A Highland Knight's Desire (A Highland Dynasty Book) (9 page)

She stomped her foot.
Curses to him
. If Duncan weren’t so overbearing, she might care for the enormous knight. But no, he continually chose to act like a brute. Presently, she could not wait to return to Tantallon Castle and resume her life as quickly as possible.

When Duncan finally returned, Meg sat wrapped in a plaid, warmed by the fire—and thank heavens she hadn’t heeded his commands. She’d opened the door wide and allowed the matron to bring in a trencher of food, else she would have starved.

He limped into the chamber with a bundle under his arm, frowning like a lout. “I thought I said to not allow anyone in.”

A dozen quick-tongued responses came to mind, but she simply gave him a look—the same one she used when her brother said something entirely exasperating. Then he stumbled. Meg jumped up. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine.” He pushed past her and set his bundle on the table. “Not to worry, ’tis coming good.”

“Someone should have a look at it.”

“Whom do you suggest when we’re trying to keep our identities hidden?” He opened the parcel. “Besides, I purchased a few things from a kindly Gypsy.” He held up a stoppered stoneware pot and a jar filled with dirty water. “A salve and a handful of leeches.”

Meg walked to the table and peered into the jar. “A Gypsy? I’m surprised he didn’t rob you blind.”

Duncan chuckled. “Me? He wouldn’t have survived the night.”

She tapped her top lip with her tongue. “I suppose a knight as large as you can move within many unsavory circles without fear.”

He grinned and picked up the vessel containing four ugly bloodsuckers. “I could put these on myself . . . if I had a twist-around spine.”

Meg couldn’t look him in the eye. “You want me to do it?” She clapped her good hand to her chest. “I-I don’t know much about healing.”

“Aye? Well, ’tis time you learned—I’ve no intension of being waylaid with a fever.”

Meg eyed the jar, then glanced at Duncan’s backside. A tempest of butterflies swarmed in her stomach. She’d never seen a man’s flesh—never even seen Arthur without him being fully clothed. “Do you think I can place the leeches through the wee hole in your chausses?”

Duncan unclasped his belt. “If only the hole was directly over my wound.” He chuckled. “Do not worry yourself. I’ll keep my back turned.” He pointed at the jar. “Put two leeches either side then swipe the salve right down the middle.”

Before Meg could blink, he dropped his chausses and lowered his braies. Her mouth went completely dry. His chiseled, naked bottom peeked from under his linen shirt. She gaped at the hard lines and smooth, rounded buttocks. The backs of his thighs were long, yet they bulged with sinew and muscle, peppered with black curls.

He twisted around. “Lady Meg?”

Blinking, she jolted and met his gaze.

He pointed to his right buttock. “My wound’s over here.”

Her eyes popped wide. Yes, indeed. It was a huge mass of purple, black and yellow, with an angry, jagged red cut down the center of the mess. She hissed. “That looks awful.”

“’Bout the same as it feels.”

Meg tried not to ogle the male flesh presenting to her, and focused on Duncan’s wound. She reached out her hand then quickly snapped it back. It would be ever so improper to touch him.

“I don’t reckon staring at it’ll help me heal.”

She stepped back. “True.” She fumbled with the stopper on the jar of leeches. “Two on each side, you say?”

“Aye.”

Leeches were such slimy, vile creatures. Meg gritted her teeth. Clearly, Duncan needed their medicinal magic. Even she knew leeches were one of the best options to keep infection away. She squeezed one gently and pulled it from the glass. Her stomach turned over. Fingers trembling, with a grimace she put the squirming black glob of slime beside Duncan’s wound. Her fingers brushed his flesh. Unexpectedly soft, she stilled her hand as if she’d just avoided being burned.

He grunted.

The cut oozed yellow. Meg balled her fists so she wouldn’t touch him and peered closer. “It looks awfully bad.”

“You’d best apply the other leeches, then.”

Meg did as asked until four unsightly blobs hung from his bruised bottom. “Now what?”

“They’ll feast until they fall off.” Duncan glanced at her over his shoulder. “Spread on the salve.”

