The Spellbound Bride

by Theresa Meyers

  Sorcha nodded and grasped his hips, not trusting herself to speak. Knowing full well that she could not control his fate, and bewitched by his touch, he pulled loose his breeches and laid himself over her.

  The gentle pressure and slide of his heated silk against her made the ache grow unbearable. He slid inward, filling her completely. For a moment everything was too tight, the stretch too much, but she softened around him. The sensation changed, driving her to grind her hips against his. He cupped her bottom in his hands and began a rhythmic movement that matched her need.

  She bucked against him, then pulled back, needing to feel the slide of him against her core. The movement made the tingle in her limbs build, focusing it to a bright point of light, then shattering it into a thousand stars. Ian’s entire body went rigid, and he groaned, releasing himself in her.

  He relaxed against her, bracing himself on his arms. Concern marred his features.

  "Have I hurt you?"

  "Nay. It was very pleasurable." Sorcha brushed her fingertips through the dark curls at his temple. "But I am sorry."

  He pulled back, moving to lay beside her.

  "For what?"

  "To have waited so long."

  He smiled and tucked her against him. They lay together, watching the fire. In the distance an owl hooted. Although familiar, it snapped Sorcha out of her train of thought. She shivered.

  "Am I not enough to keep you warm?" He moved closer and placed his arm around the curve of her hip.

  "I do not think we’ve much chance against the reivers."

  "‘Tis a matter for the morrow."

  She rolled onto her back and gazed up at him, her eyes deep blue.

  "So is your leaving."

  "I am here to protect you from harm."

  The dark circles beneath her eyes and the dark bruise near her temple attested to the toll the long day had taken on her. For an instant he felt a bastard for having lain with her, when she had suffered so much that day, but he could not deny her allure.

  "Perhaps you’d best sleep for awhile."

  She complied, laying her head down beside him. Without a leather thong to tie it, her plait began to unweave itself. The dark strands were black silk, fine and smooth to the touch. Ian luxuriated in the slide of her tresses beneath his fingers.

  A wave of tranquility washed over him. Ian started, amazed at the peace this simple act brought him. No tryst had ever equaled this in satisfaction.

  Even while Mary had made his blood boil, she had never brought him this, this—he struggled to name the feeling.

  Contentment.

  That was it.

  The sense that if nothing changed and time was frozen in that moment it would be enough.

  He lingered in the sensation a moment longer, then fought it back. He was too close to breaking his one rule and letting himself give up what he desired for a woman. She had made it plain she would not go with him unless they uncovered something that had been hidden nearly a score of years. It was dangerous to enjoy what he would not have once he left Scotland. It would only serve to drive him insane if he persisted.

  His infatuation with her could not last much longer. His lust required fire to burn brightly. Fire that often scorched as it had with Mary. He could not find passion in someone practical and kind-hearted, could he?

  Even if he could, he knew she would not forsake her crazed notions of death to go with him. Unless he could convince her it didn’t exist. He gazed down at her once more and swore, knowing he was in a battle from which he couldn’t emerge victorious.

  In the middle of the night, Sorcha woke, startled. Her first thought was to see if Ian still lived.

  "Don’t move." His voice caused her to relax. "I’m very much alive and would like to continue sleeping. So unless you have to relieve yourself, go back to sleep."

  She snuggled closer against him, then let her eyes drift shut.

  At dawn’s light they ate a simple meal to break their fast and began searching for the plants she needed. Sorcha felt the heady rush of anticipation warm her skin in the cool morning air. It didn’t take long and they returned about an hour later.

  "Can you rekindle the fire?"

  "Aye. What do you plan to do?" The sincere interest in his eyes created a familiar swirling in her stomach. It happened when he looked at her. It happened when he smiled. And it happened when she knew that for the moment his attention was entirely focused on her.

  She smiled at him.

  "I’m going to stew up the plants into a kind of broth." Sorcha rifled around in her pack until her fingers found the small metal pot she needed. It really was not much bigger than a large cup, but all the same she filled it with water from the stream and began tearing the herbs into it, crushing some of them as she went to release their oils. Soon the pot simmered, a fragrant steam coming from it of something akin to leeks and sweet greens.

  Ian gave an appreciate sniff.

  "It looks like good potage."

  She chuckled. "Aye. It is, and about a half hour later you’d be ready for a long nap. If you add it to wine, it’s nearly tasteless. I used to make it for my da to help him sleep after my mam’s death." She stirred the herbs in the pot, and once they were done cooking, strained out what was left with a bit of loose-woven cloth.

  "Your father didn’t die with the others?"

  She shook her head slowly.

  "He didn’t want to live after my mam, Anne, William and Catherine died in the fire. Not six months after their deaths, he fell from the walls of the castle. My uncle came then to take over." She set the greenish brown liquid aside to cool as she had so many times before, and prepared a flagon for it.

  "That day you watched us in battle training, you were up on the parapets."

  "Aye. I walk there sometimes and look down as I did the day I went searching for him and found him far down below."

  He gently took her hand and drew her into his embrace. Sorcha laid her head against his chest.

  "‘Tis hard to see any man die, but harder still when it is your own kin." His words were so soft and gentle that it made her chest ache.

