Mad for the Plaid

by Karen Hawkins

  “Come.” Impatience colored his voice. He slipped his strong hands under her cloak and grasped her waist. “Let me help you down.”

  “Nae, th—”

  He lifted her from St. George’s back as if she were a feather. He did it so quickly that when he set her on her feet, her spasming leg protested, seizing until she was in dire danger of falling down.

  She frantically shifted her weight to her other leg, but as it was still numb, her knee buckled. Desperate not to fall flat on her arse, she threw her arms around Nik and held on for dear life.

  She stood with her arms wrapped tightly about his waist, her cheek pressed to his rough wool coat, her body flush with his.

  For a shocked moment, he stood frozen in place. But then he gave a deep chuckle and slipped his arms around her. “You minx,” he whispered in her ear. “All day I, too, have been thinking of this.”

  Her eyes widened. He thinks I— He believes I’ve— Oh lord. What have I done?

  He brushed a kiss to her temple, his breath warm on her bared skin. Her skin trembled with goose bumps, her body warming to his touch. She closed her eyes and wished she dared loosen her hold, but knew her legs were not yet ready to hold her upright. No, no, no. I must move. I was just—

  His hands slid from her waist to her back, molding her more firmly to him. That was . . . blast it, it was quite nice. Better than nice. It was warm. And sensual. Every part of her that he touched came awake.

  He rubbed his chin across her temple, his whiskers tickling the sensitive skin until she shivered.

  She shifted her weight to her spasming leg and quickly went back to the numb one. As long as she didn’t put pressure on the cramping leg, it didn’t hurt. Can I stand on the other long enough to reach St. George? If I can, I—

  “Krasavitsa,” he whispered against her temple. The aching longing that deepened his voice sent her thoughts flying as she shivered in answer.

  His arms tightened and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

  She should step away. Just move, she told herself. As soon as you can feel your leg, move.

  She leaned more heavily on the numb leg and realized she could, indeed, feel it now. At least enough to walk on it.

  So she could move.

  But there’s no reason to be rude. I will move . . . in a minute.

  He pressed a line of kisses over her temple to her cheek, each touch a torture and a tease. Her breasts ached with a desire that increased with each feathery touch.

  At some point, she’d ceased plastering herself to him, and had moved away just enough to allow him to brush tantalizing kisses over her cheek, to the corner of her mouth.

  She waited, eyes closed, their breaths mingling.

  “You are smart to take advantage of our being alone, krasavitsa,” he murmured through a kiss that brushed her bottom lip. “Though I fear it will not last for long.”

  His voice was deeper than usual, making her think of warm honey and long, leisurely hot baths. I really, really, really should stop this. I should. And I will.

  A few kisses were not amiss, they warmed the soul, and heaven knew it was cold out.

  “Ah, I have thought of this since our first kiss.” And then he kissed her again, his mouth covering hers, not as wildly as before, but deliberately, as if he savored the taste of her.

  She melted against him, soaking in the feel of his hands, of his mouth, of him. God, but he was so sensual, so decadent, this prince of a man. And at this moment, he was kissing her.

  He broke the kiss as gently as he’d begun it, leaving her clinging weakly to him, her heart thundering a ragged tempo in her ears. “You torment me.”

  She wasn’t sure who was tormenting whom, but she never wanted it to stop. Vaguely, she was aware she should be shaking her leg, trying to work out the cramp that had pained it. But it suddenly seemed more important to pay attention to other parts of her body, like her breasts, which were now pressed against Nik’s broad chest and tingled with each breath. Her skin was covered with goose bumps from his hands under her cloak, slowly, slowly smoothing up and down her back, traveling lower with each stroke.

  She could feel the heat of that touch through the layers of her clothing. But even more than that, his mouth, his beautiful, sensual mouth, was right here, ready for another kiss, another taste, another tease. His eyes, green and shimmering, gleamed with a heat she could feel all the way to her toes.

