She was smooth and beautiful under his rough, calloused hands-an amorous balm to soothe the ugliness of war.
He wanted to beg her forgiveness for failing her, for leaving her at the mercy of the MacLeods. He wanted to confess his feelings of affection and gently kiss away her hurt. God help him, he wanted to sate his lust with the warmth of her body and find salvation in her arms.
He pulled her tight against him and smoothed a web of tangled hair from her cheek. Her quickened breath was warm against his lips.
She needed him as much as he needed her.
With a strangled groan, his lips came down on top of hers, and his tongue plunged into the sweetness of her mouth. She melted against him and yielded to his hunger.
His conscience tugged at him through the haze of desire. She was stained with the blood of men who meant her harm, who had intended to force themselves upon her. He could not take what the men had so aggressively sought.
Kieran broke the kiss and pulled away from Mariel. Her hands clutched the back of his neck, and she strained toward him with a pleading gaze.
“Please, I need this,” she whimpered. Her lips brushed his, silky soft and hot with temptation.
Kieran clenched his jaw until the muscles ached. “I canna be like them.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “You could never be like them,” she whispered fiercely. “Don’t you understand? I want your lips to erase the feel of theirs, your body to burn away the insult of their touch.” Her fingers against his chest clenched the dirty fabric of his leine and dug into his flesh. “Make me forget, Kieran.”
He caught her upturned face in his hands and studied the spark of desperation in her stare. Too vivid was the horror of losing her, and the fear he would never see her again. Too recently had she been locked in the clutches of helplessness without him there to protect her.
She was not the only one who needed to forget.
“Please,” she whispered again.
He could not deny her appeal any more than he could ignore the pain in his chest at the thought of her death. His lips came down on hers, and he tightened his grip on her once more.
Her mouth moved against his, frantic and hungry. She slid her hands up his back, her fingers dancing restlessly beneath his leine.
His caught the length of ribbon holding her ruined chemise closed and tugged it free. The fabric parted to reveal creamy white skin unsoiled by the effects of battle.
His hands cupped the velvety curve of her breasts, and she gasped into his mouth. She was so warm, so silky beneath his battered hands. He clutched the back of her neck as her sweet tongue tangled with his while his other hand found the sensitive little nub of her breast. He wanted to hear the soft cry of his name upon her lips. He wanted to make her moan with need.
Her nipple pebbled between his fingertips, and her breathing hitched. The ache in his cock was almost unbearable where it strained against his plaid. He squeezed her breast, his thumb blindly circling the sensitive little bud. Her moan started off low and ended in a breathless whimper as her body ground against him.
Desire clouded his mind and robbed him of thought.
Her fingers left trails of fire against his naked flesh where she explored his chest beneath his shirt. He knew her hunger all too well. She murmured his name against his lips and arched her back so her naked breasts pressed toward the sky.
Her weight shifted as she leaned into him, nudging the heat of her desire against his cock. His breath hissed out between his teeth as her inquisitive fingertips neared his throbbing tip. He needed release, a way to come down from the height of battle. God help him, he needed her.
Now.
“Kieran!” Several male voices called in the distance.
Mariel pulled the warmth of her mouth from his. “The men…”
Kieran snatched her back to him and growled against her lips, “Let them wait.”
The voices called again, this time closer. Kieran let out a soft curse and released Mariel. She tied her chemise with trembling fingers as he rose to his feet.
He extended his arm to her. “Are ye sure ye’re fine?”
Her gaze met his with bold desire, and her kiss-swollen lips lifted in a languid smile. “Yes, thanks to you.”
She placed her small hand in his palm and allowed him to lift her from the thick mud.
“Mariel, ye’re safe!” Colin charged through the brush to where they stood. “Are ye all right?” His brow furrowed. “Ye look verra pale.”
Kieran looked down to where Mariel clung to his arm. She did look pale. How had he not noticed that before?
