A Gypsy's Thief

by Titania Ladley

  “Prolong it, ye say?” Her voice came out as indignation laced with that lovely Scottish brogue. The sharp inflections and animated rise and fall of the tone entertained and drew on his senses like the lovely serenade of bagpipes. The soft burr so very close to his ear enchanted him and made his body thrum with need.

  “Come to think on it, sir thief, seems the kiss,” she went on, “was more than what ye bargained for. I already paid me bloody debt tenfold.”

  “Oh, aye, ‘twas most certainly more than I bargained for. I feel more energized by just one of your sweet kisses than by the full run up a maid’s skirts. What is it, bonny lass, that makes you possess such power?” He narrowed his eyes, a thought suddenly occurring to him. “Hmm, did that daft old wizard Lorcan send you to me?”

  “Lorcan? Who in the farthin’ hell is Lorcan?” She did not wait for an answer but went right to the attempted flight. Her arms flailed. She managed to swipe a stinging palm across his cheek. “Let me go!” She grunted when he merely tightened his arms about her.

  To hell with her, John. Why put yourself through this madness? You have enough energy to get you to the next village. Let her go and then wash your hands of this she-cat forever.

  He was just about to loosen his hold on her and rise when the arrow struck him in the back. John gasped, not from pain but from surprise. Like a fool, he had allowed this woman to remove his focus from impending danger. When he angled his body just enough to look over his shoulder to locate the source of the arrow, another struck.

  But this one did not embed safely within his immortal, invincible flesh. Once again, Catriona had been hit…and this time, right through the heart.

  * * * * *

  Catriona would always remember the odd range of sensations, from the bliss she had experienced by his kiss to that of her heart being pierced. As excruciating pain tore through her chest once again, she fought the clutches of death. Her gaze moved to his. In those unique, crystal-blue eyes, she saw shock and something altogether touching yet indefinable.

  “Catriona…” She must have been delirious, for she could have sworn she detected affection within the deep tone of his voice. “Do not die—no!”

  The pounding of hooves upon the snow-packed ground echoed around her. Next came the shouts of those evil men set on burning her to death, the swish of more arrows as they sliced through the frigid air. When a soft yellow glow washed over John’s handsome face and erased it from her vision, she was left alone in a place of peace. Catriona knew there was little to be done. She would die this day—she had died.

  As her weightless body floated into nothingness, she could hear the soft song of his distant voice wrapping her in a final blanket of comfort. His panicked tone failed to alarm her, and instead she embraced indifference and a sort of numb serenity. The pain had ebbed, so much so that she no longer dwelled on the unbearable fire that seemed to have been previously ignited behind her breastbone.

  “Mighty powers of magi, of oracles, of great. ‘Tis my wish to protect this maiden, to invisilate.”

  He hummed a song of heaven so faint, it seemed to melt into her soul. Strong arms encircled her body even as she left it. Catriona catapulted into an oblivion thrumming with energy, light, warmth. She might have likened it to a lover’s blissful touch were it not for the fiery pain that once again emerged in her chest. The fleeting euphoria she had experienced left her with a jolt. A snap sounded, a sickening noise that made her think of a bone breaking. Indeed, she wondered if every bone in her body had just shattered.

  Oh, God above, how it hurts again!

  “Catriona…”

  She rolled her head from side to side, moaned when the same cold-hot sensation she had experienced after the first arrow, now soaked her left breast. Catriona exhaled as the pain ebbed. It was the very same relief, the identical wonderment she had felt by his healing touch at her earlier injury.

  “Catriona. I command you to awaken.”

  She heard the crackle of a fire, smelled its hearty burn. Relief and pleasant warmth enveloped her body, something she had not luxuriated in, in weeks. On a sigh, her eyelids fluttered open.

