Beloved Warrior (26 page)

Instead of backing away, he pulled her into his arms.

To comfort her.

Who in the devil did he think he was kidding?

He needed her as much as she might need his comfort.

He did not deserve it. When had he thought about her? He had made sure she stayed alive. And physically unhurt. But he hadn’t fully considered the ravages to her life. He had taken everything from her, including her freedom.

And he had no answers for her. No solutions. No schemes. No strategies. No hope.

Now that the Campbell had found his way here, the danger to him, to his clan, to his fellow oarsmen, had grown. Jamie Campbell had seen her. He’d probably seen some of the Moors by now. Not only that, his clansmen had reported seeing a galleon. The English and Scots did not have ships powered by oars.

He leaned down and rested his cheek on her hair. It was newly washed and smelled fresh and sweet. For a moment, all the pain and loneliness of the past years eased. She was soft. So soft.

Waves of tenderness cascaded through his body, something he’d never felt with a woman before. Those feelings had been building over the past few days, from the moment, he now realized, he’d first seen her. Her gallantry, her readiness to do battle on behalf of her servant and herself despite her terror, had resounded deep inside him.

Touching her again was probably the most foolish thing he had ever done, and he did not care. From the moment he’d touched her lips days ago, he knew it had not been enough. God knew he had tried to stay away, but compulsion kept him coming back.

He pulled her even closer to him. He felt her every breath, her every heartbeat. Her body melted into his as if it belonged there. And then she lifted her face, her expression full of both wonder and question.

God’s blood, but she was appealing. Her eyes were incredibly wide, the violet ring deeper, the blue-gray ever so clear. He leaned down and his lips touched hers. He meant it to be brief, but his lips hesitated and then responded to the yielding of her mouth.

Her hand went around his neck as he bent his head to kiss her. Her fingers ran through his hair, playing enticing games with the sensitive skin of his neck. Nothing had prepared him for the overwhelming hunger, the excruciating hunger that hardened his body. Her smallest touch was like a torch to him, her slightest movements against him firing new blazes until the ache inside became unbearable.

His blood turned to currents of liquid fire, searing every bone, every muscle. Despite the raging desire in him, he moved slowly, his hands gentle as he stroked the back of her neck.

She was a virgin. He knew that from the uncertainty of her reactions. And she was another man’s betrothed. If he deflowered her, he might forever ruin her life. Devil take it, he probably already had.

“Patrick,” she said in a voice that was part moan.

Not here.
Carmita wandered in and out, and so did his sisters-in-law. As did the young lass Audra and Manuel and . . .

He sighed, pulled back slightly and delighted in watching her. Her eyes were glazed with passion, her lips swollen from his kisses. He watched as the edge of her tongue licked them, moistening them. Her cheeks were flushed, and a curl had come loose from the pins and tumbled down the side of her face.

She was a bedeviling combination of innocent and seductress, and, quite simply, the most desirable woman he had ever seen.

How could he let her go?

A groan started in the back of his throat.

“Do not go,” she whispered.

“Juliana,” he rasped in a hoarse whisper. The want, the raw, ragged desire that was pure exquisite pain burgeoned into something close to agony. “Unwise,” he murmured helplessly. “So unwise.”

 
JULIANA’S breath caught in her throat as he hesitated.

She did not want him to hesitate.

She found herself leaning toward him, her body seeking his warmth, the promise of relief from the aching need inside her. But the tenseness was still in his body, and she knew he was fighting against the attraction that was so powerful between them.

“Do not go this time,” she said in a voice that did not sound like hers.

“I have done enough damage to you,” he replied, his fingers touching her cheek with a sweetness and tenderness she hadn’t expected. But instead of quelling the need inside, it served only to inflame her more.

“You will do more if you leave,” she said shamelessly. She was not thoroughly aware of what she wanted. She only knew the craving inside was too strong, too deep, too compelling to be left unsatisfied. Her insides burned for him, the pressure growing until she thought she would shatter into a million pieces.

“The devil take it,” he said in a low, barely intelligible mutter, and she knew she had won.

He released her and went to the door, turning the bolt.

She watched, reveling in his presence, the way he so filled the room just by being there. Then he returned and touched her again. She could not prevent a whimper as his fingers untied the back of her gown, and it fell to the floor, leaving only her underdress and chemise covering her.

His fingers played with a strand of hair, and he rubbed it against her neck, his hand moving along her pulse and dipping toward her breast in a slow, seductive movement that inflamed every part of her body.

She leaned against him, feeling an odd sense of belonging that contradicted all the pulsating sensations building in her. She felt the thump of his heart, the heat of his body, and she looked up and knew the pleasure of simply gazing at him. Nothing else mattered now as her lips lifted to meet his. She no longer had a will of her own. It was mixed with his, surrendered to the stronger need of their bodies.

He muttered something she could not hear as his lips reached for hers, then burned their imprint on her consciousness. The kiss was hungry. Ravenous.

Any reservations Juliana might have had disappeared as the kiss deepened and the yearning between them exploded. His tongue entered her mouth and she welcomed it with her own, instinctively exploring and seeking and delighting in the discoveries. The warm rush she’d felt earlier was nothing compared to the heat now flooding her. An uncontrollable tingling started in the core of her being and swelled to encompass all of her.

Her gaze darted upward and she was consumed by eyes that now burned with fire. Her heart raced as new sensations ran through her. Soft, longing ones. Fiery, demanding ones.

Again her mother’s words came to her. But she no longer believed them. Nothing bad could come of these glorious feelings. She savored every taste, feeling, touch. She wanted to hold them all to her heart forever.

The kiss was enough for a few moments, and then a new wanting gnawed at her. Her body moved closer, so close she felt his heart beat against hers. She felt his hunger and wondered at her own. How could she so want something she’d never had?

