One Man's Love (19 page)

“You don’t mind?” he asked in a whisper as dark as the cave.

She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see her. “No.”

“That’s very gracious of you,” he said dryly. “If it is all the same to you, I’ll be long at it. I like to touch your skin, you see.”

The strangest tingle ran up the back of her neck at his words. Or it could have been the fact that he
kissed her throat again. She pushed her hair out of the way so that he might do it again.

“You like that,” he said, murmuring against her skin.

“I do,” she admitted, the words coaxed from her by delight.

His hands were slow, his fingers soft upon her skin, dusting where they touched as if to leave only a hint of their passage. The darkness both hid his intent and absolved her ignorance.

He brushed his cheek against her temple, his night beard gently abrading her skin.

Her sole experience with a man had been a furtive coupling in the forest where the trees had acted as sentinel. The ground had been cold, and the day wet, as if nature itself knew of the parting to come and wept for it. This dark cave was not a better trysting spot, but it did not seem to matter at the moment.

“Kiss me again,” she demanded, startled to hear her own words.

“My pleasure,” he murmured.

He kissed her until her blood felt heated. His hands learned her in the darkness, trailing from her shoulders to her ankles.

She reached out her hands and did the same, remembering his words.
Touch me.

His skin was warm, almost hot. The muscles of his arms bunched beneath her exploring touch. She wrapped each palm around his shoulder, then gasped as he stroked his fingers across the tips of her breasts. Her nipples tightened, the tingling sensation his touch evoked spreading outward to her toes and fingertips.

He bent and touched his lips to her breast, startling her. Then he placed his mouth upon the tip of it, his
lips capturing her, gently moistening before suckling tenderly. The spike of pleasure she felt muted her protest. He was as adept at this type of kissing as the other.

She had thought the act would be swift and painful. But he did not hurry in his possession of her, seemingly content to touch every inch of her skin. His fingers trailed from her waist to her hips and back up again to rest beneath her arms, inciting small shivers. His hands cupped her knees, the bulb of her heels. One hand moved to rest against her stomach, the heat of his palm seeping into her body.

She moved restlessly, a stranger to the feeling that flamed within her, a need as elemental as the requirement for food and drink.

“Slowly,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss against her lips.

She had never been explored this way, never felt as if her breasts were swelling and heating, their tips both puckering and elongating at the touch of his tongue.

At the base of his throat his blood beat heavy and strong, and so quickly that it mimicked hers. Her thumb rested there as her fingers spread over his neck.

His hands suddenly fisted in her hair as he kissed her deeply, inhaling her sigh. She felt like a supplicant, a neophyte, a virgin trapped in wonder and delight.

“I’ve dreamed of this,” he confessed in a whisper. “But it was daylight and you were lying in the glen, your arms outstretched to welcome me. Your hair sparkled like fire, and even here was lit by sunlight,” he said shockingly, trailing his fingers through the curls between her legs.

Reaching up, she cupped his cheek with her hand.
He turned his head and kissed her palm, a gesture so filled with tenderness that she felt the spike of tears.

This night would be forever etched into her mind like the leaves she’d sometimes found embedded in rock.

She felt him heavy and hard against her thigh. She was no maiden, but at this moment she felt as untried as one, as ignorant of the deed as if it had never before happened to her. Tentatively, she reached out and touched him, a gesture that elicited his gasp. Another touch, less timid and more fascinated, had her placing her palm upon the length of him. She noted with fascination that he was larger than the distance from her wrist to the tip of her middle finger.

“You’re very big,” she whispered, both intrigued and anxious.

He laughed again, and pulled her to him, until she was draped over his chest like a warm and living blanket.

“I never thought to spice my loving with humor, Leitis,” he said tenderly.

“Is it a foolish thing I’ve said?” she asked, embarrassed.

“No,” he said tenderly, placing his hand on the back of her head. He pulled her gently toward him for another kiss.

Yes, please
—a last cogent thought for several moments.