  Catriona struggled to bring him into focus. He appeared to be nothing more than a dark splotch at first. Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the muted light surrounding his ruggedly handsome face. Concern lit his smoldering gaze…concern for her, she was sure of it by the worry line that marred his forehead beneath the stray lock of midnight hair. Something…something about it made her heart still as if it had been lanced by yet another arrow.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she savored the soothing, icy-hot sensation of his palm kneading what was left of the wound at her breast. She knew he continued to mend her flesh, and though it still filled her with wonderment, she accepted his healing gift as fact. The awe of her acknowledgment of John’s gift, and the tenderness in his touch, rendered her speechless. Oh, Catriona had spoken to the dead countless times, but now she could identify with at least part of their state of existence. Though she had not crossed over completely, mayhap it would make her a better, more sympathetic medium in the future? She herself had been the oracle of miracles, the connection to the afterlife for those left behind to drown in their grief. But never before had she encountered such divine revelations, nor been the subject of such eccentricity by another human being.

  Indeed, the admission of this fascinating phenomenon occurring on her behalf gave her sudden, suspicious pause. Her abdomen fluttered with a swift wariness that had her blurting out, “I-I must ken this verra instant…who—who are ye? And why do ye take such care with me, me but a stranger branded a witch, no less?”

  John continued to massage her breast making her mind go to muddy mush. “I have already informed you, milady. I am John Lawton of Robin Hood’s—”

  “Aye, aye, I am aware of that! But why would a man of such magnificent infamy go to such pains to save the life of a lowly, mixed-breed Scottish Gypsy such as meself? And twice, at that!”

  His brows dipped. She watched, mystified, as a murderous twinkle lit the pale eyes. But he did not ease up the healing ministrations at her breast. The ecstasy of his touch increased, shifted into something more of a sweet, erotic nature rather than that of a medicinal sort. Indeed, she felt as if she had been stricken with a malady of seduction entwined in sorcery. She had become a captive under the spell of a dangerous soothsayer.

  “Were you to meet Falcon—Robin Hood—you would know that nary a single good, honest man or woman is viewed as lowly in his eyes—nor in mine.”

  Indeed, she had been brought to a place far from a dwelling for the lowly. She glanced around to see that she rested upon a massive four-poster bed, the columns made of French walnut, while the headboard appeared to be of carved limewood. Beneath her, the softness of a feather mattress caressed her backside, and a down pillow cradled her head.

  Her gaze moved farther down when his thumb brushed her nipple, and it was then she realized during that strange dream, he had somehow removed her cloak, robes, shirt and jerkin. Naked from the waist up, all that remained of her man’s clothing were the braies, codpiece and leather boots she wore. John knelt at the bedside, one large hand continuing to cup her breast. Even as fire rushed through her torso and into her pelvis, her stare jerked from corner to corner of the richly furnished room.

  “I’ll be wantin’ to ken at once, where…where have ye taken me? How did I arrive here?”

  “Ah, love, relax. You are safe now. You occupy my chambers at one of my two estates, this one in the Yorkshire region in the far north of England. As far as how, well, milady…” He winked, charming her with little effort, so much so that she could swear the outer layers of her heart thawed. “Let us just say ‘tis yet another of my sorcerer’s gifts, one of swift bodily movements in which I did just as I promised. Your gallant knight has whisked you away to safety.”

  “B-but ye claimed not to even have the energy t-to… I do not understand. How were ye able to carry me here to—”

&
nbsp; “Not carry, love. Fly…in a sense. Now shh,” he rasped, planting a finger against her lips to silence her. “Remain calm while I complete the healing process. ‘Tis all right, my lovely witch,” he said almost sarcastically. “I will not hurt you. I merely repay a debt. You see, your generous kiss has given me more energy than I ever fathomed from a woman. Ironically so, ‘twas that very generosity that in turn saved your own life—in a sense.”

  “Aye, and I have paid me debts, as well. While I thank ye for yer gift of life, ‘tis me every wish to be on me way—forthwith.”

  His hand tightened, the fingers stroking with adept precision. It caused the slow roll of desire to speed up and pool in her womb. He licked his lips, his gaze moving down to devour her nakedness. Despite the urgency of her words, the sweep of his stare made her long to taste of him once again, to further the madness of this wicked spell. She inhaled, pulling the earthy scent of him into her healed lungs. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she gasped when he pinched an areola between two firm fingers. Across the room in the massive stone fireplace, flames licked higher, sizzling in time with her flesh. Catriona’s body tightened like a finely strung bow, poised, ready to be notched and released.

