He stared at her for a long moment, as if her words were nonsensical gibberish. “The rabbit by the stream. We should retrieve it,” she repeated. Her breath came rapidly, and she watched as his face relaxed, the haze of passion cooling back to sense.
Pushing up, he gave her a wry smile. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to lose your lucky catch.” As he stood, Grace could tell he favored the injured leg, but he still reached down to help pull her from the snowdrift. He brushed down her back, even over her backside. “Ye’re coated in snow.”
Face heated, Grace stepped away from the outline their bodies had made in the drift. “I will melt,” she said and chanced a look up at him despite her blush. “Shall I collect the hare?”
He studied her, curiosity in the narrowness of his eyes. Did he think her fickle? A frivolous girl who sought to push virile men to the edge of sanity and then joyfully refuse them? The flames in her cheeks flooded down her neck, and she opened her mouth to say something.
“Nay,” he answered before she could come up with a defense or apology or whatever was suitable. “If ye prepare the fire inside the cabin, I’ll skin and gut it. We’ll have roast rabbit for supper.” He turned to trudge back, following the path they’d blazed before.
…
Lasses were impossible to understand.
He worked his knife under the skin of the large hare, freeing it from the meat that would soon be spitted and roasting. His stomach growled even if his mind focused on the strange twist of events less than an hour ago. Grace had pulled him down to her, hadn’t she? She’d shut her eyes, her lips parting in anticipation of his kiss. And she’d pressed against him, and blast it, she’d said “more.” He cursed softly and slit the small animal to remove the entrails.
He exhaled long, watching his breath puff out in a quickly fading cloud. It was true that he’d never kissed a virgin before, and with her unguarded, innocent look, Keir was fairly certain Grace was a virgin. Inexperienced lasses stayed far away from him, their mothers collecting them like hens after chicks when a fox roams near. As if he’d eat them up and spit out their young bones. His only experience with females was confined to brazen, vastly experienced women who were drawn to his dangerous personage, his strength, and his reputation for loving a lass vigorously.
Working the thick iron spit through the rabbit, he thought back over the snow fight and subsequent kiss. She was innocent, but what he’d felt in her response was enticing beyond anything he’d ever known. He rubbed his chin where his beard was growing in during the journey.
“Bloody hell,” he said low. She had no idea who he really was, no idea the jeopardy she was in, no idea what he planned to do with her. He should stay far away from Grace Ellington. Grabbing up the heavily weighted spit, he walked around the cabin, opening the door.
Grace pivoted toward him from near the hearth, her hand across her breast like he’d startled her.
“My apologies.” He held up the rabbit. “Ready to roast.”
“No,” Grace said, her hands clasping together.
“No?” he asked. “’Tis better to cook it. Raw rabbit will likely give ye worms, lass.”
Her face scrunched in beautiful confusion, and her eyes dipped to the spit in his hand. “Not the rabbit. I mean, no, you don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who must apologize.” She stepped back, motioning him to place the spit in the iron holders over the low fire that she’d banked.
“And what are ye apologizing for?”
She exhaled long, walking over to sit on the edge of the bed that she’d straightened. “I didn’t mean to attack you out there.” She waved an arm toward the wall.
Keir leaned back against the hearth and crossed his arms. He barely noticed the ache in his thigh, not with the most fascinating words coming out of the bonniest mouth he’d ever kissed. He’d never been apologized to before, either. “Attack me?”
“Yes. It was… I didn’t mean to…” She was having a hard time speaking a full sentence. “I am not usually wanton, Keir, especially with someone I’ve helped heal. I don’t usually make men kiss me.”
He tipped his head to the side. “So ye made me kiss ye.” He uncrossed his arms.
“Yes, and I apologize.”
He took a step closer. To hell with his decision to stay away from her. “Ye did, lass.”
“I know,” she said, folding her slender fingers in her lap, fingers that he’d felt claw through his hair.
He shook his head, for she had no bloody idea what she was doing to him. “Your damnably soft lips and your smooth skin and silky hair. It was a trap, along with that sweet laughter of yours and cleverness. All of it in your arsenal of weapons to use against an innocent man.”
