The Wolf and the Highlander (Highland Wishes) (26 page)

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Riggs crouched at the top of a hill and gazed in the direction of their camp. Cold wind stirred his hair and the long grass around him. The moon hid behind a thick blanket of clouds, but he could feel exactly where it was. Its fullness called to his soul. There would be rain soon.

Anya knew it. Below, she was getting ready, pounding stakes into the ground with a rhythmic
tink-tink-tink
, using the trackers’ supplies to make a tent for them to lie under.

He watched her wield a good-sized rock as a hammer. Her legs were crippled, but her arms were strong. He’d never been near enough to any female other than his mother to study their mannerisms, but men talked. Females liked the men to do everything for them, and the men dashed about to do it all. Not Anya. She liked to work. She wanted to be useful.

“I canna have bairns... All the way through, I’m broken.”

He should be hunting. He’d never felt less like it. He sniffed the air, halfheartedly searching for a scent to pursue, but the salty scent of Anya’s silent tears lingered in his nostrils.

Could he be mistaken about who she was? Was it a coincidence she resembled King Magnus’s portrait? Did Danu have another delicate, chestnut-haired beauty up her sleeve?

The scent of plains hare tickled his nose. He didn’t get up to follow it.

Anya began collecting bracken for firewood, cloaked against the cold, limping, piling her arms as full as she possibly could before delivering each load to their campsite. There were no large trees to provide fallen limbs, only bushes and dry, scrubby growth. Hands on her hips, she frowned at the pile she’d accumulated. It wouldn’t burn long enough to cook that hare he smelled, let alone the feast he wished he could prepare her this night and every other. She eyed his axe, picked it up, tested its weight. When she took it to a shrub and began hacking awkwardly at the base, he felt himself smile.

The female King Magnus had dreamt about was supposed to have a paw print on her cheek. Anya’s scars were jagged lines that could have been claw marks, but it had been rock to carve them into her, not a wolf. The female in the portrait wore a gemstone, a gift from the goddess, in a chain around her neck. Anya’s stone was in her pocket, and had been given to her by a man, not a goddess.

He’d never seen the portrait with his own eyes, only heard about it from Vorish and that barkeep in Figcroft, then later in a report from the palace. King Magnus had described it so the entire nation would be watching for the savior Danu had promised them. One detail appeared in the report that he hadn’t heard at the pub. The female King Magnus had dreamt about had been holding a baby, and on the baby’s head was a crown.

The scent of the hare vanished on the wind. He plucked a blade of grass and twirled it between finger and thumb.

Anya couldn’t have children. What could be more certain than that? She could not be the one King Magnus had dreamt about. She was not the savior Danu had promised.

He should feel sorrow. His people were still without hope.

He felt only hunger. For her. His arms ached to hold her. His body yearned to mate with her. His heart craved her devotion. He wanted to earn it every day for the rest of his life.

She didn’t seem broken to him. She seemed whole and perfect. Perfectly lovely. Completely desirable.

Having given up on the trunk of the shrub, she chopped the thinner side branches, holding the axe far too close to the head to do any good. He purred with pleasure at her refusal to give up the lost cause.

She was everything beautiful and alive. She was the only thing worth living for. And there was nothing now to stop him from having her. It would not be disloyal. He would not face imprisonment. There was no penalty for mating outside of contract with a female past her time of breeding, as long as she consented.

Anya could not have children. That didn’t matter to him. He loved her. He would have her. Tonight. Every night. Until the end of days.

He stood and strode down to his lady.

She heard him before she saw him. Her shoulders jumped. She spun around, her eyes wide with surprise.

He plucked the axe from her hands and tossed it away. Then he took her in his arms and covered her mouth with his.

One second, Anya had been cursing under her breath at the surprising difficulty of chopping apart a bush with an axe—weren’t the bloody things meant for cutting wood? The next, she heard stirring in the grass behind her, and her heart lunged into her throat. She’d thought it might be a wild animal or a villager sneaking up on her to take her away from Riggs again. When she’d whirled around to find Riggs bearing down on her, his eyes glittering in the night, she’d opened her mouth to ask why he wasn’t hunting. But the question never made it out.

He’d ripped the axe from her grasp and sealed his lips over hers, effectively obliterating her ability to speak or think. Until she remembered she’d just taken away his hope. He shouldn’t be showing her affection. He should hate her, or at least be disappointed in her.

Tension made her shoulders creep up around her ears and her hands fist in his shirt. She pushed at him, affecting no change in his posture whatsoever. She wrenched her mouth away. “What the bloody hell are you doing? Why are you wearing clothes?”

He buried his face in her neck and kissed her there, making her shiver all over. “Do you prefer me naked, lady?”

Aye, she did. A lass would have to be blind not to prefer Riggs naked, but she wasn’t about to admit it. She’d admitted enough tonight. “
Och,
you ken what I mean. You should be finding our dinner.”

“Later.” He picked her up and carried her to where she’d made a shelter from the trackers’ bedrolls. “Unless you’re hungry.” He ducked underneath and laid her down. With his lips, he nipped her neck and shoulder. His big hands worked the fastening of her trews. “Are you hungry, Anya?” His voice was a low rumble. He wasn’t talking about food.

Her head spun. What was happening? He was acting like a man intent on tupping when until this moment, he’d often been affectionate with her but never outright insistent.

Realization hit her like a kick from a mule. He’d resisted tupping her out of respect for his king. But now he kent she wasn’t a fit gift for his king. Now he thought to use her as a whore was meant to be used.