  “No need for you to depart…just yet. You are safe here, over a score of miles from those in your pursuit. You’ve the gift of life within you,” he coaxed, his voice as deep and dark as potent wine while he lowered his head to the other breast. “You are simply a wily cat who now enjoys her third life.”

  “Ye…yer powers…” She held her breath, released it on a moan when his tongue flicked over her nipple and his teeth nipped and pulled. “Ye truly somehow brought me thus far, to a place where no one—not one single soul—kens of me whereabouts?”

  “Not one single soul but I, my luscious dove.” His hot gaze swept her body. It made her skin tingle with the irresistible desire for his hands to follow in their path.

  Normally, his cryptic words would have given her cause for alarm. But not now. Not with his hand sliding down across her quivering belly and into her braies, not with the soothing wetness he so easily elicited from her pussy.

  God, so help me, but I cannot resist this warlock’s touch! It has been so verra long…too long since I’ve felt a mon’s hands upon me flesh.

  “So…” she panted, her clitoris jolting when his finger found the pebble-hard knot. “I owe ye…a debt…once again, do I?”

  “Nay, you owe me not a thing,” he whispered, and the arid breeze of his breath moved along her ribs just before his tongue dragged downward to her navel. “But I will not refuse any further generosity,” he announced as he increased the pressure, “you may care to bestow upon me.”

  He sank that wicked, talented finger into the slit of her soaking mound. She arched off the bed and a cry tore from her depths. “Holy priestess!”

  Duncan suddenly flashed in her mind, along with a wash of guilt. But there was simply no comparison, no possible way to force the memories to stay when this amazing man did things—sinful things—to her traitorous body.

  “Your fatal injury is now healed…you are healthy, ready. Tell me—I beg of you—allow me to make love to you, Catriona.”

  He had actually given her a choice, though she knew there to be only one correct, feasible answer. It had been too long since she had experienced the power of a man, that awesome force pounding between her legs, the scents and flavors that could addict a woman while that one stroke of cock filled her to ecstatic madness. Oh, aye, she needed a man desperately, and despite her better judgment, this one would do quite nicely. She trusted him without knowing how or why, knew without a doubt somehow, that the danger of the king’s sentinels loomed as but a distant threat.

  He groaned, awaiting her reply, while his mouth embarked on a hot trail up and over her previously injured breast. John nipped and sucked his way up the slope of her neck until he reached her mouth. But a breath’s space from her lips, he whispered, “Please?”

  Their eyes met. Catriona shuddered at the barely restrained glaze of lust in his gaze. Time dissolved into cool nothingness even as her pussy warmed, melting like wax surrounding a candle’s dancing flame. From somewhere afar, she heard the sizzle of burning wood, smelled its pleasing yet acrid odor as it mingled with John’s manly scent. Intense, unfamiliar emotions assaulted her, twisting at her heart. They were sentiments that she did not know how to name, she realized. She only knew she wanted. Wanted this man.

  “Ah, bandit,” she rasped, “me handsome blackguard. Ye tempt a widow’s neglected libido beyond resistance. Me mind insists on nae—oh, but me wanton body, it screams…aye—aye!”

  His eyes lit with what she could only describe as relieved desire. “I promise to take care with your wounded widow’s heart, to show you pleasures befitting a princess, a royal queen.”

  She gasped at his kind, seductive words. Though she had had but one man in her bed in all of her score and four years, Catriona Graham was no naïve maid. She knew just what he alluded to.

  “Mmm, the honorable words of a dishonest thief, ye be professin’. So irresistible…even to a witch.” She pulled his mouth to hers, threading her fingers through the thick hair at the back of his head. His sigh melded into her own, into a tune of mutual surrender at the exact moment her heart completed its thaw. Her hand slipped up and joined the other in the silky mass of long locks. Catriona cupped his skull, holding his mouth captive to hers. She tasted a sweet fire that seared her hunger deeper, richer. Oh, and he gave her more as if he had read her mind. His tongue delved into the far recesses of her mouth, dancing, teasing, making a slow, hot path of erotic honey travel from her lips right down into the depths of her womanhood.