She stared at him, eyes growing wide. Her lips parted. “I…I meant when I pulled you down to kiss me,” she said.
If she was experienced, he’d swear her declaration was merely an act to entice him to ravish her. Because her wide-eyed innocence was shattering any remnants of resolve to stay away from her.
Keir rubbed the back of his neck and walked over to stand before her where she sat on the bed. “I accept your apology.” He gazed down at her, taking in the soft beauty. “And seeing that ye are an angel, without much experience dealing with devils, I want to let ye know…” He lowered his voice to an intimate level. “All ye need to do is say ‘more’ again, and I will love ye so fiercely that your angel wings will melt off like Icarus flying too close to the sun.”
For the space of several heartbeats she stared, chin dropped open, as if she were frozen.
Keir inhaled fully and turned to walk toward the door. “I’ll be back when I smell cooked rabbit.” He stepped out of the cabin. Damnation. He’d need to take another snow bath to cool his blood. The woman didn’t know her allure nor her jeopardy at being trapped with him. If she continued to stare at him with those wide blue eyes, devoid of fear, he’d kiss the very breath from her. And heaven help her if she uttered that one syllable: more.
Ignoring the ache in his leg, he threw off his clothes near the barn and washed with icy white until his body numbed enough for comfort. “Bloody hell. Icarus?” he murmured as he scrubbed the melting snow over his skin. If Brodie had heard his poetry he’d laugh for hours, or until Keir punched him in the mouth. Keir grunted and washed around the binding on his leg. He fingered the bit of lace attached to it. Once, the bandage had been Grace’s smock, brushed her legs as she walked. What would those legs feel like, bare and wrapped around his arse?
Was he enough of a devil to find out?
Chapter Seven
Grace sat on the bed for long minutes, her palms flat against her cheeks. “More,” she whispered. “Good God.” The word had nearly rolled from her mouth. What would be happening right now if it had? The thought brought back the ache she’d felt while kissing Keir in the snow. But was she willing to give up her maidenhead to find out exactly how it felt to be loved by a man as powerful and passionate as Keir Mackinnon?
Some women were known to throw honor to the wind, but titled English ladies knew their innocence was highly prized and required to secure an advantageous marriage. Grace slid her hands off her cheeks to fist in her lap. But I’m not in England anymore. The thought coiled through her like the biblical serpent tempting Eve.
In fact, she didn’t plan to ever return to York or Somerset Estate. It held too many terrible memories of her brother torturing her. With his death, she planned to sell it off to some Englishman. She didn’t want an advantageous marriage, because it would mean leaving Scotland, a rugged land that she’d grown to love over the last year and a half. No, she would never leave. Living a pampered life on a grand estate was not something she’d ever truly desired, which was why she’d been eager to leave Somerset with Ava to escape her brother. No, she’d much rather live an adventure, and this was definitely an adventure.
Grace realized she’d walked to the hearth and bent to turn the roasting rabbit. God’s teeth! It was damn hot in the cottage. Or was that
the effects of thinking about the brawny warrior who’d just given her the power to choose what would occupy their time tonight?
Taking off her outer kirtle, Grace went to the door to let in a little fresh air. She pulled it open and froze. Standing beside the barn was Keir, completely naked. His perfect buttocks curved tightly from his narrow waist. His legs were thick and long, and his back muscles flexed as he grabbed more snow, scrubbing it over his skin. He raised his arms over his head to smash snow into his hair and over his face. When he began to turn, Grace pivoted and slammed the door.
“Mo chreach,” she cursed in Gaelic. He’d have to be deaf not to hear the bang. Would he think she’d been spying on him? She hurried back to the hearth to turn the rabbit. “Trapped,” she whispered. This whole reaction, the heat and heart thumping, the clenching in her loins, the pearling of her nipples, and the kiss she’d initiated. It was all from being trapped with the handsome, virile man for five days.
