DevilsHeart

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DevilsHeart Page 17

by Laura Glenn


  Rathe shifted his eyes back and forth between his friends. “No?”

  Galen remained silent, his arms crossed as he looked toward his wife.

  Anna’s brow crinkled and she shrugged. “I mean, we bathed her and helped her into clean clothes. I saw no evidence that would make me think…”

  “No?”

  She pursed her lips. “No.”

  Rathe closed his eyes and leaned his back against the table. He concentrated on an image of Leah’s face he conjured up in his head in order to distract himself from the needle sinking over and over again through his flesh.

  “She is a lovely woman. Very quiet,” Anna murmured. “Do you know where she came from?”

  Rathe opened his eyes to find Anna staring at him as she held the thread aloft above his shoulder. With one snip of the scissors, she set her needle and the remaining thread upon the table before moistening a fresh cloth.

  Galen leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Annie thinks they share a similar background. A place called the United States.”

  Rathe shook his head and sighed. “And an amber pendant created by that old Graham witch.”

  Anna’s cheeks paled. “There is another stone?”

  He nodded. “She lost it and wants me to take her back to Graham land to find it.”

  “Like hell you will,” Galen grumbled, sitting back.

  Rathe nodded. “Exactly.”

  Anna remained silent. She touched the wet cloth to his skin, dabbing at the excess blood and fluids that had seeped from the wound.

  Rathe closed his eyes again and shook his head, allowing Anna to finish her work in peace. He was no stranger to mistakes. But the one time where it mattered—keeping his wife safe—he had still messed up and almost lost her. She was already about as jumpy as a hunted doe. How was he going to convince her to forget about the damn pendant and stay with him now?

  “Rathe?”

  His eyes flew open.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Green eyes met Leah’s and she paused mid-stride as a tumult of relief and eagerness threatened to turn her knees into jelly. Rathe’s gaze whizzed down her form and back up to her face. He breathed her name and reached for her hand to draw her toward him and onto his lap. His hand smoothed up her arm and encircled the back of her neck.

  And then his lips pressed into hers. Warm and solid. Her fingers sought the folds of his shirt and gripped them as she sighed, drinking in the solace his presence provided. He was safe.

  He broke the kiss and pulled back, his eyes narrowing as they centered in on the swollen area below her left eye. “My God, lass, what did he do to you?” He skimmed one finger along the outside of her cheek.

  A tremor vibrated through his hand as he touched her. She glanced from his finger and back to his face in curiosity. Had she imagined that?

  She swallowed hard, ignoring the impulse to shy away. This time she would remain still beneath his touch. “I’m all right, I—”

  She caught a glimpse of the ragged, stitched-up flesh on his exposed arm and gasped. “You’re hurt!”

  He shook his head. “It is nothing to be concerned with.”

  Her brow crinkled as she studied the freshly sewn wound. Rathe’s pinked flesh swelled against the thread, dark-red blood coagulating along the cut. Her skin chilled, her mouth drying as her stomach jolted.

  He grasped her jaw and forced her eyes back to his. “Breathe, lass.”

  She sucked in a breath, concentrating on his face. As soon as warmth returned to her cheeks, his hand relaxed and he brushed a gentle kiss along the corner of her mouth.

  His good-natured chuckle soothed her frayed nerves. “Get used to it, love. It will not be the last wound, I promise.”

  She dropped her gaze to his chest, her feathers a bit ruffled. Maybe the blood and sight of lacerated flesh had taken her by surprise, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t handle it. She just hadn’t been prepared,

  Wait. Had she heard that right?

  Love?

  His fingers brushed against the stiches above her ear, sending a painful zip through her skin. She jumped and grabbed his wrist to pull it away.

  He winced. “Sorry. What is that, three stitches?”

  “Four,” she and Anna answered simultaneously.

  Leah gave Anna a small, grateful smile and turned back to Rathe as he lifted her hair away from the injury and peered at it. She cringed. It was not an experience she ever wanted to repeat. No amount of whisky could have dulled the piercing pain of a needle sliding through her skin despite Anna’s gentle, skilled ministrations.

