Moonstone

by Olivia Stocum

  “Do not.” She cringed.

  It was only by the grace of God that he managed to catch the door before it slammed. He closed it with a careful hand and bolted it. Then he turned back to her.

  “Thank you.” Rhiannon looked at him with expectation. Too bad he didn’t know exactly what she needed from him. Chances were, she didn’t know either.

  William lowered his face until his forehead touched hers, then cupped the back of her head in one hand and circled his other arm around her waist. He brought her against him, relishing for a moment in being with her.

  “I want to try,” she said. “But please don’t be disappointed, no matter what happens.”

  She wanted him. How could he be disappointed with that? Rather, he hoped she didn’t find herself disappointed with him. He wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed with a woman who’d been abused.

  William took her by the shoulders, urging her back. “I am going to close the shutters. We have time. I dinna plan on leaving this room before tomorrow morning. Other than to get us food.” He forced himself to smile for her, hoping he looked more confident than he felt.

  While he closed the shutters, Rhiannon took off her cloak and unbuckled her belt with the dagger in its sheath, setting it on the table. William left his weapons piled around hers. He rolled his shoulder. It was stiff after long days in the lists against any man who would oblige him.

  Rhiannon took a deep breath and William had the impression she was gathering her courage around her.

  “Kiss me?” she whispered, stepping up to him.

  William lowered his face and kissed her scarred lips. Her scent of ginger and woman enveloped him. She tasted even better than she smelled, earthy, and a little salty from her exercise in the lists.

  Rhiannon pushed against his chest and he backed off.

  “I didn’t mean . . .” She looked a little embarrassed. “I was just going to tell you that you can take your shirt off.”

  He almost did, then stopped. “You do it.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “When you’re ready. I’ll help you with your laces, if you need it.” He wanted her to set the pace.

  She nodded in understanding, then slipped out of her shoes. “Better take your boots off,” she said.

  He did, tossing them aside. Och, aye, he could get used to letting her have her way with him. “As you wish.”

  Coming forward, her bottom lip between her teeth, she peeled the top part of his plaid aside then worked his shirt upward. He ducked so she could pull it over his head.

  Not touching her, as much as he wanted to, he let her look him over. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen him before, but this time it was different. Her hand smoothed over his scared shoulder, and down his arm. Then, with a look of determination, she set to work on his belt.

  “Is this fair,” he teased. “You still have all your clothes on.”

  She glanced up at him, her cheeks red. “You said it was up to me.”

  “Completely up to you, mo leannan.”

  She struggled with the buckle, then finally worked it loose. His plaid pooled to the floor. Rhiannon turned and set his belt on the table, hesitating before she turned back. Her eyes flicked over him briefly, then she looked at the bed, then she cleared her throat and watched his feet.

  When she didn’t lift her face, he decided she might need a little encouragement. William held out his hand. She placed her fingers in his, and he tugged her forward.

  “Now what,” she whispered, looking at his chest.

  “Permission to take down your hair?” he asked.

  “You have it.”

  He pulled free the combs, putting them on the table. Rhiannon shook her waves out.

  “You can unlace me.” She turned her back to him, tucking her hair over her shoulder.

  He tugged free the knots on her bodice, her sleeves and her skirt. All the pieces of her gown joined the growing pile on the table, until Rhiannon stood before him in her chemise.

  “I don’t think I’m ready to take it off yet,” she said, cringing.

  “You dinna have to.”

  She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “And now . . . ?”

  “You could just sit with me first.”

  “Nay. We have already done that much.” She walked to the bed. Rhiannon pulled back the blankets and crawled in.

  He looked at his plaid on the floor, then picked it up. William lay down next to her, spreading the swath of wool over the both of them. Rhiannon rested her cheek on his arm, then she wiggled a little closer, her arm coming around his waist. He wanted to urge her flush against him, then checked himself. It had to be her decision. He’d done enough damage over the weeks of her convalescence, which he belatedly realized was probably why she’d left his chamber in the first place.

  He wanted to keep her with him this time.

  William ran his hand down her back, proceeding as if he were walking through frozen heather, waiting for the step that would crush through the ice, twisting his ankle.

  Her palm smoothed down his back, as if she thought it best to mimic whatever he was doing. He found her other hand between them, brought it to his mouth, and kissed her palm.

  “No part of me is off limits to you,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Let me know when you’re ready for me to touch you.”

  She squeezed his fingers. “All right.”

  Brow furrowed, looking like she was concentrating entirely too hard, considering what she was doing, she sat up, then pushed the plaid aside and worked her hands over his shoulders and down his chest. Hesitating, she skipped from his stomach to his legs, her hands running under his calves then his feet. He didn’t so much as twitch lest she be unnerved by it. He had to bite his tongue to keep from groaning.

  Lastly, she leaned in and kissed his jaw. “You’re turn,” she whispered.

  They traded places, Rhiannon laying back. He wasn’t sure where he should put his hands. “Where can’t I touch you?”

  “My chin.”

  “Rhiannon . . .”

  “Just touch me,” she bit.

