by Ruth Langan
“Thank God. If he had harmed you…”
She felt the shudders that passed through him. Wonder of wonders, could it be that Morgan Grey was as frightened as she had been?
When he had composed himself he drew the coverings over her nakedness and crossed to the fireplace, where he added kindling and a log to the hot coals. Within minutes a crackling fire blazed on the hearth.
He held a taper to the candle beside the bed, then bent to examine her wound. “Though the blood still oozes, it should not cause you any great pain.”
“I have the satisfaction that my attacker also suffers pain,” she hissed.
“You wounded him? But how, love?”
Her eyes blazed. “Aye. With my teeth, which I sank into his arm. With my fingernails, that raked his chest until he bled. With a candlestick against the side of his head. I have left my mark upon him. He will not escape detection.”
Morgan lifted his head and studied her for a moment, then threw back his head and roared. “Forgive me, my regal ice maiden. I believe you. We shall find him. Even if we have to examine the arms, chest and head of every man in England.”
“If I had been allowed to have a weapon,” she said through gritted teeth, “he would now be lying in a pool of his own blood.”
He regarded her a moment. “From this night on you shall have your weapon.”
Her eyes widened. “Do you mean it?”
“Aye.” He lifted her hand to his lips. In his eyes was a look she had never seen before. “I will never again leave you helpless, Brenna.”
He left the room for a moment and Brenna felt the tremors begin again. When he stepped through the doorway he saw the fear in her eyes.
“Forgive me. I should not have left you alone.” He rushed to her and drew her into his arms, holding her until the tremors subsided. “But I wanted you to have this.”
He handed her a knife. The hilt was dull gold, set with precious rubies and diamonds that winked in the firelight. Brenna ran her hand along the blade. It had been honed to a razor’s edge.
“It was my father’s. I have carried it since I was a lad.”
“How do you know I will not use it on you, my lord?”
“There may be times when I deserve it. But I pray that you will give me another chance to earn your respect.” He pressed the knife into her hands. “Keep it on your person always.”
At the solemn look in his eyes she nodded. “Aye, my lord. Always. You can be assured of that.”
He dipped a linen square in the basin of water and began to wash away the blood. As he did he found himself marveling at the perfection of her body. Though Brenna had recoiled from her attacker, she lay very still, secure in the knowledge that Morgan would never take advantage of her vulnerability.
The gentle touch of his hand upon her was nearly her undoing. She lay very still, her eyes closed, allowing his tender ministrations to soothe away her pain and fear.
When the blood was removed, he tied a clean linen strip around the cut on her arm. Then he drew the coverings over her and started to stand. Instantly she reached out and caught his hands.
“Do not leave me.”
He saw the way she struggled with her fears. “Do not worry, Brenna. I will not leave you. I will be in the sitting chamber.”
“No. Please. Stay here beside me.”
God in heaven. He wondered if she knew what she was asking of him. To be so close to her and not touch her would be the most terrible of torments for him.
Still, he could see the need in her eyes, in the way her fingers clutched at him.
“Aye. If that is what you need.”
“I could not bear to be alone tonight. As long as you are with me, I will be safe.”
A few short hours ago she would not have said as much.
He pried off his boots and stretched out on the bed beside her. Being careful to keep the coverings between them, he took her hand in his.
“Hold me, Morgan.”
He groaned inwardly. With all the tenderness he could manage he drew her into the circle of his arms. This was the sweetest of tortures. It would take all the willpower he possessed to lie beside her until morning and merely hold her.
She sighed softly. Despite the bed linens he could feel the way her breasts pressed against his chest. He was achingly aware of her thighs, just beneath the thin covering, pressed firmly to his.
“Sleep, little one,” he murmured against her temple.
“You will not leave me?”
“I give you my word.”
She closed her eyes. He felt the wild fluttering of her heart and drew her closer, as if to share his strength.