  “Tell me what happened. The whole of it,” Rathe commanded, his voice turning hoarse.

  Leah shrugged. She pinched the fabric of his leine and twirled it around her fingers. “Some guy came out of nowhere and grabbed me.”

  All eyes turned to her in expectation and she swallowed hard, her mind drawing a blank over what to say next. What was there to say anyway? It wasn’t as if anything could be done to take away the fact it happened.

  And she might have been responsible for ending another human being’s life.

  “Leah,” Rathe prodded, giving her waist a squeeze.

  Tears stung her eyes. “I think I killed him,” she whispered.

  “You sure as hell did.” His tone was tinged with pride.

  A wave of nausea swept over her. She scooted off his lap and onto the bench beside him. Her head fell into her palms. She’d had little choice but to defend herself. But still, to end up killing someone?

  “Hey, now,” Rathe crooned as her shoulders heaved in a threatened sob. His hand slid up her arm and pulled back the curtain of hair shielding her face from him. “It is over now, lass. He cannot hurt you any longer.”

  She sucked in a breath and shot upright, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You don’t understand! I don’t kill anything! Not even spiders!”

  His brow furrowed as he smoothed her hair along her back. “Spiders?”

  She spun toward him on the bench. “Yes, I take a cup and trap them and slide a paper underneath so I can take them outside.”

  He stared at her with parted lips as though she’d rendered him speechless.

  “And stray dogs. And cats. I will drive an hour out of my way to take them to a no-kill shelter,” she added in a trembling voice as she wiped the tears away with the back of her hands.

  “What is a no-kill shelter?”

  She shook her head. “It’s not important. What is important is I don’t kill anything. Ever.”

  Rathe’s hand slipped around her neck as he leaned toward her. “Did he…did he try…” He dropped his head and shook it, muttering something in Gaelic.

  Anna appeared on the bench next to her and laid a gentle hand on Leah’s knee. “Leah, look at me. Did anything else happen? Did he rape you?”

  Leah gasped and whipped back toward Rathe who had lifted his head and was now watching her with darkened, fearful eyes. “No,” she rushed out with a vehement shake of her head. “No, I…I mean, he…”

  “He what?” Rathe’s tone chilled, his lips thinning.

  She shrugged and cast her eyes down to her lap. “I think he tried, but I stabbed him in the side. He came after me again and I got him in the neck just before Bran kicked him in the head.”

  “Bran was the one who bashed in his head?”

  She nodded. “He had tried to warn me, but I’ve never really been around horses so I didn’t know why he was acting so strange. I don’t know what I would’ve done if he hadn’t…”

  “Do not let on to my men it was not you,” Rathe replied, his tone edged with laughter.

  “Why?”

  “I think they may be a wee bit scared of you now.”

  Her eyes widened. “Scared? Of me? No, I can’t—”

  “Leave it be, lass. They are enjoying the notion their new mistress is a hellcat when angered. Besides, it solidifies your place in the clan as someone to not disrespect.”

  “But I don’t
want respect through fear, Rathe. I want it because I’ve earned it.”

  A dramatic sigh escaped his lips. “If Bran had not kicked him, would you have hesitated to do what was necessary?”

  She shrugged. “I guess not.”

  “Good.” He chucked her under the chin. “Then it will be our little secret.”

  She rolled her eyes and attempted to wipe the tears off her cheeks with the backs of her hands but jumped when pain shot through her swollen left cheek.

  Rathe twisted around and grabbed an unused cloth from the table. With several gentle dabs, he cleaned the moisture from her cheeks. Then he bent toward her ear and whispered, “Thank you, lass.”

  “For what?”

  “For fighting like hell.”

  * * * * *

  Rathe muttered something unintelligible under his breath as she slipped into the dim bedchamber. She eased the door shut so as not to startle him but then stopped short as she turned in to the room. The firelight danced along the walls of the small, tidy chamber, illuminating Rathe’s bared back as he lifted the hem of his leine. His skin glowed golden in the light, the contours of each muscle highlighted.

