times. But mayhap...

  His fingers caressed up her legs in long, climbing strokes, over her knee, along the inside of her thigh, nearly to the apex of her legs. Her mind went blank of all thought.

  His breath was coming faster, along with hers, as he crept his fingers higher still. So close. So close.

  His fingertips grazed the cleft between her thighs. She sucked in a hard inhale.

  “Ye’re so damn wet.” His face flinched in a look almost pained.

  “Should I be?” she asked breathlessly.

  He swallowed and studied her for a moment. He touched her sex once more, lingering, gliding in the slickness of her desire. When she cried out, the natural huskiness of her voice was almost hoarse.

  “Aye,” he answered. “It’s what prepares a woman for a man.”

  She nodded, knowing how such things worked. One could not heal without understanding the baser functions of the body. But he did not need to know how much she knew. “How?” she asked wickedly. “Tell me as you touch me.”

  His finger circled the bud of her sex and pleasure sparkled and radiated everywhere.

  “It makes yer passage soft and warm,” he said brokenly. “Ready for a man to glide himself into.” A digit nudged at her entrance, easing in just a scant fraction of an inch.

  Leila’s head fell back with a moan. She wanted to sink down on his finger, to force it up inside of her, to douse the blazing desire before she burned to a cinder. But he shifted his hand upward once more to stroke the nub that sent stars flashing behind her lids.

  “Do you want to glide yourself into me?” she asked.

  He groaned and his jaw clenched. “This is about ye. No’ about me.” The circular caress became faster, almost a flicker, back and forth, back and forth until her blood was molten in her veins.

  “Aye, Leila.” His voice was low and gravelly. “Come for me, lass.”

  Her crises washed over her like a shower of sparks: brilliant, hot and glowing. He caught her mouth with his, drinking in the cries of her delight. Her heart was racing, and her breath came too fast, but she scarcely noticed. Her entire being felt as though it was flying, floating high up above the puffy white clouds and toward the intensity of a beautiful hot sun.

  She opened her eyes and found the Lion studying her face. Her mouth opened, but she had no words to say. At least not before he spoke ahead of her.

  “I shouldna be here.” His gentle tone did not dull the sting of his words. “I shouldna have done what I did.” He eased her off of his lap.

  “Stay with me.” She allowed him to set her away from him and help her to standing.

  “I canna. Leila, ye’re…” He shook his head, not finishing his sentence.

  The glow of her release cooled with his implication. “I know. You’re Deputy to the Keeper of Liddesdale and I’m your prisoner.”

  His mouth curled into a sardonic smile. “It isna that. Ye’re too damn beautiful. I think of ye often. Day and eve. ’Tis foolish, I know, but I canna seem to stop. To stay here with ye would be too tempting when I have matters that must be tended to.”

  She wanted to goad him, to press him as to what would be too tempting, but she already knew. It was evident in the arousal that still strained in his trews after she’d had her own relief. He had given her pleasure even as he had remained frustrated.

  Without another word, he gathered up the tray, inclined his head and slipped from the room, leaving her alone with the branding of memories from what they’d done. Emotions tangled against one another until she could scarce sort love from fear.

  For no matter how much she tried to resist, she could not stop herself from the incredible lure of The Lion. Once, not so long ago, she wondered how she could love a man she knew would kill her, but now she understood just how easy it could be.

  12

  Sleep did not come easily for Leila. Despite the luxurious relaxation of her body following her release, her mind was like a hive of bees, all darting this way and that in chaotic abandon.

  Her gaze wandered back to the solid wooden door. Not with fear as before, but with anticipation. No longer did she dread Alban would swing it open and make good on his threats. Nay, now she wished it would part to reveal the Lion in the doorway, still hot and hard. Ready to show her how a woman’s wetness helped to accommodate within her that most intimate part of him.

  With Niall guarding her door, she’d put aside the shaft of wood she’d peeled from the bed. The ache of her fingers from prying it free had eased with her balm he’d brought her. Her eyes flicked back to the door.

  Was he still there?

  She shifted in the straw mattress. Bits of hay jabbed at her through the thin, rough sheet. Her right side was no more comfortable than her left.

  Was he still there?

  She drew back the thin blanket and slipped from the bed to the floor, her gaze fixed on the door.

