“Send word to me when you intend to go,” he muttered. “Derryth will be ready to travel with you when you do.”
* * *
Derryth would never forget the moment Effric’s wagon crested the hill and started its downward descent toward Inverhaven.
They’d traveled behind the army, and so she had seen the famed Castle in the Clouds, a place she so deeply loved, surrounded by the ugly, dark line of Cull’s combined force, with catapults in place. The sight struck fear, and deep sadness, into her heart and made her more determined to make her way inside so she could be with those she loved, no matter what the consequences. How could she have believed, for even one moment, that her loyalty might be swayed?
Just as before, Cull’s quarters were constructed, his every belonging put in place. Everything was the same. And yet everything was different.
Once night fell, Derryth lay on the pallet, a blanket covering the garments she wore—those given to her two days before by Nathan. She waited. Though she urged herself to be calm, fear all but consumed her blood.
Would Nathan come, or had the plan changed? She only knew she had to be ready.
Cull had not returned to his quarters once since the army had advanced on Inverhaven. Now that they were here, outside the walls of the castle he intended to take, he would be consumed with planning the attack and setting all of the pieces and parts of his army into place. It saddened her to think she might never see him again without a high stone wall between them. But neither could she bear the thought of seeing him now.
Hours passed, and her eyes grew weary. For a while, she dozed.
Suddenly, Nathan was there, just inside the door.
“Derryth,” he called softly, into the darkness.
She started up, standing, sleep instantly gone from her mind.
“Yes. I am here!”
“Come now. Hurry.”
She hurried to the door of the tent, her heart pounding with fear.
“Your hair,” he hissed. “Cover it.”
She had forgotten, and quickly pulled the snood up.
He grasped her hand, and after a moment’s glance outside, dragged her behind him, so fast and so headlong into the shadows, it took a moment to orient herself. There was no moon, and the night was black and concealing.
Unlike the earlier encampments, all the soldiers were crowded along the forward line, stationed or sleeping behind walls that had been built from the transported timber. It allowed them a clear path, down the stony incline, toward the castle. When they reached the bottom of the hillside, he knelt and pulled her down beside him, behind a small rise of earth.
“Why are there no soldiers here?” she asked, looking around.
“They cannot be everywhere,” he replied in a hiss. “They are spaced far apart, with only sentries in between, and I know their movements.”
“But where are the others?” she said.
“Crossing now as well,” he answered. “You just can’t see them for the night. Come on now … run.”
He yanked her forward, and her feet struck the ground, doing her best to keep pace with him.
She could not think of Cull. Oh, but she did.
The wind stung her eyes, which she blamed for her tears. To think that she might never see his face again. Feel his touch. His kiss. Their last words to each other had been spoken in anger.
She thought of Elspeth, and the bairn, that might even now be swaddled in his mother’s arms, awaiting his aunt’s first kiss.
“Hurry,” Nathan ordered, running, shouting over his shoulder. “You must keep up.”
She flew through the darkness behind him, as fast as her legs would carry her.
High above, a sudden flare of light appeared, illuminating them. Derryth stopped, paralyzed by fear.
A burning arrow soared over them, revealing their position on the field—and a moment later, struck earth, blazing brightly as they raced past.
Another arrow hummed past her, and another, thudding into the earth, these without flames. These, most certainly intended to kill them. Were they Kincaid arrows? Or had they come from the camp? Would she die on this field, trapped between two worlds?
But darkness again surrounded them … and the arrows stopped falling.
There came the thunder of a horse’s hooves from behind them. A sound that struck her heart through with terror. They were only halfway across the field. How would they ever outrun a rider?
Was it Cull?
“Faster!” Nathan bellowed, for certainly he heard the sound too.
The horse drew closer, as if its rider could see in the dark and knew exactly where they were. She looked over her shoulder, just as another flaming arrow lit the sky.
A massive black steed emerged from the curtain of night, racing up behind them, stones flying out from its hooves. To the side of its flying mane, Cull’s face appeared—a mask of fury as he positioned himself in the saddle to reach down for her. She cried out in fear that she would be trampled instead.
An arrow whizzed above her head.
Thwick.
The sound of a hard strike.
Cull pitched backward, out of his saddle—
Thud.—to land on the ground.
Derryth stopped, shock rippling through her limbs. She took several steps away from the castle, toward Cull.
He lay on his back, motionless, only the soles of his boots at the ends of long sprawled legs visible to her.
Dead?
“Cull!” she screamed, her heart exploding in her chest.
He could not be dead. Just thinking it made her feel dead inside.
“Derryth, come,” Nathan ordered, his voice urgent.
All she could think was that she had to find out if he was alive. She had to go to him. He was there because of her. He’d come after her.
Someone seized her arm and pulled. Nathan. She wrenched free, and stumbled away.
“Go on with the others! Go on without me,” she sobbed.
Racing toward Cull, she saw his leg come up, bending at the knee, and he wrenched himself up into a sitting position. She threw herself down beside him, and in the darkness touched his chest … his shoulder, and there felt the wetness of blood, along with the hard stalk of an arrow.
“No,” she gasped.
