Old Meg went to the hidden door she had used to slip into his bedchamber unseen, then looked back at him. “Be good to my lass, Sir Artan, or I will make ye regret ye e’er touched her.”
“I will be verra good to her.”
He shook his head and laughed when the woman just grunted and then slipped away. Although he would like to reassure the old woman more, he did not have the time now. There was a long journey ahead of him and instinct told him it would not be an easy one.
Chapter 7
Cecily shivered as she crept along the dark, narrow passage that would take her outside the walls of Dunburn. She was reeling from shock at her own actions, yet trembling from anticipation as well. She was both terrified and eager to see Sir Artan. This was all so very wrong, yet a little voice in her head denied that truth, telling her it was right and urging her onward. It did not care that many would think this tryst equal to an act of adultery. Obviously, Artan’s kisses had given her a fever of the brain.
She shook aside that thought. This was her choice. The only thing Sir Artan had done was look so handsome it made her heart ache and kiss her until her toes curled. There had been no sweet lies and practiced flatteries, no gifts, and no seductive coaxing. She was not sure he would know how to do such things anyway, and that was one of the things that so deeply attracted her. There did not appear to be any guile in the man.
And she wanted him, badly, as she had never wanted anything else in her life. In ten days she would kneel before a priest to bind herself forever to a man she felt nothing for, could not even like. She had a chance to grasp a few sweet memories to cherish during the long, cold years ahead of her and she was determined to do so. For a little while she wanted to savor what it felt like to be with a man she wanted. It was wrong and she would undoubtedly pay dearly for it, but she did not care.
When she reached the end of the tunnel she set down the bag of supplies she had brought with her and cautiously opened the hatch. A torrent of debris fell on her and she grimaced as she hastily brushed the leaves, sticks, and dirt off her. Then, very slowly and tensed for some outcry indicating she had been discovered, she stuck her head up through the opening and looked around. She felt almost dizzy with relief when she saw no one.
Grabbing the sack of food and wine she had collected, Cecily climbed out of the tunnel. She pushed the hatch back down and spread more of the forest’s debris over the top of it. After taking careful note of its location, she picked up her sack and hurried toward the burn, eager to get as far away from the walls of Dunburn as she could. If she were caught now, she would undoubtedly spend the remaining days before her wedding locked in Dunburn’s dungeons.
Her courage faltered a little when she came within sight of the burn and saw Artan. He stood idly tossing rocks into the water. The full moon made it easy to see him, to see how tall he was, how strong, and how broad of shoulder. Cecily was suddenly all too aware of the fact that this man could easily kill her with but a flick of his wrist.
She quickly shook her fear aside. Not once in the four days she had known him had he hurt her or even shown a hint of wanting to. Even when he held her and kissed her, she had sensed how careful he was in the way he enfolded her in his strong arms. Yet she still felt a slight, lingering unease as she moved closer to him. This man was a warrior and such men could be dangerous. Cecily wondered if that was part of the reason she was so attracted to him.
Artan heard a slight rustle in the grass from behind him. His hand on his sword, he slowly turned around and then relaxed when he saw Cecily shyly approaching him. She was no threat. At least not yet, he mused. When she realized what he intended to do, that could swiftly change.
He felt the pinch of guilt and hastily smothered it. She was expecting a lover’s tryst, not a kidnapping and a hard ride to Glascreag, but he had no choice. It might take a while for her to believe that her kinsmen and Sir Fergus were a threat to her, but when she did, he felt sure she would forgive him for this. She had the wit to understand that he could not wait until she found out the truth for herself.
The thought of the other truth he hid from her, his bargain with Angus, made him wince. That could prove to be a far more tangled problem than stealing her away from Dunburn first and explaining why later. Somehow between here and Glascreag he was going to have to tell her about that bargain. The difficulty would be in explaining it in such a way that it did not sound too mercenary. Artan was not sure there was any way to remove the taint and he cursed Angus for even making the offer. He would face that problem later, he decided, stepping close to her and relieving her of the sack of food and wine she had brought with her.