  A cool c
urrent of air swept in from the crack beneath it as she approached. “Are you there, Lion?” she asked.

  “I am.”

  She put her hand to the solid wooden surface as though doing so might allow her to feel him through it.

  “Do ye need something, lass?” he asked.

  She almost laughed at the question, as if she were a guest rather than a prisoner. Aye, she needed much. Her freedom, her family, him.

  “Nay,” she replied instead. “Only to bid you good night.”

  “Rest easy, Lady Leila,” he replied. “I’ll ensure ye’re safe.”

  She pressed her lips together. His reassurances of her safety had been humorous at first, at least in a macabre sense, when she was determined to resist him. Somehow, however, he had slipped past every defense she’d erected and was working his way into her heart. Now his reassurances of her safety, and the reminder of how integral he was to her demise, had lost all humor.

  Saying nothing further, she walked backward toward her pallet as she left her attention on the door. Where he remained on the other side. The Lion. Her destiny.

  She settled into her bed and drew the covers over her. This time she did not fight the memories of what they’d shared, nor did she try to fight the pull of her thoughts toward him. She ran to them, let them embrace her with comfort and warmth. It was then that sleep finally claimed her, wholly and completely.

  Her dreams were senseless shifts of images of her loved ones. She tried to cling to their faces, but the harder she tried to focus on them, the more they pulled away. A tingling sensation washed over her, one so familiar, she could register its presence even in her sleep. It was the same with every vision she received, whether she was asleep or awake.

  The village around her was one she instantly recognized, the one located just outside of Werrick Castle beside the pestilence hut. Her nose stung from the smoke hanging thick and acrid in the air and her eyes watered against it. Within the hut came the cries of the dying as they begged for water and pleaded for relief.

  Werrick Castle loomed on the horizon as it always did, like a sentry guarding the village and all its people. Her heart leapt at the familiar site. Father was inside, as well as Isla and Nan and Bernard and Peter, and all the servants she’d come to love as family.

  She raced toward the castle, alight with joy to see them all once more. A violent gust blew at her, sending her staggering backward as a shadow appeared behind Werrick Castle. It was like a cloud, but thicker, darker, glistening as if a sheen of oil had been slicked over its surface.

  It rolled through the sky like something living, bringing with it the sickly-sweet odor of illness. Terror gripped Leila. She stopped struggling against the wind and was blown onto her back. She watched, helpless, as the mass stopped over Werrick Castle, casting a shadow of death on all those she loved.

  Her right shoulder burned where Death had left his mark. “Nay,” she cried. But the cloud did not leave despite her pleas. Everything in her sagged in defeat, for there was nothing she could do to stop it. The pestilence would descend upon Werrick Castle.

  The wind ceased abruptly, and water rushed over her feet. She jolted upright as the scene changed into the rushing river where the sky was gray, and the banks laid white with a dusting of snow. She gasped harshly. Not this. Not him.

  He was there, bathed in the chilly winter light as he stalked toward her, his face set with determination. Except now she knew that face in passion, when his lips were not thinned, and his eyes were tender.

  “Leila.” He was next to her now. A hand at her back pushed her onward.

  The water was up to her calves, so cold it burned like Death’s mark on her shoulder. She shook her head.

  “Leila,” he said her name again in a gravelly voice. His hands came up to her shoulders.

  The river was at her thighs now, stealing her breath and filling her with fear while he pushed her down. The frigid water stung like a thousand arrows and left her momentarily stunned as it filled her nose, her mouth. That was when she struggled for her life, and when he pushed down all the harder, intent on her death.

  Niall adjusted his back against the hard-stone wall. He’d slept in worse places. Admittedly, his cock hadn’t been raging with lust in such conditions, but he’d definitely managed rest in locations more rugged than the interior of a keep.

  He wasn’t worried Alban would approach without his notice. Niall had never slept deeply. No warrior ever truly did.

  Nay, his inability to sleep had more to do with her husky voice bidding him good night from the opposite side of the door. It was the flushed pleasure on her lovely face when he brought her to release with his hand, the sweet scent of her desire flavoring the air and driving him nearly mad. It was how she had asked him to stay and how damn hard it had been to decline.

  He gave an irritated grunt and shifted against the wall once more. The stone stair beneath his bottom was hard and cold and only served to heighten his discomfort. A whimpering sound pierced the air.