She wanted to utter love words, endearments. But she was afraid. He had never mentioned love, or sweet words. Everything in the past few days told her he was fighting the attraction they had for one another. She did not want him to run again.

But it was so hard. She wanted to say so much. To ask so much. To know why she was feeling as she was, and where it led. She wanted words of love, of tenderness, but she knew in his eyes they were still opponents of sorts. He did not surrender easily.

This may not last beyond these hours, but she wanted whatever she could take. She wanted to hold these feelings and sensations in her mind and heart. She wanted to remember moments of joy and tenderness and passion.

His kiss deepened, became almost savage, and she returned it with as much fervor.

Then she was aware he was removing his thick belt and it fell away with a clunk, then his plaid fell as well. He stood there in a long linen shirt that outlined the muscled beauty of his body. Her fingers went to the opening at his neck and touched the warm skin. She felt a tremor run through his body.

He groaned and yet his hands were gentle as they ran along her body. Her legs almost gave way as his mouth went down to her neck and he kissed her throat.

His head lifted from where he had been nuzzling her throat, and his eyes met hers as his hands moved to her underdress. There was a question in them now. And emotion. She could finally see it clearly. There was no curtain hiding his feelings. Instead there was a fierce, hungry light in them.

She swallowed hard. They had started a blaze together, and there was no stopping it. His hands untied her underdress and it fell to the ground, leaving only her chemise. Then that, too, was gone.

An unbearable tension was building inside. He paused, and she saw the hesitation in his eyes, even reluctance. Yet she continued to feel the tremors in his body. He wanted her.

“Please,” she said, simply because she did not know what else to say. She did not know what to do next. She only knew she had to have it.

He muttered something before his mouth ground into hers. His tongue entered her mouth, deliciously voracious as it tantalized, then his lips moved to her neck, nuzzling, murmuring her name.

Before she could quite assess all the new feelings those movements provoked, she felt his lips on her breast, felt the incredible sensations as her nipple hardened and ached with his touch. She shivered as his mouth played with it, his tongue teasing until she could no longer stand the sweet pain of it.

She found her own fingers pulling off his shirt, touching the wiry reddish hair that sprung from his chest, which was now both warm and moist. She moved her head so it rested on his heart, and she heard its beat, steady and strong.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, then he was kissing her again, his mouth moving down her body, making her glow. Her body sizzled with every touch, aching for more, yet still savoring every second of what was happening.

When she thought she could bear no more, he touched and caressed the triangle of hair between her legs. His fingers entered the most private part of her, and she felt a wetness, then waves of the strangest pleasure. He lifted himself above her and the male part of him moved seductively until, in agony, she reached around him and pulled him toward her.

He entered slowly and she was shocked at the fullness of him. A sudden, sharp pain caused her to cry out, and he stopped, his body stiffening. The surprise had caused her cry, but after a few seconds, the pain receded, eclipsed now by her need for him.

The pain eased as did the strangeness of his body becoming part of her own. Yet he had not moved. Her hands urged him down again as her body arched up, seeking to bring him deeper inside her, to reestablish that communion they had. “Do not go,” she whispered.

He stilled, then began to move again, slowly, tenderly, until their hunger matched again, and she caught his rhythm and responded with movements of her own. She throbbed with wonderful feelings, with the instinctive responses that brought him deeper and deeper into the core of her. He thrust faster and they were both racing, racing toward something Juliana knew was waiting for her. Then it came, a glorious explosion of sensation. Torrents of pleasure flooded through her.

He lay quietly for several moments. They both did, letting the aftermath of passion ripple through them.

She touched his face. “I never knew,” she whispered.
“Madre . . .”
She stopped, not sure how to go on.

His gaze, lazy with lovemaking and warmer than she’d ever seen it, rested on her. “Your
madre
. . . ?” he prompted.

“She . . . she was wrong.” She felt tears gather behind her eyes. A sorrow that her mother had never known what she had just experienced. No matter what happened now, she would know the glory of sweetness and fire.

His finger touched the edge of her eye, wiping the tear away. “I am sorry,” he said. “I did not intend to hurt you.”

“Oh, no,” she said, horrified that he misunderstood. “I have no regret. Never. It . . . is glorious. It is just that she never knew it. She warned me that a wifely duty was to be . . . endured.”

“I think sometimes she might be right,” he said, running his finger along her cheek.

“Have you . . . ever felt this way before? I mean,” she added hurriedly, “does a man feel . . . ?” She stopped. She did not know how to continue, how to explain all the sensations she was still feeling.

“Nay, Juliana. I think it is something rare.” He leaned down and kissed her nose with a bemused smile on his face. “Now I understand my brothers better.”

“Umm,” she murmured with satisfaction at his answer. She took his hand and pressed it to her mouth.

She wanted to utter words of love, but there was still too much between them. She did not want to ruin these moments of belonging by asking for something she could not have.

Instead her fingers went to his back and touched the scars there. She felt the ridges and she wept inside for the pain he’d endured. He stiffened at first, then relaxed slightly as she tried to heal those scars with tenderness.

“Ah, lass. Do they not repel you?”

“No. They cover me with shame. For you, they should be a badge of courage. You were strong enough, brave enough to survive, to fight back.”

A flicker of emotion crossed his face, and she realized that he had truly believed the scars would brand him. He did not see what she saw. That he had a sense of honor about him that was far more appealing than any physcial perfection. He did not have to look after the oarsmen in the ship, but he had. He had not needed to protect her and Carmita from a maddened crew. He had not needed to look after Manuel or Denny.

She had never known such a man, or known they existed.

She would not use that honor against him now.

But she would take these moments of peace, of warm, lovely sensations, of caring so deeply that she wanted to put him before herself.