MC BIKER ROMANCE: Bad Boy Romance: BETRAYED: (New Adult Motorcycle Club Navy SEAL Romance) (Contemporary Military Romance Thriller) (61 page)

Chapter 4

With her regular attention to his needs; making certain that his wound was clean, cooking for him and applying the salves and medicines that Inghean sent with her, he began to grow stronger. He still moved with some stiffness, but refused to allow that to keep him from trying out his strength and pushing himself to the limit.

“You’re likely to tear those stitches out and open that wound all over again,” she warned him. In truth, whenever she wasn’t trying to hide her blush from him, she admired his spirit and his strength, yet she also found herself beginning to worry more and more over his well-being.

“You er some worried aboot me, then?” he smiled, leaning against the wall and watching her by the fire.

Well practiced in the art of being coy, she would respond as though she didn’t care. “I just don’ wan’ te be doin’ me work all o’er again.”

“Ye act as though ye were no’ enjoyin’ tendin’ te me,” he laughed.

“I’ve other things te be tendin’ te,” she replied.

“You’ve other lads in other caves or a husban’ that don’ like ye gallivantin’ aboot?”

“Neither,” she replied. She enjoyed their banter, but she feared what was soon coming. He would have his strength again and she would have to turn him loose back into the wild. Though she’d done it plenty of times with the animals that she and Inghean had nursed, it was much harder to think of letting him go.

When she was with him and tending to him, she felt as though she had come alive and that she had purpose, but there was something more to it all. She felt comfortable around him. Though he was a rogue and dangerous, there was a kindness and gentleness to him that drew her, heart and soul toward him. Certainly, the tingling sensation still remained, especially whenever she touched him, felt him close to her or when he gazed at her with his crystal blue eyes, but she was growing accustomed to it and no longer fought it off.

They were silent for several moments. Though her back was turned to him, she could feel his eyes upon her. Why did he watch her so closely? What did he see? Were the same thoughts and feelings that swelled in her, stirring through him?
He’ll heal up, be gone and ye’ll ne’er see him again,
she reminded herself whenever she allowed those questions to overcome her.

“Cairistine?” he whispered softly.

The tone with which he spoke had changed. There was something husky in the way he said her name, as though he was struggling with some feelings of his own. She turned toward him. “Er ye okay?”

“I am.”

“Then what?”

“I have no thanked ye proper fer all tha’ you’ve done fer me. I migh’ o’ died ou’ in the mis’ if no fer ye.”

“You’ve thanked me many times,” she replied softly.

“But no like I ought.”

He had become a great deal bolder since he’d been feeling better, but it wasn’t until that moment that his boldness had moved toward action. He reached out with a strong arm to draw her up to him. Before she could respond, however, he had pulled her mouth to his and kissed her firmly.

Startled by him, she pushed against him with both hands. Knowing that it wasn’t proper for him to be forcing himself upon her in that way, she felt the need to fight against him, but there were other thoughts and desires working within her as well. They were responding to a deeper need; a need that she had denied for much too long.

“I can’t, we can’t,” she gasped as she was finally able to break away from his kiss.

“What’s te stop a lad an’ a lass from doin’ what comes natural?” he whispered.

“You’ll be healin’ up and on the run again,” she replied. The truth gushed out of her before she could stop it. “My heart can’t bear to let ye go.”

“Yer heart?” Her confession pushed him back from her with more force than that of her hands.

“I…” She started to let go of the feelings that were crowding through her; tried to put them into words. The words wouldn’t come out as she looked up into his eyes. They were many, but she couldn’t get them to come together into anything intelligible. Instead of saying anything more, however, she retreated, scooping up the bucket and rushing for the entrance of the cave. “I’ve got to get some more water.”

With her mind in a whirl, she hurried out of the cave, paying little attention to her surroundings as she did so. Cairistine had been very conscious about her coming and going and had kept a sharp eye out for whoever might happen through the woods. She had never seen sign nor encountered anyone, but she had remained vigilant just the same; up until that moment. It was at that moment that someone did happen to see her hurrying out of the cave and along the base of the cliff toward the shallow vale and trickling spring. That someone fell in behind her, feeling fortunate to have come across such a shapely form with fiery red hair where no one around would hear her screams. He’d been hunting Raghnall MacGregor and need a little diversion; she’d be just right for that.

The thunderous rhythm in her heart had overtaken all of Cairistine’s thoughts. The noise of conflicting voices in her head and drown out any other sound around her. Her escape to the spring had been the only response that fit in that moment. Though she certainly felt the stirring deep inside of her and relished his kiss, those feelings created too much confusion inside of her. She had run free for much too long to allow the first man to force a kiss upon her to be her undoing. He was certainly a rogue and an outlaw and she shouldn’t expect him to have any other than a forceful manner about him.
I won’ stan’ ferbein’ forced into it,
she told herself. The moment the thought entered her mind, it was his daring that argued against her. In truth, she longed to let him kiss her again. It was the kiss of a man; wild, daring and full life and the natural course of things.

She forced herself to think of something other than his kiss. She revisited all of the arguments that had kept her running free through the woods and the highlands. She wasn’t looking for a man. She didn’t want to be tied down to a humble shack with children pulling at her skirts. Nor did she want to break her back doing the same monotonous tasks every day. Besides, he’d just use her and be gone.

“Er’nt ye a tasty treat,” the voice chuckled behind her.

Startled by him, a scream left her throat before she whirled about and threw the bucket at him.

“It won’ de ye no good te scream,” he laughed. “Won’ nobody hear ye.”

Realizing that her scream would bring Raghnall to her and into certain danger, she turned to run.

