by Amber Scott
“I will need some time to translate the script.”
Ashlon crossed his arms.
“It is the truth,” she said. “And I have naught to gain by lying to you. In fact, I give you my word that you will only hear the truth from me, though you may not like it.” The suspicion in his stare lessoned a bit, but Breanne’s anger rose nonetheless.
“How much time?”
“I canno’ say really. A day or so.”
He clearly disliked her answer. “I must impress you to rush. I need to find this before another does. I don’t know how your man Heremon knew so much to have drawn it before I arrived. I don’t care. All I know is that I am responsible for it and the sooner I search, the sooner I locate it.”
“I will work on it in every available hour. You have my word.” She resisted placing a comforting hand on his knee. “It may not help to hear, but we will have little chance to search now, anyhow. In two days time, when guests begin to arrive for the wedding of my mother and Niall, we will be less noticed as missing.”
Ashlon leaned back in the wooden armed chair. He suppressed a yawn. Circles showed beneath his eyes.
“We must return. If I am discovered gone, I will no doubt be bound to my room, mayhap even chained to my bed. And your health will suffer if you do not rest.” She didn’t wait for him to follow after extinguishing the fire and candles.
As she left the cottage, she sensed rather than heard Ashlon.
“Was it wise to light a fire? Will smoke not draw attention to our visit?”
“As Niall has completed his search and none others have reason to, I can’t see the fire as a risk, no. And I put it out.”
The light of dawn crept in as they strode their way back, he following her noisily. She stopped. Ashlon bumped into her back.
“You should go another way,” Breanne said, facing him. “If someone came upon us….”
“You should not be alone.” His hand went to his sword hilt.
“I will be fine. I know these woods well, have walked them a thousand times alone.”
Ashlon shook his head.
“Sir Sinclair, I insist. It is far more dangerous to risk being seen with you than alone. One would immediately assume we’d been on a midnight tryst and your hand would be forced.”
“I see it otherwise. I will go with you. If we hear someone, I will hide.”
Breanne snorted. She couldn’t help it. “You hide? Where? And I hardly think we’ll hear anything with all the stamping about you’re doing.” She resumed walking, faster this time.
“I will not leave you.”
“Then at least allow some distance between us.” She heard silence and knew he’d stopped. She refused to thank him, or turn around. Or feel disappointed. Breanne shook her head. Why in all the stars would she feel disappointed in his maintaining a distance? It was the only compromise and he’d taken it. She should feel relieved.
If she were caught with him, she would not be choosing any husband at Beltane. She’d be standing next in line after her mother and Niall wed. And he was the last man she wanted standing there with her. He was a knight, distasteful or not, had belonged to the most esteemed and well-known company of knights.
He chose a life of potential war and battle, not out of necessity as a man did in Ireland. In Ireland, the men might be battle-ready and mayhap even battle-hungry, but that could be expected when their land and country was continually coveted by others.
The snap of twigs far behind told her just how far a lead he’d given her. She wanted to look back, but knew better. If she looked back, she looked weak. What she should do was let him know just how capable she was in caring for and defending herself.
Breanne smiled as she pictured the outraged look on his face upon seeing her weapon or worse, upon being overtaken by her. A trill of giddiness leapt in her belly. Without a glance back, she saw her opportunity approach with a bend in the path she’d led them to.
* * * *
“Stubborn wench,” Ashlon said to himself, finding it hard to keep one eye on her and the other on the tangled path she traipsed down.
He should have let her go. His being out of the keep was just as risky, he could have let her know. Sneaking about in the dark alone, let alone with the chieftain’s near stepdaughter, supposedly bedridden, in tow would get him gallows.
A branch scratched his cheek, stinging a path through his morning stubble. He growled, slapped it back and heard the satisfying snap. It made him grin. He’d like to break a few limbs over his thigh right now. Anything to get his roiling frustrations out before he gave in and screamed.