“Ye have brought us a verra grand feast, I am thinking,” he said as he set the bag aside.
“Weel, I recalled that ye have shown yourself to be a mon with a verra hearty appetite.” Cecily blushed a little, afraid that he might take those words as an insult, but then he smiled and she relaxed a little.
“Aye, I do,” he said softly. Taking her by the hand, he tugged her into his arms.
Cecily felt her pulse immediately speed up as he enfolded her in his strong arms. This was what she needed, what she craved. The feel of his hard body pressed close to hers banished the last of her fears and doubts. She did not care that he did not speak of love or marriage. There was no future for them anyway. She was promised to another, and once wed, she would never forsake her vows no matter how wretched a husband Sir Fergus proved to be. Her time to grasp some pleasure with Artan was fleeting, and she had no intention of letting a minute of that time be wasted. She wrapped her arms around his neck, took a deep breath of his scent, and pressed her lips against his.
Artan silently cursed his weakness as he returned her kiss. He had not meant to do this, not when his plan was to forcibly take her away from her home. But as he savored the sweet heat of her mouth, he decided he could spare a little time for lovemaking. The chances of anyone discovering she was gone before daylight were very small. Perhaps if he gave her a greater taste of the passion they could share her anger over his trickery would fade more quickly.
He would not take her now, he told himself as he lowered her down onto the soft grass at the bank of the burn. Instinct told him that that would only add to whatever sense of betrayal she might feel when she realized why he had really lured her here. When he settled his body on top of hers the need that swept through him was so sharp and strong he knew he would need every scrap of his willpower to resist consummating their coming marriage right now on the bank of the burn.
An urge to make her feel the same needs he did possessed him. The fact that she was a complete innocent yet had come to him alone and in the night told him that she wanted him, but he needed more, much more. He wanted her to know that no other man could ever make her feel what he did.
As he kissed her throat he slowly unlaced her bodice. A quick glance at her face revealed that she wore a deep blush but he saw no rejection there and he tugged her bodice down, freeing her breasts from its confines. The moonlight made her skin glow as it settled over the breasts he had just revealed. He felt his breath catch as he studied the treasure he had found. Her breasts were smaller than he was accustomed to in a lover but were plump and beautifully shaped. Her areolas were large and, even in the moonlight, looked as pink and soft as a flower petal. He gently weighed her soft breasts with his hands, enflamed by the way they nestled so perfectly into his palms; the taut nipples bore into his skin and branded him in ways he doubted he would ever fully understand. He bent his head and lightly licked one impudent nipple. She gasped, shuddered, and slid her hands into his hair to hold him closer. Artan decided that was invitation enough to do as he wished and he began to feast upon her, using his fingers, lips, tongue, and even his teeth to make her grow as frenzied as he felt.
Cecily felt as if she were on fire. Artan began to suckle her and her whole body arched up to rub against his. She was trembling so much from the force of the hunger raging inside her she was astonished that her teet
h were not chattering. She wanted to tear off her clothes and then tear his off so that they could be flesh to flesh. Cecily had no idea where such wild, wanton thoughts sprang from, but they did not shock her now that she was in Artan’s arms. Instead, she reveled in them, let them take a firm hold on her and lead her on. Every instinct she had told her that she would never find such passion again, and certainly not in the arms of Sir Fergus.
When Artan felt Cecily’s fingers tugging on the laces of his shirt, he quickly moved to help her. He threw off the drape of his plaid that went over his shoulder, then yanked off his shirt and tossed it aside. He was already panting as if he had just finished a long, hard run, but the way she looked at his bared chest only made it worse. There was an unmistakable look of appreciation and desire on her face that made him feel almost vain. When she placed her small hands upon his chest, lightly caressing his skin, he groaned.