Meg swallowed. For a moment, she’d forgotten a rugged warrior stood bare arsed in front of her. She mustn’t pay heed to the softness of his skin. The wound looked horrid. If she didn’t tend him properly, he could succumb to a fever—even an enormous, strapping man like Duncan wasn’t hewn of iron. “The cut needs to be properly cleansed first.” She drew her hand over her mouth—now she’d have to bathe him too.

“Very well.” Duncan shifted, sounding unflappable. “Douse a cloth in the bowl. That’ll fix me right up.”

Meg exhaled. When he’d moved, she feared he might turn around, mayhap call for a bath. Oh, God in heaven, what if she saw him from the front? She’d die. Heat pooled in the crux of her legs while her knees turned to wobbly mush.

“You want me to fetch it?” His gruff voice took on an air of impatience.

She crossed to the bowl. “Sorry. I’ll do it.” She poured some water from the ewer and dunked the cloth.

“Are you nervous, lass?”

She nearly dropped the cloth. “No . . . yes. ’Tis just your injury isn’t in the most
genteel
location.”

“Apologies. If I could transfer it to my elbow to appeal to your sensibilities, I’d do so in an instant.”

“How you can jest at a time like this, I cannot fathom.”

She stole a glance at the well-formed male specimen across the room. Honestly, she shouldn’t gawk. The poor man was in pain. He merely needed her to tend his vicious wound—and the sooner she did so, the sooner he’d cover up his backside, and her ridiculous desire to stare at it would go away.

Meg held the claw in front of her nose and frowned.
Remember? No man wants a woman with such a grotesque deformity
.

She wrung out the cloth and boldly strode to him. As soon as she bent down, her hand started shaking again. She clutched the cloth tighter. “Just a few quick swipes.”

Duncan hissed. “Bloody oath, are you washing me with sackcloth?”

“’Tis linen.” Meg tossed the cloth on the table and reached for the stoneware pot. One of the leeches dropped to the floor. She quickly glopped the ointment on two fingers and spread it over the gash. Two more leeches dropped and writhed.

Duncan looked back. “I’ll fetch them in a moment.”

Meg looked at her handiwork. “You could use a few stitches.”

“Do you have a needle and thread?”

“Nay.”

He shifted his weight. “Feels better already.”

Meg held the pot of salve to her nose and sniffed—leek for certain, combined with something that made her eyes water. “What’s in it?”

After the fourth leech dropped, Duncan pulled up his braies and bent down for his chausses. “Gypsy magic. They may be an odd lot, but they have potent medicine.”

She stoppered the pot and rested it on the table. “I hope it helps. I can hardly believe you can sit a horse. Half your bum is bruised.”

He faced her, his grin halfcocked. “Wheesht. I cannot believe a delicate lassie is speaking about my arse with such recklessness.”

“I . . .” Meg clapped her hands over her burning cheeks. He was right. She should not speak of a man’s backside. Not ever. “Forgive me.”

His white teeth flashed with his grin. “Aye, lassie. With four older sisters and the Earl of Angus for a brother, I’d think you’d ken when someone is teasing you.”

Meg clenched her claw and covered it with her good hand.
Goodness gracious
, Sir Duncan had a way of making her self-conscious like no one she’d ever met. He sauntered toward her and placed his hands on Meg’s shoulders. His dark chestnut eyes bored into hers, as if he’d never gazed upon a woman before.

His tongue flicked out and moistened his lips. “Thank you, m’lady.”

She swallowed, her heart thumping out of rhythm. “I . . .” Goodness, his mouth was ever so close to hers. She gasped. His gaze trailed from her eyes to her lips.
Was he . . . ?

Without thinking, Meg lifted her chin, her skin alive with tingling. The scent of spice and male filled her senses. Duncan’s lips met hers ever so softly. Such a rugged man, yet his lips were softer than silk. He slid his hands down her back, and Meg’s insides swirled in a fluttering torrent. Closing her eyes, she could stand there and kiss him until the sun rose anew.

Duncan pulled her closer, his tongue brushing her lips. Meg startled, but his hand caressed up the back of her neck. Her skin came alive with gooseflesh. She couldn’t pull away from him even if she’d tried. For years, she’d wanted to know what it was like to kiss a man—not a peck on the cheek, but a deep, longing kiss—one intended only for her.

