Angel of Skye (16 page)

Fiona struggled only a moment more, realizing the futility of the effort. His brawny arm was a band of steel around her, so she had to satisfy herself with straightening the skirt of her dress and pulling her cloak tightly closed, which allowed her the opportunity to put her elbow squarely in his ribs a number of times in the process.

With a grunt, Alec tightened his grip on her and spurred Ebon into motion.

“I wonder what Father Jack is thinking right now, Lord ‘Steal the Maiden.’”

“I do not see him running out to save you...Maiden.”

“Of course not, the poor dear. He is probably beside himself with distress right now.”

“He is probably beside himself with laughter, telling your friend Walter how you cleverly maneuvered me into giving you a ride.”

“I did no such thing.”

“Clearly, you did. After all, right now I would be heading toward supper at Dunvegan Castle if you had not engaged me in an argument.”

“Engaged you in an argument?” She shook her head with a wry smile and loosened the ties around her neck. The way she was seated on his lap, her cloak pulled, making the cord tighten at her throat. “What a boring life you must lead, m’lord, if you consider our little discussion an argument.”

“Boring? My life is not boring. Stop wiggling and get your elbow out of my ribs.”

“If you would stop trying to squeeze the breath out of me, I might be able to get comfortable.”

“Then promise you won’t vault off this horse and break your neck.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Alec repeated. “Because I’d like to keep that pleasure for myself.”

Fiona pushed back the hood as she turned and smiled up into his tanned face. His blue eyes were kind, and for the first time, she could see the wrinkles crease the corners as his expression gradually relaxed into a smile. The breath caught in her throat as she felt his breath caress her cheek. His grip eased around her waist, and she made no attempt to move away from him.

“In that case, I promise.”

“Good,” he said as Ebon started down a short hill. Alec felt Fiona nestle her shoulder and arm against his chest. Even through the cloak he could feel her begin to relax, in spite of the occasional jouncing of her body against his. His own response, however, was exactly the opposite, and he fought to control the stirring in his loins. This is going to be an interesting ride, he thought.

The path south toward the Priory took them through golden meadows and wooded glens. Everywhere, the droplets of the day’s rains sparkled like diamonds in the golden evening light. In the distance to their right, the sun was resting atop one of two flat-topped, heather-covered peaks that rose above the rolling hills by the coast. Fiona was gazing out toward them, and Alec heard her sigh.

“A bonny sight,” he said, looking down at her.

“Aye,” she replied. “They call that place Healaval. Those are MacLeod’s Tables.”

“The MacLeod chiefs have long been famous for their appetites.” Alec smiled. “But I don’t think even a MacLeod needs a table that large.”

“Hmm...I would say it depends on what is being served,” Fiona suggested innocently.

Alec laughed, and felt his breath shorten as Fiona shifted her weight on his thighs.

“That’s true,” he agreed. “The Macphersons, on the other hand, have always held that the quality of what is being served is more important than the quantity.”

“Well, I guess it simply depends on the individual’s preference, then.”

“Do you want to know what my preference is?” he asked in a low voice that sent a shiver down Fiona’s spine.

“Your preference regarding what, m’lord?” she asked quickly, trying to ignore the warmth of the laird’s body, the hypnotic quality of his tone. Fiona was losing track of their conversation. “Are we talking about food, or the size of tables?”

“Neither.”

“Neither? You are interested in neither?”

She leaned against him, the words suddenly becoming even less important as she became conscious for the first time of his faint masculine smell—so unfamiliar, and yet so oddly pleasing. His legs were hidden beneath her cloak and dress, but Fiona could feel the raw sinews of his thigh muscles pressing against her. Looking down, she realized that her hand was resting on the warlord’s rock-hard forearm that lay across her waist. The contrast of her slender arm and his, so massive and strong, was both disconcerting and exciting.

“I am interested in both, but that is not enough.” Alec’s arm tightened, pulling her snugly against him.

“Not enough?” Fiona tried to focus on what they had been saying, but the pressure of their bodies together was suddenly too much for her. She looked up at him, her eyes dreamily questioning.

