The Warrior (12 page)

When he scraped his front teeth over the pad of her thumb, she felt it all the way
to her toes.

“Is this all right?” he asked.

She nodded, and he sucked her forefinger into his mouth. His tongue ran over it, calling
to her mind their tongues entwined in deep kisses. Duncan did it as if he had all
the time in the world—unlike Sean, who had no patience or interest in anything but
grabbing her breasts and pushing inside her.

At first, she had been foolish enough to think Sean would want to please her. When
she tried to show him how, he had been insulted and extremely annoyed. He was a selfish
pig, and that was the least of his faults.

“Whatever you’re thinking about, stop.” Duncan held her face, forcing her to look
into his eyes. This close, she could see the warm golden flecks in them.

With his magic fingers, he began rubbing her temples, soothing the ugly memories away.
He massaged her forehead and the tightness in her neck, then pressed a tender kiss
to her bare shoulder.

“On your stomach,” he said. “I need to rub the salve on your back.”

He rubbed firmly, easing all the aches and pains. Gradually, Moira gave herself over
to the rhythm of his hands. She felt weak, but her weakness did not make her feel
endangered. Hours seemed to pass. When Duncan pushed her hair to the side and kissed
her neck, she started, but then relaxed again.

“Your skin is like satin,” he said, running his fingers over her back in wide, arcing
circles.

Moira felt vaguely guilty, as if she should be doing something to earn his attentions.
But she felt so good, and it had been such a long time since a man had made her feel
good.

Since the day Duncan left her, to be exact.

When Duncan leaned over to kiss her, his hair brushed her shoulder and sent tingles
across her skin. His big hands gripped her hips as his mouth moved down her back.
Old longings stirred deep inside her as his lips reached the base of her spine.

“Mmm” came out of her mouth when he wrapped his hand around her thigh and lightly
bit her bottom. The deep relaxation gradually gave way to a sensual tension that started
between her legs. She wanted him to touch her there like he used to. Instead, he teased
her, holding her thigh in his big hand while running his lips and tongue along the
back of her leg.

He sat up and soothed her once again by massaging her feet and toes. She felt as if
she were floating in a pool of liquid warmth while he moved up her legs with his sure
hands. He could touch her anywhere now, and she would not object. Though she suspected
there was much she did not know about the man Duncan had become, she believed she
still knew him here, in bed.

And the Duncan she knew would want more than her compliance. He would want a full
joining, their pleasure pounding through their bodies and resonating in their hearts
and souls.

Moira rolled onto her back and held her arms out to him.

Duncan made a low sound deep in his throat, and the hungry way he looked at her made
her nipples stand up and tighten. Anticipation and trepidation filled her in equal
measure as she waited for him. Except for the rise and fall of his chest, he remained
frozen above her.

“I want to feel ye on top of me,” she said.

“That would be a verra poor plan,” he said in a strained voice.

“Why?”

“Because I said we would take this bit by bit, and I’m a man who keeps his word.”

Was he?
Duncan had not promised that he would marry her, but he had said he would love her
forever, which to her mind amounted to the same thing.

Those hurts drifted from her mind as Duncan lowered his head to her breast.

“Aye,” she said on a breath as he circled and flicked his tongue over her nipple.
Finally, he sucked the tip of her breast into his mouth. Pleasure sang through her
as her body awakened under his ministrations. Soon she was moaning and arching and
gripping his hair in her hands.

His hand slid up her thigh, and she gasped when his fingers found her center. Tension
built inside her as his fingers circled round and round endlessly. He sucked harder
on her breast, and she felt on the brink of release. She remembered what it was like
and wanted it. Wanted it
right now
.

And yet, flashes of times with Sean made her feel embarrassed and awkward over her
body’s reaction, even while she was so frustrated that she wanted to scream and kick
her legs.

Duncan rose up on his hands and knees and blew on her damp skin, bringing all her
attention to the sensation. Then he lay beside her and began whispering things in
her ear—soothing words at first and then ones that aroused her.

I love the feel of your skin, your hair. Ye are so beautiful, m’ eudail.
My treasure.
It feels so good to touch ye.

