Emma tried to ignore the little sparks nipping at her flesh, but how could she when several sparks hit her nipples, turning them hard. Then there were the sparks that tickled and dampened between her legs. If he could evoke such a response from lying harmlessly against her, what would happen if he touched her in such intimate places?
The thought rushed a heavy blush to her cheeks and she was glad he could not see her embarrassment. She shifted her body, hoping to ease away from him a bit.
“Uncomfortable?” he asked once again, settling close against her.
“Restless, is all,” she whispered quickly, not wanting him to know how he stirred her.
He pressed his face near her ear, and whispered, “We will find Heather, I promise.”
And she will be all yours, Emma thought and for once in her life she was jealous of her sister. Tears quickly rushed to her eyes and she let them fall quietly, not wanting him to know she was crying. Not wanting him to know how ashamed she was of her thoughts. She soon fell asleep with wet tears staining her cheeks.
Rogan gently wiped her tears away as soon as he felt her body go limp with sleep. He was startled by how attuned he was to her body. It was as if her senses were magnified and he could feel each and every one of them as clearly as his own. He had felt her quiet intake of breath and felt her body grow taut when her tears started to fall. Her sorrow had stung him as strongly as if it had been his own.
But what startled him the most was when with one shift of her body, she had become aroused by their closeness, and he had had to fight his own quick mounting arousal. It was not the time for him to be growing hard when lying so close against her. If he was more truthful with himself, he would admit that his decision to sleep with her had not been purely due to trust as he had claimed. He had wanted to join her in bed to prove to himself that his stirrings for her had been nothing more than harmless lustful wanderings.
But now lying here in bed with her, his thoughts, body, feelings so attuned to hers, made him wonder over this plain woman asleep in his arms. What was it about her that set his heart to beating more strongly whenever he laid eyes on her, set his glance always in search of her when she was not near, set his manhood constantly stirring for her?
Move away from her. Keep your distance, his thoughts warned.
His body responded, tucking her closer against him and tightening his arm around her.
Chapter Eight
Emma did not want to open her eyes and fully wake. She was much too comfortable and content where she was to allow anything to disturb her. The chores could wait a while, and she was not yet hungry for the morning faire. So, she much preferred to linger in the pleasant warmth and comfort of her bed. She wrapped her arms tighter around the solid yet comfortable form and cuddled closer, tightening her leg around it. She nestled her face against the linen, inhaling a rich, robust scent that stung her nostrils most pleasantly.
She could not recall the scent, but surely it was one of her flower and herbal blends that she had the servants use when scrubbing the bed linens. She sighed and soaked in the favorable scent as she buried her nose in it.
Hard so hard, she thought.
Her eyes shot open and she bolted up in bed, the realization of where she was finally dawning on her. She looked down at Rogan and thought she saw lust, hot and heavy, stirring in his eyes. Had he gone that long without a decent poke that lust had gripped his loins for her? Or was she simply imagining that he could actually lust after her?
The latter seemed more likely and left her feeling lonelier than ever. Men might lust after her as a last resort, but no man would willingly lust after her or love her. The sad thought left an ache in the pit of her stomach, and she made a quick move to climb over and away from him.
When she felt his stiff manhood brush against her, she froze. Then she realized it was Rogan’s strong grip on her arms that kept her from moving.
He stared at her, his rock-hard arousal jabbing at the point between her legs. Her body suddenly fired to life, stinging her with such potency that her only thought was to slip down on him and take him inside her.
“Those wicked thoughts will get us both in trouble,” he warned in a curt whisper.
Good God, was her passion that transparent? Heat rushed to stain her cheeks as she ordered sharply, “Let me go.”
He released her after he swung her off him and the bed, landing her on her feet. She hurried away from him and over to the fireplace, glad Samuel was not about.
Rogan bolted out of bed, grabbed his cloak from the peg, and without a word to Emma walked out of the cottage. He stood stock-still outside the door a moment in an attempt to regain his sanity. He had woken aroused and for a good reason. Emma had been wrapped around him, her leg over his, her face rubbing against his chest, and he had had all he could do not to touch her. She had been warm, soft, and persistent in her need to get closer to him. He had seen in her eyes how very much she had wanted him. For a moment, a brief moment, he had thought she would mount him and, God help him, he had wanted her to.
This was not good, this strong desire he had for her. It was so much stronger than the lust he felt for the occasional willing woman he would enjoy. It was more a hunger that needed to be fed, and damn if he wasn’t salivating for a taste.
“Good you are awake,” Samuel said with a smile as he approached Rogan. “I did not want to disturb you two. You both looked so content wrapped around each other. You are lucky to have found such a strong love. But the morning is running on and you will need to eat before you take your leave, which I assume you want to do posthaste since the rain has stopped, though the gray skies remain.”
Found love.
More duty than love was what had Rogan wedding a woman he did not know. He barely gave thought to love. He had no time or want for it. Duty was something he knew and understood. Love was… something he never thought he would experience.