  She was frustrated with him already. He started at her shoulders, working his way over her sleeves. She took his hand. “I know what you’re doing, but we have to start somewhere.”

  “We are.”

  She cupped his hand over her breast. His breath caught, and Rhiannon’s fingers tightened over his.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  Her face more demined than ever, she slid his hand downward. He let her direct him over her ribcage and the gentle curve of her stomach. Then she stopped. He heard her swallow.

  She sat up and tugged her chemise off.

  Uncovered, she looked at the mattress between them, her hair shielding most of her upper body. He almost lifted her chin so that she would look at him in the eye, then stopped himself. He lay back down, urging her to follow. She lay on his chest and he rubbed the soft skin of her back, taking in the feel of her flesh against his.

  “You didna have to do that,” he said. “We would have gotten to it eventually.”

  “When you fall off a horse, you get back on.”

  “I’m not sure that is entirely pertinent here.”

  “When you’re afraid of something you want, after a while, you start to hate yourself. You think of yourself as a coward, and you lose faith in yourself too.”

  “You’re not a coward. And I have not lost faith in you.”

  “At times you have.”

  She was right. He had. “Can you forgive me?”

  “Can you forgive me for scaring you?”

  It took him a moment to understand. “When you risked your life?”

  “Yes.”

  “I forgive you.”

  “Then I can forgive you as well.” She looked up, finally meeting his gaze. “I’m ready now.”

  “Not just yet.” He nudged her off of him, then rolled onto his side next to her. “Put your hand over mine.” She did, then she pushed her hair aside
with her free hand and guided his hand over her skin. His hand fit nicely against her curves. He watched her face flush and her pulse thrum against her neck as he touched her. Her fingers curled around his hand, gripping him tighter and tighter. Suddenly, she let go and drew his face to hers, urgently kissing his jaw and his mouth, her breath mingling with his. She moaned and he couldn’t not follow suit.

  He shifted his weight partially over her. When she gasped, he gave her a moment to adjust.

  “Too heavy?”

  “Nay, ’tis not that.” She looked into his eyes. “You’re shaking.”

  He pressed his forehead against hers. Every muscle in his body was wound tight. He felt his pulse in his temples. “I’m afraid of hurting you.”

  “But you need me? And I need you.”

  “Aye,” he rasped.

  Rhiannon hooked her leg through his and he shifted over her, his fingers digging into the mattress, and hers into his back. He waited for her to consent.

  She nodded, and as he drew into her, he thought, for one breathtaking moment, they’d finally overcome their greatest obstacle.

  And then she froze, followed by a whimper of pain.

  He made to pull back, but she hooked both feet around his calves. “Just do it,” she gritted, a tear sliding down her face. She was bunched tight under him, her face twisted.

  “Rhiannon . . . Not like this. I canna.”

  Untangling himself from her, he rolled away.

  * * *

  Sniffing, Rhiannon pressed her face against the pillow. A goose feather poked her in the cheek.

  “Mo leannan?”

  “I am so s-sorry,” she said, hiccupping.

  William kissed her bare shoulder, then turned her around to face him. “’Tis not your fault.”

  “Mora said there would be pain until my body could adjust. But I did not think it would feel like I was being stabbed with a knife.” She cringed, looking away. “What a terrible thing to say to you.”

  “I could have . . . I tried not to hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  She watched as William pushed off the bed, then pulled out another plaid and a shirt. His jagged, cauterized scar screamed out to her. If he had tolerated that kind of pain, why shouldn’t she tolerate hers?

  He dressed and sat next to her. “I will go below for food. I think you could use some wine as well.”

  She pushed herself upright, holding his other plaid close against her skin. Her hair caressed her bare back.

  William ran the tip of his finger over her swollen lips. “I’ll have to remember to shave more regularly from now on.”

  He leaned in and kissed her. His lips were warm and inviting. She rested her hand on his arm, allowing it to smooth over him as he pulled away. She had discovered that she liked kissing, and she liked touching. It was just that last bit they tried that hadn’t gone so well.

  “I will be back,” he said.

  The door closed and she sank back against the mattress, laying there staring at the ceiling until William returned and pushed a goblet into her hand.

  “Perhaps it will dull my shame.” She sat up and drank.

  “Stop it, or I will force you to eat gruel day and night.”

  “You do already.” She swung her legs off the bed and pushed gingerly to her feet, his plaid around her.

  “I’m sorry. Are you sore?”

  “More ashamed than anything.”

  He moved their things off the table and set the tray of food on it. Rhiannon was glad to see meat and vegetables. There was a pile of oatcakes as well. She would have oats coming out of her ears before long.

  Rhiannon sat and piled food on a plate, determined to force herself to eat, even though her head wasn’t in it. William refilled his goblet from the flagon.

  “Do you want me to go back to my chamber?” she asked.

  “Of course not. I will lock both the doors to it in the morning and give Alice the key.” He glanced at her from under his brow, as if asking permission.

  Rhiannon nodded, chewing on her bottom lip. One would think all the kissing would have relived the itchiness of her scar, but it hadn’t.

  “We have to work through this before it . . . kills us.” He seemed distracted by her lips. She released them from between her teeth.

