The Hunger (Rogues of Scotland #2)

by Donna Grant

  As if they knew her well enough to know what was good for her.

  Leana stopped and set her basket down as she knelt next to a bog myrtle shrub. She broke off several stems. The plant was used for a variety of applications, such as including it in her bedding to ward off insects, and occasionally adding it to her candles to help put her to sleep, especially when she combined some lavender into the wax, as well.

  When she finished, Leana rose and continued her stroll through the ferns and trees. She found a small meadowsweet bush. Not only was it a great herb to cure headaches or calm nerves, but the leaves could also be used to treat sores. Leana took only a little of the meadowsweet so there would be more later.

  She replenished more of her stock of herbs on her walk. Leana strolled leisurely through the trees, touching them as she passed. There were some so huge, her arms couldn’t wrap half way around them. There were others so tall she was sure the tops brushed the clouds.

  Songbirds chirped happily, filling the air with a continuous melody that seemed to grow louder and louder. Leana saw a wildcat out of the corner of her eye, but she knew better than to try and coax the animal to her. It would stay hidden until she left.

  After another half hour of walking and collecting herbs, Leana sat against a tree and leaned her head back. Her eyes drifted shut and her mind began to drift as it often did when she was in the forest.

  Except it wasn’t the brush of a breeze on her cheek she felt. It was…emptiness. This was no dream. She calmed her racing heart when she realized she was having a vision. At first, there was nothing but darkness all around her sucking all the light. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. Slowly, gradually she began to make out the shape of a man. He was down on one knee, hunched over so that his left hand was braced on the ground. He fisted his right hand and then spread his fingers, only to repeat the movements again and again. His sandy blonde hair hung loose and wavy around him, hiding his face from view.

  He wore a saffron shirt and kilt, along with black boots. There was nothing that could hide the hard sinew that bunched in his arms and shoulders, or the fury that radiated from him as intensely as the rays of the sun.

  Suddenly, he stilled. Then his head slowly turned to her, and he pinned her with his yellow-brown gaze that flared as bright as a topaz.

  ~ ~ ~

  Morcant stood. He sat. He crawled, he kneeled, he even lay prone, but nothing helped. He shouted, he whispered. He cursed.

  And he prayed.

  His hand missed the feel of his sword. He missed the weight of the weapon, the leather-wrapped pommel, and the way the blade sounded when he swung it. The sword was his pride and joy, it was the only thing that meant anything to him other than the men he considered brothers – Stefan, Ronan, and Daman.

  Where were they? Had the gypsy killed them? Perhaps she threw them in a prison like him. Saints, he hoped that wasn’t the case. He didn’t know how long he had been in the darkness, but he knew it was a considerable amount of time. Or perhaps it had only been a blink in time.

  The fact he didn’t need to eat or sleep worried him at first. That was soon forgotten as he realized the one thing that he couldn’t relieve or ignore was his cock. He was in a constant state of arousal, and if he touched himself, it only made the need double.

  Was this his punishment for sleeping with the lovely Denisa? She’d said she wasn’t a virgin, but Morcant knew he would’ve likely taken her even if she had been honest. He had wanted a woman, and she was beautiful and willing.

  He fell to his knee and closed his eyes as he concentrated on remembering what it felt like to hold his sword. He fisted his hand, just to spread his fingers wide and fist his hand again and again and again.

  His balls tightened, and his cock jumped as a swell of desire shot through him. In his mind, he recalled how it felt to sink into the warm, wet flesh of a woman’s sex, to have her legs wrap around him.

  Sweat broke out over him as he fought not to grab his cock and attempt to ease the devastating, engulfing hunger of his body. He fell to one knee and braced himself with his left hand, his fingers splayed upon the ground.

  Not once in all his years before had he denied himself sex. The act allowed him pleasure, as well as the chance to lose himself for a few moments before he realized just how devoid his life truly was.

  Morcant didn’t know how long he remained in that position until he was able to think past the need clawing through him. When he could take a deep breath, he had the sensation that he was being watched.

  He opened his eyes and slowly turned his head, but he saw nothing. Nothing but black as far as he could see. What he wouldn’t do to see some color, even if it were the gray skies that could last for weeks in his beloved Scotland.

  As dark as it was, Morcant could see himself when he looked down, but if there were anything or anyone else in the cursed place, he couldn’t see or hear them.

  He clenched his teeth. Morcant tried to remember Denisa’s face and body, tried to recall how it had felt when he had lain with her, but he couldn’t remember anything about her. There had even been a few occasions where he forgot her name.

  When that happened, he would go through everyone he knew and recount their names as well as what they looked like because his fear was that he would lose himself in the blackness.

  Perhaps he already had. His friends might be trying to wake him up, and he didn’t even know it.

  Or he could be dead and this was Hell.

  He wouldn’t claim to be a saint, but neither had he done enough to have his soul condemned to Hell. It could be purgatory, or it could be nothing. How many times had Morcant gone over this in his head? How many times had he talked out loud, hoping that something might make more sense if he heard it?

  He was losing his mind. Bit by bit, little by little, the longer he remained in this wretched place, the more of him was taken.