With a shake of his head, Rogan turned his attention to the weather. His mind had been much too occupied with Emma. Casting a glance around, he saw that the land had received a good soaking, which meant mud had swallowed the tracks. Now what did they follow?
“Let me provide you with a good meal before you take your leave,” Samuel said and eased past Rogan to open the door and enter the cottage.
“First, I will see to my men,” Rogan said and walked off, needing time away from Emma to collect his thoughts and ease his arousal.
Samuel watched the mighty warrior strode off and smiled, then turned and entered the cottage.
Emma turned with a jerk as the door opened. She was not ready to face Rogan, was not ready to admit to her own body’s traitorous reaction to him. So, she was relieved to see it was Samuel who entered.
“Gray skies, but no rain,” he announced and immediately got busy preparing food.
Emma offered to help, but Samuel insisted he needed none and ushered her to a chair at the table as he continued to work.
“Do not worry so,” Samuel said. “You will find your sisters soon.”
“I do not know what I would do without them,” Emma said with a tearful sigh.
“And you will not have to,” Samuel insisted. “You will find your way to one another and all will be well.”
For some reason his words reassured her and a distinct calm settled over her that she had not felt since she had been with her sisters.
“Tell me about Patience and Heather,” Samuel cajoled.
Emma smiled and was soon spilling stories of her sisters, laughing as she did.
*
Rogan never joined Emma for the morning meal. Samuel packed a sack of food for them and after giving her a loving hug, wished her well and told her that Rogan and her love would see them through the most difficult of times.
Emma thanked him for his generosity, though wondered over his words. The old man’s eyes had to be failing him if he thought he saw any love between Rogan and her. Ignoring his foolish remark, she mounted her horse.
Rogan
was already astride his horse and she had no doubt that he had purposely stayed away from her and was continuing to do so. With him keeping his distance, old hurtful memories stirred in her. It was what many a young lad had done to her, claiming her too frightful to look at and to be around.
Heather had always been there to comfort and reassure her and that reminder had her missing and worrying about her sister even more.
The small troop’s movement shook Emma from her musings and she quickly followed, hoping the day might find them successful, at least in some small way. The day wore on with nothing to show for it. If anything, the heavy rain had left it more difficult to locate any tracks and Emma wondered if they were going in circles.
At least, the gray skies brought no rain, though by the time they camped for the night there was a sharp chill in the air. Rogan continued to avoid her and that was fine with her. However, when it came time to bed for the night, she was missing the warmth and comfort of his solid body.
She shivered most of the evening, the ground as chilled as the air, and did not fall asleep until well into the night. When she woke, she found a blanket had been added to her own and wondered who had been so thoughtful. When no one stepped forth to claim it, she rolled it up and packed it away with her own, grateful to have it.
Gloomy gray skies greeted them again the next day and a grumpy mood spread amongst the few warriors. It was growing ever more obvious that the men thought it a hopeless and dangerous venture and mumblings about returning home were growing louder.
When they stopped for a brief rest and the few warriors huddled with Rogan, Emma feared what they were discussing. The logic of their concerns was not lost on her. With few men left, no tracks visible, and danger lurking at every turn, the wise decision would be to return home. But that would mean a delay in finding Heather or could possibly prevent Heather from ever being found. The realization that her sister might never be found suddenly hit her like an arrow to the heart, and she turned away as tears rushed to fill her eyes.
Rogan’s tremendous roar ripped through the air and had her swerving around to see warriors rushing out of the woods—too many warriors. They would never be able to defeat them.
Fight, she heard Patience yell in her head and Emma did not hesitate. She grabbed a sword from the sheath of a warrior’s nearby horse and joined the melee.
Rogan’s warriors fought bravely, though outnumbered, and Emma did as her sister had taught her. She continuously swung her sword so none could get near her. But none of the ghost warriors actually seemed interested in her. They concentrated on the few warriors, especially Rogan. He was outnumbered.
Emma quickly made her way to him, ducking, darting, and maneuvering as best she could around the warring warriors. But just before she could reach Rogan, one of the three men he was fighting struck him on the head with the hilt of a sword. As soon as she was close enough, she lashed out at his attacker as he delivered another blow to Rogan’s head that sent him collapsing to his knees.
The ghost warrior turned on her, striking her. The blow to her shoulder sent her stumbling backward and before she slumped to the ground, she watched as a final blow was delivered to Rogan. His face hit the ground as all went black around her.
Chapter Nine
Rogan stumbled to his feet, ready to fight, though pain radiated in his head. He looked around, rubbing at his bleary eyes, not believing what he saw… or what he did not see. Not a ghost warrior remained and not one of his warriors was in sight. The only person besides him was Emma. She lay on the ground, blood seeping out beneath her and pooling in the muddy grooves around her. With clarity, he recalled how she came rushing at his attacker, sword swinging, and just as clearly he recalled how the warrior had thrust his sword back without looking and speared her shoulder.