She molded into his chest. He tasted like whisky and rain while his tongue swirled with hers in an intoxicating dance. Meg prayed he’d hold her in his arms forever. If he released now, she’d swoon for certain.

Holding Meg Douglas in his arms, Duncan’s pain melted into oblivion. God forgive him, he’d needed to kiss the lass ever since her long red lashes unveiled her eyes in the chapel. The way she came undone in his arms, she felt the same, whether Lady Meg knew it or not. Aye, initially she may have been a wee bit resistant, but once Duncan showed her how a man kisses a woman, she’d melted like butter in the sun.

Bless the sweet smell of wildflowers that wafted from every crevice of her body. He couldn’t recall a woman ever tasting so sweet. And her soft curves molded into his chest so well.

Only one kiss and I’ll be able to push her from my thoughts.

Closing his eyes, he swirled his tongue down her neck. A smoldering moan escaped her throat. “Sir Duncan.” Her voice had turned husky. “I cannot . . .”

The muscles in his arms clenched. God on the cross, ever since he met the lass he’d done nothing but tell himself Lady Douglas was forbidden fruit. As soon as they were shut in a chamber alone, his lustful Campbell urges surged straight through the tip of his cock. Of course, lowering his braies while Meg tended his naked arse did nothing to quash his yearnings. Bloody hell, he couldn’t be trusted—aye, he, a knight who’d taken an oath of chivalry, got a maid alone in a chamber, bared his bum and then proceeded to ravish her. Heaven help him, if she hadn’t stopped them, he’d have deflowered her before the fire needed another stick of wood.

His payment for her rescue wouldn’t be the only thing forfeited. Blast the English to hell for their dimwitted chase. Now only God knew how long he’d be forced to endure Meg’s presence. How complicated and awkward he’d just made things.

Duncan grasped her shoulders and stared at her nose. He couldn’t bring himself to look into those crystal blues. Not now. “Apologies. I do not ken what came over me.”

Meg covered her mouth with her hand and stomped her little foot. “I’ll . . . I’ll not have you taking advantage of me because of my deformity. I have a sharp mind in spite of my hand.”

Duncan furrowed his brow. “You think yourself unappealing because of a wee bent hand?”

Meg whipped around and turned her back. “I saw the fear in your eyes when you first saw it. But allow me to say, I know my languages and I can read better than Arthur, calculate sums, and I can ride a horse as fast as any man.”

He stared at her slender shoulders dumbly. “Aye, you do have an impressive seat.”
I’m sure that appeased her worries, ye big oaf.
If only he could reach out and caress her wild locks—show her how extraordinary he believed her to be.

Those red tresses shook. “Nay. You’re just saying that to soothe my feelings.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder. After all, it was only a hand. Her body tensed. So did his. “One thing you must know, Lady Meg. I never pay a compliment which isn’t due. If I say you have a talent, I mean it.”
Better
.

She stood motionless for a moment and then regarded his hand, still resting on her shoulder. “You’re not put off by the . . . my hand?”

“Nay. I can see no reason to fear it.”

She sidestepped out from under his grasp, and looked him in the eye. “Why did you kiss me?”

Because you’re more wily than a devil cat.
Duncan swiped his hand across his mouth. Lordy, what should he tell her? He abhorred lying. “Forgive me. I was hired by your brother to rescue you from the Earl of Northumberland and return you safely to your kin. I had no right to take liberties.”

She narrowed her gaze, her fingers lightly tapping her lips. “Did you enjoy . . . ah . . . it?”

She lowered her hand, her bow-shaped mouth pouted, crimson—begging for another wee kiss. Lord have mercy, he could ruin everything for him and his men. Duncan ground his back molars and bowed deeply. “My personal happiness is not your concern, m’lady. I am your servant. I promised your brother to return you to Tantallon unharmed and untouched. That vow I will honor.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she cast her gaze to the hearth whilst wringing her hands. “I thank you.”

Duncan resisted the urge to drop to a knee and apologize. He needed to ask forgiveness for nothing. He’d kissed the lass. That was all. He would put it behind him and carry on with his mission.