Highland Honor [Murray Brothers Book 2]

by Hannah Howell

  On the third night of their journey Gisele took out the stitches in Nigel's wound. He insisted it was time, but she had hesitated, unsure of the right time to remove such things. The last thing she wished to do was to have to restitch him because they had moved too quickly and misjudged how much he had healed. Now that they were out, however, she looked closely at the wound and decided it had closed well. The skin was still pink and tender, but she could see no sign that the wound could be easily reopened.

  Now he was probably healed enough to begin to properly teach her how to use a sword, if not for a long, hard ride, she mused. Thus far, he had done little more than tell her how to hold a sword and carefully instruct her in different ways to move, how to thrust and parry. At first it had been a little embarrassing to prance around by herself while he sprawled on their bed calling out directions, but she had quickly become used to it. He could show her more clearly now, had the strength to survive the day with enough ability to show her more, perhaps even to engage in a few mock battles.

  "So, I am healed now,” Nigel said, interrupting her silent planning as he slowly moved his hand over the rough skin covering his wound.

  "Nearly,” she murmured, finding her position astride his body an enticing one, learning how to fight quickly becoming the last thing on her mind. “The wound no longer needs stitches to keep the skin together and your insides where they belong, but that does not mean that it is strong enough to endure any punishment. You must still be very careful in what you do"

  Nigel slid his hands down her sides and slowly caressed her hips. “There are a few things I have been thinking of doing since I began to regain my strength."

  "And what would those things be?” she asked, able to see exactly what he was thinking of from the warmth darkening his beautiful amber eyes.

  "Weel, they may nay be too easy to gain now that I am a poor, weakened, and scarred mon,” he murmured as he kissed the gentle curve of her throat.

  Gisele smiled against his skin as she bent and kissed the scar on his side and felt him tremble beneath her lips. For the last three nights she had not been able to stop herself from thinking about how it felt to make love with him. It had begun to rob her of much needed sleep. She had tried to cool her blood by remembering that he was obviously still in love with some woman in Scotland, but all she could think of was that that woman was not present. She had also tried to cling to the memory of what he had said just before he had been wounded, that puzzling remark about how any man would covet such a bounty, but her growing ardor made it easy to discard that as a callous remark intended to unsettle his opponent.

  Inwardly, she shook her head in disgust over her inability to decide anything about Nigel except that she wanted him. At the moment, she wanted him very much indeed. She sorely missed the pleasure they could share, how it warmed her and made it so easy to forget all of her troubles, doubts, and fears. As she trailed soft, tender kisses over his taut stomach and heard his breathing grow heavier, she felt increasingly bold.

  She found herself wondering what it would be like to make love to Nigel, and even though she felt herself blush she could not shake the thought. He had shown her how beautiful passion could be. He had always been the one to begin the seduction, to make love to her, teaching her and leading her. Now that she was no longer ignorant of the many ways one could make love and stir a lover's desire, what harm could there be in employing that new knowledge by returning some of the delight he had gifted her with?

  The more she thought about it, the more daring she felt. The more daring she felt, the more her passion rose. Gisele thought of all he had done to her to make her passion run hot, and suddenly wanted to do the same to him. She had no doubt that he desired her, but now she wanted to make him grow feverish and blind with passion, just as he had made her feel so many times. It would be a very sweet and pleasurable revenge, if he allowed it.

  And that, she decided, was the only thing that made her hesitate to act upon her wishes. What if, by her boldness, she deeply offended Nigel in some way? What if she made him think poorly of her? She shook aside her sudden concerns. If Nigel showed any sign of shock or distaste, she would stop and claim ignorance. It would be the truth. No one, certainly not her husband, had ever taught her what she should or should not do with a man.

  Nigel trembled beneath the touch of her long fingers as she slowly undid his braies. Only his weakness had kept him from making love to her since he had begun to recover from his fever. It would have been frustrating and somewhat embarrassing if he had begun to love her only to open his stitches and bleed all over her or, worse in his mind, find that he lacked the strength to complete the act. He had occasionally thought of trying to get her to do most of the work, but had hesitated, afraid he would shock her. Gisele was a widow, but he had quickly seen that she had learned little of the art of lovemaking from her swine of a husband. Now it seemed as if she were going to answer his wishes all on her own, and he held himself still, terrified he would say or do something that would make her grow shy and reticent.

  When she slid off his braies, covering his legs with soft, heated kisses, he decided that lying still was probably going to be one of the hardest things he had done in a long time. He groaned his approval as she curled her long, slender fingers around his erection and began to stroke him.

  The first touch of her lips made him cry out with pleasure. Then he softly cursed when she began to pull away, her pale face telling him clearly that she had misread his cry as shock and disapproval. Murmuring his approval, he threaded his fingers in her hair and gently urged her mouth back down. It was hard to think clearly, but he struggled to keep telling her how good she made him feel, urging her to continue. When she obeyed his soft request to take him into her mouth, he shuddered from the intense pleasure that tore through his body, and knew that he would not have the will to enjoy it for long.