He rushed to her side, his head continuing to pound, though not as badly as his heart on seeing Emma lying there so lifeless. He sunk to his knees beside her. The blood was coming from a wound to her shoulder. She was pale and did not respond to his touch. He needed to see to her wound, needed to get her to safety. He wondered where his warriors were, but had no time to dwell on them. He had to stop a few times, growing too dizzy to move as he gathered their two horses, the only ones there. His warriors had not only disappeared, so had their horses.
With no time to give the matter serious thought and his head hurting too much to linger on any heavy musings, he returned to Emma. He examined the wound as best he could and saw that the blade had pierced her shoulder, though had not gone clear through. He took his dagger and cut a strip of cloth from a blanket and wrapped the wound with it as best he could. It would have to do until he could get her someplace safe, if there was anyplace safe left to them, and sear it closed.
He draped her over her horse until he mounted his own, then he reached out and moved her over to his horse and tucked her in the crook of his arm so she could rest against his chest. The closest place he knew where he could get help was Samuel’s cottage, and he intended to ride straight through until he reached it.
She began to stir after they were traveling for about an hour. When she attempted to stretch her way out of Rogan’s embrace, she let out a howl and slunk back in his arms. Her eyes fluttered open, tears ready to fall.
“You have suffered a wound to your shoulder. You must stay as still as you can to keep the blood from flowing.”
She scrunched her face against the pain that shot like hot coals through her shoulder. “And you? How have you faired?”
She worried about him when she had suffered far worse than he had? That she cared should not surprise him. He had seen the way she had treated Macinnes warriors, as if each and every one was important to her. She had a generous heart. And that he had failed to protect her, failed to find her sisters, failed to keep his men safe… stirred deep anger in him.
“A blow to the head,” he informed her.
“More than one,” she said, as if just remembering and winced at the pain that seemed to be growing worse with each pounding of the horses’ hooves.
Rogan muttered several oaths, though offered no apology for the rough ride. It was necessary. He could do nothing about it. The day wore on, tiring them both and shortly after night fell, Emma begged him to stop.
“Please—the pain—I need to rest,” she pleaded. “And drink, I am so thirsty.”
Rogan did as she asked, not that he wanted to, but he realized that she needed rest as did he. He found a cropping of rocks and set up camp behind them. She drank and ate from what Samuel had generously given them.
When she finished and looked ready to sleep, her eyes heavy with fatigue, Rogan said. “I need to look at your wound.”
He carefully removed the strip of blanket he had used to wrap it and saw that while the bleeding appeared to have stopped, the blood around it was still wet. It had yet to cake, and he worried that the rough ride kept the wound bleeding. It needed to be seared closed or she would continue to bleed. There was also fever to worry about, not to mention the possibility of the wound turning putrid.
“The wound needs to be seared so the bleeding stops,” Rogan said.
“Then do it and be done,” she said. “Tomorrow as we ride, I will instruct you on how to use the herbs in my pouch that will help keep fever at bay and how to prepare a poultice that hopefully will keep the seared wound from turning putrid.”
He spoke his thoughts aloud. “You possess much knowledge.”
“I enjoy the pursuit of knowledge. It fills my days. Now please listen carefully, you will need to cut away the cloth around the wound. But first you must take some of Samuel’s brew and use it to clean away the blood before searing the wound. Use my dagger to cut away the cloth while your knife heats in the fire, for if the blade is not stinging hot, it will not close the wound sufficiently.”
Rogan could not help but marvel over how calmly Emma gave him instructions. She was in pain. He saw it in her eyes and the scrunch of her brow, yet she did not groan or cry out. He won
dered if she would be so brave when he laid the hot blade to her flesh. The thought that he would cause her such pain turned his stomach, but it had to be done or she could possibly die.
He retrieved a rolled blanket from the back of her horse and with a gentle lift of her head placed it beneath it. “So you have a better view when I tend the wound and can tell me if I do anything wrong.”
Rogan placed his knife in the flames, then took her dagger and carefully cut away the bloody cloth around the wound.
“Take the sleeve if you must and whatever else is a bloody mess. Leaving it will do me more harm than good,” she encouraged.
By the time he was done, her sleeve was discarded and her one breast lay exposed down to the nipple that had puckered at the night chill or had it been his touch? Not something he should be thinking of at the moment, but her breast was quite plump, far more than a handful, though blood covered most of it. His brow knitted, thinking of the blood she had lost, and he quickly got busy cleaning off the blood with the brew so he could close the wound.
Emma wondered why his brow knitted so deeply when she saw that his eyes focused on her breast. Did he find her lacking? She shut her eyes against the ridiculous thought. Whatever was she thinking? She had been injured and he was tending her. It was nothing more than that.
Rogan concentrated on his task at hand. He refused to let himself linger over how lovely her breast was or how rosy her puckered nipple was after he finished cleaning it. This was neither the time nor place to think such things, and she certainly was not the woman he should be lusting after. He reminded himself over and over that it was her sister who was to be his wife as he continued cleaning away the blood.
When it was finally done, Rogan wrapped a cloth around the knife’s hilt and pulled the hot blade out of the fire and looked at her. “This is going to hurt like hell.”
Lords of the Isles Page 129