The dark green of her cloak blended too damn well and she moved too damn lithely. The reddish gold of her braid was the only thing he glimpsed while finding footing. Then the path widened and broke through foliage. Ashlon moved faster to catch up as she disappeared around a bend.
The woman had no sense of self-preservation, let alone decorum. Firstly, she had cared for him under secrecy. Secondly, she ignored his presence to the point of outright rudeness. And now, to insist he leave her to fend for herself in a dark wooded area when no one knew she was gone nor where to. At the very least, a wild boar should incite some degree of fear in a woman. He’d seen brave men quake over far less.
Where in blasted hell had she gone? He wouldn’t be surprised at all if she’d left the new path and trudged through the trees and growth again just to spite him.
To hell with it. Ashlon slowed his pace. He chose the path before him, trusting it would lead him back in time to meet the morning sun breaching the sky. The forest was already awake. Birds sang, leaves shuddered and dew glistened on the ground.
Two days minimum. Ashlon hated the idea of waiting so long. His gut told him he didn’t have so much luxury. But without a clue as to where to begin his search, he had no choice but to wait for her.
And to trust her.
For some reason, he did. He could see, not just in her eyes, but in her eagerness, how forthright she felt about the entire matter. She needn’t know he would not involve her further once she’d done the translation. That might give her ideas about withholding information in order to gain interest in the task.
Heremon’s note was vague, but he readily saw how she could mistake the meaning and latch herself to his cause, unknowing the substance or its imperiling nature. She was more than stubborn. Plainly.
An arm snaked around Ashlon’s waist and the unmistakable feel of metal pressed his throat. Ashlon stilled, barely breathing lest he get cut ear to ear.
Alarm shot through his head. Where was Breanne? Ashlon scanned the foliage and path for a catch of gold. None.
He swallowed. The blade moved with his throat, leaving his skin unharmed. He opened his mouth to speak and the sharp edge pressed in and slowly slid upward to his cheek, scraping loudly in his ears.
“You need a shave,” she said near his ear.
Breanne! What in Heaven’s name was she thinking? The laughter in her throaty whisper tickled his lobe. She showed him her blade laden with his stubble. Clever girl. Ashlon allowed a slow smile to laze onto his mouth.
Impressive. Soundless and lithe.
In a single swift motion, Ashlon swept Breanne over his shoulder and under him, pinned to the soft ground.
“Yes, I do need a good shave.” His smile was almost as wicked as he felt.
Breanne gritted her teeth and glared up at him. Ashlon laughed, enjoying the feel of her comeuppance underneath him. Suddenly, as she panted and writhed beneath him, another sort of wickedness drank his thoughts dry.
“Let me go,” Breanne said, but she’d stopped moving and passion glazed her eyes.
Ashlon’s groin ached and grew in want of her, nestled perfectly to fit between her thighs. The wrists he held above her head relaxed and she dropped her blade. Her lips were wet and plump with color. Need charged through his body. Need of her.
He bent his head, let go of her arms and touched her face.
Even as she shook her h
ead, she closed her eyes. She leaned her cheek to his hand. His mind and body flooded with the memory of their kiss, the same fog of sensation with it.
He pressed his mouth to hers. She returned the pressure and opened her lips to his exploring tongue. Ashlon groaned, tasting her warm sweetness, feeling her body awaken under him, hips turning, thighs tightening.
He deepened his kiss and her legs inched open, hips arching. Her softness met his hardness, squirming against him.
Somewhere, he recognized that he should stop. But her arms held his head close, her fingers laced through his hair and her pelvis reached up to feel his rigid prick. Her full breasts teased against his chest, the nipples stiff and probing. His mind clouded with craving. Visions of her flesh exposed to his bare touch, to his tongue and lips, filled his mind. He would stop. He promised he would. Just one last exquisite taste of her to last him. One more touch. A little farther. A bit deeper.
He wanted to forge his prick closer to her, to rub the tip against her mound. Her legs opened further until mere fabric separated them. Layers of material that seemed to do little good in blocking such keen pleasure, he could spill his seed. He forced himself to rein his desire for her. She was an innocent and would certainly break the spell at any second. He needed to make this surreal moment last.