Gently he turned, leaning above her, but instead of kissing her again, he bent and pressed his lips against her waist. His hair, clubbed at his nape, fell loose, spreading over her skin like a delicate fan. A whisper of touch as he tasted her with mouth and tongue, kisses that anointed her skin and warmed it.

He taught her more about herself than she’d known before. The inner curve of her knee proved to
be as exquisitely sensitive as the front of her ankles and the area above her heels.

“You shiver when I touch you,” he said, his voice a dark whisper.

She nodded in agreement. “I can’t help it,” she confessed.

His thumbs brushed against the inside of her wrists tenderly, then moved to her elbows. “Your arms,” he said, as if to mark the place with his words and his touch. Bending his head, he bestowed the most tender of kisses on each nipple. “Your breasts.”

He leaned over her. “I want to know everything about you,” he declared softly. Her hands gripped his upper arms. “What you wish for most in your life. What causes the sad look in your eyes. What your dreams and nightmares are made of.”

She pressed her fingers against his lips. “Stop,” she said. “Please.” It was too much. Her heart hurt with his words.

He kissed her fingers, then removed them. “What sound you make when you find your pleasure,” he said purposely.

He flattened his palm against her stomach, his fingers splayed. Slowly, so slowly, he moved his hand, touching her again. Her breath felt too tight. She closed her eyes, wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling a curious mixture of embarrassment and a new achy sensation.

His thumb stroked through her softness, circled slowly. She bit her lip, raised her hips instinctively. But he didn’t hurry. Instead, he kissed her deeply, his tongue and his fingertips in tandem at exploration.

She’d never known that her body might be overcome by such sensations, as if it were separate from her will. Captivated by his hands and mouth and softly whispered words.

“I want to know what it feels like to be inside you, Leitis,” he said, his words oddly breathless.

“Please, Ian,” she said. A welcome in his name, an invitation in the slow widening of her legs.

He entered her slowly, filled her completely, and stretched her gently. His possession of her wasn’t painful or rushed. Instead, she bowed beneath him, astonished by the sensation. She bit her lip and arched farther toward him as if to deepen the feeling. But he would not move. Instead, he remained perfectly still, his breathing harsh and rapid.

She lay with eyes closed, savoring the pleasure.

Slowly, excruciatingly slow, so that it felt as if time itself halted, he withdrew from her. Her sound of protest changed abruptly to delight when he entered her again.

Her openmouthed gasp was inhaled by his mouth, transformed into a moan as he withdrew and entered her again. This time her hips arched higher, meeting him in an instinctive dance. Her hands gripped his arms, rubbed from elbow to shoulder in wordless encouragement.

She had thought to keep herself invulnerable, yet now she welcomed her surrender. Her bare heels pressed against the slate floor as she lifted herself to him again. Her eyes closed, her fingers splayed almost into talons.

She was almost there, to a place she’d never been before, the destination as much a mystery as the journey itself.

“Leitis,” he said, his voice a guttural rasp. A sound escaped her, a sob of delight.

“Please,” she said, ignorant of what she wanted. But he seemed to know, because he plunged into her again. His kiss was an accompaniment, deep and ardent, stealing her breath and emptying her mind.

All that remained was sensation.

A waterfall traveled through her body, carrying with it heat and a breathless joy. It was simple and pure and wondrous and eternal.

Something was happening to her. It felt as if she were being torn in two, but the rending was accomplished in excruciatingly slow degrees.

She wound her arms around his neck, pressed up into his kiss, seeking succor and safety within his embrace. The darkness of the cave was suddenly altered by the sparkling light behind her eyelids.

A moan escaped him, a sound that echoed her own body’s bowing delight. She cradled him, rocked him, and held him tight to her.

Suddenly she cried aloud, the sound echoing through the cave. She was insensate, clutching him, lost in the sensation and him, helpless and humbled.

An eternity later, she reached up and cupped his face with her palms, suddenly overcome by a feeling so acute that it stole her breath. This was not simple mating, but a joining in a way she’d never known before, never suspected might exist.

It felt like love.