  He fought against it, but it did no good. The gypsy had seen to that.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Leana’s eyes snapped open, her heart pounding against her ribs. She wasn’t sure what she had witnessed.

  Everything had been too real. The darkness, the stillness. Then there was the man himself. She heard his ragged breathing, sensed the battle he waged within himself. She felt the warmth of his skin and was pierced by his topaz eyes.

  As her breathing calmed, Leana recalled the man’s face. She only had a glimpse, but his image was embedded in her mind. Sharp eyes, slender nose, hard jaw, sunken cheeks that accentuated his cheekbones, and too-wide lips. Whether she wanted to remember him or not, she didn’t have a choice.

  Leana shook her head to clear it. It had to have been a dream. There was no such man about the area, nor such a place of blackness. She always dreamed in the woods, though they weren’t really dreams. She sometimes saw the future. It was just glimpses, barely blips of images that came to her, but days, weeks, or even months later, what she dreamt would come to pass.

  Excitement blossomed in her chest at the thought that she might get to see the man. That emotion died a swift death as she recalled his anger. No, it would be better if she forgot the dream and the man.

  Leana got to her feet and dusted herself off before reaching for her basket. She began to walk back to the cottage, and that’s when she realized how noisy the forest was. Halting, she looked up to the branches and saw birds everywhere.

  All around her birds perched, looking down at her as they sang loudly. In all the times Leana had been in the forest, she had never seen so many birds or heard them singing so deafeningly. She lifted her skirts in her free hand and lengthened her strides. The day was an unusual one, and she wanted it behind her.

  Leana hadn’t gotten far when she slipped on the dead leaves. Her basket flew from her hands as she struggled to keep her footing and not tumble down the steep slope of the mountain.

  She cried out as her feet came out from beneath her and she fell on her rump, sliding as she did. Leana grasped a passing tree and man
aged to stop herself. She pulled herself into a sitting position. The birds were fluttering now, their songs getting louder.

  Leana covered her ears and looked down the mountain to her basket that had crashed against a giant oak, her herbs scattered. She stood on shaky legs and slowly made her way to the basket. It wasn’t until she began to gather the herbs that the birds started to swoop around her. Leana hurriedly tossed the herbs into her basket, looking up as she did.

  Her hand closed around something cold and metal. As soon as it did, the birds stopped singing. A moment later, their wings halted as they returned to the branches. The stillness was unnerving, but it was nothing compared to the utter silence.

  Leana turned her head and looked down to see what it was she had grabbed. She frowned and pulled it out from beneath the ferns to reveal a sword. She marveled at the size of it. Even with both her hands on the pommel, there was still room. It was made for a man with large hands, a man with strength enough to wield such a weapon.

  Slowly, she withdrew the weapon from the scabbard to look upon the blade itself. It was flawless. She tested one edge by running the pad of her thumb across the blade and saw a small line of blood bubble from her skin.

  Why would anyone leave such a weapon behind? Leana fit the sword back into the scabbard. Whatever the reason, the weapon was now hers. She would learn to use it just as she had her brother’s bow and arrows. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was more than capable of taking care of herself. And she would prove it once again.

  Leana carried the sword in one hand and the basket in the other. She rose and turned around, only to freeze. Not five feet from her lay an unconscious man with long, sandy blonde hair in the same tartan she had seen in her vision. The sword fell from her numb fingers. She could only stare in shock. It was as if her vision had brought him to life.

  She set the basket down carefully and hesitantly walked to him. Leana knelt beside him. Several seconds passed before she reached out and warily moved a portion of his hair that covered half his face.

  As soon as she did, there was a flutter of wings as the birds suddenly took to the skies and flew away. She watched them for a moment before she turned her attention back to the man.

  Leana was enraptured by the striking male. His skin was deeply tanned, and there was a short beard of a darker blonde than his hair covering his face that did nothing to hide the hard lines of his jaw and chin.

  She let her fingers brush over the beard, amazed at how soft the bristles were. That’s when her gaze snagged on a scar that ran along his face from his right temple into his hairline. It was jagged and looked as though it went deep. How she wanted to know what caused such a scar.

  Her gaze leisurely drank in his amazing face from his brows that matched his beard, to his crooked nose, to his mouth. Her eyes then drifted lower to the open expanse of his saffron shirt that revealed lean muscle honed to perfection.

  Leana swallowed hard and, unable to help herself, pulled open his shirt a little more. She told herself it was to look for a wound, but she knew it was to see more of such a fine specimen. He was unlike any man she had ever encountered – or was likely to see again.

  His skin was warm, as if the sun had been upon him. Something that was difficult in the deep shade of the tall trees. She bit her lip as she flattened her hand upon his chest. Beneath her palm, she could feel the steady beat of his heart. His breathing was even, but that didn’t explain why he was unconscious.

  Leana began to worry that there really was a wound she couldn’t see. She forgot her exploration of his fine body and began to smooth her hands gently over his torso. She touched his side, only to have his fingers clamp around her wrist. Her eyes jerked to his face to find him staring at her. She opened her mouth to speak but didn’t get a sound out as she was suddenly on her back with him leaning over her.

