Always Mine (18 page)

The hair on his chest teased her nipples through the thin undergarment, hardening them. He cupped his hand over her breast, testing its weight. His palm rubbed gently across the pink bud, and when it hardened even more, he bent to suckle it.

Her hands tightened on his shoulders. Her breathing quickened when he became more aggressive. Finally, she panted and tried to push him away. His expression became stern.

“Nay, wife. Ye willna deny me this. I vowed not to take ye.

I did not promise I wouldna kiss and find pleasure in yer body.” Her face flushed. “I know how to make ye forget e’en yer worst aches, love. Would ye like me to show ye?” Devil-ment twinkled in his eyes.

“Thank you, no, I’m not the least sore.” Her blush warmed her neck and chest. She had no doubt he was so skilled at love

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play that he could make a woman forget the color of her own hair. Or her name.

He chuckled and continued his gentle wooing. His wet lips trailed kisses to the hollow of her neck before he licked a path up her skin to her ear. His hand seared a path down her taut stomach to cup her dewy sex. He gently rotated the base of his thumb there, causing heat to pool between her legs.

Shivers of delight raced through her. She arched to him.

When she moaned, he placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Pleasant dreams, wife.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he put her head under his chin and settled himself. His breathing slowed and deepened.

Brianna tried to put distance between them, but his arms tightened. She knew she’d still be awake at daybreak.

She wasn’t going to get any sleep. No, sir. Not even for a minute.

She sighed. And slept.

Chapter 11

Darkness surrendered to soft hints of light. Awakening birds sounded their first chirps as they broke their fast several days later. Brianna avoided looking at Damron, and if words were necessary, she kept her gaze on his chest.

“Wife, did ye not sleep well? Mayhap yer imaginings are over active and ’tis the cause of uneasy dreams?”

Connor choked on a cough. She looked up and frowned.

Damron’s hard stare quieted his cousin.

“I feel fit, sir,” Brianna murmured. Drat the man! Of course she was tired. A nightmare would be easier on her nerves than the erotic dreams she’d been having
. Could
it be her imagination? No. It was much more than that.

Several times, she caught Damron eying her, a smug look on his face. He glanced away without speaking. She was glad when they mounted and started the day’s journey.

After that first day, Damron allowed her to ride Sweatpea close behind him. Today, as they neared the foot of the Grampian Mountains, she felt that prickly knowledge that someone watched her closely. Others, too, must have sensed the hidden presence of men in the woods.

“Bleddyn. Do ye feel them?” Damron asked.

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“Aye. About thirty surround us. Their leader’s hair is the color of the sun. A man in his prime wearing a green tunic. A likeness of a boar’s head is on his herald.”

“Ah, ’tis Eric, the MacLarens heir. His brother is chief of the MacLarens.” Damron’s sword was in his hand in a flash.

His men followed suit.

“Eric. Enough of this cat and mouse.” Damron’s voice vibrated through the air. “Appear afore me and give me greetin’, or draw yer sword and hasten yer death.”

“Mayhap ’twill be your death, Morgan. Are you no’ wary of the Campbells, and you with a lovely lass in your midst? Hm, she is a wee, scrawny lass, no match for your heavy weapon. I will think on relieving you of her.” As he spoke, the man came from the forest and rode confidently up to Damron.

Eric’s confidence was mistaken. Before he drew his next breath, Damron’s sword rested at the base of his throat.

“Ye will keep yer thoughts of swiving off her.” The tip of his sword pricked the skin there, causing blood to dribble down Eric’s neck, before Damron drew back and buffeted Eric’s shoulder in friendship.

“You were never so stingy when I fostered with your family,” Eric grumbled.

“Aye. But this
scrawny
lass is my wife.” Damron squinted his eyes at Eric. “E’en though the Campbell chief is yer granda and ye’ll give us much needed protection, behave yerself or I will skewer ye and not think twice on it.”

Over the next several hours, Brianna learned much about the years Eric had fostered with the Morgans. As daylight waned and they made camp, Eric stood before her and smiled. Charm radiated from every pore.

“Eric MacLaren, lovely lady, Damron’s foster brother.” He promptly kissed her on both cheeks.