She wavered on her feet, and her gaze shifted to the body of the man he had killed.
This was too much for her. “Dinna look, Mariel. Come, let’s find an inn and get cleaned up, aye?”
“It’s all right,” she replied in a weak voice. “They are only…bodies…” Her words faded to a faint whisper, and her weight sagged against him.
Alarm flashed through Kieran. He wrapped his arm around her in an attempt to keep her upright, but she flinched from his touch.
“Mariel?” He pulled his hand away from her hip and found it bright red with blood.
“I couldn’t move quickly…I didn’t realize…he…” She swayed, and her face went white beneath the smears of mud.
Kieran gripped her waist above where she’d been injured and cradled her weight against him as her legs gave way. Fear clenched at his chest. He caught her slender body and held her against him, but she wasn’t looking at him. No, her head fell limply in the cradle of his arms, and her eyes fluttered closed with heart-stopping finality.
Chapter Twelve
Mariel awoke to the baritone murmur of voices in the distance. Exhaustion pulled at her, enticing her back to the numbing warmth of sleep. She gritted her teeth and tried to keep a sense of awareness. She had to stay awake. There was something she needed to do.
The scent of herbs hung heavy in the air, pungent with the almond notes of meadowsweet and the acrid tang of juniper sprigs.
She forced her heavy eyelids open and shards of brilliant light stabbed into her skull. She slammed her lids shut against the pain and lay immobile until a roll of nausea eased.
As the muffled voices continued outside, familiarity seeped into her subconscious.
“How did she manage to kill a MacLeod, do ye think?”
The scrap of information danced at the edge of her memory.
“Those men were taken with drink for certain,” mumbled another voice.
“The bastard probably tripped over his own damned feet and Mariel took advantage of the situation like the smart lass she is.” The voice was smooth and rich, rife with underlying authority. Kieran. Her heart skipped with bittersweet elation.
He had saved her from certain death. The MacLeod had her pinned down, her legs rendered useless beneath the weight of his body. The memory of his hands groping her sent a shudder of revulsion through her.
Kieran had arrived in a flash of chaos that blurred with soggy earth and spatters of blood. And then he’d drawn her into his arms, and her world had slowed. Everything had pulsed with the warm glow of sensuality as they fell into a realm where time did not matter.
Jane.
Oh God, Jane had been killed by the MacLeods, run through with an arrow like a wild pig on a hunt. Mariel’s stomach churned.
Colin’s voice outside drew her back to the present. “Before ye arrived, had they—”
“Nay, they dinna touch her. No that it’s any of yer business,” Kieran answered tightly.
“We still dinna know what Hampton meant by luring us to London,” Alec broke into the conversation.
“Ye dinna need to remind me of that,” Kieran said with a bitter tone to his voice. “I have thought of little else. We need to focus on how we are going to get home.”
Their voices dropped low and their words became too difficult to decipher.
An underlying urgency laced their tones. They were restless to ret
urn home. How long would their patience hold as they waited for her? She did not care to find out.
Hampton. The name struck a familiar chord, but she could not remember why. Pain gripped her skull in its wicked grasp and kept memories from surfacing.
Mariel forced herself past the discomfort and blinked her eyes open once more. Whitewashed walls reflected the sun’s brilliant glare and bundles of herbs hung from the low, wood-beamed ceiling above her head.
She lay atop a hard, unyielding surface covered with a cloth—rough wool from the way it scratched against her body.
She froze. Where was her clothing? She clutched a thin blanket to her naked breasts and tried to turn in an effort to inspect her surroundings. A fierce burn ripped across her hip and sent stars dancing before her eyes.
A soothing voice broke through the pain. “Dinna sit up yet. I need to finish binding ye.”
A wrinkled face and soft brown eyes appeared above Mariel. The aging woman was anything but threatening.