  He grumbled and dropped the hem.

  She rushed forward. “Let me help you.”

  He grinned down at her as she skated around him. “I thought you would never offer.”

  She pressed her lips together in a timid smile and prodded him backward until the backs of his knees hit the bed, prompting him to sit. She guided his arms through the shirtsleeves, careful to keep from twisting his injured arm, and pulled the garment up over his head.

  “Are you still in pain?” she asked stooping to the ground to unlace his boots.

  “Not much.” He paused, his stare weighing on her head. “I will have to remember this.”

  She removed one boot and set about the other. “What?”

  “To get hurt more often. I am enjoying your attentions.”

  She flipped her gaze upward, catching the amused twinkle in his eyes. The nerves in her stomach tingled and she shrank back.

  He exhaled in an amiable sigh. “Still frightened of me, I take it?”

  Fury swept over her. Why did she always do this? The fear. The instant shyness that had plagued her for most of her life. It was all getting to be too much of a burden. She wanted to smile, to laugh, to express joy, hate, and boredom, not keep it all bottled up inside. She straightened her spine and took her time arranging his boots along the side of the bed while she concentrated on taking deep, even breaths.

  As soon as the agitation died down, she shook her head and lifted her gaze to his. “No, not of you. At least, I don’t think so.”

  “Then what is it? Honestly, Leah, I have lost count of the number of times you have shriveled in my presence. It is not something I enjoy watching.”

  She welcomed his balanced, matter-of-fact tone even as her cheeks warmed at his frank assessment of her weaknesses. “I don’t know. I’ve always been this way. Quiet. I’ve never wanted to draw attention to myself.”

  He threaded his fingers through her hair until his palm encircled the back of her neck. “I like your quiet.”

  Her heart flipped. “You do?”

  He nodded, giving her a gentle smile. “I like your reserve. Your thoughtfulness. I know I can be a wee bit bold or rough at times, but I will not hurt you. I have vowed to protect you, Leah.”

  Her mind fell silent. All the thoughts and arguments for why she was too quiet or too vulnerable to be involved with the likes of Rathe Sinclair faded. She stared into his eyes and, for the first time since they met, alarm bells did not blast in her head after maintaining eye contact for more than a few seconds.

  He brushed the pad of his thumb along her bruised cheek. “I did do a poor job of that today though.”

  She shook her head, surprised by the doubt tinging his voice, and slipped her hand around his wrist. On instinct, she leaned into his palm. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”

  His muscle twitched beneath her fingers. “But I should have. I should have—”

  “What? Had me stay close to the fighting? Taken me into battle with you? Rathe, you were right to send me away. If you’d had to worry about me…” She exhaled in a huff, unwilling to finish the thought. Her presence could have led to his death and she never would have forgiven herself.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled as a smile played across his lips. “I have a chance, do I not?”

  She scrunched her brow. Had she misheard something or spoken out of turn? “For what?”

  “Convincing you to stay with me.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Uh-uh,” he scolded in a teasing tone, pulling her forward. “No shrinking away this time, ma bichette.”

  Ma bichette. My little doe.

  Her lips softened and parted as he pressed his mouth to hers in a gentle, undemanding kiss.

  “You speak French?” she whispered as he pulled away.

  “Oui.” He brushed her hair back from her face, careful to skip over her stitches. “I spent some time in France a couple of years ago.”

  A faraway smile spread across her lips. “I always wanted to go to France, but never had the chance.”

  “Most people do not. I myself may never set foot on French soil again.”

  “I know, but it’s different where I’m from. Many people travel to different parts of the world.” She shrugged. “This was my first time traveling so far away from home.”

  “And look at what happened,” he replied with a teasing cluck of the tongue as he traced the bruise on her cheek.

  Look at what happened indeed. She laughed softly. She’d wanted an adventure and had gotten one. “My mother always warned me about staying away from men like you.”

