by Allie Mackay
“Ahhh…” She trailed off. She’d meant to tell him the truth, but her tongue wouldn’t form the words, even felt too big in her mouth.
She swallowed and tried again. “No, he isn’t a healer. It just seemed like the most diplomatic thing to say. He’s a ceramic tile salesman.”
One raven brow lifted. “No royal connections?”
Kira shook her head. “Only through a name. He works for a man named King.”
His smile returned. “Hah!” He gave a short laugh. “I thought as much.”
“You aren’t mad? Not even a bit…disappointed?”
She’d thought he would be.
At least until she explained herself.
Instead, he stood looking at her, his smile slowly broadening into a grin. A warm grin that slid right into her, wrapping around her heart and making her rubbery knees even more unsteady.
“You, lass, could ne’er disappoint me.” He spoke softly, his voice almost a caress. “And, nay, I’m no’ mad.”
“You didn’t want me to interfere. I saw it on your face in the hall.” She swallowed again, still finding it hard to form words. “Then…then I lied, making my father something he’s not.”
He touched a finger to her mouth, tracing the curve of her lips. “You delighted me this e’en and have won o’er my men with naught but a few sacks of dried peas and icy water from a spring.”
“What?” She blinked. “They’re no longer calling for my head?”
“They think you most wise. Even Ella and Etta paid you grudging respect.”
“The birthing sisters?” She could hardly believe it. “What about the redheaded woman? The one with the milk-white skin?”
He frowned, looking puzzled. “Ach,” he said after a moment, “you must mean Sinead, the laundress?”
Kira nodded, even now feeling the stab of the woman’s resentful stare. “She doesn’t like me at all.”
“She isn’t fond of any women.” He gave a half shrug, dismissing her. “Especially beautiful ones who are far more desirable than herself.”
His words made her heart soar. “I think you are a flatterer.”
“I speak but the truth,” he said, leaning close to lightly kiss her brow. “Sinead is of no consequence. You needn’t fret about her.”
“Then why is she here?”
He sighed. “She is laundress, and…more. In a castle with so many unmarried men, such women are a necessity. She means naught to me.”
“Oh.” She should have known.
Wishing she’d never mentioned the woman, much less seen her, she took a deep breath. As deep as she could with her chest feeling so tight and achy. She pressed a hand to her breast, trying to ease the pressure.
“Forget the woman. There are one or two others like her here. You needn’t pay heed to any of them.” He kissed her again, on the cheek this time. “Every man in Wrath’s hall drinks to your health this night. Even Ross and Geordie.”
“They were that pleased to see Kendrew’s swelling go down?”
“Och, to be sure, though I’d wager their pleasure is more self-serving.” He drew her to him, sliding his arms around her back. “You wouldn’t believe what they’re doing just now. Nor would I, had I no’ seen it myself.”
He pulled back to look her, a smile hovering on his lips. “If you were to slip down there, you’d find at least half of them lying about with chilled sacks of dried peas pressed to whate’er body parts they claim ails them. The others are glaring at them, impatiently waiting their turn because there aren’t enough pea sacks to go around.”
Kira let go of the chair to wrap her arms around his neck. His smile was getting to her, the dark gleam in his eyes making her breath hitch.
“You look surprised.”
His voice was deep, low and soft with a richness that strummed her soul. Holding fast to his shoulders, she leaned into him, certain she’d melt at his feet if she didn’t. Her legs did feel seriously like rubber.
She frowned. “I think there’s something wrong—”
“Naught for you to fash yourself about.” He caught one of her hands, bringing it to his lips. “My men are no’ bad, Kee-rah. I knew they would warm to you in time.” Releasing her hand, he smoothed the hair back from her face. “Any who still bear doubts will lose them soon. I promise you.”
Not so sure, she looked at him, trying to focus. She wished the clouds would stop blotting the moonlight. Or the candles on the table would burn brighter. At times, his face seemed to blur, lost in the darkening shadows.
She blinked, then squinted, relieved when the dimness receded. “Maybe I should tell your men about hot water bottles?” she offered, her voice sounding far away.