Mariel obeyed the gentle command and lay back on the makeshift bed. The woman’s hands were warm and dry as she brushed the blanket away from Mariel’s side. A neat row of about twenty or so small stitches followed the curve of Mariel’s hip. The injury was far more significant than she’d realized.
The old woman had saved her life.
The healer cradled an open jar in her withered hand and rubbed its greasy contents against Mariel’s freshly stitched wound. An acrid odor stung Mariel’s eyes and nostrils.
At least she wouldn’t have to worry about being attacked again. No man would touch her with this foul odor on her flesh. The putrid balm warmed with a soothing heat along the tight ache of her stitches.
Perhaps the scent could be endured after all.
As if reading her thoughts, the woman gave her a sympathetic look. “I know, lass. The stuff stinks to high heaven, but it will help stave off fever.” She pulled a strip of linen from a small basket at her side. “Now we’ll get ye bound and dressed and ye can be on yer way.”
With gentle hands, she stretched the linen across Mariel’s waist and drew it around her back. Mariel jerked forward, fearful of what the woman might find, and sick from the thought of someone seeing the price she’d paid for Jack’s protection.
The old healer paused, her fingers held aloft. “Ye need no worry about me. I ask no questions, and I tell no more than needs be told.”
Mariel gave a terse nod and tried to ignore the brush of linen against her back. She tried to keep from remembering the pain.
The kind voice broke through her concentrated silence. “I’m finished, lass. Ye only need to bind it while blood still seeps. After that the wrapping isna necessary.”
The burning tension in Mariel’s muscles waned. The worst was over.
The healer helped her rise to a sitting position and motioned to a shapeless bundle on the table near a small bed. “It’s no much, but I have a dress ye can wear. I dinna want ye putting on that wicked corset again and dinna think ye can get yer dress on without it. No with that wound so freshly stitched, aye?”
“You are too kind—” Mariel began, but the woman held up a hand.
“I also have some poultices for ye to place against your wound when ye change the bandage, as well as the balm I just used. Ye need to rest for at least one week. I say I want ye to be in bed the whole time, but I’m no daft enough to think ye’ll listen to me. Rest at least the night in a proper bed, and be careful when ye ride, aye?” She placed several bundles of linen bound herbs on top of the clothing.
The healer looked out the window to where Kieran paced and shook her head. “The toughest men are the most helpless when their women are ill.” A wry smile spread over her wrinkled lips. “I’ll leave ye to dress while I go speak to him.”
The woman slipped from the room and let the door close soundlessly behind her. Nervous excitement fluttered in Mariel’s belly. Once she was dressed, she would see Kieran. She reached for the dress and caught sight of her mud-smeared arm. Her fingers crept over her gritty hair, still riddled with leaves.
And then a realization slammed into her like a punch to the stomach.
The breath left her chest and her heartbeat slowed to an aching throb. With the liberation from physical pain came the burden of memory. Her giddiness faded at the prospect of seeing Kieran.
She remembered why she was there.
• • •
The healer leaned so close to Kieran, the tip of her long gray braid brushed his forearm, and the sweet scent of herbs hovered in the air around them.
“It’s no my place to say this, Laird MacDonald, but the lass has been ill used. Ye be good to her, aye?” Though worn with age, the look in her eyes was fierce and protective.
“Did she say something to ye?” He heard the hope in his own voice. If he knew the cause of her hurt, he could help ease her pain.
The old woman considered him for a moment before answering. “She dinna have to.”
Kieran nodded in silent understanding. There was something in Mariel’s past. Something she was not telling him or anyone else.
Before either of them could say another word, the door to the cottage opened, and the world dropped away as Mariel stepped toward him. Golden light from the low setting sun splashed over her in a wash of ethereal essence. Gone were the velvets and silks and ridiculous hairstyles. All that remained was her. The way she had been for him that fateful night at the Sheep’s Heid Inn.
A plain brown overdress caressed the fullness of her breasts and accentuated the sweet flare of her hips. Her unbound hair fell to her slender waist and reflected the sun’s dying rays like rich onyx flecked with gold.