  Her eyes burned. She closed them and hot tears streaked down her cheeks.

  "I was the youngest of the brood, save for my infant brother. My mam doted on me, showing me the books and teaching me her plants when she would teach none of the others. I was the only one dark in looks, like her."

  With his thumb he brushed away the moisture on her cheeks, then lifted her head to look into her eyes.

  "You were special. You still are."

  "Then why— "

  His mouth pressed down upon hers, warm and demanding, sapping all thoughts from her mind. His fingers spun magic upon her skin as he caressed her back, causing her to soften under his sensual touch. Ian broke the kiss, and for a moment she stood, unable to speak.

  He gave her a lurid grin.

  "Ah, it seems I’ve found one thing you like better than dwelling on the past."

  Her skin grew warm with a blush and she looked away.

  "I suppose all women react that way to you."

  His lips glided in a series of kisses down the nape of her neck. His whisper felt hot in her ear.

  "Not all women. Just you, lady of the wood."

  She leaned back into him absorbing the solid feel of him to bolster her own flagging confidence in their efforts.

  "Do you think we will get to him in time?"

  "That’s uncertain. We need to pack up and follow whatever trail they’ve left behind as soon as possible."

  They broke camp quickly and mounted their horses. The trail was far longer than they had anticipated and they traveled most of the day, winding their way through the wood and stopping to water the horses at a stream.

  Sorcha dipped her hands into the cool water, wiping her face. The moisture was refreshing.

  "How close do you think we are?"

  Ian sat hunched next to the smoldering coals in the abandoned campsite, poking them with a stick.<
br />
  "Not too much further. Looks like they broke camp late."

  Sorcha stood and stretched her sore muscles. The hard ground littered with small stones had dug in, making uncomfortable bruises along her back and side, and she was tender in places she’d never been before from Ian.

  "Which way do we travel then?"

  "I’ll not know until I cross the stream and can pick up their path again."

  "Do you think they may have traveled down in the stream?"

  "Not likely. They don’t seem to be trying to hide their trail from anyone who might follow. As close as we are, we ought to find them by nightfall. Then we’ll put our plan into action."

  "Once we find them, you plan to just sit and wait until dark?"

  "Aye. Did you have a better idea?"

  "Perhaps..."

  Sorcha sat down by the stream and began unlacing her boots and peeling the woolen stockings from her legs.

  "What are you doing?"

  "You said we’re waiting until dark to approach them. I’m going for a quick swim. Do you wish to join me?"

  "I don’t think that’s wise."

  "They don’t know we’re here. What harm can it do?"

  He sifted his weight to his other foot.

  "You go ahead. I’ll wait."

  She shrugged her shoulders, then stepped into the bushes where she began unlacing her gown and corset. Ian turned away. With his back to her, she hefted the heavy fabric, spreading it over the top of the bush, and stepped from its cover into the stream.

  The chill of the water bit into her skin, making her shudder. But as her skin numbed to the cold, she began to enjoy the silky glide of the stream’s current over her limbs. She dunked beneath the water and when she pushed up, and broke the surface, she had lost sight of Ian.

  Assuming he had gone for the horses, she let herself rise up to float on the surface. The sunlight that dappled through the overhanging boughs felt warm on her skin. She was startled when a hand reached up from below and grasped her bare breast. She slapped at it and kicked herself further into the stream.

  Ian’s head popped out of the water.

  "Are you now bewitching men to drown themselves? Do you know how long I was under there to get to you?"

  She cupped her hand against the surface and tried to splash him.

  "How could you! You frightened me."

  "How could I resist with your charms on such marvelous display?" He grabbed her then, but she was slick and easily slipped out of his grasp.

  She paddled just out of his reach.

  "You cannot mean to seek your way with me in broad daylight." Her wet hair swirled on the surface and clung to her skin, a poor covering from his hungry gaze.

  "Aye. That’s exactly what I mean." He lunged after her.

  Sorcha gave a powerful kick and propelled herself out of his reach, then turned back to him.

  "‘Tis indec–"

  The sound of a horse moving through the woods stopped her. Ian dove. Sorcha felt a tug on her ankle, took a great breath and dunked under the water as well.

  She followed him under the water, swimming hard to match his powerful motion. They reached an outcropping of rocks and hid against the mossy surface, just as a pair of riders broke through the woods.

  Ian tucked her behind him. The riders approached the stream. One dismounted, flipping the reins over the horse’s head and holding them in his fist while he bent to the water and scooped it up to drink.

  Even from a distance Ian could see the riders wore finer garb than mere reivers. An uncanny feeling raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

  "Are they about done with Argyll?" asked the first rider.

  The man at the stream swiped his wet face on his sleeve. "Aye. Took him off the road last night. It shouldn’t be too much longer before we can go home." Ian held his breath as the man at the water stared in their direction.

  The second rider stretched. "Duncan would like to slay the little bastard."

  The other man grunted and stood. "He isn’t the only one. It would be a lot easier if they would just let us get rid of him so we could put the clan back under proper leadership."

  He looked back again at the bank near the rocks.

  "You see somethin’ in those bushes?"

