“Ye only had the one child?”
Duncan’s question startled her and brought back the old familiar ache.
“I conceived two other times, but lost the babes,” she said, fighting to keep her voice even. “Sean even blamed me for that.”
“I’m sorry,” Duncan said.
It had been hard, very hard. Moira turned her face away and pretended to look up at the hills until she could trust her voice again. Then, to change the subject, she asked Duncan about their clansmen—who had married or died or had more children. Duncan’s answers were exceedingly brief and uninformative.
“What of my former maid?” she tried again. “Rhona must be long since wed.”
“No.”
Ah well, Duncan was never one to engage in what he viewed as idle gossip.
Moira did not ask him why he left her, though it was on her mind. His question before about Ragnall’s age had made her uneasy. She could not risk a discussion that delved into their past and might lead him to discover her secret. Besides, she did not trust Duncan to tell her the truth; nor did she want to hear his excuses.
And was there any answer he could give her that would make a damned bit of difference? Was there anything he could say that would erase the suffering of the last seven years? No, there was no point in upsetting herself. Her father had given Duncan the choice, and he chose Connor and pursuing a warrior’s glory in France.
The past could not be undone.
When she and Duncan lapsed into a long silence, Moira did not mind. With Sean, every conversation had been fraught with hazards. He had been so volatile that she had to watch her every word, never knowing what might set him off. In truth, she found it soothing to walk with Duncan and not talk at all.
Her body ached, and she was growing wearier with each step. She had been beaten, lost at sea, swept down a cliff, and attacked by wolves. This time, when Duncan lifted her off her feet, she did not object to being carried.
Before she knew it, he was setting her down in front of Caitlin’s cottage. Judging from the way Niall’s eyes widened when she stepped through the doorway, Moira knew she must look a fright.
“What ye need is a good long soak,” Caitlin said. “I expect ye don’t want to bathe in front of Niall, even if he is your cousin—”
“Definitely not,” Duncan interrupted.
“Then you’re welcome to roll my washtub down to the other cottage.” Caitlin handed Moira a small pot of a creamy substance that smelled of heather and honey. “After you’ve bathed, have your husband help rub this salve on ye. It will soothe your aches and pains from that fall.”
Moira swallowed. After she had already slept alone in the cottage with Duncan, she supposed it was too late to confess that they were not married and ask Caitlin to help her with the salve.
“’Tis a lovely salve,” Caitlin whispered in Moira’s ear while Duncan retrieved the washtub from the far corner of the cottage. “I believe you’ll thank me in the morning.”
As she and Duncan went out the door, she heard Niall’s voice behind her, “But he’s not her husband.”
“Hush,” Caitlin said.
* * *
Moira had a hundred scratches, and her gown stuck to her in all the places she had bled.
“Ouch!” she said as Duncan peeled it off, leaving her in just her shift.
Before Moira could give him instructions, Duncan lifted her up and set her feet down into the tub of warm water. She wiggled her toes and sighed. “Ach, it feels heavenly.”
Duncan held a towel up between them. “Do ye need me to help ye take your shift off as well?”
She did not miss the hopeful note in his voice.
“No.” But her shoulder hurt so badly that she got stuck with the damned shift half off and covering her head. “I do need a hand, but don’t look.”
One tug and the shift was over her head—and she was naked as the day she was born. She winced as she dropped down to sit in the tub. The hot water made her scratches sting for just a moment, then the heat began soaking through her sore muscles.
“Ahh, that feels good,” she said on an exhale as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She heard Duncan pour in another bucket of water that he had heated over the hearth.
“Shame I can’t tell everyone at Dunscaith how the captain of the guard waited on me hand and foot better than any maid I ever had.” She smiled to herself. After a while, she slit her eyes open to see what Duncan was up to. “Ye didn’t close your eyes!”
Duncan snorted. “Did ye expect me to?”
“Ye could at least pretend ye were,” she said and covered her breasts with her hands.
“Let me wash your hair for ye.” He picked up a long strand and twirled it between his fingers. “Ye still have twigs in it.”
Her hair was so filthy that it itched unbearably. Keeping her arms crossed over her chest, she sat up and leaned her head over. Duncan’s strong fingers massaged her scalp as he washed her hair with the soap. It felt so good.
He gave her a folded cloth to cover her eyes before pouring the bucket over her head. When he was finished rinsing her hair, Duncan eased her back and put the cloth behind her head to cushion it against the rim of the tub. The gesture was so kind.
Tears slid down the sides of her face as Duncan rubbed her temples and then her shoulders and neck. No one had taken care of her in such a long time.
“Shh,” he shushed her. “You’ve been a brave lass.”
Moira must have dozed, for she awoke with a start when Duncan said, “The water’s getting cold. Let’s get ye out.”
She was too limp to fight him when he slipped his arm under her, lifted her to her feet, and wrapped the towel around her. When she slumped against him, he scooped her up and carried her to the bed.
“We’ve nothing clean for ye to put on.” Before she could gather herself to protest, he removed the towel and slid her under the bedclothes naked. “Here’s a warming stone.”