Her cheeks flushed as she drew closer, a fine display of color on a face deathly gray not two hours prior. Mariel ducked her head, and the color of her cheeks deepened.
“Kieran, you’re staring.” A nervous smile touched her lips. Without a word, the healer slipped away, leaving them blissfully alone. “Am I such a mess?”
“Ye look different, Mariel. Verra, verra different.” A slight breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and an errant lock of hair fluttered across her cheek. Before he realized what he was doing, he reached out and tucked the tresses behind her ear. “I dinna think I’ve seen ye look more beautiful.”
He trailed a finger down her cheek. Her skin was always so soft, so smooth. Heedless of others, Kieran drew her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her slender frame, careful to avoid her injury.
Her familiar, heady scent enveloped him. For a moment he had feared he might never breathe deep her tantalizing perfume again. But now the danger had passed, and she was there, safe in his arms.
He wanted to press his lips to hers, to make up for all the time he had fought his attraction toward her. Awareness sizzled between them, bewitching him and making his mouth hungry for the taste of her.
Colin materialized beside them and cleared his throat. “We should most likely find the inn the healer recommended before dark.”
Kieran dropped his arms and stepped away from Mariel, irritation coursing through him. “Mariel, ye ride with me,” he said, more harshly than intended. “And dinna try to argue. I’ll no have ye riding a horse on yer own with that wound.”
Her mouth opened and then closed as the protest died on her lips. Disappointment pricked at him. He’d been looking forward to finding alternate methods of silencing her.
• • •
Kieran ushered Mariel to her rented room. The furnishings were typical of most inns with a bed in the corner, and a short wooden table holding a simple basin and ewer. Though small, the chamber was clean and would allow Mariel the restful night of sleep the healer had insisted on.
The innkeeper’s two sons followed close behind with a large tub held between them. Kieran set Mariel’s bags on the floor and then straightened. “How do ye feel, lass?”
“Better than I expected,” she said with a wry smile. Her coloring had paled slightly after the ride, but other th
an that she appeared to be faring well.
The boys disappeared out the door. Their feet were heavy upon the stairs as they went to retrieve water for Mariel’s bath.
“I plan on bathing as soon as they finish filling the tub.” Her gaze turned pointedly toward him.
Kieran sat down on the bed. It was comfortable despite the aged ropes that groaned in protest beneath his weight. “Aye, I figured ye would.”
The boys entered the room again and emptied their large buckets into the tub before dashing out to get more water. Once they had left, Mariel lowered her head and gave him that slanted look that set him on fire. “You intend to stay?”
“I do, but no for the reason ye think. With no woman to help ye, I dinna want ye by yerself when ye’re injured.”
She tucked her lower lip into her mouth, and her brows knit together. Immediately Kieran regretted having brought up her lack of a maid and the memories it no doubt procured.
Mariel heaved a deep sigh and lifted her chin with stubborn determination. “I’m perfectly capable of bathing, even in my battered state.” She sauntered toward him. “Unless,” she amended, “you want to help…”
Once more the boys entered the room to empty their buckets before disappearing for the final time.
Kieran settled back on the bed with his arms folded behind his head and closed his eyes in an effort to clear her smoldering look from his mind. “Nay, I’ll be here in case ye need me.”
Keeping his eyes closed was a bad idea. The sound of lacing sliding through fabric, however, stopped him from opening them. Wool and cotton rustled like a seductive whisper as it slipped from silken flesh. Kieran swallowed thickly and tried to ignore the insistent pulse that beat an erratic thrum in his swollen cock. Did wool always create so much noise as it pooled at a woman’s feet?
Just when he thought he could take no more of the torturous sounds of her undress, the gentle lapping of water against the wooden side of the tub filled the room. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know she was in the perfumed water—naked, slick, and wet.
Deception of a Highlander Page 8