After what seemed hours her breathing became soft and easy. Her fingers loosened their death grip on his arms. She escaped into blessed sleep.
Morgan shifted and drew the covers over Brenna as gently as possible so as not to disturb her rest. He watched her as she fought the demons that pursued her even in sleep.
He had demons of his own to fight.
The woman who lay nestled against his chest was so soft, so inviting. A shaft of moonlight poured through the balcony window, bathing her in a soft golden glow. Her dark hair spilled across his arm, a stark contrast to the snowy bed linens. He bent his face to her and breathed in the fragrance of roses. The perfume of roses was everywhere—on the fresh breeze that wafted from the rose garden; in the water that he’d used to bathe her wounds; even mingled with the linens on which they lay.
He felt her suddenly stiffen in his arms and knew that the bad dream was upon her again. He watched as her fingers tightened on his arm. Her eyelids fluttered. Her lips moved in a soundless protest.
He pressed his lips to her temple and felt himself overflowing with love for her. If only he could, he would absorb all her pain, all her fears. How bravely she had fought her attacker. He thought of the first time he had seen her, facing down hundreds of English swordsmen with that cool, haughty demeanor. By the gods, she was magnificent. She could wilt her enemy with a single look. Yet she was the most tenderhearted woman he had ever met.
He watched as her breathing grew softer once more. Her fingers entwined with his. She slept as peacefully as a baby. But even then he did not relax his silent, watchful vigil.
Brenna lay very still, feeling disoriented. A man’s arm was around her, pinning her to him. For a fraction of a second she was gripped by fear. The attacker. Had he come back to finish what he had started? Then she remembered Morgan’s promise. He would stay with her and keep her safe.
Her lids flickered, then opened quickly. Morgan’s dark eyes stared into hers. She wondered how long he had been watching her. It was a strange sensation to be lying so close to him.
She let out a long, deep sigh. “I knew you would be here.”
He loved the way her voice sounded, breathless and still touched with sleep. “Did you?”
“Aye.”
She smiled at him and he felt his heart leap to his throat.
She moved slightly until she lay facing him. The bed linens shifted, revealing the shadowed cleft between her breasts. It was impossible for Morgan to forget that she was naked beneath the covers.
He was wearing neither shirt nor tunic. She had probably noticed that after the attack of the intruder, but in the panic of the moment it had not registered. Now she could not take her gaze from him. How wide his shoulders. How massive his hair-roughened chest.
“Have you slept at all?”
He shook his head.
“But I did not mean to rob you of your sleep, my lord.”
“I would rather watch you. Besides, it is enough to know that you are resting.”
“How long have I slept?”
“An hour or more.”
“I feel as rested as though I have slept the night away.”
“There are many hours until dawn, my lady. You need have no fear. I will not leave you while you sleep.”
Her voice lowered seductively. “I have no need of sleep now.”
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He heard the new inflection in her voice and felt himself tense. “Would you have me leave?”
Her hand closed over his. “Nay, my lord.”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed. Never before had the lady behaved in such a teasing manner. Could it be that he misread her meaning?
“If you do not plan to sleep, I must not stay.”
“I want you to stay with me.” Her hand slid along his arm. How different was a man’s arm, with silken hair and corded muscles that rippled beneath her touch.
His tone roughened. “You ask too much of me, Brenna. I am a man, not a saint. How long do you think I can lie here beside you and not touch you?”
Her throat went dry. She touched her tongue to her lips. He watched the movement and had to fight the desire to bend his lips to hers.
“Then touch me, my lord.”
For a moment he could not believe what he’d heard. His eyes flashed. “I do not jest, my lady.”
“Nor do I.”
He caught her chin in his hand and forced her to meet his direct gaze. “You have only just awakened. Perhaps you are confused.”
“I am not confused.”
“Then you are grateful that I saved you from your attacker. Do not mistake gratitude for some other, deeper emotion, Brenna.”