Almost tinny, as if she were speaking in a drum.
“Hot water bottles?” He looked amused. “Are they another future healing method?”
She nodded, regretting it instantly for the swift movement nearly split her head. “They are like the heated stones you put in beds to warm them, only better. You need only fill a small leather pouch with boiling water to have soothing heat wherever you need it.”
His smile turned wicked. “I can think of a different kind of soothing heat.” He took her hand again, this time pressing a kiss into her palm. “A slick, slippery-wet heat I’ve been hungering for all e’en.”
“Oh.” Kira caught her lip between her teeth, the heat he meant pulsing in hot response. “I—”
“I need you naked,” he finished for her. “Need us both naked. I’ve an urge to kiss and lick every inch of you.”
“Oh, God, yes!” She leaned into him, the hot tingles between her legs so intense the room began to spin. Heavens, she tingled everywhere. Even her mouth and lips, her fingers.
This was what she wanted, needed.
His smile positively wolfish now, he reached for the large Celtic brooch at his shoulder, unclasping it faster than her eyes could follow. He whipped off his plaid with equal speed, his sword belt, tunic, and everything else vanishing in a blur until he stood naked before her.
Naked, proud, and leaving her no doubt about how much he wanted her.
He raised his arms over his head, cracking his knuckles, then tossed his hair over his shoulders, the look in his eyes making her wet. “I am ravenous for you,” he growled, reaching for her and stripping off her clothes so quickly, she was naked in his arms before she could even blink.
Crossing the room with swift, easy strides, he lowered her onto the bed. He joined her, kissing her long and hard, one hand kneading her breasts while he slid the other between her thighs, rubbing and probing the sleek, damp softness there. Groaning, he cupped her firmly, her hot wetness and the musky scent of her arousal making him run hard as granite. She went soft and pliant against him, her sweet moans and the way she opened her mouth beneath his firing his blood, making him burn for her.
“I must taste you,” he purred, covering her body with his and turning his attention to her breasts, smoothing his face against their fullness. He licked and laved them, flicking her nipples with his tongue, then drawing one deep into his mouth, suckling, as he continued to rub her silken heat, taking special care to keep a circling finger on her most sensitive spot.
She whimpered, rocking her hips and pressing herself against his hand, then went limp again, a great shudder rippling through her. “Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice a mere whisper, her legs opening, giving him greater access.
“Och, lass, I may no’ stop for days.” He pushed up on his elbows to look at her, the sight of her parted, kiss-swollen lips and passion-heavy eyes making him even harder.
His heart pounding as fiercely as the hot throbbing in his loins, he returned to her breasts, once more licking her satiny-smooth flesh before moving lower, trailing hot, openmouthed kisses down her stomach, stopping only when he reached her triangle of soft, fragrant curls, the rich, musky scent of her almost splitting his soul.
“Jesu God!” He reached down and gripped himself, squeezing hard until the sharp edg
e receded, not wanting to spill before he’d had enough of her.
“Aidan…” Her voice came even softer, a faint shiver in the air, a barely-there gasp in the wild thunder drumming in his ears.
But she opened her legs wider, giving him what he needed, her slick woman’s flesh wet, glistening, and beautiful in the candlelight, his for the taking.
Needing her badly, he stared down at her, drinking in her beauty as he slid his hands up and down her inner thighs, again and again, urging them even wider apart with each possessive pass of his hands. Far from resisting such intimacy, she only moaned softly, allowing him to open her fully.
Then, just when he was sure he’d burst no matter how fiercely he might squeeze himself, he plunged his face between her legs and nuzzled her roughly, pulling in great, rousing breaths of her hot, womanly scent. Groaning, he opened his mouth over all of her, sucking hard, needing the taste of her, craving and burning for her with a madness he’d never felt for any other woman.
“I will ne’er get enough of you,” he vowed, breathing the words against her pulsing heat. “Ne’er in a thousand lifetimes. You are mine…forever.”
She said nothing, but another little quiver sped through her. And, he’d swear, the scent of her arousal deepened, as did the wetness of her slippery-sleek flesh.