Breanne moaned into his mouth as he cupped a breast, teasing the hard nipple that pressed the soft fabric. Lord, but they felt better than he imagined, and he had far too often since their kiss. The vibration of her sound of pleasure satisfied a deep part of him. Ashlon sunk the weight of his hips downward, rocking gently onto her core. Christ, she felt good.
Was she wetting for him? Did her body throb as his did, begging her to chase the pleasure and fulfillment that beckoned? Certainly she felt as he did. She must, for her small moans sounded desperate yet awed in his ears. Her hands pulled at him, her body gyrated under his.
Her response to him was far from virtuous. Her response was untamed. It awoke the primal part of him. The part that wished to take her, make her his.
Her nails dug into his scalp, sending a flush of shivers down his neck. Ashlon nipped her lower lip. The kiss took on a frantic feel.
He should stop. Her hips squirmed, pressed. A small turn, a quick lift of her skirt and she could be his. Hot, wet heaven called to him. His prick pulsed, urging him.
He wanted more. He wanted to give her more, to fill the aching void that wanting her created deep inside of him. He wanted to watch bliss wash her features, to know he’d given that bliss.
Ashlon wanted to feel her naked skin against his. He wanted to part her thighs and delve his tongue into the deepest part of her, to taste her honey as it poured in release onto his tongue. He drew a hand from her perfect breast, hating yet adoring her whimper, and grazed down her length. His fingers sought the hem of her dress as he told himself one mere touch of her silken skin and he would cease. He would stand and leave her. But when his hands met her ankle and her hips bucked beneath him, he nearly—.
His groan sounded like a growl. He pushed away from her before he was too far gone. Her lips were swollen and red. He imagined them on his body. Her eyes searched his face and emotion evolved through them. Disappointment and want, then confusion, and finally realization.
The next he expected would be anger and he readied for a hard slap. He squinted as she sat up and righted her gown. His body screamed with disappointment. But he did not reach for her.
“My,” she said a bit breathlessly. “That was a lesson well taught. Here I thought I’d show you and low and behold, you’ve quite shown me instead.”
“I did not mean it to be a lesson, Breanne.” Ashlon frowned, but a grin tugged his mouth. He swallowed, his pulse at last slowing.
“I doubt that. Rather than allow me my triumph, you overturned me and proved my gender’s vulnerability in a very obvious manner.” She wiped her brow. “Though, were you truly raping me, I promise you’d be gutted before you finished.”
She might be right on more than one count. “The lesson was not meant to be so—.”
“Thorough?” She quirked a sardonic brow.
He laughed aloud. “I was going to say demonstrative, but thorough well covers it, I’d say.”
“Or uncovers,” she said and righted her bodice to cover her exposed skin. “Now, if you’ll wait a moment here, I’ll have gained enough space to ensure our discretion.” Breanne tossed her braid over her shoulder and a red mark sat on her neck.
“Christ,” he said. “I’ve marked your skin.”
“What? Where?”
She was handling their encounter far too admirably, should be up in arms, outraged, at the very least still wanton. But she managed to keep her voice and gaze steady while his felt opposite.
Ashlon reached his hand out and touched her nape. Breanne flinched and for some inane reason, he found it reassuring. She was not so immune, then. She feared him touching her again and losing control.
He didn’t waver and slowly brought his fingertip to the spot. He’d kissed her neck there, too passionately, and it couldn’t easily be passed off as a bruise.
Her throat moved when she swallowed. Ashlon watched her lips part. Her eyelids pressed closed. He let his fingertip drag down the line of her neck, fascinated by the goose bumps he left behind.
God, but she was heavenly. And what she made him feel was worse than wicked. His heartbeat pumped his body like a drum. Ashlon lowered his mouth. Time stopped and hung like fog around them, alone on the soft mossy floor, in the early dawn twilight.