  He cupped her face with one large hand, his thumb making circles on her bare skin as he slowly bent to capture her lips—

  “Bloody hell!” She yanked her foot from the ground where she’d accidentally pressed her weight on it, the cramp raging back to life.

  He pulled back, his brows snapping together. “What is it?”

  She bent to grab her leg. “A cramp,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Come. I will—” The sound of horses approaching made him curse.

  Ailsa looked over her shoulder to see Rurik and MacKean riding up the trail, their outlines flickering between the trees.

  Gregor walked out of the woods, dragging a large log. He dropped it on seeing the guard and MacKean on the trail. “They’re back! I’ll see if they found anything.” He hurried to meet them.

  Ailsa took the one step necessary to bring her back to St. George. Once she reached him, she grasped the saddle straps and held on, balancing on her good leg, as she rested her forehead against the saddle.

  “Come,” came a low voice near her ear, “we must deal with this cramp that makes your eyes fill with tears.”

  He was so close that if she turned her head, her lips would meet his again. And while that thought was infinitely appealing, she had no wish to end this kiss like the other—interrupted by their companions. She managed a short nod instead. “It hurts, but it’ll get better if I just rest it and—”

  He swooped her into his arms and carried her away.

  She had no idea why he was carrying her off, away from the camp and deeper into the forest. She should have argued. Or at least protested. It felt rather scandalous, but in what way? They were separated by layers and layers of clothing, which meant nothing truly improper could happen.

  She decided not to examine the deep flash of disappointment caused by her own thoughts, and instead looped her arms about his neck and rested her cheek on his shoulder. It was nice being carried so effortlessly. Being held in strong arms. Being protected.

  Wanted.

  He came to a stop by a stream a short distance from the camp, and gently lowered her to a rock against a large tree. The rush of crystal water over mossy green stones filled the silence. They were close enough to camp should they be needed, but far enough away to give the impression of privacy. She leaned against the tree trunk. It was beautiful here, and romantic—

  “Now, you will take off your boot.”

  She blinked, staring up at him. “What?”

  “Your boot must come off.”

  “Why?”

  He sighed. “Do you or do you not have a leg cramp from riding?”

  “Och. Yes.” So this was really about her leg. Disappointment flooded her and she cautiously moved her foot. It felt better. Much better. Perhaps all she’d needed was to be swept into a large, handsome man’s arms and carried away as if she were a princess in a fairy tale.

  “Take off your boot and I will massage the muscles so the cramp disappears.” Her mouth dropped open, and he chuckled as he reached down and gently pushed her chin back into place. “Come. The boot is restricting. If you take it off, it will allow the blood to flow and ease the cramp.”

  She should have explained that her leg was no longer so painful. But somehow, she found herself sitting with her boot in her hand and her leg stuck out as if demanding that massage he’d mentioned.

  “There, much better.” Nik stooped in front of her, so close she could smell him, wood smoke and leather mingled with fresh pine. His hands closed over her ankle. “Where does it hurt?”

  She looked a
t her leg. Most of the pain had been in the back of her calf, right below her knee. Yet somehow, her finger touched above her knee, on her thigh.

  “Here?” He placed his hand where her finger had just been, his palm warm through her breeches.

  She nodded, mute with wonder in the face of her own daring. She wanted him to touch her, and had wanted him to do so since that blasted first kiss.

  The realization was breathtaking. She’d never wanted a man before. Not in this way. But that first kiss had haunted her nights and ruled her days. He was just so damned delicious, and she’d never been able to turn away from a dessert.

  He cupped her thigh above her knee, his hands warm through her breeches as he gently rubbed his palm in a slow, slow circle.

  The very languidness of his touch made her think of long rainy days reading under a blanket; of the languorous, sleepy warmth of the sun on a hot summer day; of hours of sensual kisses from lips so beautiful they made her moan with desire.

  Unaware that she was slowly melting under his touch, he continued. The heat from his fingers traveled all the way through the layers of clothing to her welcoming skin. Her heart leapt with awareness, her hands ached with the desire to reach for him. She gripped them together in her lap, fighting for the control she so far seemed to have lost, if she’d ever possessed it to begin with.

