by Ruth Langan
“Will you have more ale?”
He shook his head and forced a smile to his lips. “Nay, thank you.”
Feeling suddenly selfconscious, Lindsay picked up the yarn and needles and settled herself beside him. She kept her head bent, her attention fixed on the stocking she was finishing for Brock. But she was achingly aware of the man whose thigh was pressed to hers, and whose arm was resting along the back of the settle.
“You work so hard,” he remarked.
“Not so hard.” She felt his fingers brush the ends of her hair and dropped a stitch. She paused, pulled the yarn clear, then started again.
“When do you rest?”
“When…I can no longer go on.” She told herself not to look at him. But in spite of her best intentions, she lifted her head and slanted her gaze.
The look on his face had her heart turning over. He was staring at her with a strange fascination. As though devouring her. In his eyes was something that she recognized immediately. Naked hunger. A hunger that matched her own.
“I must…” She started to stand. At once the yarn and needles spilled from her lap to the floor. Embarrassed, she stooped to pick them up, but at the same moment, he dropped to his knees beside her.
She gave a nervous laugh. “I’m not usually so clumsy….”
“Lindsay.” He touched a hand to hers and she stiffened as though burned.
When she started to rise he pressed both his hands to her shoulders, keeping her there beside him. Her eyes widened with fear and confusion, before she turned her face away.
“Don’t be afraid to look at me.” He gently lifted her chin, forcing her head up.
“You mustn’t. We mustn’t…”
“Shhh.” He leaned close until his warm breath feathered the hair at her temple. “I want only a taste of your lips. For I’ve thought of nothing else since the first time I saw you.”
“But I…”
“Would you deny a starving man?”
Before she could respond his mouth was on hers, as soft, as cool as the brush of a snowflake. He heard her quick little intake of breath and forced himself to remain just so, easy, unhurried, though in truth, he wanted to crush her in his arms and feast until he was sated.
Warmth spread through Lindsay’s veins, heating her blood, clouding her mind. One moment she’d been poised to run like a frightened deer. The next she was frozen to the spot, unable to move. Though his hands were as gentle as his lips, she was held as surely as if she’d been imprisoned. All she could do was kneel there, rocked by the most amazing sensations. A strange tingling, as though butterflies had been unleashed inside her and were struggling to break free. And a sudden yearning for something she couldn’t even name.
When Morgan lifted his head, he could see the warm flush that colored her throat and spread across her cheeks. What’s more, he could see in her eyes the awakening of a long-slumbering passion.
Lindsay scrambled to her feet and prayed her trembling legs would hold her. Grasping the back of the settle for support, she took in a ragged breath before managing to say, “I’ll bid you good-night now, Morgan MacLaren.”
“And I bid you the same, Lindsay Douglas.”
As she headed toward the ladder, he scooped up the yarn and needles. “You forgot…”
She hiked her skirts and forced herself to climb to the loft.
Morgan stood below, enjoying the view of exposed ankle, and the way her gown clung to her shapely backside, before she disappeared.
He let out a long, slow breath, and realized his hands were trembling. With a muttered oath he set the yarn and needles aside, then made his way to his pallet on the floor.
Sleep, he knew, would be a long time coming this night.
Chapter Four
Dawn light was just coloring the horizon when Lindsay crept down the ladder from the loft. She’d been awake for hours, replaying in her mind the kiss she’d shared with Morgan MacLaren. In her entire eighteen years, she had never experienced anything like it.
How would she face him again? What could she possibly say to cover her awkwardness? To a worldly man like Morgan, that kiss probably meant no more than a pleasant moment. For her, it had been earth-shattering.
She cast a quick glance at the mound of furs where he slept, hidden in shadows along the far wall. She moved resolutely across the room and let herself out of the hut.