  “Who are you?” His voice was deep, raspy, as if it hadn’t been used in awhile.

  She was taken aback by the intensity of his golden brown eyes. “Leana.”

  “Is this a trick?” he asked with a frown.

  Leana shook her head, all too aware of his very male body atop her. She liked the feel of him entirely too much. His muscles. His weight. His…hardness that pressed into her stomach. “Nay.”

  His topaz eyes lifted from hers to glance quickly around. “How am I here?”

  “I don’t know. One moment you weren’t, and the next you were. I was attempting to see if you had an injury.” She twisted her wrists that he held in each hand to remind him he had a hold of her.

  His frown faded when he looked at her wrists, and then he slowly returned his gaze to her. Gone was the confusion, replaced by blatant desire. Leana’s blood heated instantly, and her nipples tightened at the look in his eyes. If he could make her feel like that with just a look, what would happen if he touched her?

  Morcant fought against the desire, rallied against the vast hunger to sate himself on such a woman until neither could move. He remained still and prayed the lass did the same. If she moved, he wasn’t sure he would be able to keep himself in check. As if sensing how perilously close he was to losing control, she grew so still she was barely breathing.

  He couldn’t believe he was out of the darkness. His mind was a jumble of questions, as his senses were bombarded with sounds and sights. He wanted to soak it all in, but he couldn’t make himself move off the woman.

  She was a bonny lass with rich, brown hair and eyes as blue as the sky. Those eyes watched him carefully, her fear kept hidden. She stared at him, unblinking, as if she were trying to decide if he were real.

  Her heart-shaped face was beyond lovely. There was something in the curve of her full lips and the direct stare of her sky blue eyes that was both accepting and curious. He longed to stroke his fingers down her smooth cheek to her neck, and lower to her breasts pressed against him.

  Her soft curves that cradled his body were only clouding his mind. His cock ached to be inside her, to relieve the torment that had been his for countless days.

  “You were in the darkness,” she said in a soft whisper.

  His brow furrowed as he recalled sensing someone watching him not long before he was suddenly jerked out of his prison so hard that he blacked out. “How do you know that?”

  “I...I saw it.”

  “Impossible.”

  She lifted a brow. “As impossible as you suddenly appearing? Were you in darkness?”

  He debated whether to answer her. Who in their right mind would believe a word he said about such a place? Then again, if she had seen him, she might be the only one who would believe him. “Aye.”

  “That place was awful,” she said with a shudder.

  His desire faded as he thought of his prison and his friends. Morcant rolled off her to sit with his arms resting on his knees. “How did you see me?”

  “I don’t know,” Leana said as she sat up and picked leaves from her long braid. “I sometimes see things that eventually come to pass.”

  “You see things?” he asked curiously as he turned his head to look at her.

  She shrugged and looked down at her faded blue gown. “I don’t tell people that normally.”

  “Who am I to tell?”

  There was a hint of a smile as she cut her eyes to him. “True. Where were you, when I saw you?”

  “What did you see?” He wanted to know how long she had watched him.

  “Not much. I saw you kneeling. I could sense your anger and frustration.”

  He looked back to the trees. “My ever-present companions.”

  “Why didn’t you leave such a place?”

  “I tried. Many times. It was my prison, I suppose you could call it.”

  Leana’s head turned to him. “Prison? Who put you there?”

  “A gypsy.” Morcant looked at her to see her eyes widen.

  “I’ve heard rumors of the power of gypsy curses. You must have angered her greatly.”

  Morcant grunted as he recalled that awful ni
ght, though Ilinca’s fury was mostly directed at Ronan. He knew Stefan and Daman well enough to know both of them would search for him and Ronan until their deaths.

  He knew by Leana’s brogue that he was still in the Highlands, but he didn’t know how far he was from his clan. The sooner he started toward home, the sooner he could meet up with Stefan and Daman and help them find Ronan, because if he could get out of his prison, then so could Ronan, wherever he was.

  “Where am I?”

  “The Sinclair clan.”

  Morcant briefly closed his eyes. He was days away from home. Then another question occurred to him: just how long had he been in his prison. “What year is it?”

  “1609. I gather by the muscle jumping in your temple that my answer wasn’t what you wanted?”

  He laughed, though there was no mirth in the sound. “I knew I was confined for a long time, but I didna think it would be nearly two hundred years.”

  “Two hundred?” Leana asked with wide eyes. “That can’t be correct.”

  Morcant rose to his feet and walked to a spot of sunlight that filtered through the trees. “The last time I saw the sky, it was the Year of our Lord 1427.” He turned his head to her. “I was with three of my closest friends. All I could think about while in the darkness was finding them. Now I know that’s impossible, at least for two of them.”

  “Why?” she asked and climbed to her feet.

  “The gypsy that cursed me, Ilinca, was furious over her granddaughter’s suicide. She blamed my friend, Ronan. I was trying to help him when she threw me into the darkness. If she didna kill Ronan, he could be in a similar prison.”

  “And the other two friends?”

  Morcant fisted his hands as he itched for his sword. “They’ll either have been smart and gotten away, in which case they’re long dead, or...” he trailed off as he considered what could have happened.

  “Or,” Leana pressed.