“It won’ de ye no good te run either.” In a half-dozen quick strides, he was on her, grasping a handful of her bright, red hair and pulling her back into his arms; crushing her in his grasp. He moved his dirty mouth against her neck and cheek, trying to bring her mouth to his.

Though she fought him, twisting, turning, scratching and kicking, he had gotten too tight of a grasp on her and her struggles had little affect against him. “Ay, lassie, ye migh’ as well settle down an’ enjoy it. Yer no goin’ anywhere.”

“I’ll scratch ou’ yer eyes,” she hissed.

“I’m no gonna le’ ye do tha’,” he chuckled. “I jest wan’ a lit’ fun wit’ ye. Hey, wha’ was tha’?”

Cairistine heard a loud thump. It was though something hard had struck a hollow stump. In that same instant, she felt his grip loosen and she pushed herself free, whirling away to flee once more. From the corner of her eye, as she turned, she saw the tall, muscular form of Raghnall stepping into the clearing with a stone about the size of a man’s fist in his hand. He hurled another at her attacker, striking him in the chest.

“Ye, is it!” he bellowed. “I though’ ye were dea’.”

“I’m ver’ much alive,” Raghnall answered, taking several steps forward.

From a safe distance, Cairistine turned to watch the two men begin to circle each other like a pair of highland bulls about to go at it. Though she was glad to be free of the dirty man’s grasp, she feared for Raghnall. He wasn’t well enough to be fighting.

“Ye been patched up, then?”

Raghnall didn’t answer, he reached up, grasped a low branch on a dead pine and pulled down sharply. His muscular chest and shoulders rippled as he pulled away a club and started breaking away the smaller branches. Cairistine could see his ribs, but there was no doubting his weakness. He looked like a lean wolf or wild cat, clearly focused on how to attack his prey. A tingle ran through her at the sight of him and she forgot her worry over him.

“Ye can trim branches from the entire wood, bu’ it no is goin’ te help ye again a sword,” the dirty man announced, drawing out his heavy claymore and raising it up in front of him.

“Raghnall, no!” The shout left her before she had a chance to control it.

“She’s wit’ ye then, eh?” the dirty man laughed. “I’ll finish ye off an’ then have me way wit’ her. Two treats in one day. Killin’ a MacGregor and havin’ that fiery haired…”

His sentence went unfinished as Raghnall attacked.

Chapter 5

Slumped to one knee over the body of the dirty man, Cairistine was sure that Raghnall had reinjured himself and she rushed to him. “Er ye okay?”

“I’ll live,” he panted. He grimaced as he tried to catch his breath and stretch himself against the pain and stiffness in his side, using the hilt of the claymore to force his lean body from the ground.

What she had just witnessed has been nothing short of incredible. Armed with nothing more than a club, Raghnall had forced an attack upon the sword bearing man, dodging wild blows from the sword and delivering precise blows with his thick club. There were moments when Cairistine was certain that Raghnall would be run through or sliced deeply with the wildly flashing claymore, but in each instance, he would somehow contort his body away from the sharp edge and slip in from another angle to deliver a blow. He was savage in his attacks and brilliant in his defense. Though it seemed to last forever from her vantage point, it was over with quickly and the claymore, in the hands of Raghnall, delivered a fatal blow.

It was in the moment of his rising that Cairistine noticed several streaks of blood making trickling from the wound in his side. “You’ve torn away the stitches,” she said, rushing to him to examine his side.

“We’ve got te get him hidden,” he whispered, still working to regain his breath. “An’ then I’ve got te be away.”

“But yer hurt an’ ye need care,” she protested.

“Don’ ye see, Cairistine,” he said, wrinkling his brow. A painful expression came upon his face. “As long as yer near me, ye’ll be fightin’ off the likes o’ him. I have te be goin’.”

“I’m no afraid o’ the likes o’ him,” she replied hotly. “Ain’t a Campbell that has e’er seen the like o’ me.”

“I don’ doubt it, but runnin’ is better tha’ fightin’ fer me,” he replied. “I’ll survive longer.”

He was right, of course, but she didn’t want to give in quite so easily. “At least le’ me have another look a’ yerwoun’ an’ tend te ye before ye go; since yerboun’ te.”

With the body pushed into a low place and covered over with stones and brush, Cairistine filled the small bucket in the spring and the two of them made their way back to the cave, watching closely as they neared its entrance. Satisfied that no one else was around, they entered the cave. Raghnall leaned the sword and sheath that he’d recovered from the dirty man and lowered himself beside the dying fire.

Without another word between them, Cairistine built up the fire, got out another clean rag and moved in close to him to inspect his wound. If the spark between them hadn’t been powerful enough before, it certainly had ignited into a full flame by the time she touched him with the damp cloth. Suddenly, all of the arguments she’d been having inside had gone silent. There was only one, primeval voice inside of her as she caressed his flesh. It was a voice without words to it and it was born of something beyond reason. As she wiped away the blood, she leaned in to kiss the wound.

Raghnall drew in a sharp breath and the muscles of his chest and stomach contracted at the feel of her kiss on his flesh. His reaction only stirred the rising flame inside of her and she began to place even more soft kisses around the wound, listening to how his breathing changed and his flesh responded to each of them. Before long, her kisses were traveling to other parts of his stomach and chest and she was no longer concerned with the condition of his wound as his fingers began to comb through the strands of her hair.

Continuing to move further and further up his chest with her tender kisses, she felt the nervous hammering of her heart inside her chest and dryness in her throat. She worked at moistening her lips before each kiss, finding that it was becoming harder and harder to breathe as well. When her mouth drew near to his, she hesitated and looked up into his eyes.