“It is not gratitude I feel.” She held herself very still, as if terrified of her sudden boldness.
He kept his tone deliberately stern, in order to ruffle her composure. “If I touch you, it will not end as it did before. I have not the strength to walk away again. I intend to make love with you, Brenna, the way a man loves a woman. And I will want you to make love with me, as well.”
“That—is what I want, my lord.”
Her gaze never left his. He expected to see fear, or at least hesitation. But what he saw was a look of cool determination. And the first soft stirrings of desire.
Chapter Eighteen
The fire had burned to embers, leaving the room bathed in a rosy glow. Pale moonlight filtered through the balcony window, touching the figures in the bed with a luminous light.
The silence of the room surrounded them. It was as if the night creatures had conspired to still their voices. There was no sound except the soft whisper of their breathing. And the wild thundering of their heartbeats.
“Are you afraid, love?” With his finger Morgan traced the curve of her brow, the slope of her cheek, the outline of her lips.
Love. His endearment filled her with sudden yearning. “Aye. I am terrified.”
He touched his lips to hers and murmured, “There is no reason to be. I promise I will not hurt you. I will never hurt you, Brenna.”
“That is not what I fear.” She drew back. “I am afraid I will not please you.”
With his hand at her back he drew her firmly against the length of him. “You already please me, Brenna.” Brenna. Brenna. Her name sang like a litany in his mind. Never would he grow weary of saying her name. “You are the loveliest creature I have ever known. All the beauty, all the goodness of this world, are in your eyes.”
She gave him a timid smile.
He sensed her uneasiness. With a gentle smile he said, “Trust me. It is true we are about to go to a new place. And the unknown is always frightening. But we go there together, love.”
He buried his lips in the hair at her temple and felt the wild beating of her pulse. Forcing himself to go slowly, he moved his lips along her cheek to the tip of her nose.
“Such a haughty little turned-up nose,” he murmured.
She chuckled and he felt her relax in his arms.
“You do not like my nose?”
“It is a fine nose. And your lips.” He nuzzled the corner of her mouth until she sighed with impatience and turned her head until his lips were covering hers. “Such perfect lips.” His words mingled with her breath and were swallowed up in the kiss. He lingered over her lips, loving the way they felt beneath his. Soft. Seductive. Inviting.
His hands moved along the warm, naked flesh of her back, igniting little fires wherever they touched.
“You are so small, Brenna. So delicate.” He lifted himself on one elbow to allow his gaze to study her. Her skin was washed by moonlight. With a kind of reverence he trailed his hand along the soft curve of her hip to her narrow waist, then upward to the swell of her breast. “So beautiful.”
She closed her eyes and he pressed his lips to her closed lids. As he explored her face with his lips, she relaxed, allowing herself to drift on a hazy cloud of contentment.
His lips traced her eyebrow, her cheek, her ear. With his tongue he traced the outline of her lips, then lingered, savoring all her sweetness.
The kiss was a promise of more. So much more.
He lifted her hand to his lips, then pressed a kiss to her palm and closed her hand around it. She trembled as he kissed her wrist, her elbow, her shoulder. She laughed softly as he nuzzled her neck.
Before she realized what he was doing, he bent his head. With the merest brush of his lips he pressed a kiss to her hipbone. She flinched and tried to draw away, but he held her firmly while his lips trailed the flare of her hips to her waist. She lay steeped in pleasure as he ran kisses across the soft flesh of her stomach, then upward across her rib cage.
Never had she dreamed that a man’s lips could bring such pleasure.
He heard her quick intake of breath as his lips encountered the swell of her breast. As his mouth found her erect nipple, he heard her moan.
She felt the jolt, then the slow flame begin to build deep within her until she felt herself burning with need. Wild, pulsing need that drove her to clutch at the bed linens and arch herself tensely.