If he died she would not be able to bear it.
“Damn you, Derryth,” Cull cursed, in a guttural tone. Even in the dark, his eyes shone bright and furious. She knew relief then, that he was alive, but still fear that he would fade away before her very eyes.
Suddenly a wall of warriors appeared, raising their shields. A King’s Guard bellowed orders. Burly armed men lifted Cull and dragged him away. The heels of his boots dragged heavily across the earth. Clutching at his arm, she followed, flinching … gasping as arrows struck the shields. A dark shadow streaked past—his war destrier, returning to camp.
By the time they reached the edge of the field, he’d shrugged off the help of his men and was walking, his hand clenching her forearm, pulling her along behind him. With his other hand, he wrenched the arrow out of his shoulder.
Robert stood there, among the warriors, looking between them in dismay.
Only then did she realize Nathan had been captured as well. He stood, his arms held by two men, his tunic torn and his chin bloodied.
“Where are his kinsmen?” Cull growled.
A scowling King’s Guard answered. “Still on the line, Sir Cull. None are missing, save this one.”
Derryth looked at Nathan, who stared at her with a sort of hatred. She did not blame him! But … he had told her they were all escaping together. Had he lied to her, or had there been some sort of misunderstanding? It did not matter. She was to blame for his capture, and any apology now would be meaningless. Not that she even had the chance to speak one.
“Secure them all,” Cull growled. “But keep him separate from the others. I will deal with him later.”
Deargh and the others! What would happen to them because o
f her attempt to leave?
“Nay, Cull,” said Duncan, appearing with a personal guard of his own men. “Let me deal with that unpleasantness. I owe that much to you. It was I who trusted these men, that one included. And my men who allowed these two to pass through the line. I’m sure you have your own punishment planned for the girl.”
He smiled at Derryth a long moment, before turning. He gestured to one of his men, who came forward, and bound Nathan’s wrists before leading him away.
Cull still did not look at her, but led her up the hillside, his hand tightly gripping her wrist. Men lined the way, watching as they passed. Cull said nothing, only proceeded toward his quarters, his hand a vise on her arm, his face a snarl. Effric watched, looking mournful as they passed him, going directly into Cull’s tent.
Cull all but hurled her inside. She whirled round, waiting for him to storm forth and confront her … but he did not. Tears blurred her eyes, as she waited for the accusations of betrayal that did not come. There was only silence, as with a growl he sank into the chair beside the brazier, his face a frozen, blank mask.
She blinked away her tears. “If you’re not going to kill me, then … then let me tend to your wound.”
He did not answer. He only stared at her in the darkness.
She had never closed a wound before, but she couldn’t just let him bleed, untended. It was her fault he’d been wounded.
With trembling hands, she opened her trunk, where she’d packed away Effric’s sewing basket, and returned to his side with a needle and thread. Still, he did not move or speak. The tension radiating from him sent a shiver through her. But she would not hide in the shadows from Cull. She would not be a coward, when there had been so much between them before.
She exhaled, staring at his shoulder, where blood stained the leather. She would have to remove his garments to sew the wound. She set the needle on the table, and nervously set about unfastening his hauberk.
Without warning, he seized both her arms, and pulled her toward him.
She gasped. Despite the wound, he was still terrifyingly strong. He held her half suspended above his lap.
“You and the others,” he growled. “You’re Kincaids. Not MacClellans.”
“Aye,” she answered, free of the lie at last, but in the next moment she feared her honesty put more than herself in danger.
She breathed heavily, not knowing what the next moment would bring.
He pulled her closer still, unbalancing her so that she sprawled across his legs, her hands flattened against his chest. He stared into her eyes, the lines of his face drawn and stark.
“I’ll release them,” he uttered in a low, thick voice.
She stilled, staring into his eyes. Had he truly spoken the words she thought she’d heard?
“What?” she said, her voice soft with surprise. With hope.
“I’ll let them go, but you … Derryth…”
She did not move, waiting for the words. That he hated her. That he would keep her as his prisoner. That he would punish her, for all the rest.
“Choose me.” He clenched his teeth, and repeated. “Choose me.”
His voice … his words … filled her ears, along with an understanding of what they meant. Warmth flooded through her, out from her heart.
He did not say please, or tell her that he loved her or that he would make everything right between their two opposing worlds. But the words were a plea all the same, one from a man with so much to lose.
“I choose you,” he rasped, as if the words came straight from his soul.
She did not waver. There was no decision to make. Her heart insisted there be no other reply.
“I choose you too,” she said, trembling at the import of what they’d both just said.
Though he held her arms still, she brought her hands to either side of his face, and with a quiet sob, kissed his warm, firm mouth. His hard-boned cheeks. His jaw, rough with stubble. The lids and lashes that lowered to cover his beautiful, pale eyes. A harsh breath broke from his lips, drawing one from her own. Their mouths met again, in a kiss that was both hungry and achingly sweet.
Aye, everything in the world outside the tent was wrong. But between them, this was right. She did not know how their conflict would be resolved tomorrow, but it didn’t matter in this moment. All that mattered was being with him.