“Not enough,” he responded, his eyes searching hers for a sign.

Her look never wavered as his mouth came to within a breath of hers.

“Fiona, how does your order look upon kissing?”

“Kissing?” she whispered, her eyes lingering on the sculpted fullness of his lips.

Alec’s mouth descended upon Fiona’s, and his kiss was gentle, the flesh of his lips pressing lightly against hers, brushing softly across the silky smoothness of the skin.

Fiona’s eyes fluttered at the sensation, and Alec knew that, however her order looked upon it, she had never been kissed before.

She remained motionless, not knowing what to do next. Her body was rigid in his arms, as if lightning had struck her. The flash of brilliance that filled her threatened to burst through her skin. She was being scorched from the inside, and she knew not how to express what she was feeling. Deep within her Fiona could feel a molten spot forming, a white hot seed that startled her with the power of its very presence. With a gasp that barely escaped her, she moved her hand lightly along his arm.

Alec felt the gentle caress of her hand. He tasted her lips, pulling back slightly, but then alighted again. His lips traveled along her cheek, her temple. He could see the way she looked at him, the way her desire and curiosity were carrying her along. When his mouth returned to hers, she was waiting. Her lips moved beneath his, trying to kiss him the way she had been kissed.

This was all the encouragement Alec needed. With raw animal passion, he took possession of her mouth, devouring her lips, tasting, seemingly unable to get enough of her.

And Fiona’s response, her eagerness to learn, continued. Willingly she followed where Alec led, unknowingly and unerringly driving him to greater desires.

An inferno was ablaze within him, but Alec was suddenly conscious that it was a fire that needed to be controlled. He forced his lips away from hers. Lifting his hand to her upturned face, he lay her head gently against his chest, caressing her lips and cheek lightly with his thumb and his fingers. Turning his gaze toward the disappearing sun, the young laird filled his lungs with air in an attempt to conquer the passions now raging in his loins.

In her most rebellious acts, in her wildest dreams, Fiona had not thought this possible. She closed her eyes, resting her head against his broad chest. Feeling the possessive grip of his arm around her waist, the sensuous caress of his chin against her hair, she was suddenly in a world she had never known. Her heartbeat was still drumming in her ears. Fiona ran her tongue across her lips, remembering the texture, the fullness of his lips against hers.

She could feel his strong fingers stroking her side.

She opened her eyes, lifting her head and looking up at his profile. She could see him looking straight ahead, at the horizon. She could see the firm set of his jaw. His look was disconcerting.

“Have I done something wrong?” she asked quietly.

“Of course not,” he said gently, his gaze drifting to her face. “What makes you say that?”

“It seems as though you are upset about something.”

“Fiona, I am not upset.” Upset was the wrong term. In agony is more appropriate, he thought, feeling her firm body resting so comfortably against his.

“Then why, suddenly, you are so serious?”

“I am trying to control...well...”

“Yourself?”

“Aye, myself. I am trying to control myself.”

“From kissing me again?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“Fiona, this is a dangerous time to be reading my mind.”

“Is it? Why?”

“You had better stop asking these questions or you will soon find out.” Alec focused on the shadows that were stretching across the rolling farmlands that led to the Priory.

Fiona looked at him, her eyes widening. If what he talked about had anything to do with kissing, she definitely did not mind that. Sitting there on his lap, she let her eyes roam over his face, his hair, his perfectly shaped ear. Alec Macpherson was a perfect and an incredibly beautiful gentleman.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Fiona dropped her gaze immediately to her lap. “How do you know I was looking at you?”

Alec smiled. They needed to talk about something else. Anything. He needed to occupy himself with something else, before his good intentions went straight to hell.

“Fiona, tell me about your people.”

“The lepers?” she asked, surprised at the shift in the conversation.

“Nay,” he responded. “Your family.”

“I’ve already told you all about the Priory.”

“Not the Priory, your own family,” he said. “Where are you from? Who are your people? Your parents? Or are you really some fairy king’s daughter?”

“Oh, don’t tell me you believe that story.”

“Shouldn’t I? How did it go?”