Barefoot, still wearing her nightshift, she hurried through the stand of trees to the stream. There she draped a fur throw and a square of cloth over a low-hanging branch of a tree, then peeled off her nightclothes and stepped into the frigid water. As was her custom, she soaped herself quickly, then bent her head forward and washed her hair. Shivering, she charged resolutely through the shallows until she reached the deep water, took a deep breath and sank below the waves, rinsing the soap from her hair and skin as quickly as possible. Seconds later she came up for air and shook her head, sending her hair dancing out in a shower of droplets, before settling around her shoulders and down her back like a silken veil.
Moving quickly she waded to shore, and reached for the cloth. She pressed it to her face, then bent forward, wrapping it around her hair. When she straightened, she reached for the fur throw. And froze at the sight of a figure standing in the shadows.
“Morgan.” She gave a gasp. “What are you…? I didn’t see…” Then, suddenly realizing she was naked, she draped the fur around herself and struggled to salvage some shred of dignity.
“Forgive me, Lindsay. I had just emerged from the stream, and wasn’t even aware that you were here until it was too late.”
It was true, up to a point. He had been caught by surprise. But in truth, he’d been mesmerized by the sight of her. And though he knew he was violating her privacy, there was no way he could walk away. And so he’d stayed, and had seen a vision that was far more beautiful than anything he could have conjured in his imagination.
Lindsay noted the water glistening in his dark hair, and the droplets still clinging to his hair-roughened chest. The plaid he’d tossed rakishly over his shoulder clung to the flat planes of his stomach, and did nothing to hide the muscles of his naked thighs.
There was that feeling again. That strange tingling, and that hungry yearning. She struggled to dismiss such feelings and lifted her chin. Embarrassment made her tone rougher than she intended. “But you made no effort to warn me of your presence. Worse, you stayed. A true gentleman would have turned away out of respect.”
“Aye.” His tone was warm with unspoken laughter. “I suppose that’s true enough, though I’ve never been accused of being a gentleman. But you can’t blame me for enjoying the view. Especially when it was so…very pleasant.”
Her eyes blazed. “Do you think I did this for your entertainment, Morgan MacLaren? Do you think me some cheap woman who wishes to display her body for your enjoyment?”
He fought back the smile that threatened. This was a side of her he hadn’t seen before. And it was every bit as fascinating as the sweetness and tenderness she showed her family. There was a fire in her. Aye. A fire and a passion that he found most endearing.
He reached out a hand, stopping her before she could turn away. His voice lowered. “I’m sorry that I’ve offended you, Lindsay. But I’m not sorry for what I saw. Nor am I sorry for what I’m about to do.”
“What…?” She flung out a hand to hold him at bay, but he brought it to his lips.
She would have been less shocked by a slap. The press of his lips against her palm sent a series of chills along her spine.
Then, while she was still caught off guard, he pressed kisses to her wrist, and the inside of her elbow, and across her shoulder, before drawing her close to nuzzle his lips against her temple.
“Forgive me, but I must kiss your lips again, my lady. That first taste last night left me thirsty for more.”
He nibbled his way across her cheek, to the corner of her mouth. And though she thought about pushing away, the truth was, she couldn’t mov
e. She waited, her heart pounding in her chest, as he traced the outline of her lips with his tongue.
She forgot to breathe. Her heart forgot to beat. And she knew, in that instant, that if he didn’t soon kiss her, she would be devastated.
At last his mouth was on hers and she sighed with the pure pleasure of it. As his hands tightened on her shoulders, and his tongue found hers, her sigh became a little moan and she lost herself in him.
He was struggling to hold back, but he could feel the need for her rising. He changed the angle of the kiss and took it deeper, deeper, until he was nearly devouring her. The sound of her breath hitching, and her little whimpers of pleasure, had him nearly mad with desire.
His hands slipped beneath the fur, finding her flesh. He brought his hands slowly along her sides until they encountered her breasts.
She flinched. Sweet heaven, what was happening to her? Just moments ago she’d been chilled to the bone. Now her flesh was on fire. And that was nothing compared with the fire raging inside her. Her body felt fluid and boneless. The blood flowing through her veins was like a river of fire.