“Ach, but you are sweet!” He rubbed his head back and forth against her, tasting, licking, and nipping.
Most especially licking.
Long, leisurely broad-tongued strokes, each greedy sweep of his tongue thorough and claiming. The fierceness of his desire enflamed him, his need so powerful he thrust his hands beneath her, digging his fingers into her buttocks as he lifted her hips, needing her even closer to his questing, licking tongue.
The same tongue that would have had her writhing in ecstasy were he licking her in their dreams.
Only this time, she wasn’t writhing at all.
Truth was, she wasn’t even moving.
The wild pounding of Aidan’s heart slowed a beat, the furious thunder of his blood in his ears quieting just enough for him to note that her sweet moans and whimpers had stopped too.
Frowning, he slowed his licking, his tongue coming to rest in the sleek dampness of her slick heat. Something was wrong.
Horribly wrong.
His passion ebbing, he sat up, his pride stinging to see that she’d fallen asleep! Her lips were still parted, but her eyes had gone shut. Eyes, he now suspected, that hadn’t looked at him with lust-heavy need, but had been weighted with imminent sleep.
“By the Rood!” He pulled a hand down over his face, then blew out a breath. Frustration warring with his wounded pride and a certain still-aching problem, he considered helping himself to ease but cast aside the notion at once.
Kira slept too deeply.
His curse alone should have wakened her.
Yet she slept on, her sweet body still as stone, her face pale in the moonlight.
“Kee-rah!” He leapt from the bed and reached for her, shaking her by the shoulders, but she remained limp, her eyes closed and her head lolling to the side.
“Saints, lass, speak to me!” He shook her again, his blood once more roaring in his ears and his heart galloping, each fearing beat slamming against his ribs. “What ails you?”
But only silence answered him.
“Damnation!” He eased her back against the pillows, relief flooding him when he pressed his ear to her breast and heard the steady beat of her heart.
Faint, but steady.
Her skin felt cold, her soft breath tinged with something he hadn’t noticed before. Trying to place it, he rammed a hand through his hair, dismissing the first thought that came to mind.
Ne’er would he have been so crazed with lust not to have noticed such a piquant scent.
He frowned again.
He’d been wild with wanting her.
Wild enough that the hot scent of her musky womanliness must’ve swept his senses, blotting all else.
Dread piercing him, he sniffed her breath, then ran across the room, grabbing the ewer sitting so innocently beside her parchments. The half-filled cup of wine she’d clearly been sipping from.
Both the wine in the ewer and the cup smelled strongly of monkshood. The same herb in the potion Nils had given to Kendrew.
A fine painkiller and sleep-bringer, but a deadly poison if dosed by the wrong hands.
Cold terror racing up his spine, he threw the ewer and the cup into the hearth, then snatched up his plaid. Grabbing his sword as well, he pounded from the room, two things on his mind. Saving Kira and murdering whoe’er had tried to poison her.
But most of all, keeping Kira alive.
Anything else was unthinkable.
Chapter 12
“Nils! Tavish!”
Aidan burst into the shadowed hall, thundering names and frowning darker than ever. With the castle already settled for the night, scarcely a torch remained lit, but he strode over to one of the few and grabbed it from its wall bracket, raising it high. Even so, he could barely see beyond the thing’s wavering, smoky glare.
A fury on him like ne’er before, he stormed past sleeping, snoring men, not stopping until he reached the middle of the hall. If he stomped on someone, woe be to them for being in his way. But all was silent save his men’s assorted night noises and a few muffled but telltale rustlings and moans floating out from the darkened window alcoves.
“Hellfire everlasting!” he roared when no one stirred.
The fools carousing in the window embrasures had surely heard him.
Blessedly, the castle dogs did. Their sudden barking and his own shouts soon had men jumping from their pallets, pea sacks and ale cups flying everywhere as they scrambled to their feet, grabbing swords and blinking through the shadows, their sleep-bogged eyes searching for the source of such clamor.