Brianna chuckled at the man’s audacity.

“Unpucker yer lips. My wife is no kissin’ kin to ye. Find

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yer own lass to maul.” Damron frowned and shoved himself between them.

Eric provided an amusing addition to their nightly camp-fire, for he told many stories about their youthful exploits at Blackthorn. In each of his tales, he came off as the bravest.

No doubt he exaggerated, for Damron laughed. Damron also frowned when Eric’s gaze studied Brianna from head to toe.

“Eric!” The cold anger in Damron’s warning didn’t seem to faze Eric. He grinned and goaded Damron at every opportunity.

“Lucifer’s arse!”

Damron jolted awake with a raging, rock-hard rod. Every nerve in his body screamed for release. Brianna, shivering from cold, slept all but atop him. Damron had never known anyone to fall asleep so quickly. So soundly. A tree could fall and she would not hear it. Her cheek nuzzled over his heart, her left leg rested between his thighs. Though her hot center pressed against his flesh, it wasn’t what caused his distress.

Her hand, nestled in the curls of his sex and holding his shaft in a firm grip, was. Each time his member pulsed, she sighed, and her warm fingers tightened. Sweat beaded his forehead. He held his breath and fought to restrain his urges.

A groan of pleasure burst past his clamped lips. She stirred.

He thanked the saints for all the lessons in self-control he had learned. If he did not contain himself, she would be rudely awakened. He choked on a chuckle. She startled awake. He watched her through barely slitted eyelids.

Mayhap, she would return to sleep.

He hoped in vain.

Brianna’s eyes opened wide, then blinked. She frowned and tried to draw her hand closer to see.

She gasped. Loud.

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His head clamored with his pounding heartbeats; his ears noted the rush of blood through his veins.

Finger by finger, she released him.

Fortunately, Connor called from outside the tent. She stilled, pretending she yet slept. When Damron slipped his shoulder from beneath her head, he kissed her closed eyelids.

Her lashes fluttered like butterflies. With great care, he freed himself from her limbs. Upon leaving the tent, he heard her sigh of relief.

They rode hard for several hours that morning. Brianna had ample time to think. To worry. Before this crazy switch in time happened at Blackthorn’s ruins, Brianna had resigned herself to being in love with the likeness of a man long dead.

Her dreams and flashing visions of him had made her doubt her sanity. She even considered seeking psychiatric help. Surely her obsession, as she considered it, had become so intense because of her disappointment in Gordon. She had trusted her husband completely, and completely he destroyed her trust. Her soul had yearned for the man in the drawing.

The man whose face fascinated her with its strong character.

Damron.

Merciful God. Now she was with that same flesh-and-blood man—the very challenging flesh-and-blood man—not the likeness. He was so much more complex in life than she had sensed in the drawing.

The force of his personality would not let her ignore him or allow her to keep her distance. His dominating ways challenged her. The physical attraction that crackled in the air between them was unbelievably forceful. More than she had ever felt in her life.

Ha. In both lives.

To fall in love with Damron, and not know if or when she

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would suddenly be whisked away, was more than her soul could bear, for she would leave her heart behind.

Damron called a halt beside a stream where the forest had thinned. At the noise of their arrival, birds scattered from the trees, and forest creatures hurried to find safer spots. He lifted Brianna from Sweetpea, and led her farther downstream.

Did he plan to complain? To blame her for his friend’s interest? Eric had often ridden beside her that day and entertained her with his wit. When Damron had noted it, he scowled and demanded Eric return to his side.

Damron stopped suddenly. Brianna crashed against his back and muttered a garbled oath.

He turned to scowl down at her.

She folded her hands and smiled up at him.

When he placed his powerful fists on his hips, she studied the laces of his shirt and tried to look attentive. When he didn’t speak, she shifted her feet and looked at him. His eyes looked hot. Sultry. Glancing down, she was sorry she had.

Whatever his thoughts, they affected other parts of him.

Oh, my. The vision that had greeted her eyes at dawn flashed into her mind. Is that what he wanted to discuss? Her cheeks burned. His member tented the tartan enough for even an innocent to understand.

