Dragon's Moon (17 page)

“And you feel it, too.”

He refused to answer, moving his hand to another injury and concentrating on healing that one, too.

“You don't have to tell me. I can see for myself.” She flicked her gaze to where his kilt revealed the extent of his lack of mastery over his own desires.

“Ignore it.”

She laughed, the sound not humorous so much as absolutely disbelieving. “That is your answer to protecting my virtue, ignoring these feelings?”

“Aye. We have no choice.” Not if she wanted to leave his room still untouched.

He finished mending the bone in her arm and knew the time had come to focus on her ribs. They had to be giving her a great deal of discomfort, mottled with discoloration the way they were.

He laid the amber stone between her breasts and then both hands on her, one on either side of her rib cage.

A small puff of air escaped her lips. “Oh.”

Two of the bones beneath his hands were broken almost all the way through and one had a hairline crack. It was a miracle she had not broken them completely and punctured a lung on her journey to the Sinclair holding.

He let the Chrechte power flow through him into her, not stopping even when he felt the exhaustion building inside him.

Something else was building as well and it was making his cock leak a steady stream of pre-come.

When he finished, he did not immediately remove his hands. He could not. The need to move them up a few inches and cup her perfectly rounded breasts was too
strong. He feared if he moved his hands at all, that was where they would go.

“I can breathe without pain,” she said in wonder. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

“There are no healers like you among my father's pack.”

“Without the
Faolchú Chridhe
, how can the Faol call upon their gifts?” he asked, though it was obvious they did not need it to confer the ability to procreate their Chrechte heritage.

Or there would be no wolf shifters left in the Highlands, and though their numbers were far smaller than the humans, they were ten times greater than the Éan.

Mairi took a deep breath for the first time without a wince of pain. “It must be found.”

“You believe it will give you a wolf.” 'Twas a nigh impossible claim to even consider.

Her expression said she did not find it so. Passionate belief and hope glimmered in her blue gaze. “I do.”

“How can the
Faolchú Chridhe
give this to you?” Though perhaps, he of all Chrechte, should believe in the chance.

Had he not been given a second chance at his Chrechte gifts by the
Clach Gealach Gra
and its keepers? Still, for a human to be given a wolf, even one with Chrechte blood, seemed too fantastic a possibility for belief.

“With Ciara's help. She can draw the power of the Chrechte through the stone.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean? She is keeper of the stone.”

“You mistake my meaning. Why do you want this?” And then he answered his own question. “You still seek the approval of a man who beat you unto death?”

“No,”
Mairi said with deep vehemence. “But if I had a wolf and he tried to beat me again, I could rip his throat out.”

She was small. She was fragile. She was human. But Lais thought if she had been Faol, she would have done just that.

“You are a fierce little thing.”

“For a human.”

“For a Chrechte.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“The wolves' sacred stone must be found, if for no other reason than to stop Ciara's dreams,” he agreed. “A body can live only so long on such little bites of sleep.”

“She has fought her calling.” Mairi sounded confused by that fact.

“Aye.”

“I wonder why.”

He did not know and right now, could not work up an interest in the answer. He was far too focused on the beautiful woman before him. Bruises still marred her lovely skin, but the more serious ones were showing the effects of his healing.

He could not repair everything, so he left the wounds that had no risk of permanent damage to heal on their own. There was one last wound that needed his touch. A large boot sized mark on her left hip.

His examination the night before had revealed another damaged bone beneath it. It had to be healed, or she risked a true break from something as simple as tripping over a rock in her path.

But he could not yet trust his hands to move from where they rested on her ribs.

He was not the only one affected, either. The pulse in Mairi's neck fluttered, her breathing so shallow her chest barely rose and fell, her mouth opened as if tasting their desire on the air like he was.

“No.” He meant it to sound firm, to let her know he would protect her virtue with his will. Instead it came out almost a plea.

He was a healer, damn it, trained as a warrior. He could command his base urges.
He would control them
.

“Lais…”

He groaned at the innocent need in her voice. “No,” he said again.

“I feel so strange.” She touched her own nipple and then jerked her hand away with a moan. “What is happening to me?”

But they both knew, no matter how pure she was.

“You must ignore your desire,” he said from a jaw clenched with the need to say something else entirely.

“Why?”

“You know why.” She was a human woman, her virtue an important commodity in the negotiation for her marriage. And so he reminded her.

“I am not interested in marriage.”

“Because of that fool your father promised you to? Ualraig is a coward infected with cruelty. He is no indication of what a Chrechte man might be in marriage.”

“So you say.”

“Do you think Talorc would ever beat Abigail?” he asked Mairi, to make her stop and think.

To show her irrevocably how wrong it was to believe her father and Ualraig true examples of how an honorable man would treat those dependent on him.

“I do not think so, but I do not know,” she said, shocking Lais with her doubt. “I have been here but a day.”

“And what have you heard of the Sinclair before that?” Highlanders kept to themselves, but gossip traveled with the winds it seemed at times.

“His reputation in battle is ruthless, but there are no rumors that he hurts those closest to him. Only a man may hide his ugliest sins.”