“Mmmm,” she whimpered when he put the wrapped stone next to her swollen feet.
Moira fell asleep to the soft splashing of water. When she awoke, Duncan sat on the edge of the bed wearing nothing except the towel wrapped around his waist. His wet hair was slicked back from his handsome face, and the muscles in his arms and shoulders were impressive.
Duncan eased one of her arms out from under the blankets and began rubbing Caitlin’s salve over it. As he worked the salve in, warmth spread through the muscles of her arm, and the fragrance of honey and heather filled the room.
Duncan glanced up and met her eyes. “Am I hurting ye?”
Moira shook her head a fraction. How did a man who looked every inch the powerful warrior have such gentle hands?
She watched, mesmerized, as Duncan massaged each of her fingers and then her palm. She stifled a sigh as he slowly worked his way up her arm, soothing every ache with the magic in his hands.
Moira had never thought she would enjoy having a man touch her again. What was even more surprising was that she longed to touch him. She imagined running her hands over his broad chest and how the rough hair and hard muscles would feel beneath her palms.
She dropped her gaze to his hard-muscled belly. When she saw his shaft pushing up against the towel, she did not feel the usual surge of panic and disgust. Far from it. She wanted to remove the towel.
When Duncan tucked the arm he had been working on under the blankets and reached for the other, Moira lifted it out for him. She held his gaze as he massaged her fingers, one by one. Her breasts ached and her breathing grew shallow as he slowly worked his way from her wrist to her shoulder. She wanted to drown in the longing in Duncan’s eyes, to feel all the things he used to make her feel.
Before she could stop herself, she lifted her hand to his cheek. It was wrong to mislead him, wrong to let him believe she was a whole woman who could give him all he wanted. But she wanted badly to be whole again.
She had built so many layers between herself and her body to s
urvive the years with Sean. Bedding Duncan MacDonald would be altogether different. He was the only man who had ever given her pleasure, and she desperately wanted him to awaken her body from its dead sleep.
But could she give herself to him without losing her heart again?
“I’ve watched ye mulling it over,” Duncan said in a rough voice that reverberated somewhere low in her belly. “Which is it, Moira? Aye or nay?”
* * *
Duncan waited for her answer, wanting her so much his hands were shaking. But, God help him, he would not plead with her.
“’Tis a simple question,” he said. “Either ye want me or ye don’t.”
“Will ye hold me?”
He groaned. Must she make it so difficult for him? She’d had a rough time, and if she wanted comfort, he should give it to her. He drew in a deep breath, lay down on top of the bedclothes, and enfolded her in his arms. When she leaned into him, all her soft curves pressing against him, he buried his face into her neck and breathed in her scent.
“Your skin smells just the same,” he murmured.
When Moira put her arms around his neck, he decided that served as an aye and kissed her. He did it slowly and deeply, savoring the taste of her. Her breasts, soft and full, pressed against his chest as their tongues moved together in a slow, tantalizing rhythm. On top of the bedclothes, he ran his hand up over her hip, down the dip of her waist, and up her side until he felt the swell of the side of her breast. He needed more.
He eased the bedclothes out from between them and groaned with pleasure as he pulled her against him. Skin to skin, at last. His shaft throbbed against her belly, and she was making those erotic little sounds that had always driven him wild with lust. Duncan reached between them, his fingers seeking her damp heat.
“No! I can’t do this.” Moira struggled to sit up, but Duncan held her fast in his arms. She let her head fall back and said, “I’m sorry, I thought I could.”
“What do ye mean ye can’t?” Duncan asked, keeping his voice low and calm.
“I want to,” she said. “But I just can’t.”
Duncan brushed a strand of wet hair back from her face. “Tell me why.”
Moira squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Duncan waited, and finally she said, “Sean ruined this for me. I…”
The bastard. Duncan finally understood. He took her hand. “But ye do want to?”
“I don’t know,” she said, turning her face away from him. “I do, but…I’m afraid.”
Could he do this for her? Was he strong enough to give her this and then lose her again? To show her the pleasure of being with a man only to have her go off and marry someone else again?
Ha, who am I fooling? If Moira gave him the chance to touch her, to be with her, he would take it no matter what hell came after.
“We’ll take this slowly, bit by bit,” Duncan said as he ran a finger up her arm. “And we’ll stop whenever ye say.”
He leaned down and brushed his lips against the sensitive spot just below her ear, then he whispered, “Remember all the things we did that summer?”
* * *
Moira remembered. For weeks, they found ways to please each other before she finally persuaded him to take her virginity.
“It wasn’t me wanting to stop that summer,” she said, attempting a smile.
The side of Duncan’s mouth quirked up. “Now you’re hurting my manly pride.”
“I have a confession to make. I put a potion in your ale that night.” Moira had been desperate. Duncan’s sense of honor had held him back, despite all her efforts.
Instead of being angry, Duncan chuckled deep in his throat. “Ach, lass, I was done with being virtuous. Ye didn’t need a potion. I couldn’t have made it another day.”
Moira’s skin prickled when he leaned down and breathed in her ear.
“Will ye trust me?” he asked.