H
e had not intended to lay with her, Alec thought, as he stood and searched for his mask. But all temptations could not be so easily avoided. Kissing Leitis was one of those. Loving her in the darkness was another.

He tied the strings of his mask, then returned to her side, stubbing his toe on an outcropping of rock. He cursed softly and cradled his foot in his hands.

“I was beginning to believe you had eyes in the dark,” she said, her voice laced with amusement.

“You are supposed to feel pity for my injury,” he said, amused, “not ridicule me for the manner of it.”

“Is this the same Ian who laughed at me when I sprained my ankle jumping down from a tree?”

“You retaliated by putting spiders in my bed, as I recall,” he said, sitting beside her again.

“You knew about that?” she asked, surprised.

“Of course. Who else would dare?”

She laughed, and the sound of it encouraged his smile.

It was strange to help a woman on with her clothing in the dark. But he accomplished the duty slowly. He cupped his hands beneath her breasts, anointing them with gentle kisses as her shift slid down to cover them. He kissed each of her shoulders before shielding them from view with her dress.

“Was it something English that you did to me?” she asked abruptly.

He sat silent, feeling a sharp spike of tenderness for her. She was so bold in some of her adventures and so innocent in others, a fascinating juxtaposition.

“No,” he said, kissing her temple, brushing back her hair with his fingers.

“Are you very experienced?” she asked hesitantly.

“Very,” he said, finding the task of lacing her back into her bodice filled with possibilities.

“You said that very quickly,” she accused.

“It’s always better to state a point than to whittle around it.”

She pulled back as if affronted, but he extended his arms around her.

“If the world were perfect and kind,” he said gently, “then we would be the first for each other. But we’re not.”

“No,” she whispered.

“All we can do is take what we have and be grateful for it.”

“I’ve never felt that way before,” she confessed, extending her arms around his neck.

“Then all the experience was worth it,” he said, nuzzling her throat.

It had never occurred to him that he might feel blinding passion interspersed with humor. The combination was intoxicating. Or perhaps it was simply Leitis who enthralled him.

Trailing her fingers from his shoulders to his wrists occupied her attention while his hands slowed in lacing her bodice.

“Where did you get this?” she asked, tracing the pattern of an X-shaped scar on his hand.

He chuckled. “From Fergus,” he admitted. “When he and James showed me the secret of the staircase.”

“They knew?” she asked. “They never told me.”

“My grandfather made them promise,” he explained.

She held out her hand to him, reached for his fingers, and helped him trace a path around a similar scar on her own hand.

“Fergus?” he asked, surprised that he had never noticed it before. “What great secret did he impart to you?”

“No secret,” she sighed. “But I was sworn not to tell Father that he was the one who broke Mother’s prized blue plate.”

They held their hands together, palm to palm.

He placed both hands on either side of her face, his thumbs brushing the corners of her mouth. Now was the time to tell her of his other secret.

She stood, stepping away from him, brushing down her skirt.

“I should return,” she said, “before Donald misses me.”

“Does he treat you well?” he asked, smiling.

“I can tolerate him,” she said firmly. “It’s the Butcher’s presence that I find intolerable.”

“Do you?” he asked carefully.

“I hate him,” she said coolly. “Everything that he represents, everything that he is.”

“Surely he’s just a man?”

She bent, searching on the floor of the cave for her shoes.

“You’ve always called him Butcher,” he said, the words pushed past the sudden constriction in his throat.

She glanced over at him in the darkness. “And you never have,” she said. “Why?”

“Rumors are not always to be believed,” he said. “The tales of his exploits at Inverness are not necessarily true.”

“Do you believe that?”

He shrugged. “Things are not always as they seem,” he said, walking to her. “But you’re right,” he said, before she could speak. “We should return you to the fort.” He held out her hair ribbon and she took the end of it, the two of them linked by that crimson strip.

“I wish I didn’t have to go,” she confessed, looking up at him. “But if I don’t return, he’ll arrest Hamish.”

“You have a great deal of loyalty for your uncle,” he said.