So be it. She wanted this. And he had earned it. He’d fought for her, nearly died for her. What better price could a crippled whore ask for than such valiant protection? Let him have this. She was good at this. Good
for
this, even if she was good for naught else.

He worked her shirt out of her trews, the fabric lightly scratching. His palm was even rougher than the linen when he slid it up to cup one breast.
Och,
his touch there. ’Twas so much more than skin deep. It melted all the way through to her heart.

Doona let your heart feel this, lass. Enjoy it, but doona enjoy it overmuch or you’ll regret it when he leaves you in Chroina.

He lifted her shirt and nuzzled her. The heat from his bruised cheek seared her skin. His beard scraped with delicious friction. Aye, this was what she’d been craving—tender intimacy with her wolf-man.

Och,
there she went thinking of him as hers again,
feeling
as if he were hers.
Foolish lass.

But how could she not
feel
when his affection poured over her like a flood? When he was who he was? Her friend, her rescuer,
hers.

She couldn’t lie to herself. Her heart was in this. Completely. It had been since the moment she’d first laid eyes on him. She’d merely been afraid to admit it because the thought of his rejection had been too much to bear.

A groan rumbled from his throat. “So soft,” he said. “So beautiful.”

He wasn’t rejecting her now. He wanted her. But for how long? Tonight only? For the first time in her life, it mattered if the man’s wanting of her left off with the curing of his cock-stand.

She curled her fingers in his hair and yanked him up. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to mate with you.” He parted her legs and settled between them.

A flutter of excitement spread from her stomach outward, but it wasn’t enough. “Why? Because I’m good for nothing else? You’ll take me here, tonight, and then what? We continue on to Chroina as if it never happened? You’ll leave me there and return to your cabin.”

He stilled. “Is that what you think? That I want you for one night, maybe two, then I’ll leave you alone in a city where you know no one.”

“That’s precisely what you were planning to do an hour ago.” An extremely practical plan, considering the state of his people. If she could be of use to his king, she would have gone willingly. For Riggs.

The sound of his breathing filled her ears. He cupped her head in both his hands, supporting himself on his elbows. “Anya. Sweet Anya.” He sighed. “I will still take you to Chroina, because you won’t be safe anywhere else.”

She closed her eyes. ’Twas no more than she’d expected. But an inconvenient disappointment squeezed her heart.

His thumb stroked her ear. “But I won’t leave you. Not ever.”

She blinked. Searched for his eyes in the darkness. There they were, dark and near and earnest. Surely she’d misheard. “What did you say?”

“I won’t leave you. I’ll stay with you in Chroina. If you’ll have me.”

“For how long?”

“Always.”

“But your cabin, your tanning.” He’d leave it all behind? For her?

“I’ll enlist as a soldier. I’ll provide for you. Not as well as a king, but well enough. You’ll want for nothing.”

She scoffed. She cared naught about possessions. She cared about his happiness. “But ’tis where you lived with your da. ’Tis your home. Your land.”

“You’re my home.”

Saints above. He stole her breath with his conviction.

“But there are laws. You told me exclusive pairs were forbidden.”

“That only goes for women still having their seasons. Most of the women left are old. Many of them have taken a permanent lover, some more than one. When a woman’s seasons are ended, she is free to choose her own men. Your time has passed. You are free to choose. Choose me. Pledge yourself to me. You have my pledge already.”

His pledge? “You’re speaking of pledgemates.” Like in the story he’d told her about Aine and Gregor. It had seemed to her a wolf-man’s version of marriage.

He nuzzled her cheek. “Yes.”

He wanted her for his wife. He wanted much more than a tup. He wanted
her
. Her heart pounded. “But I canna give you bairns.” What man of sound mind took a wife he kent was barren?

“If you could, I would be obligated to give you to my king. Since you can’t, I can have you. By the moon, I want you so badly. Say yes. Say it.”

A wee tremor went through his hands. He was nervous. He thought she might say no.

She’d be a bloody fool to say no.

All her life her highest goal was to be wanted. She’d set her aim high, seeking the affections of her laird, and when he’d refused her, she’d seduced the Keith’s war chieftain. If a powerful man wanted her, it would mean she was truly lovable. The love of a powerful man would be enough to erase the ache of her mother’s leaving. Or so she’d hoped. Unfortunately, no amount of male affection seemed to fill that defect in her heart.

Riggs was not a laird or a war chieftain. He possessed no wealth or position. But he possessed her heart. And it seemed she possessed his.
The enormity of the love between them eclipsed her mother’s leaving until she barely felt the sting anymore.

Regardless of what she’d coveted in the past, the love of this
humble tracker was everything she’d ever truly wanted. Dare she believe she could have him?

So many times she’d risked her pride and been cut down. But she’d never truly risked her heart. If she agreed to what Riggs
suggested, it would give him more power over her than she’d allowed any other man. Could she trust him not to abuse that power?

The night was still. The air smelled heavy. The moon was hidden, but she felt it overhead more acutely than she’d ever felt it before, a lofty weight tugging at her chest.

“Say it,” he urged.

He was Riggs. Her brave, strong, loyal wolf-man. He’d more than earned her trust.

She put her hands on his face. “If you want me—and I think you’re daft for wanting me—then you shall have me. Take me.”

His breath rushed out, as if he’d been holding it. His lips parted. He lowered them to hers.

His body was strung tight, but his kiss was soft. He nipped and moved his head in a gentle rocking motion, like he was making love to her mouth. She was the first woman he’d ever kissed, and he kissed better than any man who had done it before him. He kissed her with passion and honesty. He kissed as if her mouth was a gift, not something to which he was entitled.

Rain started to fall, pattering softly on the wool stretched over them.