She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. Her throat was too tight. And these feelings were taking her down. Down. Feelings she’d never known before. A tightening deep inside, like a fist. A strange yearning to lie with this man and let him kiss her and touch her and do with her as he wished.
Oh, if only she knew what was happening to her. Suddenly terrified of these strange new feelings, she cried out and pushed him away.
“Nay. Stop. I can’t think.”
He lifted his head and took a deep breath, struggling for control. Never in his life had he tasted anything as sweet as her lips.
“You…go to far, Morgan MacLaren. You take advantage.”
“Do I?” The need for her was still roaring in his temples, making him careless with his words. “From the way you responded, I thought this was something we both wanted.”
That struck a nerve. She lifted her chin to cover her shame and drew the edges of the fur together, holding them tightly in both hands. “Well, you were wrong. You…merely caught me in a moment of weakness. See that you don’t do it again.”
“Aye. I’ll remember.” She looked so small and so fierce and so…enticing. He couldn’t help himself. He drew her close, curling his fingers into the fur at her neck. With his face inches from hers he smiled down into her eyes. “I’ll be sure to ask your permission, my lady, before I kiss you again. Is that what you’d like?”
“What I’d like…” There were too many conflicting emotions swirling around her head. She was angry and confused. And most of all, deeply aroused. And that fact frightened her more than any other. “What I’d like is for you to bank your fire, Morgan MacLaren.”
With one mighty shove she pushed him away. The reeds along the bank of the stream were slick. Caught by surprise, he struggled to remain upright. But as his footsteps faltered, he tumbled backward and landed in the water with a mighty splash.
While he muttered a string of furious oaths she turned and ran toward the hut. At the door she looked over her shoulder. He had managed to right himself and climb up the bank of the stream. His length of plaid was no longer tossed rakishly over his shoulder, but instead clung to his body, dripping a river of water with each step.
He was limping, and holding his arm in the manner of someone in pain. That fact caused a pang of guilt, for she knew how severe his recent wounds had been. Then she lifted her chin and let herself inside. She wouldn’t waste a moment of sympathy on Morgan MacLaren.
Any man strong enough to make her feel like a wanton woman was certainly able to take care of himself.
“You were up early, Lindsay.” Her father sat at the table, eating his gruel.
“Aye.” She slammed the kettle down on the table and turned away to fill a bowl for Gwen.
Across the room, Morgan slumped in front of the fire, wrapped in a fur from his pallet. A sopping length of plaid was hanging in a corner, still dripping water.
Brock came in, carrying a bucket of water. “I found this down by the stream.” He pulled Lindsay’s night shift from beneath his cloak.
“I…forgot about it.” She snatched it away and turned, just in time to see Morgan lift his head and meet her gaze.
The old man looked from his daughter to their guest. Something had happened between these two, though he wasn’t yet certain just what it was. “Aren’t you joining us at table, Morgan?”
Seeing the flush on Lindsay’s cheeks, Morgan felt his mood begin to lift. So, she was feeling a bit guilty, was she? He just might enjoy getting even for that unexpected dip in the stream.
He stood and limped to the table. “Aye. My appetite improves a bit more each day.” Knowing she was loath to serve him, he served himself, filling a bowl with gruel before taking a place at the table.
Lindsay turned her back on him and poured water into several cups.
“Tea, father?” She set a cup in front of him, then placed a second cup in front of Morgan without a word.
Forced to sit beside him, she was determined to ignore him as best she could. She deliberately turned her head and spoke to her father.
“Heywood offered me ten and three gold pieces for the horse.”
“The horse?” The old man scowled. “You wouldn’t barter it away, would you, lass? Not when it’s added so much comfort to your life.”
“I might. But not for ten and three. Perhaps I would for a score and three.”
“He’d offer you that and more if you’d throw in a kiss,” Brock said with a laugh.