“He’s my only family. Sometimes he makes it difficult to love him,” she confessed. “But then, love isn’t always easy.”

No, he thought, it wasn’t. Especially when it was obscured by secrets.

She straightened, squared her shoulders. A hard-won resolve that almost pulled the truth from him. But he remained silent, escorting her from the cave and toward Fort William and the Butcher.

They mounted and circled the glen, following the line of the loch. A circuitous journey, made necessary by the sentry on the land bridge. The moments were spent in silence and reflection, each of them trapped in private thoughts.

As they neared the loch and the boat moored there, he glanced down at her. Her body was cradled against his, her head turned so that her cheek lay against his chest. The moonlight illuminated her face, cast shadows, and highlighted features. Her hands were in her lap, palms and fingers curling upward as if demanding from the world even in her dreams.

Leitis.

His heart thudded like a drum, a strange tattoo measuring the depth of his wonder.

He wished he could transport her to Gilmuir without her waking. But he was not a sorcerer, and if he were, he would choose another task, that of softening her toward the Butcher of Inverness.

She blinked open her eyes and looked around her, awareness coming in stages as she smiled sleepily up at him. He kissed her, the need he had for her surprising him. A physical response and one of the spirit. She made him feel fresh and clean, untainted by the last few years.

He helped her into the boat, the journey made in companionable silence.

Leitis stepped out of the boat once they reached the shore. Together they mounted the hidden staircase.

Once back in the priory, she would have spoken, had he not stepped close to her, pressing his fingers to her lips. He didn’t want to hear her words of regret, or hatred, or longing. Instead, he bent, replaced his fingers with his lips, and captured her breath on a sigh.

His duty, stolid, unchanging, rooted in honor and
responsibility, awaited him, yet he could not move. Nor could he command his feet to take another step or even his chest to expand with a breath.

“Come with me tomorrow,” he said. Dangerous words. Being with her was more threatening than the treason in which he engaged. Because, sooner or later, she would discover who he was, and would hate him for it.

One more time, Alec decided. Only one more incarnation, and the Raven would be no more. There would be no more reason for him to exist. There would be no trysts in caves and moonlit rides, no more shadowed meetings in the priory or the forest.

She nodded, and he left with no further words of farewell. He could not speak in case he revealed the emptiness of his own regret.

Harrison entered his room later that day, obeying his summons with the punctuality that Alec had come to expect. His adjutant closed the door behind him and strode to the map table, where Alec stood.

“I need you to go to Inverness,” Alec said.

“Inverness, sir?”

Alec nodded. “To hire a ship.”

Harrison remained silent, but the question was there on his face.

“I won’t be stationed at Fort William forever. In a year or two another commander will replace me and there’s no guarantee that the man won’t be exactly like Sedgewick. The safest thing for the people of Gilmuir is to find another place to live.”

Harrison looked surprised. “The Highlanders are leaving?”

“They are,” Alec said, reaching beneath a stack of maps until he found one of the lake. He’d drawn
it from memory of his recent travels around Loch Euliss.

“Here’s Gilmuir,” he said, pointing to a well-marked promontory. “And this,” he said, indicating the recent addition to the plan, “is the hidden cove.”

“Hidden cove?” Harrison asked, bending to study the map more intently.

Alec explained the layout, including the necklace of rocks guarding it. “It should be deep enough for a ship,” he added.

He had kept this secret for years, but felt no hesitation in divulging it to his adjutant. Harrison knew about his heritage and his activities in Inverness and had never betrayed him.

Harrison looked at him curiously. “Where will the Scots go, sir?”

“To the colonies, or to France, or to some other place they choose.”

His adjutant began to roll up the map, tucking it under his arm.

“I have another duty for you as well,” Alec said, explaining what he needed.

Harrison flushed, but nodded his head.

“Will you be seeing her?” Alec asked nonchalantly as his adjutant moved toward the door.

Harrison glanced over his shoulder, surprised.

“Doesn’t a certain Miss Fulton still live in Inverness?”