The sun lowered outside, casting the room in shadow as she turned the spit and considered her options. One, she could do nothing and avoid Keir. Although that would be difficult in the small space. Maybe if she asked, he’d sleep in the barn. Or two, she could call him in, look him straight in the face and say “more.” Was she brave enough? She snorted. Doubtful.
The Devil of Dunakin? Yes, Keir Mackinnon could definitely turn her toward sin. She looked around her. Caught together in this small cottage, they could fornicate in the most inventive, pleasure-eliciting ways all night and day without anyone knowing. It would be an adventure that could live in her fondest memories for the rest of her non-adventurous life.
Grace looked to the pot of melted snow she kept heated over the back of the hearth. If Keir had washed the week’s grime away, she would do the same. Just in case. The thought made another surge of passion tighten through her body. She used the extra energy to lift the pot, carrying it behind the blanket she’d hung in the dark corner. There was nothing she could do about her poor smock, ripped around and around up her legs, so she abandoned it altogether. She used a rag from it and a small bit of floral-smelling soap from her satchel and washed as best she could. Her hair would have to wait, but at least her skin was rosy, clean, and freshly scented.
The door opened. “Do I smell rabbit?” Keir asked, making Grace’s fingers fly to tie on her long sleeves.
“Turn the spit, please,” she called. “I’ll be right out.” Without the smock, the dress rubbed against her naked body. Her legs and womanly V felt exposed, adding to the indecent thoughts that kept sliding into her mind. She brushed a comb through her long waves, letting them fall naturally down to her hips. She pinched her cheeks and smoothed a finger over her lips. It was the best she could do without provisions.
Grace stepped out from behind the screen and walked toward Keir. Since she’d burned all the furniture except the bed, he was slicing the rabbit meat on the flat stone built into the hearth. “It seems cooked through,” he said. He skewered a chunk of moist cooked meat onto his dagger and turned, holding it out to Grace. His gaze met her face but slid along her hair and frame. He tipped his head to her. “Ye look fresh. Here, first bite.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, feeling her heart hammer. He thought she looked fresh. From any dandy Englishman the term would have seemed a slander, but from the rugged warrior, it felt like he’d called her exquisite. “I suppose we will have to eat picnic style, since I burned the table.”
He sat, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. “Some of my best meals have been eaten on the ground.”
Grace lowered, tucking her skirt under her to protect her naked backside from the cold floor. “Mmmm,” she murmured, chewing the roasted rabbit. “The best I’ve ever tasted.”
He leaned forward. “Hunger makes the meal sweeter.” He held a piece to her lips, his direct gaze making it plain that he could be talking about something much more carnal than eating food. Or was it all in her wanton mind?
She hesitated for a moment before opening her mouth to close her lips around the piece of meat. His gaze drifted to her mouth and back up to her eyes. The intensity tightened her stomach, and she blinked, sitting back. “Hunger can make a person desperate, which can lead to foolish actions.” She looked off to the side and flipped her hand. “Like a person stealing bread right before a magistrate.”
Keir chewed and swallowed. “One could argue that giving in to a hunger should be done in private so worries about judgments couldn’t sour the feast.”
He wasn’t speaking about sharing the rabbit but slaking a different kind of hunger, wasn’t he? “Like…we are doing,” she said, her voice low. “Alone in the dark woods, in this snug little cabin.” Her breathing was shallow, as if she held part of her breath, anticipation heating her blood as she waited to see what he’d say or do next.
“Aye,” he said without looking away. “I could…taste this rabbit in many different ways.” His voice was gruff, like a rough caress, his rolling Scots accent a temptation in itself.
“Different ways?” she asked, trying to smile, but the excitement thrumming through her made it falter.
“Certainly,” he said, his eyes becoming more playful, giving Grace a bit of space in which to breathe fully. “I can inhale its tantalizing aroma, breathing in its delicious essence. I can nibble along it, tasting it slowly, squeezing every drop of enjoyment from its juicy flesh.”
Grace’s mouth went dry, as if all her moisture had traveled to her core, adding to the ache between her legs. She shifted. “Nibbling,” she repeated.