  “Your mouth is white. Does it hurt so?”

  His deep voice made her breasts throb. Delightful agony was what it was—an exquisite, breathless agony. Aware of his gaze, she swallowed noisily and shook her head, unable to form a single word.

  He continued to rub her thigh in a slow circle, tormenting and teasing. “As I increase the pressure, it may hurt more.” His gaze traced over her face. “If it becomes unbearable, you must tell me.”

  He was so close that she could see the golden flecks in his green eyes. And he was touching her. Her entire body tightened and tilted. She bit her lip to keep from moaning his name.

  He pressed more firmly, and her muscle—so tired from the ride—eased under his touch. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, her hands now fisted at her sides as awareness tore through her, making her want and desire, while her heart raced furiously.

  Never had she felt this sort of longing. Was it unmaidenly to experience such raw desire? Did she even care?

  All she cared was that Nik never stop touching her. Ever.

  He pressed a bit harder. “How is that?” he asked, his voice a rumbling whisper in the quiet.

  She released her lip and ran her tongue over the bruised surface. She had to swallow before she could speak. “’Tis fine.” Her voice sounded deep and husky, as if she’d been asleep.

  He continued to rub her thigh above her knee, but every once in a while, his fingers would brush higher. So close . . . and yet so far. She clenched her eyes closed even harder and fought the desire to grab his hand and slide it up, up to— Good God, I’m so wanton! When did this happen? How did this happen?

  “Ailsa?”

  His breath brushed her cheek. She opened her eyes and found that he was leaning closer, watching her, his eyes dark with the same desire she fought. Her body leapt in response, and without another thought, she threw an arm about his neck, and pulled his mouth to hers.

  She kissed him with all the pent-up longing his touch had rendered, all the stored emotion the trip had caused her, all her concern and worry—everything she had and felt, she put into their kiss.

  And he responded, covering her mouth with his own, his hand now gripping her leg instead of rubbing it—insistent, demanding, and sensual.

  God, this was what she’d wanted. She’d wanted him. All six feet four of passionate, delicious, forbidden prince. She didn’t care if her actions defied prudence. She was here, on an adventure, and she wanted everything that entailed.

  His mouth plundered hers, his tongue teasing and tormenting. This kiss was demanding and passionate, as if a door had been opened and he was storming through.

  She grasped his coat and pulled him forward. His hand slid up her thigh, and he moaned against her mouth, his breath warm over her lips, as he slipped his other hand to her breast.

  She gasped in pleasure, arching into him as he kneaded her breast. The heady sensation made her wish for more. She wanted to yank her shirt open, rip off her chemise, and pull his hand to her—

  “Ailsa!” Gregor’s voice arose from a distance.

  Ailsa’s eyes flew open, and she froze.

  Nik’s gaze met hers, and for a long moment, lips locked, they looked into one another’s eyes.

  Chapter 12

  She would kill Gregor.

  Nik sighed and rocked back on his heels. “Your cousin, he is always close by, nyet?”

  “Too much so.” Ailsa took a slow breath, her heart thudding wildly as she pressed her hands to her heated cheeks. Her mind whirled. “That was—” She shook her head.

  His eyes gleamed and he smoothed the back of his hand over her cheek. “There is passion between us.”

  “So it seems. I never thought I’d . . . But now . . . after all of that . . . It’s as if I . . . But then Gregor . . .” She bit back a grimace when she heard herself sounding so flustered. “I will kill my cousin.”

  Nik laughed, his eyes crinkling. “And I will help you, krasavitsa.”

  Gregor called again, closer this time.

  “Good lord,” she muttered. “I must go.”

  “So I heard,” Nik said in a dry tone. He cupped his hand over one of hers. “I must say, you kiss very well.”

  She blinked. What does he mean by that? Is he sincerely complimenting me? Or is he asking a probing question of some sort? Perhaps he is trying to ascertain whether I’ve had lots of practice—perhaps even too much?