As if proclaiming himself the winner of their contest of wills, he growled and stalked around her. After he completed his circle, she noted he had adjusted his clothing. He stood, feet balanced wide apart. Even his dusty boots appeared menacing.

“Look at me when I speak.” Damron’s voice was firm and authoritative. Her gaze flashed to his face. “I have many re-sponsibilities and little surcease from them. Is it too much to ask that ye give me time to renew my strength? Far from peaceful nights, my sleep is oft broken.”

Merciful heavens. Had she grabbed him before?

Consternation flashed through her.

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“A dutiful wife must think only of her lord. She should be a helpmate and cause him no problems. She should see to his food if he hungers. If his mood is on bed sport, she should comply. She should be as obligin’ as his faithful wolfhound, to greet and give comfort.”

“A dog? You want me to act like your dog? Ha! If you expect me to beg, to pant and drool, you’ve a long wait coming.” She folded her arms across her chest. Her fingers twitched as she glared at him.

He held up his hand. “That isna necessary.” He again launched into what he expected of his wife.

She stopped listening. She cringed. In her sleep while she was having her erotic dreams, had she drooled on his bare chest? Begged and panted for him? His next words caught her attention again.

“Ye must seek me out when ye have a question about a man’s body.” He scowled at her.

Oh, damn. Did he refer to her grasping him in her sleep?

How would the early Brianna have reacted to what he said?

“I have lived in an abbey, husband, but I know men have different, ah, you know. Body parts? I cannot help but notice your men when they go into the trees.” Maybe that’s how she would have responded.

“By Christ’s cross. A lady shouldna look when men are, uh, busy in the trees.”

“They didn’t look busy. More like they took their time and enjoyed themselves.” She batted her eyelashes at him.

“Jesu! Ne’er look into the trees.”

“Since you are being so helpful, could you explain why men call, uh,” she hesitated, “
it
a wick?”

Seeing his surprised look, she hardly suppressed a giggle.

“Whom did ye hear speakin’ of such at Saint Anne’s?”

Oh, goodness, he seemed awfully upset.

“Merciful saints. Not in the abbey. It was you, of course.”

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“Ne’er have I said such in yer hearin’.”

“Have you forgotten laughing earlier with Eric? He told a story about his wick being aflame. You said he didn’t know how to dip it properly in the right honey pot.” She frowned and looked up at him before continuing. “Surely he didn’t get too close to the hearth? And why did he not dip it in a tankard of water?” She bit her tongue, stilling a laugh.

“Ye needna understand such things.” His face turned redder with each word.

It was the first time she’d bested him. It felt good.

Damron could not take his mind from thoughts of Brianna.

Each day had followed a pattern of traveling and resting. Each night had its own pattern. A sensual one. He knew her growing need. Her eyes watched him, studied him like hot, ardent fingers rustling over his body.

After stripping in front of her, he kissed and caressed her, becoming bolder and more persuasive each night. Her skin had become so sensitive to him, she quivered if he brushed against her. He whispered what he would do to her when she became one with him, crooned his pleasure at the
almost
lovin’,
as he called it, that he did to her now.

Brianna drew slow, deep breaths when he was close by.

His scent pulled her. Feeling her resistance, he would stroke her face. She lowered her lids to shield her eyes from him, then with a sigh, turned her cheek to nestle against his palm.

Her response pleased him. If he kept to his sensual teasing, she would soon be the passionate lass he wanted for his bed sport.

He had yet to quell her troublesome personality that challenged him at every turn. Her father had neglected to teach her that a man owns his wife, that she was his property and should submit to his will. When he had instructed her on how

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to be a dutiful wife, she had refused to understand him. Were Saxon men so different? Did they not believe a wife’s duty was to see to the husband’s comfort, his pleasure? She took umbrage at his likening a wife to a faithful hound. He frowned, remembering her angry expression. Why, the woman acted as if she thought she was his equal.

What a strange thought.

At meals, Brianna ate less and sank deeper into her own thoughts. She tried to resist Damron. She began sleeping lightly. Her growing need for him unsettled her. Her increasing worry of loving him and suddenly being wrenched from him filled her thoughts. She could not speak of her fears. No one would understand, and if she let drop even a hint of how she came here, they would think her a witch.