Satisfied, he thrust the flaring torch into the startled hands of a spluttering, half-naked kinsman, then leapt up onto a trestle bench, scanning the darkness for the two men he needed most.
“Tavish! Nils!” He jammed fisted hands on his hips as he looked round, trying to penetrate the shadows. “You!” He wheeled toward the torch-holder. “See that every torch is relit. Each candle. I need to see faces!”
The guilt that would show him whose head needed lopping.
But as the man hastened to do his bidding, the only souls to peer back at him were gaping and confused. Men startled from deep, innocent sleep. Nary a one looked blameworthy. They all merely gawped at him as if he’d spouted horns and a tail.
And lost his wits in the bargain.
“Where is Tavish?” He glared back at them, not caring what they thought. “Nils?”
“I am here.” Tavish emerged from one of the window alcoves, his voice raised above the dogs’ frantic barking. “Where I e’er sleep,” he added, starting forward.
Aidan scowled at him, not missing the lout’s disheveled state, or Sinead’s bright head gleaming in the depths of the alcove, her naked breasts and a length of bare leg revealed by the newly blazing torches.
“If you were sleeping, I am a suckling babe!” Aidan jumped down from the trestle bench at his friend’s approach. “Where is Nils?” he demanded, grabbing his arm. “Kira’s been poisoned—with monkshood!”
Tavish’s swagger vanished immediately. “Good God!” He stared at Aidan, eyes wide. “Monkshood? You’re sure?”
Aidan snorted. “She lies abed still as the grave and with the damnable herb on her breath.” Letting go of Tavish’s arm, he glanced round. “Where is Nils?” he repeated, seeing the healer nowhere. “He’ll know a cure.”
“But who would—”
“Devil if I know! Only that someone served her tainted wine.” Aidan swept his gawking men with another glare. “I must find Nils before I—”
“If the culprit were here, your bellowing would’ve put him to flight already.” Tavish tugged at his tunic, smoothed his rumpled plaid. “I heard your hollering before you reached t
he hall. Sinead—”
“How long has she been with you?” A dark suspicion whipped through Aidan’s mind. “Did she carry wine abovestairs?”
Tavish’s eyes rounded. “Come, man, you canna think she had aught to do with it?”
Aidan dragged a hand through his hair. “I dinna know what to think. But I will hear where she was. From you or the wench herself—if need be!”
“If you think to put a scare in her, you won’t be—dressed as you are,” Tavish declared, his gaze flicking the length of him.
The nearly bare length of him, not that he cared.
A hastily donned plaid and well-honed steel were more than enough. His bare hands would do the job—once he knew who bore the guilt.
Male or female.
Putting his hands on his hips, he gave Tavish a look that said so. “Where was she?”
“With me,” Tavish owned, his gaze unwavering. “As were Maili and Evanna.”
“All at once?” Aidan’s brows flew upward.
Tavish shrugged. “Until a short while ago, aye. Only Sinead remained with me after—”
“Enough.” Aidan raised a stilling hand. “Where did the other two go?”
“Who knows?” Tavish rubbed his beard, considering. “They are lustful wenches. I saw Maili and Evanna with Mundy earlier, but I think they went to the kitchens to see to laundering Kendrew’s bloodied linens. Nils should be there, too. He was after fetching a bite to eat, having watched over Kendrew all night. He—”
“Now you tell me!” Aidan spun on his heel, racing for the screens passage to the kitchens before his friend could finish. “Find the birthing sisters and send them abovestairs!” he called over his shoulder as he ran. “Tell them what happened.”
He’d assume they had no hand in poisoning Kira’s wine.
Unfortunately, when he barreled into the kitchens, skidding to a halt on the slick, stone-laid floor, he once again encountered a scene of innocence. Panting, he dragged a hand across his brow, immediately dismissing the two wee spit laddies sleeping on pallets before the double-arched hearth. Cook stood beside them, calmly stirring a fine-smelling mutton stew in his great iron cook pot, while a tired-looking graybeard scrubbed the wooden surface of the bread table, quietly conversing with a second equally ancient man who sat nearby, plucking feathers from a plump hen.