  He grinned and drew her forward. “I am pleased you did not heed her warnings,” he whispered, smothering the last words on her lips.

  She quivered at the startling tenderness of his kiss, her heart pausing mid-beat as a cascade of foreign emotions zipped through it.

  He pulled back, worry settling into his brow. “Is everything all right?”

  She smiled and nodded, reaching up to smooth the creases out of his forehead. “You just surprised me. I’ve never been kissed like that.”

  He leaned forward again, brushing his lips along the corner of her mouth. “And I have never kissed anyone in that manner.”

  Her lips parted in wonder just as shimmer of heat rippled through her skin. “Unlace me,” she blurted out.

  A spark ignited in his eyes. “As you wish, love.”

  Love. There was that word again. She twisted around before he could see the anxiety splashed all over her face.

  Using his uninjured arm, he pulled on the ribbons lacing her overdress down the back. She stood and tugged the garment up over her head along with her chemise. Heat crept across her skin as his sharp intake of breath broke through the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

  And then he was before her, one hand trailing down her hip as the other pulled her wrist away from her chest. “God in heaven, lass, you are a beautiful little thing.” He licked his lips as his gaze drifted down to her breasts.

  She touched her fingertips to his chest and slipped them down to the hem of his breeches, enjoying the pleasant buzz in her head as he admired her. Beautiful. A warming sensuality eased into her muscles and she relaxed, reveling in the notion she could be an object of a man’s desire. Her nipples peaked beneath his scrutiny and a feral darkness fell as a shadow across his eyes. She tucked her fingers into the hem of his breeches. Leaning forward, she pressed her lips to the base of his throat as she slid one hand down over his burgeoning cock and used the other to coax his breeches down his hips.

  A guttural groan escaped his lips as his shaft twitched in her hand. She dropped to her knees and guided the garment down to his feet. He stepped out of it and offered her his hand. But as she gazed upward, his cock drew her attention. Her breathing slowed as her mouth watere
d, his earthy scent tickling her nose. Her name fell from his lips in a whisper and she smoothed her palms up his roped legs.

  Her stomach flipped, but she closed her eyes and drew her lips across one thigh. One finger drifted along the ridge on the underside of his shaft up to the tip. Moisture seeped out and she smoothed it along the head, eliciting rumble of approval from his chest. Wrapping her hand around his cock, she slid it down to the base as her lips grazed the side up to the tip.

  A tremor of anticipation shivered through her core, her nipples aching even as her head hummed with doubt over her abilities. This wasn’t something she’d done often, only at Simon’s request because she hadn’t much cared for it before. But now, now something deep and primitive drove her. Spurring her to taste him, to make him pant for her.

  Her tongue glided along the salty rim and flicked the tip. She hesitated and glanced up at him. His breathing quickened, his cock pulsating in her hand. And then she wrapped her lips around him, sliding down the length until the tip hit the back of her throat. With a slight suck, she pulled back.

  “My God, lass,” he hissed, weaving his fingers through her hair.

  She tipped her gaze upward. His eyes were closed, his chin tilted toward the beamed ceiling as his lips parted. The anxiety melted away, leaving her mind to focus on other things. The heaviness in her core, the moisture weeping into her folds.

  She slid her mouth back down, reveling in the weightiness of him on her tongue. He rocked his hips, meeting her halfway and she slid back. And then forward. Over and over. When his breathing turned to panting, she hesitated. She could continue. Making him come now would be one less chance of her becoming pregnant.

  But a desperate, needful ache in her core drove her back one last time, swirling her tongue around the tip. That fullness, the stretching to accommodate him as he pumped into her was too alluring to resist. She stood, drawing her hands up his torso to his face and threading her fingers through his hair. His breathing slowed as he tilted his face down.

  “You are a bit of a wicked thing,” he teased, a lilt of delight lacing his voice.

  He reached up and drew one of her hands down to his mouth, pressing a warm, lingering kiss into her palm before stepping back and leading her to the bed. Instead of coaxing her up, however, he lay back and drew her on top of him.

 

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