That was the question. After she had given him everything before, Duncan had left her. She could not—she would not—trust him with her heart and soul again.
But she believed she could trust him with her body. In bed, he had only ever given her pleasure, and she longed to feel that again. After all the suffering he had caused her, did he not owe her this? All he had ever had to give her was lust and passion, and that was all she wanted from him now.
“I’ll try,” she said.
Duncan began with the tips of her fingers. She felt his breath on each one first, then the softness of his lips brushing the top—a powerful, passionate man, touching her as lightly as butterfly wings. He was telling her that she could trust him to be gentle.
When he scraped his front teeth over the pad of her thumb, she felt it all the way to her toes.
“Is this all right?” he asked.
She nodded, and he sucked her forefinger into his mouth. His tongue ran over it, calling to her mind their tongues entwined in deep kisses. Duncan did it as if he had all the time in the world—unlike Sean, who had no patience or interest in anything but grabbing her breasts and pushing inside her.
At first, she had been foolish enough to think Sean would want to please her. When she tried to show him how, he had been insulted and extremely annoyed. He was a selfish pig, and that was the least of his faults.
“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop.” Duncan held her face, forcing her to look into his eyes. This close, she could see the warm golden flecks in them.
With his magic fingers, he began rubbing her temples, soothing the ugly memories away. He massaged her forehead and the tightness in her neck, then pressed a tender kiss to her bare shoulder.
“On your stomach,” he said. “I need to rub the salve on your back.”
He rubbed firmly, easing all the aches and pains. Gradually, Moira gave herself over to the rhythm of his hands. She felt weak, but her weakness did not make her feel endangered. Hours seemed to pass. When Duncan pushed her hair to the side and kissed her neck, she started, but then relaxed again.
“Your skin is like satin,” he said, running his fingers over her back in wide, arcing circles.
Moira felt vaguely guilty, as if she should be doing something to earn his attentions. But she felt so good, and it had been such a long time since a man had made her feel good.
Since the day Duncan left her, to be exact.
When Duncan leaned over to kiss her, his hair brushed her shoulder and sent tingles across her skin. His big hands gripped her hips as his mouth moved down her back. Old longings stirred deep inside her as his lips reached the base of her spine.
“Mmm” came out of her mouth when he wrapped his hand around her thigh and lightly bit her bottom. The deep relaxation gradually gave way to a sensual tension that started between her legs. She wanted him to touch her there like he used to. Instead, he teased her, holding her thigh in his big hand while running his lips and tongue along the back of her leg.
He sat up and soothed her once again by massaging her feet and toes. She felt as if she were floating in a pool of liquid warmth while he moved up her legs with his sure hands. He could touch her anywhere now, and she would not object. Though she suspected there was much she did not know about the man Duncan had become, she believed she still knew him here, in bed.
And the Duncan she knew would want more than her compliance. He would want a full joining, their pleasure pounding through their bodies and resonating in their hearts and souls.
Moira rolled onto her back and held her arms out to him.
Duncan made a low sound deep in his throat, and the hungry way he looked at her made her nipples stand up and tighten. Anticipation and trepidation filled her in equal measure as she waited for him. Except for the rise and fall of his chest, he remained frozen above her.
“I want to feel ye on top of me,” she said.
“That would be a verra poor plan,” he said in a strained voice.
“Why?”
“Because I said we would take this bit by bit, and I’m a man who keeps his word.”
&
nbsp; Was he? Duncan had not promised that he would marry her, but he had said he would love her forever, which to her mind amounted to the same thing.
Those hurts drifted from her mind as Duncan lowered his head to her breast.
“Aye,” she said on a breath as he circled and flicked his tongue over her nipple. Finally, he sucked the tip of her breast into his mouth. Pleasure sang through her as her body awakened under his ministrations. Soon she was moaning and arching and gripping his hair in her hands.
His hand slid up her thigh, and she gasped when his fingers found her center. Tension built inside her as his fingers circled round and round endlessly. He sucked harder on her breast, and she felt on the brink of release. She remembered what it was like and wanted it. Wanted it right now.
And yet, flashes of times with Sean made her feel embarrassed and awkward over her body’s reaction, even while she was so frustrated that she wanted to scream and kick her legs.
Duncan rose up on his hands and knees and blew on her damp skin, bringing all her attention to the sensation. Then he lay beside her and began whispering things in her ear—soothing words at first and then ones that aroused her.
I love the feel of your skin, your hair. Ye are so beautiful, m’ eudail. My treasure. It feels so good to touch ye.
While he spoke to her fears and desires, he traced his fingers over her face and throat and then over her breasts, making her ache for him.
“I want to hear ye find your release,” he said. “Ye know it makes me mad for ye.”
He kissed her hair and the side of her face as he began moving his hand between her legs again. After all this time, Duncan knew exactly how to touch her.
“Trust me.” His breathing was ragged in her ear as the tension built and built until she thought she would break in two.
“Oh! Oh!”
Duncan held her tight as her body convulsed in waves of pleasure. At last. She felt like weeping with the joy of it. At the same time, her barriers were shaken, leaving her heart far too vulnerable to him.
The Warrior Page 11
