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“Ah lass, are ye widowed, then?” His voice was so full of sympathetic concern that I lost control entirely.
“No … yes … I mean, I don’t … yes, I suppose I am!” Overcome with emotion and tiredness, I collapsed against him, sobbing hysterically.
The lad had nice feelings. Instead of calling for help or retreating in confusion, he sat down, gathered me firmly onto his lap with his good arm and sat rocking me gently, muttering soft Gaelic in my ear and smoothing my hair with one hand. I wept bitterly, surrendering momentarily to my fear and heartbroken confusion, but slowly I began to quiet a bit, as Jamie stroked my neck and back, offering me the comfort of his broad, warm chest. My sobs lessened and I began to calm myself, leaning tiredly into the curve of his shoulder. No wonder he was so good with horses, I thought blearily, feeling his fingers rubbing gently behind my ears, listening to the soothing, incomprehensible speech. If I were a horse, I’d let him ride me anywhere.
This absurd thought coincided with my dawning realization that the young man was not completely exhausted after all. In fact, it was becoming embarrassingly obvious to both of us. I coughed and cleared my throat, wiping my eyes with my sleeve as I slid off his lap, realizing I, too, was not as exhausted as I thought.
“I’m so sorry … that is, I mean, thank you for … but I …” I was babbling, backing away from him with my face flaming. He was a bit flushed, too, but not disconcerted. He reached for my hand and pulled me back. Careful not to touch me otherwise, he put a hand under my chin and forced my head up to face him.
“Ye need not be scairt of me, Claire,” he said softly. “Nor of anyone here, so long as I’m with ye.”
I felt an odd sense of intimacy with this young Scottish stranger, due in part to a few things—to the dreadful story about his imprisonment he just shared with me, to my sobbing uncontrollably in his arms, and to our long ride through the dark, pressed together in drowsy silence. I had not slept with many men other than my husband, but I had noticed before that to sleep, actually sleep with someone, did give this sense of intimacy, as though your dreams had flowed out of you to mingle with his and fold you both in a blanket of unconscious knowing. A throwback of some kind, I thought. In older, more primitive times, it was an act of trust to sleep in the presence of another person. If the trust was mutual, simple sleep could bring you closer together than the joining of bodies.
His hand reached out as though to touch my face again, but he seemed to think better of it; the hand wavered and dropped to his side. Apparently, he had felt that intimacy too.
“You need somethin’ hot, lass,” he said matter-of-factly, moving to the table where Mrs. Fitz had left us food, “and a bit to eat as well. Something in your belly will help more than anything.”
I laughed shakily at his attempts to pour broth one-handed, and went to assist. He was right; food did help. We sipped broth and ate bread in a companionable silence, sharing the growing comfort of warmth and fullness.
Finally, he stood and motioned me toward the bed. “Do ye sleep a bit, Claire. You’re worn out, and likely someone will want to talk wi’ ye before too long.”
This was a sinister reminder of my precarious position. “Who?”
“The MacKenzie, no doubt.”
The MacKenzie. The chieftain all else answered to—including the likes of Dougal. The thought of someone questioning me, someone even more formidable than those I’d already encountered, had a fresh wave of exhausted tears falling down my face.
“It’ll be all right, lass.”
Would it be? What if I couldn’t get back home? What if I was stuck here forever?
I’d suffered a laundry list of terrible injustices in the last day—I was kidnapped, assaulted, threatened, and demeaned repeatedly; what would happen when those of substantial power got their hands on me? Jamie’s kindness seemed to be the exception rather than the rule in this century, at least in my limited experience, and I couldn’t count on anyone’s mercy.
I sat on the bed, silently crying, hands trembling with fear.
“Claire…” Jamie whispered, sitting beside me. He placed a steady hand on my back.
“I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m no one of significance. I cannot fathom why I’m here. All I want is to return home safely.” The tears fell even harder. “What if he—” I couldn’t bear to finish the thought.
And again, I was wrapped in Jamie’s embrace, hearing the unintelligible, comforting sounds that flowed out of him with ease and melting into the warm security his solid body provided.
“Ye helped me, Claire,” he whispered. “I thought I’d be left there at the cottage, forced to choose my fate between a hell on earth or one in eternity.” His voice was muffled in my hair as he made a promise, “I’ll do the same for you. I willna let Colum, Dougal, or anyone else cause ye harm. I swear it.”
I looked up at him. His eyes were shining with sincerity, and his large, strong body—one littered with wounds and scars—told me his words were not given idly.
This time, he didn’t stop himself from touching my face. He wiped my tears away with his thumb, then cupped my cheek with great delicacy.
“Rest, a nighean. Ye’ll be safe here wi’ me.”
I was reluctant to pull away, only feeling secure in his arms. He noticed, thankfully, and moved so he could lean back against the pillows at the head of the bed. My body followed naturally, as though I hardly had a choice in the matter, the way animals seek shelter in a flood or storm.
It had been that way since the moment he wrapped me in his plaid. I’d only just met him, yet something inside me recognized a goodness that seemed to be aimed at me specifically. I hardly knew him, but I trusted him to keep me safe, just as he promised.
With my head on his good shoulder, and his arm holding me in place, I fell asleep, dozing to thoughts that it wasn’t such a terrible thing that my protector was so handsome. It was a small pleasure in a world that seemed to hold so little of it anywhere else.
I woke with a start, rising up on my knees quickly and squinting in the dark.
“Sorry, lass,” Jamie whispered. “My arm was aching something fierce.” He squirmed to adjust his body to find comfort, wincing at the pain.
