His Stolen Bride BN (26 page)

Slowly, Kieran spoke. “You care for your hostage bride a great deal.”

“She is troublesome in her defiance and difficult in her insistence upon love,” Drake
defended.

“That may be so. But the care upon your face, your urge to hold her for something
other than sex, bespeaks feeling. ’Tis plain you are not indifferent.”

Gritting his teeth, Drake made his way back to his chair and sank into it. “I wish
to God I were.”

Kieran leaned across the table, shaking his head. “The woman you held, your wife,
there
is your something to live for.”

Drake steeled himself against the hope Kieran’s words brought. “She is merely an
ablach
, a pawn.”

The other man’s disbelieving smile grated on Drake’s nerves. “Yet still you seek to
hold her close, even when not bedding her. You seek to keep her only for yourself.
Many years I have known you and never seen you display such a want.”

“I—” Drake began as he rose and paced. “She…”

“You would not show such emotion if she meant naught to you.”

“What say you?” Drake demanded. “That I grow soft?”

Kieran smiled. “Nay, my friend. I say you love her.”

Two days after Kieran’s departure, Drake called himself every kind of a fool as he
held his wife while she slept, while dawn crept through the cottage’s lone window.

He should release her. Only a fool deep in the muck of love would hold her without
cause, without seeking her body. And he was
not
in love, despite Kieran’s suspicions.

I say you love her.

Why could he not dismiss those words from his mind?

Averyl was his wife, and he could hold her for whatever reason he sought. ’Twas his
right. Just now, he enjoyed her softness, her scent. Men enjoyed such things.

Aye, his explanation was simple. Logical. Uncomplicated.

Then why had he dashed to her side last night when some manner of a dream caused her
to cry out in her sleep?

With his silent comfort, Averyl had quieted quickly, and he could not dismiss that
satisfaction. True, sleep was one of life’s necessities, especially while being chased
by a pack of angry clansmen bent on execution.

True, all of it. Yet none of it explained why he felt joy in helping his wife, felt
reluctant to release her now.

Against him she stirred. Moaning softly, she rolled closer and pillowed her head against
his chest.

Amidst the intimate crinkling of the mattress, the mysterious floral scent of her
flesh tugged at his loins. She snuggled the rest of her body closer to his length.
He swallowed hard. The length of her arm across him, her unrestrained breasts beneath
her linen shift lay against his chest, teasing his memories.

His manhood rose against her, hard, impatient. Aye, this was the reason he could not
let her go. He was weak where her flesh was concerned. The soft thunder of her responses
danced at the edges of his mind, taunting him. Drake knew he’d never held another
woman like her, never reveled in the soft catch of another’s moan, never felt driven
to give every ounce of pleasure possible.

That did not mean he loved Averyl. Nay, he simply responded to her on a primitive
level. Man to her woman, driven by the urge to claim her in every way possible.

But not because he loved her. True, her wit and spirit, while surprising at first,
were not part of her charm. It only meant she was likely to have a scheme of some
sort, and not one he liked. After all, she’d hit him over the head with his own fire
poker and rushed into the night to steal his boat.

Unbidden crept in the memory of her tears on the windswept cliff as she clung to him
and told him of her mother’s murder, of her fear of darkness.

Frowning, Drake resisted an urge to comfort her, stroke her bare arm, and ignored
an odd warmth growing in his chest.

Without a doubt, Averyl was a disobedient wench, not the dutiful wife nearly every
man wished for. Such was doubly irritating, Drake thought, for he had never wanted
a wife, much less a hellion. Why, she had escaped at the fair under his very nose!
While that proved her clever, it also proved her foolish. She would have been raped
by three drunken fools had he not been following her. Aye, and he would have loved
to kill all three of those rogues for such intentions.

Realizing he’d squeezed Averyl more tightly to him, Drake loosened his hold. A small
smile curled at the corners of her tempting red mouth. The warmth in his chest grew
to an ache. He shifted on the bed to find a more comfortable position.