  Which was ridiculous considering her “practice” consisted of a few hasty kisses with the vicar’s son, and a more lingering, but infinitely more awkward embrace with a young peer when she’d been seventeen and left unchaperoned by one of her sisters.

  None of those kisses were worth remembering. The kisses she’d shared with Nik were neither gentle nor polite. They weren’t questing or uncertain. They were raw. Instinctual. Spurred by a blind passion that she could not resist.

  When the prince merely looked at her, her heart leapt, her palms grew damp, her legs felt restless, and she was possessed with a deep hunger for the taste of him. She’d never known this feeling before. Should she avoid him? Could she? She wanted those kisses.

  Pure, unchecked sparks of passion between them flared like tinder to dry wood, and they were growing. Surely there was no harm in indulging in a few forbidden tastes. Their adventure would soon be over, their loved ones rescued, and the prince on his way back to his own country. The very brevity of this mission guaranteed her a certain safety.

  And after, she’d be left here, kept warm by some excellent memories and only a few regrets. She could find no fault with that.

  “Ailsa?” Gregor yelled. “Are you there?”

  “You should answer him.” Nik stood, sending a black look in Gregor’s direction. “He is like an annoying little brother, always where he is not wanted.”

  It was such an accurate description that she had to smile even as she hurriedly put herself to rights. She found her boot and put it back on, and then straightened her clothing.

  Nik looked back at her. “Wait. There is a leaf—” He plucked a brown leaf from her hair.

  She smoothed her hands over her hair, tugging her braid free from where it had been tucked behind her.

  “Ailsa!” Gregor’s voice was much closer now.

  “I’m here!” she called. She made a face at Nik. “We must go. The others will be wondering where we are, too.”

  “Tell them you were thirsty, and I escorted you to get some water.”

  “There’s a stream by the camp.”

  “It was muddy because we rode the horses across it.”

  She shot him a considering look. “You’re verrah guid at dissembling.” She stood
and shook out her skirts.

  Nik’s gaze flickered down to her leg. “Your leg is better?”

  “Aye.” All of her was better. Except that she felt oddly lost, as if in allowing this moment to be interrupted, she’d given up something. She peeped at Nik through her lashes. “I did nae expect . . . this.” She waved her hand in a general way.

  “Nor did I.” Nik saw the uncertainty in her gaze and quickly bent to brush a kiss over her temple.

  She flushed, looking adorable and womanly, and oh so desirable. The sunlight that filtered from above seemed as enamored of her peach-soft skin as he was. Her nose and cheeks were pink from the cold, her lips plump and still damp from his kisses. Her braid was mussed where it had rubbed against her cloak, gold and brown curls clinging to her neck and shoulder.

  She wore no face paint, no artifice, but looked freshly scrubbed and natural. Bozhy moj, how he wanted her. He couldn’t remember when he’d lusted for a woman this strongly.

  “Ailsa? Where— Ah! There you are!” Gregor appeared through the thick shrubs that grew along the bank of the river. He came to a surprised halt when he saw Nik. “Oh! I didn’t know you were here, too.”

  “Your cousin wished for a drink of water. I didn’t think it was a good idea that she go alone.”

  Gregor’s brows rose and his gaze flickered to Ailsa. “You certainly walked a long distance just to get a drink. There’s a stream near the camp.”

  Ailsa waved her hand. “It is muddy from all the horses crossing through it. I could hardly be expected to drink from that.”

  Nik had to give her credit; she repeated his suggested falsehood so naturally that no one would ever assume she wasn’t speaking the truth. She has many talents, this one.

  She walked over to her cousin. “Did you find a log for the saddles?”

  “Two. I’ve dragged them to the campsite, and set the saddles on them.” Gregor looked past her to Nik. “MacKean and Rurik have returned.”

  “And?”

  “No signs of the brigands. MacKean said the trail was too mucky to read, and Rurik couldn’t recall exactly where he’d surprised the louts on the path, so there was no way to find signs there.”