“Let me check on that.” I leaned over him, peering under the bandage to assess for infection. It seemed to be healing quite well under the circumstances, though it was a little dark to know for sure.
“Dinna fash.” His warm breath was soft on my cheek. “It’s better now.”
“Are you sure?” I turned to look at him. “I could light a candle and—”
“It’s fine, Claire. Come. Lie back down.”
I held his gaze a moment, knowing the disposition of bloody heroes and wanting to be sure he was telling the truth. The softness in his eyes told me he was sincere. I felt his jaw, nice and relaxed, not at all clench up in pain.
He leaned into my touch sweetly, and I couldn’t help a small smile. His beard was soft against my hand, as though he hadn't had a chance to shave in weeks.
The man was taken with me, that much was clear. Perhaps I was taken with him too. Frank would understand, especially after that conversation he’d had with me about dalliances in the war.
Jamie was staring at my mouth, and I could tell by his slight twitch forward that he wanted to kiss me but held himself back. My body seemed to move of its own accord, and I leaned forward to press my lips against his. He went very still save for his hand on my back that twitched and trembled lightly.
I was surprised by how much I liked it. I’d kissed plenty of men in the war years, but none that made me all that eager for more. I looked up into his eyes before kissing him a second time, wanting to be sure he thought it all right. The way he leaned forward as I pulled away told me he did.
I kissed him again, gently sucking on his soft bottom lip. His whole body woke up, trembling at the softest touch of my tongue. His hand found its way to my hair and pressed me firmly against him, as though trying to dissuade any thoughts of stopping.
He tilted his head, and his mouth sealed over mine, licking between my lips. He had a way with his tongue that made my body weak, or perhaps it was the exhaustion. Either way, I could hardly hold myself up any longer and rested on his chest.
His warm skin was a pleasure to touch, something I hadn’t paid much mind to while tending to his wounds. He had a warrior’s body with a lover’s hand, and he used it to trace my curves and hold me tight.
A shift of my hips showed me how badly he wanted me, and I was hardly in a better state. He wore nothing but a kilt and a few bandages, and the realization made me sweat with desire.
Frank did cross my mind, however briefly, and I pushed the thought of him away, reasoning that I might never make it back to him, that he’d given me permission and forgiveness for such a thing already, and that he wasn’t even alive, making our vows obsolete. Jamie’s firm grip on my arse drove him out of my mind entirely.
I felt safe with this man. I felt close to him—an unfathomable intimacy stronger than anything I’d thought possible with an almost stranger. I wanted him badly.
I reached under his kilt to cup his balls. He sucked in a breath and growled loudly, his hand so tight on my bum, he was sure to leave bruises.
Encouraged, I rose up to slide off my undergarments. His breath was so fast and shallow as he watched that I was afraid the blood flow to his cock was too much for his injuries.
The fierce look in his eyes told me it was not.
I moved my leg over his body to straddle him, only mildly regretting that he was too injured to hold himself up over me. He held my gaze as I took his cock and slipped his head inside me.
He grunted like a bull and both hands grabbed my hips, slamming me down on his pelvis. I only had a moment of clarity to consider how much pain that must have caused his arm before pleasure stole over my brain.
He bared his teeth, and short, quick breaths escaped his nostrils. I ran my hands over his chest and rolled my hips, pulling away and rocking back forward. He lifted his head to watch me slide over him—one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen—then closed his eyes and threw his head back in tormented pleasure.
I bent forward and kissed his chest while I rode him, delirious with exhaustion and drunk off the way he made me feel. His hand gripped my hair and brought me to his mouth, desperate for my kiss.
I’d never kissed anyone that way, like I needed them. Like I wanted to pull them inside me and keep them there forever.
I opened my eyes and found him watching me, tongue still stroking mine, cock still knocking against my cervix. His eyes bored into me with a promise, a commitment, but of what, I had no clue.
I rubbed my clit on him over and over until my insides squeezed so tight, the world around me began to dissolve.
“Oh God, oh Claire!” He held my hips as though shocked at the constricting claim my body imposed on him.
His eyes glazed over as he came inside me. I contracted around him, relishing just how full I felt with him there.
I sank down into the curve of his good arm, releasing my hold on his cock. His arm came tight around me, as though once again fearful I might take off.
“That was…” he started.
“Unexpected?”
“Wonderful.”
We looked at each other, smiling, both still catching our breath. I kissed him, surprised by the delight his lips gave my heart.
We had little to say so late at night, so our bodies did most of the talking. Kissing Jamie was a pleasure best enjoyed silently, ignoring the reality that was sure to face me in the morning. I couldn’t help thinking that if he was this good with his body when injured, I couldn’t wait to share his bed when he was healed.
“What is it about you,” I asked, drifting off on his chest, “that brings me so much peace in such an awful situation?”
“I dinna ken, mo nighean donn, but I intend to make ye feel it as often as I can.”
“Hopefully the MacKenzie doesn’t throw me in the dungeon then.” I smiled sleepily. The thought of danger being near when wrapped in Jamie’s arms was laughable. “Or we won’t have much opportunity.”
“Dinna fash. He’d be a fool to do such a thing to his niece.”
“Pardon?” I must have already been dreaming. I thought he called me the chieftain’s niece.
“We’ll handfast come morning, and they’ll have no choice but to turn ye over to my care.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it sounded lovely. I fell asleep with only a passing thought of Frank, hoping he wasn’t too terribly worried about me.