Indeed, she was a damn fool, believing herself homely. Aye, her father had planted
the notion in her head, but she’d allowed it to take root and grow. Drake knew he’d
been right to scorn such a ridiculous belief. Any sane man would.

And then there was her blind trust, her faith in him. Once, he’d been touched. Now
he realized she was simply too naïve to believe badly of the man she’d wedded and
bedded. She knew him not. Not really, despite her words to the contrary.

God willing, she never would.

Certainly, his intense desire for her sprang not from her devotion to the foolish
concept of love. He found her dogged perseverance in the foreign emotion most irksome.
Nothing short of a thousand-man siege could crush her belief. When she believed something,
she believed in it fiercely, devoutly. Good qualities to have in the soldier at one’s
side, but in a wife? Nay. Though she was intelligent and loyal, who would love a bride
possessed of such a wide stubborn streak?

Drake shrugged. There, he’d proved he could not want her for any reason but her body.
And to prove further she meant naught more to him, he would resist even that. He could
give up the sweet wine of her kiss, the sugary delights of her skin. And giving up
other contact, conversations, for instance, would be no struggle at all.

He would not miss her in the least.

“Good morn,” she whispered, her voice heavy, bewitching.

At the sound, Drake jumped from the bed like a guilty child caught filching a tart,
then chastised himself. The woman could hardly read his mind. Shaking off a vague
sense of guilt, he reached for his tunic and scrambled to push the garment over his
head to cover his erection.

“Drake?” she called huskily.

He gritted his teeth, feeling his manhood stiffen further. How could she do that?
How could Averyl, with a mere word, incite a pounding need to roll her to her back
and make love to her from one sunrise to the next?

He grunted in reply and turned away to the hearth. Behind him, he heard the rustle
of sheets as she left the bed, then the groan that accompanied her stretch each morn.
Had it been only last week he’d teased her about her feline movements? And why could
he see her body in his mind’s eye reaching for the sun?

Drake looked down to find his hands trembling. With a curse, he thrust the kettle
back to the hearth. “If you want aught to eat, make it yourself.”

Air. He needed air. Fresh air, not that tinged with Averyl’s floral-scented flesh.

Whirling around, Drake made for the door. Two, maybe three strides, and he would have
peace. The urge to collect her against him, ravage her mouth, brand her forever would
blessedly leave him.

As he feared, Averyl blocked his path, stopping his barreling gait by placing her
small, warm hands upon his chest.

His heart pounded, and he cursed beneath his breath as his eyes slid shut. He’d had
her, dozens of times now, more than he’d had any one woman. Why could she not leave
his thoughts? Why could he not cleanse himself of this unruly desire?

“Wait,” she entreated, pale curls streaming to her waist in a silken curtain. “I would
talk to you this morn.”

Drake made fists at his side in an effort to keep his hands from her. “I’m in no mood
for talk, woman.”

When he stepped around her, the image of her, ethereal, warm, burned in his mind.
He clenched his fists harder.

Just before he reached the cottage door, he felt Averyl’s hand at his elbow. “Why
not release me?” she asked. “I will not wed Murdoch. You know I can never share a
life with such a man, much less the intimacy of a marriage bed.”

With a swift rush of indrawn breath, Drake admitted he could not bear to see such,
either.

“Since our marriage is consummated, he cannot wed me.”

What Avery said was true. But the thought of letting her go enflamed a barrage of
refusals within him. The issue of her safety remained. And he was certain, if he thought
for a moment more, he could conceive other reasons why she should not leave.

As Drake looked at Averyl, it seemed to him as if she brought out something that opened
the festering wounds of the past, ripped aside the barriers of his heart. He felt.
Not lust. Such was simple to classify. Nay, he felt a rush of too much at once. Guilt,
desire, fear—all easy to note. But there was more… He wanted to turn to her, find
succor in her arms. He yearned to cling to her, fit her against him and hold on until
the tidal wave of feelings swept past him.

Drake knew he should run, flee from her presence before he did something he would
regret, something to make her believe he loved her. He should let her go. And he would,
soon.

“Nay,” he said finally. “You will stay with me.”