“Aye.” He pulled off one of the cooked legs, the tender, moist meat peeling away from the rest of the roast. He bit into the meat, his teeth showing as he broke off a piece.
Grace’s body sat at full alert, her eyes wide as he chewed, their gazes tethered together. She raised a hand to her lips, unable to hold in the tension any longer. “God’s ballocks,” she said, her mouth turning up as she laughed loudly, leaning back on her hands to stare at the dark ceiling.
“I didn’t know Sassenach lasses cursed with such foulness,” Keir said, and Grace brought her gaze back down from the rafters.
She quickly passed the sign of the cross before her. “I never cursed before I came to Scotland.” Breathing deeply, she leaned forward to peel more of the rabbit from the spit. She pointed the piece of meat to Keir. “And you, sir, are sinful.”
His gaze was merry, making him ravishingly handsome. “What else would ye expect from a devil?”
She laughed softly, the two of them eating and licking their fingers. When they’d picked all the meat from the bones, Grace stood, throwing them out the door into the snow. While Keir added some bundles of hay he’d twisted to the small fire and some slats from the barn, Grace retrieved her bathing bucket to empty and fill with clean snow.
She worked in silence, but the warmth of their exchange remained within her. The man could certainly taste, nibble, and devour her. He literally waited for her to say the word.
They sat before the fire, and Keir cleared his throat, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the edge of the stone encircling it. “So ye say that Mairi Maclean is wed to the MacNeil and is expecting a bairn?”
“Yes. I am headed there to help with the birth.” Grace tucked her skirt and crossed her legs under her.
“Ye must be a talented healer.” He patted his leg. “Ye helped me and Cogadh. Is Mairi expecting a dangerous birth?”
“No, but she’d like someone she knows to help.” Grace watched Keir, his playfulness faded. “You were traveling here to find her. Was it to help someone at your home?”
Keir nodded, his gaze searching. “Aye, my nephew. He’s only seven summers old.”
“What ails him?”
Keir shrugged. “No one knows for certain, but he won’t rise from his bed. Even my seanmhair isn’t sure what plagues him. My brother worries he will die. He has no other children.”
Silence draped heavily around them. “Will you b
rand yourself with another cross over your heart if he dies?”
“Aye, but I will do everything I can not to let him die. In small Lachlan lies the future of our clan. My sister wishes to be a warrior, rather than a mother, and my brother has not remarried.”
“And you?”
“A warrior makes a poor mate. I have no children.”
Grace watched him. “Lachlan is very important to all of you,” she said low, the muscles across her shoulders tightening. “And to make such a long journey only to find that the healer you’d sought is unavailable to ask for help…”
Worry prickled up Grace’s spine, adding knots to her shoulders. “I’m sure you can find someone else at Kilchoan. There are numerous healers about,” Grace said. “More talented than Mairi or I.”
He nodded, and some of her worry faded at his easy response. He leaned back on bent wrists behind him, and the linen stretched across his chest, reminding Grace of the ridges of muscles that sat beneath it. His biceps were large where they flexed in his shirt down from his broad shoulders. Keir’s hair was longer, reaching nearly to those shoulders. After his snow bath it had dried in waves of brown, giving him a free, tousled look, like a wild adventure within reach.
Grace shook her head. “You are completely comfortable being who you are, aren’t you? Such confidence must be freeing, knowing you could survive in any situation.” She shrugged, trying to keep envy out of her tone. “Against a wolf pack, or falling in a cold stream, or getting waylaid by a blizzard. You’re strong and know how to trap and skin animals to eat. Nothing frightens you, does it?” She matched his relaxed posture and studied him closely. “I can’t even imagine the freedom that comes with courage. I possess very little.”
A shadow tightened his face. “None of us are truly free, Grace Ellington. We all have our demons. Even though death doesn’t concern me much, doesn’t mean that I don’t fear. Even the mightiest warrior knows pain and avoids it, not only physical pain.” He rubbed his leg absently.
The Devil of Dunakin Castle (Highland Isles) Page 5