“So smooth and hard,” she whispered in a husky voice as she ran her fingers over the neat ridges of muscle on his taut stomach.
Hard, definitely hard, he thought as he returned to her delightfully welcoming arms. For once the lack of a manly covering of hair on his chest did not trouble him. Cecily seemed to like him as smooth as a lad, and that made it all right. He stilled as his chest met her breasts, his whole body going rigid as he felt her hard nipples, dampened by his greedy kisses, press against his skin.
She shifted beneath him, her breasts rubbing against him, and he growled softly as he kissed her. The feel of her hands stroking his shoulders, back, and sides had him shaking with the need to bury himself deep inside her heat, but he fought against that temptation. He was so full, so aching for release, he did not think he would need that to fulfill his need this time. It was more important to leave her maidenhead intact, to show some restraint no matter how small, so that his sins did not loom too large in her eyes when she finally understood why he had lured her here.
A cool breeze touched Cecily’s legs and she realized Artan had pushed up her skirts. Only a faint hint of shock flashed through her as she felt his long, faintly calloused fingers stroke her legs. The way he feasted upon her breasts had her so dazed with need she barely twitched when he removed the small braies Old Meg had insisted she wear years ago.
The touch of his fingers on the aching place between her legs caused her to grow very still, however. This was an intimacy she had not expected. “Artan?”
“Hush, Sile,” he murmured against her cheek. “Let me feel your heat, feel the tears of desire your sweet body sheds for me.” He gently nudged her tensed legs farther apart with his knee. “Open for me, Sile mine. Let me take ye to paradise.”
She clung to him as he stroked her with his fingers. A gasp of shock and delight escaped her when he slipped one finger inside her. By the time he slid a second finger inside her she was past the point of caring what he did so long as he did not stop. Compelled by the demands of her body, she moved against his stroking fingers, silently begging for more of something she had no words for.
The feel of her damp heat was nearly enough to send Artan over the edge. His plan was to give her a taste of the passion that flared between them, one that might soften her anger later, but he was discovering that it was a lot fiercer and hotter than he had anticipated. Consummation was almost impossible to resist, but he managed to cling to at least one thin thread of control. That did not necessarily mean he had to leave this embrace knotted up with an unsatisfied need. Although he had not done such a thing since he was a lad of fourteen playing love games with Mattie, the blacksmith’s daughter, Artan pressed his throbbing erection against Cecily’s slim thigh and rubbed himself against her. It would serve, he thought, groaning as he felt her hot sheath tighten around his fingers. The last time he had done it, it was because he had feared Mattie’s very large father would tear him to pieces if he took Mattie’s maidenhead. This time he did it to try to save himself from Cecily’s hatred. He realized he was more afraid of that fate than he had ever been of the blacksmith.
When he felt the pulse of her release begin and her slender body bow up slightly, Artan fixed his gaze on her face. She clutched his arms as she cried out his name, and he did not think he had ever seen anything as beautiful as Cecily in the throes of her release. The sound of his name upon her lips as she reached that pinnacle was sweet music to his ears. He kissed her as he moved against her thigh and found his own release, not really surprised when he slumped against her weak from the strength of it. He hoped he did not have to wait too long before he could savor that bliss while buried deep inside her lithe body. Although if he could find such pleasure just playing a lad’s love games with her, full consummation would probably kill him, he thought and grinned against her neck. Then he remembered what he had to do now and his good humor swiftly fled.
Cecily came to her senses very slowly, reluctant to leave the haze of a lingering pleasure. She was astonished that the man now idly nuzzling her breasts could make her feel such incredible things, such wild pleasure. Her whole body still tingled from the waves of pure delight that had swept through her. She knew she ought to be mortally ashamed or, at the very least, embarrassed, but she was too sated to worry about what she had allowed him to do. In truth, all she could think of as she closed her eyes was just when they could do this again.