While he spoke to her fears and desires, he traced his fingers over her face and throat
and then over her breasts, making her ache for him.

“I want to hear ye find your release,” he said. “Ye know it makes me mad for ye.”

He kissed her hair and the side of her face as he began moving his hand between her
legs again. After all this time, Duncan knew exactly how to touch her.

“Trust me.” His breathing was ragged in her ear as the tension built and built until
she thought she would break in two.

“Oh! Oh!”

Duncan held her tight as her body convulsed in waves of pleasure.
At last.
She felt like weeping with the joy of it. At the same time, her barriers were shaken,
leaving her heart far too vulnerable to him.

Duncan pulled her hard against his chest and kissed her with a fierce passion that
left no doubt that giving her pleasure had excited him. If he wanted to make love
to her fully now, Moira would not be able to say no. But she was afraid to be that
close to him, to be joined as one. She wanted to be like a man and give in to lust
without losing herself.

When Duncan pulled away and took several slow, deep breaths, Moira was both relieved
and disappointed. Then he tucked her head beneath his chin and ran his fingers through
her hair.

As she lay enfolded in his arms, the question pounded in her head like an echo of
his heartbeat against her ear until she had to ask it, though she knew it was a mistake.

“Why did ye leave me?”

His chest rose and fell on a deep breath. She lay very still while Duncan kept her
waiting for an answer he should have had ready.

“Your father found out about us,” he said in a flat voice. “He ordered me to go with
the others to France. He gave me no choice.”

That was not what her father told her, and her father had never lied to her.
Never
. She knew she should not have asked.

Against her will, the things her father said about Duncan on her wedding day went
through her head over and over.
He didn’t deserve ye. That Duncan is bad seed. Blood will out.
Had even her father betrayed her trust? It was one more bitter disappointment, but
she finally accepted that it was possible her father had lied to her.

Yet it changed nothing if Duncan had been commanded to leave. This was the man who
managed to sneak into an unfamiliar castle, pull her dead husband’s body off her,
and carry her away with a hundred warriors chasing them. If Duncan had wanted to,
he could have found a way to come back for her or get word to her to meet him. Instead,
he had sailed off and not returned.

“I missed ye every day,” Duncan said in a soft voice.

He sounded so sincere. Perhaps he had missed her—or at least missed bedding her—but
that had not brought him back any sooner. Nor could it undo one day of her or her
son’s suffering.

Moira was grateful to Duncan for the healing pleasure she found in his arms, and she
would let herself enjoy it. But she would never give him the power to hurt her again.

Duncan watched Moira sleep in the morning light. How long would he have her this time?
He knew he must take her home to Dunscaith as soon as Niall was well enough to leave
and the boat was repaired—but he dreaded it. She was in his arms because she wanted
to forget the terrible things that had happened to her, at least for a while. But
it would end when they left here. Duncan did not know how he would bear it.

Connor had always been a better judge of character than his father and older brother,
and he would make sure that the next chieftain or chieftain’s son she wed was a good
man. Duncan tried to take comfort in this, but he failed miserably.

It made him furious to see the deep purple bruises marring her perfect skin. The bumps
and scratches from her fall yesterday would heal quickly, but he feared the marks
Sean left on her—inside and out—would be with her a long time. Before they parted,
there was something more he needed to do for her.

Moira opened her eyes and stretched, giving him a slow grin.

“Out of bed with ye,” Duncan said. “’Tis time for your lessons.”

“What?” Moira asked with a laugh in her voice, then she waggled her eyebrows at him.
“Will this lesson involve getting splinters in my backside from the door?”

“Is having your wicked way with me all ye can think of, lass?” Duncan asked.

Moira rolled her eyes at him.

“A lass should know how to protect herself,” he said. “Your training in this regard
has been sorely lacking, so I’m going to teach ye how to kill someone with a dirk.”

“That’s the sweetest thing a man has ever said to me,” Moira said in a dead-serious
voice.

Duncan threw his head back and laughed out loud. When Moira laughed with him, Lord
above, it felt good.

“What was your father thinking, not teaching a lass like you how to use a blade?”
he asked.