  Nigel suddenly pulled her away from him, and Gisele frowned, a little uncertain. He had made it clear that he enjoyed what she was doing to him, but perhaps she had finally gone too far. Although she had only done what he had asked of her, her readiness to do so might finally have dismayed him. Her passion was running so high that she did not really have the wit to figure out what he was feeling. He certainly looked as if he were also held tightly in passion's grip, but she feared she might just be seeing a reflection of all she was feeling.

  He slowly dragged her up his body. Gisele tried to stop when she straddled him and join their bodies, but he kept tugging at her. She gasped in a mixture of shock and anticipated pleasure when he pulled her all the way up his body. She guessed what he was about to do, but even as she thought about rejecting such a bold intimacy, his lips touched her heated skin and she relented.

  A kiss on the inside of each of her thighs was all that was needed to make her open to him, to welcome his most intimate kiss. Gisele lost all sense of where she was, of what she was doing, was only aware of the pleasure coursing through her body. Even as she felt her release draw nigh and called out to him, he dragged her down his body and united them. Trembling, caught up in the force of her desire, she moved upon him with a nearly frenzied greed, finally collapsing in his arms even as he held her tightly against him. He groaned her name as he filled her with the warmth of his release. After a moment, he silently eased the intimacy of their embrace and held her in his arms, brushing light, almost sleepy kisses against her face as their breathing slowed.

  It was a long time before Gisele could speak, even longer before she felt she could look at Nigel without blushing. She had behaved very wantonly. Many might even whisper that she acted no better than a whore. Gisele began to wonder if Nigel might also question her morals now that his blood had cooled.

  Turning on her side, she ran her hand over his wound to assure herself that their lovemaking had not harmed him in any way. Then she studied him and smiled slightly, her fears easing. His eyes were closed, his features softened by encroaching sleep, and the hint of a smile was on his tempting
lips. Nigel Murray certainly looked like a fully satisfied man.

  "Nigel?” She lazily smoothed her hand over his broad, smooth chest.

  "What, sweeting?” He tugged her a little closer and aimlessly planted a kiss on her forehead.

  "I have a strong feeling that the penances we shall have to pay are piling up very high."

  He laughed. “Aye, shameless fools that we are."

  "Well, I have no need to worry.” She watched him closely. “I am sure that those penances shall pale in comparison to what I shall have to do to wash away the blood upon my poor, small hands."

  Nigel opened one eye and looked at her. Ye can be verra devious when ye have a mind to be, Gisele."

  She grinned. “Thank you."

  It did not surprise her that he had so easily guessed her ploy, the somewhat thin attempt to get him to proclaim her innocence in some gentlemanly attempt to ease her mind. It was odd, but his refusal to openly declare her innocent of murdering her husband was growing less troublesome by the day. She no longer felt that it was some deep insult, simply saw it as a small irritation. Gisele supposed it was hard to get angry that he believed she had killed her husband when he did not fault her or condemn her for it in any way. And, she mused, although she had not committed the murder she had certainly savored the thought of it time and time again. The church said that impure thoughts were sinful. She suspected ones about brutally murdering one's husband were, as well.

  She frowned as she suddenly realized that getting the DeVeaux to admit she was innocent might not be enough to fully clear her name. The hunting of her would stop, but would the whispers of her guilt? She doubted that, and felt a little sad. It would be good to be free, to not have to look over her shoulder every waking minute, but she realized that her life would never again be the same. Although she had accepted that all she had to do to stay alive would destroy her good name and place her chastity in question, she now knew in her heart that she would still suffer the blemish of being an accused murderess, as well. There really was no returning to the blissfully ignorant young girl she had been before her marriage.

  "I shouldnae worry too much about what the church frowns upon, lass,” Nigel said, breaking into her dark thoughts as he closed his eyes again.

  "How can you say such a thing?” She gave him a gentle, punitive slap on the chest. “Do you not worry about the state of your soul? Do you wish to go to hell?"

  "Nay, I just dinnae think God wishes to crowd the black halls of hell with so many wee sinners when there are so many bigger ones, so many truly evil men who desperately need to go there. Howbeit, if it will make ye feel more at ease, once we are safe in Scotland ye may go and bruise your bonny knees praying at some altar for forgiveness."

  "Nigel! Your impertinence could carry a high price. Do you not fear losing your chance at absolution?” she asked, trying to act horrified by his callous attitude toward piety yet finding herself agreeing with it.

  "Nay. I do all I can to follow God's commandments. I praise Him, I respect Him, and I follow His laws as closely as my poor weak flesh will allow me to. As I see it, there isnae much else a mon can do."

  "Non, I suppose not, although I think many a priest would heartily disagree with you."

  "Aye, but I dinnae always have much faith in priests. I have met many that are as weak as any mon, and some who should be roasting in hell alongside the men they have condemned to the place."

  "You must have met a few good ones, as well."