“I doubt she’ll be wanting to see me, sir,” he said. “She’s no doubt engaged. Or married by this time.”

“Don’t you think you should find out for certain, Harrison?” Alec asked with a smile. “What was the difficulty between you?”

“There was no difficulty between us, sir. It was her father who objected to my suit.”

“He was the provost, wasn’t he?” Alec asked. A mean-spirited man, one who toadied to Cumberland; but then, he’d have to be self-effacing for his own survival. The duke had ordered the man who’d previously held the post thrown down the stairs.

“Be careful,” he cautioned Harrison. “I’ll not have you on my conscience. It’s full enough.”

“I would urge the same caution, sir. I think we have an informant among us,” he added, describing Armstrong’s recent activities. “He’s too curious about your movements.”

Alec nodded, the information coming as no surprise.

He gave Harrison a bank draft, the funds easily accessible in Inverness, since the English presence was so great in Scotland. He didn’t doubt that the other man would be able to hire a ship, money being an excellent inducement for a ship captain’s compassion.

It occurred to Alec as he watched him leave that Harrison looked almost happy at that moment. Was it the possibility of seeing Miss Fulton again? Or simply being away from Fort William?

As for his own happiness, it did not seem possible. He was caught in a web of deception. Being Ian allowed him to be near Leitis, spend time with her as himself. Yet all the time he was cautious of his words, of accidentally divulging something that would betray him.

He should never have loved Leitis. Now he couldn’t forget their time together. He recalled every moment with her, the sweetness of her wonder, her awed delight. He’d felt that same delight, catapulted to a place where love mixed with passion and was topped off with tenderness.

In weeks she would be gone, and where would he be? In his role of loyal colonel? The thought was dis
tasteful, but not as much as the notion of never seeing Leitis again.

Lieutenant Armstrong’s grin did not quite reach his eyes, Donald thought, and the smile itself appeared forced. As if he thought he should take on an air of affability, the better to mix with the lower ranks.

Donald might only be a sergeant, but he knew when he was being cozened all the same. He hefted the tray on one hand, opened the door of the kitchen with the other.

Another irritating thing about lieutenants: They thought themselves above doing anything. The colonel didn’t find it demeaning to clean his own boots when necessary, or even sweep out his own lodgings. But lieutenants were so filled with their own importance that it was almost comical. They strutted around the courtyard like roosters, with their puffed-up chests and their spotless uniforms and their white gloves that looked to have never seen a day’s worth of work. Even Lieutenant Castleton, one of the most bearable of officers, had his lieutenant-like moments in which he looked down his nose at good honest labor. A few more months in the colonel’s command would take care of that.

Donald suspected, however, that Armstrong was one of those people who accomplished what he wished by tricking other people into doing it for him. Which is why Donald grinned like a mad dog back at the lieutenant so as not to appear unfriendly, but pushed past him all the same.

Armstrong followed him out of the smoke-filled room. An indication that he wanted something. Donald ignored him, began to cross the courtyard.

“Sergeant!”

It was easy enough to pretend that he didn’t hear
him, what with all the clamor and racket going on. The soldiers were marching again. Not in order to learn to walk in formation, Donald decided. They did that well enough now. It seemed that this duty was a way of keeping all the soldiers at Fort William occupied when they weren’t out on patrol. He himself had spent too many hours in such worthless occupation. Sometimes, he thought, the aim of the army was to keep men on their feet, whether or not it made any sense.

“Sergeant!”

He sighed and halted, an affable smile on his face. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t hear you,” he lied.

Armstrong looked decidedly unhappy at the moment, Donald thought. His cheeks were red—not from exertion, he suspected as much as from irritation. Another thing about lieutenants: They didn’t like to be ignored.

“Where is Harrison going?” Armstrong asked bluntly, all pretense of civility gone.

Donald only wished his own feigning of respect could be as easily dismissed. “I don’t know, sir.”
I’m the colonel’s aide, you skinny little barnyard runt, and if you think I’d tell you, then you’re an idiot.