“A lass like me?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Aye. A lass who runs headlong into danger without a second thought.” Duncan pointed
his finger at her. “Falling down that ravine was not the worst thing that could have
happened to ye roaming about the hillsides on your own.”

“Ach, don’t give me another tedious lecture.” Moira got out of bed naked and stood
with one hand on her hip, as if she meant to torture him. “Just show me how to use
the dirk.”

Duncan retrieved her gown from where it had been drying in front of the hearth and
tossed it to her. “Put it on quickly, or I can’t guarantee we’ll get to the lesson.”

I
’ll be away from Skye for a time,” Alastair Crotach MacLeod told Erik. “When I return,
I’ll want ye to report to me on Hugh Dubh.”

Erik had cultivated informants and heard a whisper that his wily chieftain was negotiating
to change sides in the rebellion and throw his support behind the Crown—for a price.
That would be a wise move now that it was clear the rebellion was failing. What troubled
Erik was that his chieftain had not confided his plans to him.

Still, his chieftain’s absence from Skye would give Erik the opportunity he needed.

“I could take the MacQuillan lad off your hands while you’re gone,” Erik said, taking
care to make it sound as if it were a burden he did not relish.

“Aye, take the lad to Trotternish Castle.” The corner of the chieftain’s mouth lifted
a fraction in what passed for a smile. “We have a duty to train him, but don’t teach
him all ye know—he may be our enemy one day.”

Erik wouldn’t be teaching him anything for long. One less MacDonald male of chieftain’s
blood would be good for the MacLeods, as far as he was concerned. His chieftain didn’t
have the stomach to do what needed to be done, so Erik would do it for him.

At Trotternish Castle, Erik had both the power and the distance from his chieftain
to handle matters as he saw fit. He would be careful, of course, so that the blame
could not be laid at his door.

“No one could match ye as a warrior in your prime,” his chieftain said, standing up
to clamp a hand on Erik’s shoulder.

Erik nodded to acknowledge the compliment, but the
in your prime
remark had cut. Although Erik was closer to fifty than forty now, few men were willing
to challenge him to a fight. He was still stronger than most and twice as devious
as the rest.

Duncan awoke with Moira in his arms. He rested his cheek against the top of her head
and watched the late-afternoon light sift through the crack in the shutters. It had
been years since he felt this content.

For the last three days, he and Moira had barely left the cottage. They had spent
their time alternately napping, practicing with the dirk, and rediscovering interesting
things to do in bed, short of a full joining of their bodies, that, in the end, were
quite satisfying for both of them. It brought him untold joy to watch Moira’s innate
sensuality blossom under his hands.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Duncan sprang out of bed and picked up his claymore from where he kept it at the ready
on the floor.

“What is it?” he called through the closed door.

“’Tis me, Uilleam.”

Duncan opened the door a crack.

“Not dressed, and the day’s nearly over?” Uilleam said. “I suspected that the two
of ye weren’t wed yet, and now I know it for certain.”

Duncan could not help cracking a smile. “What urgent business has ye getting me out
of bed now?”

“Niall has recovered so well that the neighbors are starting to talk about my daughter
Caitlin,” Uilleam said. “If ye don’t get him out of her cottage by morning, they’ll
expect me to demand a wedding—not that Caitlin would agree to it.”

“My boat is ready, so we’ll set sail first thing tomorrow,” Duncan said. “I’m grateful
to your daughter. I hope Niall isn’t troubling her too much. He seems taken with her.”

“He’s not the first,” Uilleam said, shaking his head. “Bring your whistle to Caitlin’s
cottage tonight. We’ll have ourselves a good time drinking whiskey and playing music.”

Duncan felt like celebrating.

Moira tapped her foot to the lively tune the men were playing as she sat with Caitlin
by the hearth. In the morning, they would be on their way home to Dunscaith.

Home
. It had been such a long time.

She glanced at Duncan, and he winked when he caught her gaze on him. She could not
remember ever seeing him so carefree. Playing music brought him such pleasure, and
he truly had a gift for it.

The other men stopped playing, and Duncan strummed his harp.

“Ach, I know this song,” Caitlin said and elbowed Moira.

Goose bumps rose on Moira’s skin as Duncan’s strong voice filled the small cottage.
It was an old tune, but she felt as if he had made up the words to sing just for her.