  Ian could feel Sorcha shivering beside him.

  "Looks like clothes to me," said the first man.

  "Shall we have a look?"

  The men mounted.

  Ian ducked his head and whispered.

  "They’re coming this way. Follow my lead."

  The horses splashed as they began crossing the stream.

  Chapter Eleven

  "Laugh."

  Sorcha stared at him as if he had lost his mind.

  "What?"

  "Laugh. We need them to believe they’ve just caught us in a tryst."

  "I can’t." She became rigid with fear, her eyes wide, their centers dilated.

  Ian kissed her soundly using everything he knew to overwhelm her senses. Her frame loosened in his arms. Then, before he stopped the kiss, he began to tickle her. She giggled. Ian nodded in approval.

  The horses stopped moving.

  "Did you think you could get away by playing mermaid?" Ian asked in a teasing tone just loud enough for the men to hear.

  Sorcha giggled again, this time embellishing the role Ian had her thrown her into. She shivered again, her wet, naked skin brushing against him and stealing his concentration.

  "You liked the water well enough when we were in it, my lord," she replied, her voice louder than normal.

  Ian peeked from behind the rocks. One of the riders shrugged and the pair wheeled their horses around. He crouched back down near Sorcha.

  "Just a bit more," he whispered in her ear.

  "Come back here!" he said loudly and suddenly grabbed her bare bottom. She squealed out of surprise. Ian began kissing her neck.

  "Perfect," he whispered, "just perfect."

  In the distance men’s laughter rang in the trees. Ian moved closer, wrapping his arms around her. The closeness of danger and the warmth of him made her shiver from something altogether different than cold. His kisses made her long for the intimate touches he had shown her last night.

  "You’re cold. We should swim back to our clothes." His touch made her tremble as much as the cool air on her wet skin. Then she felt the heated length of his shaft against her thigh. Sorcha shoved him away.

  "I hardly think this is the time, or the place." Her nerves were stretched thin, and fear was still making her heart pound hard in her chest. She wanted to recapture what they had shared the night before as badly as he did, but wouldn’t dare admit the wanton wish. He grinned as if discerning her thoughts.

  Ian sat back against the rock, laying one arm atop his bent knee. Droplets of water clung to the hair on his chest, glistening in the afternoon light.

  "Granted. But can you think of a more pleasant way to spend the afternoon?" He gave her a particularly enticing smile. A smile that made her turn liquid inside with want.

  She resisted the urge to push him down onto the ground, knowing that they were in danger.

  "How about hiding out in a more secure location?"

  "That doesn’t sound more pleasant to me..."

  "How can you even think of such things at a time like this?"

  He gently grasped her hand and pulled her toward him.

  "You’re naked, wet and next to me. You expect me to think of something else, lass?"

  She slapped lightly him on the chest. "That’s not what I meant."

  "Aye, but it’s exactly what I meant."

  She opened her mouth to retort, and he kissed her, his tongue tasting her, flicking and teasing hers. Sorcha felt herself melding against his heated skin. She dug her fingers into his skin, wanting more, needing more from him.

  He pulled back from their intimate kiss and clasped her to him. His mouth brushed her ear in a hot caress.

  "Why is it, lady of the wood, that you
can drive all other thoughts from my mind?" Beneath her hand, she could feel his heart beating fast and hard. Just like her own.

  "Perchance it is because you do the same to me."

  His hand threaded through her hair, stroking it with such tenderness it made her want to forget that anything existed beyond the two of them.

  "Then come with me to France."

  His words were a slap she hadn’t expected. She pulled back, startled and hurt.

  "You know I can’t."

  "Why not? Argyll has an entire clan to see after him. Why does he need you too?"

  "The curse— "

  Those two words opened a chasm between them. He looked as if he were sculpted of stone, his eyes the only thing alive with a fire so intense that it singed her where she sat.

  "Last night I did the unforgivable. You will die. I know it. Even if it is not by my hand, but by another’s."

  He sat in silence, his gaze flat and hard as he rose from the ground and stalked by her into the water.

  "Say something," she pleaded.

  He was hip deep when he turned around, his glare fixed on her face.

  "Damn the curse. You use it as an excuse to keep your heart safe. Well you are not the only one with a heart that has been hurt, lass. You are my wife. You will go with me. That is the end of it."

  He dove into the water, slipping beneath the surface. Sorcha fumed. It was not that simple.

  She had made the fatal mistake of lying with him. And while he hadn’t died from that, probably because of his superior strength and constitution, she believed he would if the circle was complete and he thought his love was returned. If he was such a stubborn fool he couldn’t see the danger lying in wait for him, then she would protect him. She would send him on his way to France, no matter the cost.

  Her determination did not waver as they donned their clothing and returned to the horses to track the bandits. The afternoon light was fading to dusk when they first heard the voices and the crackle of a large campfire. Ian lifted his hand in signal for them to halt.

  He swung down from the saddle with practiced ease and then came back to lift her from her horse. Soundlessly they made their way toward the camp. At the moment, Sorcha was grateful no one could hear the rapid thumping of her heart, and that she knew how to move quietly through the wood. Darkness pressed in on them.