  "A few, aye. Dinnae frown so, loving.” He kissed the line between her eyes. “I am nay turning into a heathen. ‘Tis just that I cannae help but be wary of any mon who has the power priests do, oftimes more power than the king. Aye, there are good ones who truly feel the call of God and wish to do good, to save souls. There are also those who use their office merely to enrich themselves and indulge in some verra earthly pleasures and the pursuit of power."

  She nodded. “I have heard of a few of those myself. Too many men enter the monasteries and priesthood simply because they are younger sons and have no other means to support themselves."

  "They can live by their sword, gain power and wealth through honorable service to their laird or their king."

  "True.” She laughed softly as she rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes. “I pray that you are right in all you believe, for I fear I am of a like mind."

  "Weel then, lass, together we shall go to heaven to sing with the angels or roast in the stinking fires of hell. And now, if ye dinnae mind, I shall end this weighty talk and go to sleep."

  "A very good idea,” she mumbled, already more asleep than awake.

  Nigel kissed the top of her head and smiled to himself. He realized that this tiny woman probably knew as much about what he thought and felt as his brothers did. When she asked her odd, sometimes piercing, questions, he felt no reticence in replying completely and honestly. Her passion was unrestrained, and she could set his blood afire. His friends and family would think him mad to be so undecided about her, to still doubt what he felt or wanted. They would undoubtedly urge him to get her before a priest as soon as possible, and a part of him agreed that he should be doing just that. Yet, in a way, he felt that his doubt and hesitation were fair to Gisele. How could he ask her to give him her heart when he was not sure he could ever do the same?

  Nigel inwardly shook his head, knowing that the time for some decision was rapidly drawing near, yet shying away from it. If he decided wrongly they could both suffer. All he could do was pray that some enlightenment would come before he hurt Gisele so much there was no mending it.

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  Fifteen

  "Ye need to hold the sword more firmly, loving,” Nigel said as he picked up the sword he had just knocked from Gisele's hand and handed it back to her.

  "I think you try much too hard to show me the true depths of my weakness and ineptitude,” she muttered, but tried to hold the sword more firmly as she faced him again.

  "Nay, I but try hard to help ye overcome them."

  She cursed as they began their mock battle once again, the sound of their clashing swords echoing loudly in the small clearing they had chosen for their camp. It had been three days since she had removed Nigel's stitches, and each evening since then Nigel had taken time to try to teach her how to use a sword when they had stopped to camp for the night. Gisele was sorely disappointed over how long it was taking her to learn even the simplest thrust or parry. And what purpose was being served by holding a sword when it could so easily be knocked out of her hands? She suspected that Nigel was very good, but his skill seemed to be discouraging her more than it was helping her.

  "Curse it to seven kinds of hell,” she snapped as he knocked the sword from her grasp yet again, and she stuck her badly stinging fingers into her mouth in a vain effort to soothe them.

  "Ye take this all too much to heart,” he said, taking her hand out of her mouth and kissing her still damp fingers before rugging her over to the fire he had built earlier.

  "Our lessons are done, are they?” she asked as she sat down, breathing deeply of the delicious scent of the roasting rabbit and once again thanking God for Nigel's hunting skill.

  "Once your arm grows weary there is no gain in continuing,” he answered as he sat down, drew his dagger from its sheath, and cut the rabbit into two equal shares. “Ye just need to hold your weapon more firmly."

  "Or learn how to avoid that blow which is sure to strike it from my hand."

  "Aye, that too,” he agreed with a smile.

  As soon as they had finished eating and cleaned up after their meal, Gisele was able to cajole Nigel into one more mock battle. He carefully instructed her for what had to be the hundredth time on how to hold her sword, and even tried to explain to her which blow to try to avoid. She used that knowledge well, if not exactly in the way he had intended. After several successful parrys, she boldly struck, crying out with delight as she knocked the sword from his hands. Even though she
suspected he had allowed the blow to be successful just to show her that she had done it correctly, she was pleased with her success. Gisele held her sword out threateningly, pointing it directly at Nigel's heart. Her eyes widened when he suddenly stepped closer, allowing the tip of her sword to touch his chest.

  "And now ye must kill the mon,” he said quietly, watching her very closely as he spoke.

  Gisele's eyes grew so wide he suspected they would begin to sting her in a moment. She also grew very pale and her hand trembled slightly, causing the point of her sword to pluck at the cloth of his jupon. Nigel inwardly smiled as he suddenly and finally decided upon her complete innocence. Gisele had never killed a man, might never be able to. Even in anger, perhaps even in fear for her life, she would hesitate to strike a death blow. He could see the truth of that in her eyes. She had probably not been lying when she had said she had aimed her dagger at his attacker's sword arm back at the cave. He reached out and gently took the sword from her hands.

  "Mayhap this is not such a good idea,” she murmured, wondering how she could have so foolish as to forget what fighting with swords was meant to accomplish—death. She might be learning how to protect herself, but she was also learning how to kill people.

  "Nay, ye have the right of it,” he said, as he led her toward their bed spread out next to the fire. “Your life is in danger, and ‘tis wise for ye to try to learn how to hold the killers back."

  "I am not sure I could kill a man,” she whispered, “and that is the true purpose of fighting, is it not?"