It was not until she felt Artan tug her up into a seated position that Cecily realized she had fallen asleep and she inwardly cursed. She hoped it had been only a very short sleep, for she did not want to lose any of the meager time she could steal with Sir Artan. She was disappointed to see that he had donned his shirt. He had a beautiful chest, all sleek, hard muscle and dark skin, she thought with an inner sigh of pleasure. When he tugged up her bodice and retied her laces she blushed a little, wondering just how long she had lain there with her breasts exposed. She shifted a little and realized he had also put her braies back on and she almost frowned. Had she slept so long that their tryst was already over?
Then she realized that Artan had never put himself inside her. Cecily did not know all that much about the intimacies a man and woman could share, but she did know that that long, thick part of him he had been rubbing against her thigh was supposed to go where his fingers had been. Considering all the other intimacies they had shared, she did not understand why he had not done that. She had come to the burn ready and willing to give him her innocence and gladly suffer whatever consequences there were for doing so. The fact that Artan had not taken her maidenhead did not please her as she thought it ought to. In fact, she felt a growing unease, a strengthening certainty that something was wrong.
“Artan, ye didnae finish,” she said softly, and felt even more uneasy at the closed look upon his face.
“Aye, I did,” he replied as he helped her stand up and tugged her into his arms.
The embrace lacked the warmth of the others they had shared and Cecily felt her anxiety increase. “Nay, ye didnae. Ye didnae put yourself inside me.” She was so uneasy now that speaking so bluntly did not even bother her.
Why she was pursuing this she did not know. Considering the length and width of what he had been rubbing against her leg, she ought to be very pleased that he had not attempted to put it inside her. She was not pleased, however. She actually felt distinctly cheated.
“Ye are betrothed, lass.”
“I was aware of that when I came here. As were ye when ye asked me to.”
“I dinnae want ye to suffer for meeting with me.”
“’Tis my choice, aye? If ye didnae want to, then why did ye ask me here?”
“Oh, lass, I want to. I want to so badly I fair ache with the need. But now isnae a good time.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am about to kidnap ye.”
Cecily stared at him, gaping slightly as she struggled to make sense of his words. She was so confused and stunned, she did nothing to stop him when he pulled her hands in front of her, wrapped them in a cloth until she could not even wriggle her fingers, and then ti
ed them securely with a surprisingly soft length of rope. It was just as she gathered the breath and the wits to speak that he tied a gag on her. He gently pushed her down until she sat on the ground; then he tied her ankles together.
As he picked up the sack of food and wine she had brought and went to tie it on his saddle, Cecily stared dumbly at her bonds. A part of her wanted desperately to believe that this was all a dream, that she was actually still wrapped in his arms and resting after their lovemaking. The greater part of her, the one shaking itself free from shock and amazement, was not so deluded.
It had all been a lie, she realized. He had not drawn her here because he had any feelings for her or because he lusted after her. He had brought her here so that he could tie her up and force her to go to Glascreag. The pain that knowledge brought her was so acute, she bent over as if to shelter her body from the blow.
She had been such a fool, a witless, silly child. The worst part was that she could not even blame it all on sweet lies and clever flatteries that had turned her head. Artan had not given her any of those. The fact that he had not, that he obviously realized she had not needed such niceties to put her at his mercy was a severe blow to her pride. Hot kisses, a handsome face, and a wretchedly mistaken belief in his honesty had lured her here.
For one brief moment she was terrified for her very life, but she wrestled that flash of panic into submission. One thing she was sure of was that this man had fostered with her uncle. Artan knew far too much about her uncle and Glascreag to have been lying about that. And despite this treachery, this betrayal, she still could not believe he was the sort of man to hurt a woman.
Clearly, he had no qualms about using a woman’s passion against her, she thought angrily. Her innocent faith in the man he had pretended to be had gotten her into this mess, but she would never be fooled by him again. That determination would do her no good at the moment, but she would cling to it, for a chance to escape him might just present itself and she wanted to be ready to take it.
Highland Barbarian Page 8