Duncan set his harp down, said something in Uilleam’s ear, then came to stand in front
of Moira. When she looked up at him, he gave her one of his rare smiles that went
straight to her heart and held out his hand.

“Dance with me, Moira MacDonald.”

“I—”

“Go on, lass!” one of the women called out. “When a man that handsome asks ye to dance,
ye must jump to your feet before he goes looking for a lass who will.”

“There’s only one lass I wish to dance with,” Duncan said, his eyes warm on hers.
“’Tis Moira and none other.”

He said it as if he meant more by it than dancing. Duncan kept saying things like
that to her, suggesting he had not put her out of his heart—as if he were not the
one who left.

“Hurry up lass,” Uilleam said. “We’re ready to play.”

Moira gave Duncan her hand and let him pull her to her feet. A couple of the men moved
the table against the wall, and the small cottage filled with a burst of music.

The joy in life that she used to feel every day spread through her as she and Duncan
skipped and hopped, arm in arm, in a tight circle in the tiny room. Duncan made a
travesty of the footwork, but his body moved with a natural grace to the rhythm of
the music. When he twirled her in his arms, Moira let her head fall back, laughing.

The door opened and closed as people from the neighboring cottages squeezed in to
hear the music and watch the dancing. Those who weren’t playing clapped. Moira and
Duncan danced until she was sweaty and breathless. Duncan was not even breathing hard.

“Please,” she gasped, “I can’t anymore.”

Duncan found an empty space on one of the benches and pulled her onto his lap.

“I can sit on my own,” she said.

“There aren’t enough seats,” he said, still smiling. She couldn’t resist him when
he was lighthearted like this; it was so unexpected.

Caitlin came around with cups of whiskey.

“
Cha deoch-slàint, i gun a tràghadh!
” It’s no health if the glass is not emptied!

Moira tossed it back. The third time the whiskey was passed, Moira shook her head.
Her head was spinning pleasantly.

“Ach, I’m so hot!” She fanned herself with her hand.

“Let’s take a stroll outside to cool off,” Duncan said.

Before she could answer, he was walking her out the door. When he paused to lift their
cloaks from the pegs, Moira thought she caught Uilleam giving Duncan a wink.

The cool night air felt good on her hot cheeks. For once, it wasn’t drizzling or blowing.

“Ah, that was lovely,” she said. Except for Ragnall not being here, everything was
perfect tonight.

Moira felt a bit unsteady on her feet and was grateful when Duncan put his arm around
her. Being with him was so easy. She did not have to watch what she said or even speak
at all. Though she knew she had felt exactly this way before he left her, she pushed
that worry aside for now. Tonight she felt happy, and she was just going to let herself
enjoy it.

“That was a short walk,” she teased him when he took her straight to their cottage
at the end of the row.

Anticipation ran through her as she watched Duncan light a candle, poke at the burning
embers in the hearth, and put fresh peat on the fire. The light from the flames glinted
in his hair. He moved with the ease and sureness of a man whose body was honed and
trained as a weapon to do whatever he asked of it.

Once he had the fire going, Duncan came to where she stood and put his hands against
the wall on either side of her head. She found it hard to breathe as he gazed into
her eyes for a long moment.

“There are a few things we haven’t tried yet,” he said and trailed his finger along
her jaw. “Things ye used to be quite fond of…”

Instead of kissing her right away, he let the tension grow between them until she
wanted his kiss so much that she grabbed hold of his tunic and pulled him to her.

For such a hard-muscled, uncompromising man, his lips were soft. She leaned into him
with a sigh. His arms came around her, not constraining her, but enveloping her in
a delicious warmth.

Duncan held Moira as she slept and wondered if this would be his last time.

He had little more to offer her now than he had when he was nineteen. Though he held
a position of respect as captain of her brother’s guard, respect was not enough to
hold a woman like Moira. She was meant to grace a high table, wear the finest silks,
and have servants to wait upon her. She carried the blood of the Lord of Isles and
the ancient kings before them, while he was the unclaimed son of a MacLeod rapist.

Still, he whispered, “Please God, don’t take her from me. Not again.”