  Niall jerked upright.

  A cry came this time, a protest from the other side of the door where Leila slept. Niall regarded the door warily and settled back once more. Alban wouldn’t have been able to get inside unless he’d gone through the window, which wasn’t likely.

  Niall had just decided to ignore what was most likely a night terror when the thrashing of a struggle sounded, along with cries of fear. He scrambled to his feet, his fingers fumbling with the ring of keys.

  By some miracle, he managed to choose the right one on the first try and flung the door open. He’d expected to find Alban in the room, based on her wild screams, but she was alone in the bed, flailing as though fighting for her very life.

  “Leila,” he said softly.

  She did not wake. He approached the bed. “Leila.”

  A sob burst from her. “Nay.” She began to struggle again.

  Niall reached for her shoulders to gently wake her. She shrieked and fought against him with balled up fists.

  He pinned down her arms with his elbows and held her shoulders in place. “Leila, ye’re having a dream. Wake now.”

  Her eyes flew open. “The Lion,” she whispered. “You’ve come for me already.” Her breath came faster, and she yanked free of him. “Please don’t do it.” Her voice was small. “I cannot bear for it to be you.”

  Chills raked down his spine at the frightened hurt in her tone. What was she talking about?

  He put his hands up and stepped back from the bed, so she did not perceive him as a threat. “Leila, I think ye’re still dreaming. Ye need to wake, lass.”

  She blinked and looked around her, as though coming to the realization as to where she was. “My family,” she said. “Have you had news of Werrick Castle?”

  Niall stared at her. Was this still part of her dream?

  “I’ve no’ heard anything of Werrick Castle,” he replied slowly. “Is there news I ought to have been informed of?”

  She sat up and hugged her knees to her chest. Her hair was tousled around her shoulders and her eyes wide as she turned her gaze up to study him. She shook her head, her brows furrowed with concern. “Nay. ’Tis nothing.”

  He ought to have accepted what she said and walked away. He never should have even entered the chamber in the first place. But he was there now, and her stricken face revealed more than she would allow herself to say.

  “If ye tell me, I can help.” He offered.

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she wiped them away and shook her head. “’Tis only a night terror. Like you said.”

  “Do ye want me to stay with ye?” He stepped closer slowly to show he wasn’t a threat to her, that he meant well.

  She drew in a shaking breath. “Aye. Please.”

  He nodded and went to the door to close and lock it. That done, he lay down in front of it.

  “Do you mean to sleep on the floor?” Leila asked.

  He tucked his hands behind his back. “I was sleeping on stone on the stair
s. I must say, the wooden floorboards are an improvement.”

  “Would you—” Her gaze slid away uncomfortably. “That is, I would not…” She shrugged shyly. “Growing up, my sisters and I slept together in one large bed. I found it comforting. I still had night terrors but having them near me did much to allay my dreams.”

  “Ye want me to sleep in yer bed with ye.” Niall lifted his head from the cradle of his hands to stare pointedly at her.

  Leila nodded.

  “I dinna think yer da will take kindly to that.” He lowered his head once more.

  “You also abducted and imprisoned me. I do not think you will ever be redeemed in his eyes.”

  Niall sat up. Her point was an excellent one, though he found it odd that the truth of it should gnaw at his mind so much to hear it. He had never cared for Lord Werrick’s approval prior to having met Leila.

  Niall got to his feet and made his way to the bed. His pulse doubled its beat as he neared her. Aye, Leila still wore the red wool dress, and he was fully clothed, but lying beside her as they both slept, sharing heat and air, would be almost impossibly intimate.

  Her demeanor was reticent as she shifted over on the mattress to make space for him. He took a long, deep breath in an attempt to settle his racing heart and slipped under the blanket beside her. The sheets there were warm from the heat of her body and everything smelled like clean, dried herbs. Like her.

  He extended his arm toward her, offering his chest to lay upon. She readily accepted and snuggled close to him with her head nestled against his shoulder. The delicate scent of rosemary wafted from her hair.

  He liked having her laying against him, not just for the slight weight of her lithe body nestled to him, but also the feeling that he could protect her from anything.

  He preferred her being with him like this rather than regarding him with raw fear as she had when he first entered the room. The chill he’d felt then resurfaced in the form of goosebumps over his flesh.