“Why keep me? You care less for me than your muddy boots.”

Gritting his teeth, he snapped, “Would I have bothered to rescue my muddy boots from
three randy attackers?”

“Maybe you should have let them have me.” She shoved a curl behind her ear. “’Twould
have saved you from plying me with lust that is naught more than convenient and fleeting.”

“
Convenient?
Oh, aye. ’Tis so opportune to desire you until I feel near exploding. ’Tis so fleeting,
I spend entire days and nights hard for wanting you.” He grabbed her, bringing her
face beneath his. “I’ve spent hours of late thinking of how I could make you cry out
beneath me, atop me, before me, around me. I dwell on using my hand to make you scream,
my mouth to give you pleasure. And that’s before I would use my body to completely
make you mine. What say you to that, wife?”

Averyl stared, speechless. What could she say? Heaven above, were even half of that
true… Nay, he had mentioned his lust, not love.

But Lord knew she was weary of denying her love for him.

Averyl chewed on her lip thoughtfully. Her mother’s wisdom about seizing love when
it appeared filtered through her mind. Could she, even if ’twas only for today? Even
if he may never love her?

Such would be naught but foolishness.

Ah, but someday soon, he would leave her. What would she have of the man she loved
but memories?

Swallowing, Averyl stood locked in indecision.

“Well, what say you?” he barked, challenging her.

He claimed to want her. Lord knew, she loved him. Could she let him leave her forever
without taking something for herself by which to remember the only man who would ever
possess her heart? Nay, and she wearied of resisting what she wanted more than her
next breath.

Now, all she could think upon was satisfying her need to be whole with him once more.

She loved him, and ’twas no use denying that anymore.

Averyl stared at Drake. The white tunic he wore clung to his wide shoulders and sculpted
torso, boldly outlining his ridged chest. She swallowed, transfixed by his beautiful,
blatant masculinity. He smelled of man and earth and sun.

Averyl cleared her throat. “I say do what pleases you.”

Drake cast a shocked glance at her, the bronze power of his hands clenching at his
sides. Images of those hands upon her, stroking, exciting her, sent pleasure rippling
through Averyl.

“What?”
he queried sharply.

“Aye, anything. Whatever you’ve been thinking.”

Fingers trembling, she took his hand in hers and placed it upon her breast. He stiffened
and cursed. But his fingers tightened upon her flesh in needy supplication.

As if her body had been made for his, she responded to his caress, her nipple tightening
beneath his palm. The sharp hiss of his breath told her that he noticed.

“This cannot be real,” he said almost to himself, even as he drew her closer to his
heat. “Think you that I have untapped emotion within me, and that if I let you wrap
your body around me, I will give you the contents of my heart?”

At one time, she had believed so. That hope had died. Now, she could only make a memory
to cling to through the years.

“I know better, Drake. I simply want you.” She caressed the hand that covered her
breast, noticing that he shook.

“You’re asking me to swive you?” He raised a dark brow.

“If that is how you choose to put it, then aye.”

His eyes flared with confusion. Then he swallowed and stepped away, ripping his hand
from her breast. “Why?”

“You said you wanted me until you felt ready to explode.”

She stepped closer, pressing a kiss to the damp fabric covering his chest. Though
his stoic expression reflected naught but uncertainty, Averyl felt his heart beat
faster beneath her hands.

He grasped her wrists and thrust her away. “Why tempt me?”

Without awaiting her reply, Drake turned his back to her, raking a hand through his
hair. Her smile felt bittersweet upon her lips as she took in his restraint. ’Twas
as if he held on to the vestiges of self-control, afraid of what he might say or feel
if he let go.

“If you want to make love to me, Drake, why do you resist?”

Muttering an ugly oath, he whirled to face her again. “You play a dangerous game,
Averyl. Stop while you can.”

She regarded him with a steady gaze. He met her, dark eyes defiant, angry. Aye, he
wanted her—and wished he didn’t.

So she gave, placing her palm over his rigid staff. Shock and need vied for his expression.
A groan escaped him. She curled her fingers around his length. Drake cursed.