“If you think so little of our laird, why did you come to the Sinclair holding?” Lais surprised himself at how defensively he reacted to Mairi's words.

He had only joined this clan weeks ago, but the Sinclair was a Chrechte with no smirch to his honor.

“I
don't
think badly of him. I am merely pointing out that trust does not come so quickly.”

“You trust me.”

“I do.”

“Why?” But he knew.

They were mates, though he would not claim her.

“I do not know.” Her brows drew together in a troubled frown. “I only know that from the first moment I woke to see your face last night, I have felt safe in your company.”

“I am a healer.”

She rolled her eyes, letting him know what she thought of his answer. “That is your answer for everything.”

He shrugged and it made his hands slide across her soft skin. She caught her breath, though it was clear he had not hurt her. He had to bite back a moan at the feel of the feminine silk below his fingertips.

“I want you to touch me,” she said in a tone filled with sweet feminine need.

To ignore it cost him dearly.
“No.”

“Yes.”

“Mairi,”
he warned.

“You can caress me with pleasure without compromising my virtue. It is done by many courting couples.”

“What do you know of this type of touching?” he demanded.

“I have heard things.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You have not allowed another to touch you thus?”

“Of course not.” The scent of her arousal mixed with that of anger. “What kind of woman do you think I am?”

A sweetly innocent one. “I promised to protect you from both myself and your desires.”

An honorable Chrechte did not break his promises.

“I trust you to do so, but your vow did not include not touching me at all.”

“It did.”

“No, it did not. If so, you could not have healed me. Your promise was to protect my virtue.”

“And I will.”

“Yes, you will. You will not take my maidenhead.” She grasped his wrists and tugged.

He was Chrechte and she was a human female; her strength nothing compared to his. And yet his hands moved where she guided them, up the scant inches that left her breasts no longer naked.

Because they were covered with his hands, the nipples pebbled against his palms. Carefully arching into his touch, she licked her lips, her eyes going unfocused. Her fingers
tightened around his wrists, but she made no move to guide him into a more titillating touch.

“I like that,” she said breathlessly, the blue depths of her eyes shining with a happiness he could all too easily find necessary to his own. “Having your hands there. Am I compromised now?”

Her naïveté touched him in a place he thought none could reach. He smiled, shaking his head. “Not yet.”

She moved his hands again, just a little, so his palms abraded her sweet buds. She moaned. “That tingles all through me. Surely, now I am compromised.”

“No,” he growled out. “Not yet.”

“But it feels so good.”

“Aye, it does.”

She went still, meeting his gaze with determined blue orbs. “Then we can give one another pleasure without you breaking your promise.”

“You are sneaky,” he said with admiration and no little shock.

“It would be a tragedy if I learned nothing of value in the years of my childhood.”

He agreed, though with less humor than she seemed to feel about it.

“I have still to heal your leg. It is at risk.”

“You will share yourself with me, after?” She was demanding an entirely different sort of promise now.

“Among all the kinds of serpents, there is none comparable to the Dragon.”

—E
DWARD
T
OPSELL

“I
will share what I can,” Lais vowed.

“Then you may heal me.”

“Saucy wench.”

Mairi grinned. “I find you bring out things in me I have never been certain of letting others see before.”

“You are safe now.”

“Yes.”

“You can trust the Sinclair.”

“You are here.
I am safe.”

Her words made him question his certainty he could not have a mate, but then she did not know his past. If she did, Mairi would not give her trust to Lais so easily.

He slipped his hands from the soft pillows of her breasts, unable to stop himself brushing her nipples as he did so.

She gasped, arching again, higher than before and then frowning and crying out.

“What is it?”

“Nothing. I am fine.”

“Do not lie to me.”

“My back…”

So, they had more to do than he had thought. He said nothing as he laid both his hands on the huge bruise on her outer thigh. He could feel the near break in the bone below, the depth of damage in the muscle and tissues around it.

He wanted to kill the man who had done this to her, Lais's eagle screaming inside him for revenge.

Her small hand pressed against his cheek. “It is all right, Lais. Already, it feels better.”

“Healing you is easier than it has ever been.” And 'twas a good thing, or he would never have had the strength to do all he had to this point.

“I wonder why,” she said, her tone implying they both knew the answer and daring him to say it out loud.

“Better to wonder if I will have the strength to heal your back after this.” Though he would. He had no choice.

He spoke a Chrechte blessing over her as he continued to concentrate on healing her leg. He felt a surge of power go through him and he dropped his head in thanks to God.

“It is time to turn you over.” He withdrew his hands.

She raised her hand toward him. “Help me?”

“Always.” He grabbed her hand and gently pulled while helping her to roll forward with another hold on her hip.

Once she was on her side, facing away from him, he looked down and swore in voluble Chrechte at what he saw. It amazed him that she had lain on her back both the night before and today without complaint. It was covered in bruises.

“Is it very ugly?”

“Nothing about you is ugly, Mairi, but those bastards must have taken turns pummeling your back.”

“I rolled into a ball, to protect myself.” She let out a hiccupping breath and he knew she was crying at the memory. “They hit and kicked my back over and over.”

“Oh, sweet lass, I am sorry.”

“You did not do it. You never would.”