She rounded on him in fury. “You hold your tongue.”
At her unusual display of temper the lad colored and bit his lip.
Lindsay felt a momentary flash of regret, but when she saw Morgan watching her, she turned away and lowered her voice. “Think what that gold would buy, Father. Sugar, for one. Enough to bake scones and a brandied cake.”
“What need have we of such things?”
Her tone grew soft and pensive. “It will soon be the Eve of Christmas. I was remembering all the special things Mother used to bake for that holy feast. It was such a joyous occasion.” She glanced across the table at her niece and nephew. “I want Gwen and Brock to enjoy it the way I did when I was a girl.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Lindsay.” The old man pushed away his half-empty bowl. His appetite had suddenly fled. “I was young then, and leader of a great clan. But those days are gone now. And we’ll never see their like again.”
“But the gold…”
“Damn the gold.” He shoved away from the table, nearly upending his chair in his anger. “For years you’ve had to walk to the village and back, spending most of the day in your travels. Think of all the long, lonely winter nights when you’ve nearly frozen before you made it home. Now you have a horse, and you can make the journey in half the time. What price can you put on that?”
Before she could reply he shook his head. “Heywood knows the horse is worth twice what he offered. Besides, Brock may have offended you, but the lad is right. We all know it isn’t the horse Heywood wants.”
As he hobbled across the room, Lindsay’s face flamed. Without a word she gathered up the dishes and began to wash them. When she’d finished, she picked up her shabby cloak, tucking her hair beneath the hood.
“Where are you going?” her father demanded.
“I heard rumors of a battle in Glen Lowe. I hope to find some clothing.” She stared pointedly at Morgan. “Perhaps even a proper tunic for our guest, so I don’t have to be offended by the sight of all those scars.”
He merely stared at her and held his silence, which only added to her temper.
“I’m hoping to find some weapons I can barter.” As she stepped through the open doorway she added, “Who knows? Perhaps I’ll even find another horse. And then I can have both. A means of travel, and the sugar for our Christmas feast.”
Surprised by her outburst, her father hobbled outside, to st
are after her. Minutes later they heard the sound of hoofbeats, and then only silence.
Morgan looked across the table at Brock. “Who is Heywood?”
“Heywood Drummond.” He spat the name as though it offended him. Like his grandfather, the lad shoved aside his bowl without finishing his gruel. A sure sign that he was troubled.
“Is he a wealthy man?”
“Aye. The richest man in the village. But his wife is dead. Some say by his hand. And he has made it plain that he wishes to court Lindsay, so that they can be wed on the Eve of Christmas, which is the only time a priest will be in our village. If she doesn’t agree, he’ll have to wait another year, until the priest comes again.”
“And is—” Morgan’s throat felt suddenly dry “—your aunt agreeable to that?”
Gwen started giggling, and soon Brock joined her. “Lindsay once said that Heywood Drummond looks like a toad.”
Morgan began to relax. He sipped his tea. “So, she isn’t tempted by his wealth?”
While Gwen continued to laugh, he saw a look come into Brock’s eyes before the lad blinked it away. Even the lad’s voice betrayed the unease that lurked in the darker corners of his mind.
“Aye. There’s his wealth, of course. Winter is always a hard time for Grandfather. Soon the coughing spells will be upon him, and he won’t be able to climb the ladder to his bed. Each winter the cough grows worse. I’ve heard Lindsay say that Heywood has a fine big house and a fire that never grows cold.”
Seeing the look of doubt that came into his sister’s eyes he forced a note of cheer to his voice. “But maybe Lindsay will find more treasure to barter.” He pushed away from the table. “Or maybe Father Christmas will find us here in the forest, and visit a miracle upon us.”
“Oh, Brock. Do you think so?” The little girl’s eyes went wide with excitement.
The boy shrugged and turned away, hoping to keep her from seeing his skepticism. “You know what Lindsay always tells us. Hard work and enough prayers can bring us all we desire.”