  His body moved, covering hers from chest to toes. A warm, sensual cocoon enveloped her. She burrowed in, moaning when he gathered her close and settled between her thighs. No longer were the cumbersome robes and cloak between them as had been when first they had met. It was as if the braies she still wore were naught but a thin wisp of air. The heat of his clad body permeated the garments’ thickness and soaked into her flesh making her breathe out in audible relief. Allowing a sense of dreaminess to overtake her, Catriona tuned into the distant winter winds as they howled outside the keep. Something about its almost romantic yet baleful tune made her stretch, inhale deeply. She drew in the wild aroma of arousal, danger and savory man. He quite simply intoxicated her with subtle undertones of animal prowess.

  How amazing that John had already saved her life twice. She reached for him, marveling at the thought, comparing the kind gesture to his burly, massive presence. Ah, but what woman could not resist a knight in shinin’ armor?

  Not the new Catriona Graham, she determined skimming her palms over the meaty muscle and smooth skin of his back. But he didn’t allow her much time to explore. Tearing his mouth from hers, he flipped her onto her stomach.

  “I’m sorry, Catriona, but I cannot wait a moment longer. I have to see, touch, taste every inch of you. Now.”

  Excitement rushed through her veins when he brushed her hair aside and dragged his hands down the length of her bare back and clothed buttocks. It had not taken him long to fulfill his apologetic confession. Every inch of her body tingled with gooseflesh. The muscles in her ass tightened when he cupped her there, but quickly she let go and relaxed, gasping inwardly when his firm movements caused the crotch of her braies to abrade over her clitoris.

  “Mmm,” was all she could force out. Her body went limp even as her quim throbbed with need. Though she did not move, she felt alive, more alive than she had felt nine months ago before Duncan’s execution—nae, even longer ago due to the extended witch-hunt followed by Duncan’s lengthy imprisonment prior to his death.

  But nae, she could not allow herself to think of such thoughts even if she wished to. This sorcerer exerted his powers of seduction over her with practiced hands. Those very hands drew the braies, codpiece and boots down in one sweep, leaving her bare ass for his perusal.

  His eyes bo
re into her, she could tell by the unmistakable heat of their darkening depths upon the flesh of her backside. She shuddered with hedonistic excitement, never before having been in this position for the intent of lovemaking.

  “A portrait of perfection,” John declared, his voice deep and syrupy.

  At his bold profession, a sudden wave of self-consciousness trickled up her back. She twisted, started to reach down to pull the linens up, but his hand clamped around her wrist.

  “Nay. Do not hide such beauty from me. I want to see you. Every gorgeous curve and crevice.”

  Catriona’s hand trembled against his tight hold. God in heaven, what was it about this man, about his dominant yet gentle manner, that made her heart catch in her throat? Glancing down at her captive hand, then over her shoulder at his face, she slowly let go of the blanket. His eyes…they were ablaze with blue flames, alight with barely contained ardor. But the fascination did not end there. Her gaze swept lower down the hard, naked expanse of his body. Somehow—no doubt, via use of his black magic—he had rid himself of his clothing. She could see the enormous, proud jut of his cock. An involuntary, strangled, almost feral cry tore from her throat.

  “Aye, I’ve no doubt you want this tool of mine now,” he insisted, one hand moving lower to stroke the very shaft he spoke of. He planted a hand on her spine and guided her so that she returned to the prone position, but she continued to watch his every move over her shoulder. His stare flitted down to her rear where he took his free hand and spread the globes of her ass apart. Warm air caressed her sensitive, private flesh, and she groaned when a sticky droplet of her juices dribbled from her cunt.

  His eyelids went limp as he gazed upon her pussy from behind. “Mmm, sweet cream pours from your slit in anticipation.”

  “Me body has never—until meetin’ ye—opposed what me mind dictates. So let it be kent for the record this ease of submission ‘twould be the first for Catriona Graham.”

  “So noted. Your admission pleases me intensely, vixen.” He ran a finger up one inner thigh and swiped her lips. She nearly came off the bed at the expert move, but it was when he inserted the sticky finger into his mouth and spoke around it that she nearly lost all restraint. “But let it also be known—for the record, of course—that this will not be the last time while in my company that your mind and body will be at war…”