His tongue touched the spot of redness and traced a small circle around it. Breanne gasped and bent her head back.
“Why do you this to me?” she said in a voice nearly a whimper.
He didn’t know. He shouldn’t do this or anything like it. It took advantage of her aid, of her secrecy, placed both at risk. But the pull was so strong and again he thought one last taste would quench him.
He suckled her skin and held her close. Her panting breaths sang a sweet song to his soul. He kissed her as tenderly as he suddenly felt.
He heard a voice. Ashlon stopped. He pulled away. Breanne’s eyes fluttered open and when they met his countenance, became as serious as his.
“Did you hear that?”
She shook her head. The voice came again. It was somebody singing.
“Danny,” she said in a gasp. “Quickly, hide.”
Ashlon looked around. “Where?”
Breanne looked about, as well, and had no answer. “Stay here.” She leapt to her feet and sprinted up the path.
“Breanne,” he whispered, but it was useless. She’d already gone.
Ashlon punched the ground, ignoring the smart in his fist. What was she thinking leaving to meet the boy? A boy of ten couldn’t protect her and she shouldn’t still believe herself able to when he had clearly demonstrated how easily one could overtake a woman, or a man.
Why she’d had to stand on a rock just to get to his jugular. How many good-sized rocks could be counted on to be ready for her when a true threat grabbed her?
Ashlon laid back his head and felt her dagger beneath it. He withdrew it from its grassy nest and, with a curse, threw it into a tree trunk across the path. It stuck, wobbled and sang a dull twang. Ashlon shook his head. She’d forgotten the single thing that gave her some degree of advantage over man or beast.
Yet, he stayed, as told. He couldn’t have the boy seeing them alone together. She’d be able to use their bond to keep him quiet and, alone, would likely seem innocent to a child’s mind. But even a child could guess something amiss when a man and woman came from the dark woods.
And her. She’d up and left as though they hadn’t just been entangled and repeating the same mistake. Unless she didn’t see it as one. He hadn’t considered that she might actually want him to kiss her. She was looking to secure a husband, after all.
Ludicrous idea. She’d told him to leave at once. That was not the message of one wanting a courtship, now was it
? Or did she think their encounter would make him leave, the threat of marriage clear?
Women. They were far too mysterious. No sooner did he think he understood one, they changed.
Chapter Fourteen
The only good thing about her mother ordering her to bed was that Breanne could sleep the missed hours from that night and morning after safely returning.
Danny had come just in time and she’d have thanked him if it were possible. He had not only saved Breanne from a full seduction right there on the forest ground, but from Erlene discovering her gone.
Thanks weren’t possible when she could only act as though naught was amiss, the two of them happening upon each other as they had. She’d needed some air after being cooped up in her room all day and had to sneak past the chambermaid. Danny had nodded soberly at her excuse and offered his own. He couldn’t sleep.
With a loud grumbling yawn, Erlene had woke the moment Breanne’s head hit the pillow.
Breanne closed her eyes and pretended to wake soon after. Erlene didn’t seem at all suspicious as Breanne worried at her lip, twisting the tip of her braid. More than once, she had to remind herself to hide the mark he said he’d left, although it might have been a ruse to kiss her again.
Moon and stars, his kiss was mesmerizing, dangerously so. All logic fell away to physical sensation when his lips touched hers only to slam back when they rudely stopped.
She liked those kisses far too much. If she were to be a success at helping his quest, as Heremon indicated was in fact her own quest, she would need to control her senses when he was near. No more kissing, to be sure.
Tossing about, she’d recalled every last detail, sending flushes through her. Erlene only raised an inquisitive eyebrow once, sending her into a full blush.
It amazed her how much a difference the book and note made within her. Yesterday, her only fervent wish was that Ashlon Sinclair leave Tir Conaill, whole and well, but certainly gone. She’d avoided seeing him to such lengths that her mother and Rose thought she’d joined the ranks of women, a long hoped for thing.