“Really, m’lord.”

“Let me see.” Alec paused. “Something about a fairy maid who falls in love with and marries a laird. Do I have it right?”

“Nay, that’s just a fairy tale. Not real life.”

“Then you tell me, Fiona. Tell me the tale of you and your kin.”

“There is nothing to tell,” she said simply, her voice echoing an emptiness inside. “I have no one, m’lord.”

Alec stared at her, surprised at her response. His words had visibly disturbed her. Who was she? Orphans were not educated to run convents, as far as Alec knew. But this young woman had been.

“All teasing aside, Fiona, how did you come to be there at the Priory?”

“Walter told you. He found me nearly drowned and took me to there.”

“How old were you then?” Alec thought back over the story Walter had told. Who could have left a child to wander?

“I must have been about five years old. I do not really know for sure.”

Alec envisioned Fiona as a bedraggled waif, crying for her mother on a stormy night. His heart went out to her. No wonder she cared so deeply for the old leper.

“Do you remember anything from before?” he asked, pressing. “Do you even know which clan you came from? There are only MacLeods and MacDonalds on Skye.”

“I come from neither, that I know of. As for before? Well, sometimes bits and pieces come back to me, but I do not recall anything that makes sense.” Fiona gazed with unseeing eyes as they drew near the perimeter of the Priory village. “Water. I remember being in cold, cold water. It felt like days, but I know it wasn’t. Before that, I do not...I cannot...”

Fiona closed her eyes. She did not want to remember. She did not want the nightmares to return.

Alec could see the distress in her expression. He dropped the rein and gathered her to him with both arms. Her hands circled his waist. She buried her face in the crook of his neck. The black charger slowed and stopped.

They held one another for a long time, neither speaking. The evening was descending around them, and Fiona sat, comforted by the support of his nearness. She could hear the night sounds that she knew so well beginning to creep into the air. The bark of the dog, the cry of the owl. Fiona felt the troubles of her unknown past slipping away now. For the moment, at least, here in this man’s embrace, Fiona was safe.

“I didn’t speak for a long time...almost a month, they tell me. The prioress did not know if I could even talk. But I could cry. And David says I did a lot of that.”

She smiled faintly as she lifted her head from his shoulder. She was feeling stronger, brighter, more herself.

“But I don’t cry very much anymore.”

“And you have also overcome your hesitation about talking, Fiona,” he teased, adding, “I am happy to say.”

“Are you saying, Lord Alec, that I talk too much? Proverbs tells us that a word spoken in due season—”

“Nay, lass, I should say you are just perfect.”

Fiona lifted her face, surprised at the quiet strength in his voice. As she did, his mouth once again took hers—gently sucking her lower lip as he pressed her tightly to his chest.

Alec found himself enchanted by this young woman. When he was near Fiona, it was as if another power were taking possession of him. Even as his lips were joined with hers, he knew he had to go slowly, gently, for fear of frightening her off. And then a conscious thought suddenly flashed in his brain: he was wooing her. He was concerned with her feelings, with her response to a simple kiss because he was pursuing her—pursuing this innocent. And he did not deny it.

The world closed in around Fiona as her body molded softly to his. The darkness wrapped itself warmly around them. And there was no one in that world but the two of them. Her arm slipped under his shoulder and she felt the rippling muscles of his back. Fiona felt a jolt of excitement travel through her, and then it was she who was kissing him.

This has to stop, he thought, suddenly aware of the pulsing whir that was growing in his head. It was the beginning of a roar that he knew would soon block out all sounds. Of a desire that would soon be uncontrollable. This has to stop now.

Pulling his face away from hers, he reached behind his back and took her hands in his. Bringing them to his lips, he kissed the tips of her fingers, the palms of her hands. He looked into her face and took a deep breath.

“We need to get you home.”

Fiona paused, her mind gradually clearing of the sensuous wisps that were hanging like a mist in her vision.

“Come out to the bluffs with Malcolm and me tomorrow,” Alec said quietly.

“To the bluffs? But you’re going out there to capture a hawk,” she protested mildly.