The night shifted around her as he stood, lifting her against him, gathering her fiercely in his arms, kissing her until she was light-headed. Three steps, and he lowered her onto his bed, his intentions more than clear.
“Your wound—” she murmured.
“Can wait,” he uttered, his eyes glittering in the night, fixed on her.
The intensity in his manner took her breath away, and gave increased life to the sensations rushing through her own body. In mere moments, she and Cull would make love. Just knowing that sent a surge of heat into her breasts, and between her legs. Her nipples, where they grazed against the rough wool of the snood, became achingly aroused and sensitive.
Stepping back, his hands went to the fastenings of his hauberk, which, with a grunt of pain, he impatiently removed, before his tunic, which he lifted over his head, revealing the muscular expanse of his chest and shoulders, and the dark stain of the wound there.
Derryth did not lay there, simply watching. The danger of loving him hung heavy in her mind, and the knowledge that tomorrow would most certainly tear them apart. This might be their only night together, and she was impatient to spend every moment of it with him. She pulled off the snood, and standing, her breasts bared to his hungry gaze, pried off her shoes. Watching her, he gave a sudden, needful grunt, which made her feel shy and unprepared. But still, she pushed the woolen trousers from her hips—
Only for his hands to join hers. He hooked his thumbs into the waist, grazing … teasing her bare skin, and with a push, dropped them to the floor—where a moment later they were joined by his. He stood naked in front her, his manhood so large and erect and beautiful that she could only stare.
“Derryth…?” he asked.
“Yes.” She moved into his arms.
Chapter 14
Derryth knew only joy as he swept her up, his mouth hungrily claiming hers. Holding her under the shoulders … he lifted her body higher … harder against his, tilting her back, devouring her breasts, sending her body into a delirium of pleasure, before lowering her to the bed. There he joined her, his body stretched long and lean atop her, on the furs.
“I can’t touch you enough,” he murmured roughly. “Taste you enough.”
Again, he smothered her with kisses … her lips, her body … everywhere … trailing lower, across her torso and stomach, to dip between her thighs, where he kissed her intimately, and tasted her with his tongue, until she writhed, her hands in his hair, gasping out his name.
She felt the same wild need to know every part of him, and when he returned into her arms, kissing her, with the taste of her passion on his lips, she did not deny herself. Her hands explored his chest, and his torso, his smooth skin and the muscles that flexed when he moved against her. How magnificent he was! And yet her curiosity led elsewhere, and she boldly touched that part of him that pressed so hard and urgently against her.
“Ah … your hands on me … they feel so good,” he murmured, his lips and breath on her ear. “Like this.”
His hand encircled hers, showing her what to do, how to stroke him and bring him pleasure, proven by the sharp gasps that came from his throat. It seemed only right and perfect when his sex was suddenly there, between her legs, prodding … thrusting into the damp, aching part of her that so desperately wanted him inside.
“Your body … god, you’re so sweet,” he murmured, gripping her thighs, spreading her, and thrusting harder. “I can’t hold back … ah … but I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Don’t stop,” she whispered, feeling no regrets, no shame—only the desire to join with him, and become his woman. “I want this hurt. I want you.”
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His invasion stung … hurt, but she took pleasure as each inch of him drove deeper, sweetly stretching her, tearing her. She cried out in torment as at last, he filled her completely—
“It is done, Derryth,” he murmured, his cheeks ruddy with passion. “You’re mine.”
She stared up at him, dazed, still fevered. Aye, she was changed forever now—and she would remember the sight of him like this always … his shoulders taut and bunched in the firelight, one darkened by the arrow’s wound. His torso, tight and rippled beneath her hands. His muscular hips and long, powerful legs sprawled between hers.
Her warrior. Her love.
“You’re mine,” she murmured, arching beneath him, wanting to find pleasure in the pain.
“Aye. Only yours.” His mouth lowered onto hers, teasing her with kisses, soothing her … seducing her with the rhythm and pleasure of his lips and his tongue, so that she almost forgot the pain and pressure his sex rendered inside her.
“Let me show you how good we can be,” he murmured against her lips.
Vaguely, she realized his hips moved also, in time with his kisses, stroking his sex inside her. With each foray of his body inside her, he coaxed her desire to life.
She wrapped her arms around him, wanting to be closer to him, feeling the need to move too, to claim him as well. Soon … everything changed. There was no more pain, only the smooth glide of pleasure, the rhythmic creaking of his bed, and their undulating bodies touching everywhere. His every kiss … his every thrust took her higher, made her hungrier, made her need more, even as his blood stained her skin.
“Oh, Cull,” she murmured feverishly.
Would she ever feel more than this?
“Yes.” His hips moved faster, and at the urging of his hands at her hips, she did the same. “Oh, god, Derryth. Now. Yes. Like that.”
She felt it. The same wild urgency. The same rising wave of pleasure. But where would it take her?
The next thrust of his sex inside her answered that question—sending her spiraling high, soaring into a place she’d never known. Her body and her soul shattered into brilliance, and a love for Cull so intense she thought she might die from it.…
The Warrior of Clan Kincaid Page 15