  “What if working through it kills us?”

  He lifted his goblet, his eyes bright, all things considered. “Worse ways to die, my love.”

  Light peeped through the shutters. It wasn’t even dark yet. “You can go.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  Rhiannon looked at her plate, then forced herself to eat. She might as well have been having gruel. Seeing as she didn’t taste it anyway.

  William pushed his plate aside. He hadn’t eaten very much. He polished off his wine. He could drink barrels of the stuff and it had no effect on his senses. It made Rhiannon wonder what it would take to get him drunk. Not that she really wanted to know.

  She looked at her cup and wondered what it would take to get herself drunk. It might be just what she needed. Rhiannon finished her wine, then refilled her goblet when he wasn’t looking.

  * * *

  William held her hair out of the way as they sat on the floor, Rhiannon emptying the better part of a flagon into the chamber pot.

  She lifted her head, then listed and caught herself against his shoulder.

  “Was it worth it, lass?” he asked her.

  Moaning, she bent over the pot and retched again.

  “Is this how you felt?” she asked finally. “You know, after those women had their way with you.”

  He assessed her green face. “Is that where you got the idea?”

  “The room is spinning.” Her hand shot out, and she braced herself against him.

  “Is that where you got the idea?” he repeated.

  “Well, aye. I thought it would help.” Her brow furrowed. “Did it help?”

  “I would prefer you conscious. Nay, it didna help, because I didna touch you.”

  She sighed. “Did I try?”

  “To seduce me?”

  “Aye, that.”

  “Nay, you fell asleep.”

  Her shoulders sagged. “I cannot do anything right.”

  “Are you finished?” He gestured to the chamber pot on the floor before them.

  “For now.”

  William pulled her to her feet, Rhiannon wobbling and catching herself on his arm. Her head lolled back, and she grinned like the drunk she was. “You are a braw man.” She seemed fixated on his bare chest.

  “I might be flattered, under different circumstances.”

  Rhiannon blew her hair out of her face, her breath less than fresh.

  “Back to bed with you.” He scooped her up.

  “Already?”

  “Sleep,” he said. “You’re not likely to feel much better come morning.” William laid her out on the bed. Rhiannon stretched like a cat, her shape pressing into his plaid.

  “Were they pretty?” she asked. “Deborah and the other woman?”

  “I was drunk.”

  “But-”

  “I am not having this conversation.” William smoothed her hair back. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

  “I do not know. You could marry me, but I think you already did that.” She reached out, running her fingers down his chest and his stomach. He caught her hand. “Rhiannon,” he gritted.

  “You sound annoyed.”

  “My wife slipped into her cups our first time together so that she could deal with the pain.”

  “Well, when you put it like that . . .”

  “Go to sleep, please.”

  “Aye, my laird.”

  She rolled onto her side. The plaid had gaped open and William tucked it back into place. She was already giving him more than he expected she could.

  He wished she could see that.

  * * *

  “Drink, please,” William said, handing her a cup.

  Rhiannon was
sitting up in bed, William’s plaid still wrapped around her. She sniffed at the contents of the earthen mug. She wasn’t sure what the foul substance was, but it smelled as bad as the wine she’d deposited into the chamber pot the night before.

  “This is disgusting.”

  William urged it to her mouth. “But effective. Drink.”

  She choked down a swallow. Coughing, Rhiannon shoved it at him and backed away. She tumbled off the bed, landing on her tail bone with a squeak.

  “That hurt,” she said, laying there, unwilling to get up.

  He set the cup aside and helped her, then untangled his plaid from around her long legs. His gaze swept over her body as he tucked the swath of wool around her back.

  Rhiannon’s pulse raced, reminding her of just how much she’d enjoyed being skin to skin with him.

  She watched his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he knotted the wool, lingering with his knuckles brushing against her breasts. He stepped away.

  “Thank you,” she breathed.

  “Aye.”

  “Did you have to drink that concoction the morning after your . . .”

  “Revelry? Aye, my uncle poured it down my gullet.”

  “I don’t like it. I don’t like the way my head is pounding either.” She caught the back of a chair for support.

  William scooped her up and carried her to the window seat, then sank down next to her, his bare shoulder brushing hers. She propped her cheek on him. Frowning, she snuggled closer. William wrapped his arms around her.

  “It is morning now,” she said. “You are free to go.”

  “I am still giving Alice the key.”

  Rhiannon wanted him to run his hands over her skin. She pressed closer. William slid her onto his lap. He nuzzled her shoulder and she curled her fingers into his hair.

  “I’ve hated this,” he said. “The chamber next door is too far away.”

  “Me too.”

  “I dinna want to let you go again.”

  Good.

  He trailed a path of kisses down her neck. “You were brave last night,” he said. “And I love you, Rhiannon.”

  She smiled. He’d finally said it. Rhiannon shrugged out of the plaid, embarrassed when his eyes widened. She made to pull it back up again, but he stopped her. Heat flooded her face. She wanted to be close to him, but it made her self-conscious. Rhiannon leaned hesitantly into him and William smoothed his hands down her bare back.