As he brought his lips from one breast to the other she sobbed and clutched his head, dragging his lips to hers. With a moan he dragged her against him and covered her lips in a hot, hungry kiss. She clung to him, loving the strength she could feel in him. Yet, despite his strength, she could sense the supreme effort he made to hold his needs at bay. He was exerting careful control, she realized, in order to give her the time she needed.
She was afraid to touch him. And yet the urge to run her hands over his naked torso was too tempting to ignore. She reached a tentative finger to his chest, then drew back, embarrassed by her boldness.
“Touch me again, Brenna.”
At his urging she touched a hand to his chest and rubbed her open palm across the mat of hair. A bubble of laughter escaped her lips. “It tickles.”
He smiled up at her. She was such a wonder. Such a delight.
Her fingertips brushed his nipples and she felt them harden. Instantly she drew her hand away, but he reached out and pulled it to him. “Nay. Do not stop, little one.”
She ran a hand along his shoulder and thrilled to the ripple of muscle beneath her palm. Suddenly she encountered the raised scar made by her dirk when she had fought him in the Highlands. The laughter faded from her eyes. “I cannot bear that I inflicted this pain on you.”
“It no longer hurts, Brenna.”
“But it was made by my hand.” Without thinking she brought her lips to the spot.
Instantly the heat flared, until he was engulfed by fire. He gave a moan low in his throat.
His reaction to her touch gave her new courage. Growing bolder she brought her hands to the flat planes of his stomach and felt him flinch.
Could it be that her mere touch had the power to weaken this mighty soldier? “Afraid, my lord?” Laughter warmed her tone.
“Nay, witch.” His dark eyes were full upon her, daring her. “Afraid only that you will stop.”
Accepting his challenge she moved her hand lower still, until her hand encountered the waistband of his breeches. When her fingers fumbled with the fasteners, he helped her, until this last barrier between them was discarded.
She studied him in the glow of moonlight and found herself marveling at the beauty of his body. How perfectly the angles and planes of his muscled body complemented the softness of hers.
“Touch me, Brenna. Touch me before the madness overtakes me.”
She felt drunk with her newly discovered power. Moving her hand lower, she heard his moan of pleasure, saw his eyes narrow fractionally. Then, with his hand beneath her chin, he lifted her face to his and covered her mouth in a kiss so hungry, so impatient, she felt as if she were being devoured. When at last he came up for air she clutched blindly at his waist and brought her lips to his throat. The fire spread, heating their bodies, searing their blood.
When his lips lingered at her throat she arched, giving him free access, her head back, her eyes half closed in pleasure. But when they moved lower, to close around her breast, his name came out in a broken sob.
“Morgan. Please.”
He nibbled and suckled until she writhed beneath him.
His lips, his fingertips moved over her, seeking out all the hidden pleasures until her body hummed with need. His fingers found her, moist and ready.
“Tell me, love. Tell me you want me.”
She felt herself beginning to climb, high, then higher still, until she reached the first peak. But he gave her no time to pause before he took her even higher.
Needs pulsed and shuddered within her until she thought she would explode. “I do want you. Oh, Morgan, I love you.”
Love. He savored the word as it washed over him. She loved him. It was more than he had ever hoped for. That this woman could love him, as he loved her. If he never had another blessing in his lifetime, this one would be enough.
Need ripped through him, shattering the last thread of his control. If he did not take her now he would go mad with the need for her.
Mad. Aye, it was madness that had driven him from the first moment he saw her. And there was no cure for it. Except this woman.
As he levered himself above her he looked down into her eyes and could read all the love, all the desire, in their blue-violet depths.
As he gently lowered himself into her and began to move, he was amazed to find that her strength, her needs, matched his. She moved with him, taking him higher, then higher still, until there was no longer any time for gentleness.
The fragrance of roses clung to her hair and skin. He breathed it in, filling his lungs. He was reminded of the field of heather, when he had wanted her with this same kind of desperation. From this moment on, whenever he smelled roses, he would think of her. And want her with this same terrible hunger.
