Sue-Ellen Welfonder - MacKenzie 07 (29 page)

This was everything she'd dreamed.

Her dearest hopes come true.

Yet inexplicable fear paralyzed her.

As if he knew, he caught her hand and pressed her fingers to his chest. She could feel the strength of him, his warmth, through the rough wool of his plaid. His heart hammered against her fingertips, the beat as fierce and rapid as her own.

And, heaven help her, but the moonlight streamed down on him, picking out blue-black highlights in his glossy raven hair and making her want to thrust her fingers into the strands and pull his mouth down to hers so he could kiss her as he'd done before, the wonder of his lips making her forget everything except the burning desire she felt for him.

"Arabella, I know you are no' ready for this." His voice held a rough edge, silky deep and seductive. "I would never rush you, or hurt you."

"I know." Was that shaky whisper her voice? "And I - I have feelings for you, too."

Dear saints, she'd admitted it!

"Lass..." He tightened his arms around her and brought his mouth down over hers. She gasped, but then the world spun and somehow her fingers were in his hair, digging deep and pulling him nearer as he slanted his lips over hers, kissing her thoroughly until pleasure spilled through her. Nothing mattered except his tongue tangling with hers, his warm breath sweeter than wine and so much headier. But then he broke away and stepped back, the sudden end to their kiss almost a physical wrench.

"You see what you do to me." He shoved a hand through his hair and glanced aside, staring out at the glittering night sea. "If you do have feelings for me, Arabella, and doubts, this is your chance. Tell me now and we shall end it here. I swear to you on my dead mother's soul that I will no' touch you ever again."

He looked back at her. "Tell me, lass. Before it is too late."

Arabella pressed a hand to her breast. She was shaking. "I have already told you what is in my heart," she said, feeling both hot and cold inside. "I do not have any doubts. I've never been more certain."

"Then" - He slid his arms around her again - "because I have doubts that this is happening, I shall have to kiss you one more time. Just to be sure that I am no'

dreaming and that the gods are truly smiling on me at last."

Arabella swallowed hard. She could see the passion in his eyes. Her fears spiraled away and something seemed to split within her, allowing a wild yearning to beat through her veins, heating her blood and making places that should shame her quiver with excitement.

She wanted the kiss he'd promised.

She ached for more.

And then he was kissing her. It was a kiss so wondrous that she was lost as soon he slanted his lips over hers. She lifted up on her toes and leaned into him, opening her mouth freely beneath his, needing him to deepen the kiss. And he did, letting his tongue slide over and around hers, plundering her mouth and tantalizing her with the deliciousness of such startling intimacy.

His tongue kept stroking, slow and deep. Then somehow he lowered them both to the planking of the stern platform, cradling her against him and using his body to cushion her against the wood's hardness. They were lying side by side and through the sensual haze of their kisses, Arabella felt the long hard ridge of his manhood pressing against her hip. She gasped and stiffened, her sudden cry causing him to release her at once and pull away.

"I'm sorry, sweetness." He kept his arms banded loosely around her. The bright gleam of desire in his eyes said he knew exactly what had startled her. "There are some things a man can't always control."

Arabella nodded, wishing she were as worldly as Gelis.

A part of her was terrified and yet another newly awakening place inside her thrilled to know that he wanted her so much to have such a reaction.

Indeed, she was almost dying with longing herself, so badly did she want him.

But her surprise had damped his ardor. She didn't need carnal knowledge to see that the heated look in his eyes was now a look of tenderness. And the arms still encircling her were holding her gently. The hungry, almost desperate way he'd clutched her to him moments ago had vanished like mist before the morning sun.

"You should sleep now, precious," he said then, his words proving it. "I will keep you warm till morning and then we shall speak when we reach Olaf's isle."

"I am not tired." She doubted she'd sleep the entire night. Not with such awareness crackling between them. He'd slid his hands down her back and then smoothed her hair away from her face, cradling her cheek against his shoulder.

Simple touches but so weighted with meaning, each caress sending tingles of golden warmth spilling through her.

Each moment spun with promise, making it impossible to close her eyes. But it was so easy to relax against him. She could hear the steady beat of his heart and feel the hard planes and ridges of his muscled chest. Succumbing would be so sweet. Her eyelids did seem heavy and the rocking of the birlinn was soothing.

Even the wind lulled her, its gusting roar somehow softer now, gently keening and oddly melodic.

Almost like a song....

She sighed and snuggled closer to his warmth. He was stroking her hair now, his touch feather light as if he were lifting single strands and letting them glide through his fingers. Astonishingly pleasurable shivers prickled her scalp and the sensitive skin of her nape. Beautiful sensations that made her want to purr but the effort was too great.

Her eyes did drift shut then, her long and sooty eyelashes giving her an innocence that both pierced Darroc's heart and jabbed him with a pang of guilt.

Arabella of Kintail was innocent.

And the twitches he still couldn't stop from stirring at his loins made him the most despicable sort of beast he'd e'er condemned for their callousness.

A state he only worsened when he dipped his head and kissed her hair. She made a soft little mewling sound in response and seemed to melt even more sweetly against him, her reaction making his pulse jump and that part of him tighten and pull with even more insistence.

Scowling fiercely, he slid a discreet hand down between them and squeezed hard until the throbbing abated. Then, because he was a greater fool than he would have ever believed, he lowered his lips to the crown of her head again and kissed her softly. Her hair felt silky and cool and smelled faintly of gillyflowers, entirely beguiling.

The subtle contact made him ache for more. He knew from caring for her that her skin felt even silkier. Smooth, unmarred, and whiter than the creamiest milk, her limbs would glow so sinuously in the moonlight were she naked in his arms. Her breasts...

He groaned and closed his eyes. But that, too, only brought torment when he rubbed his cheek against her hair and her delicate scent flooded his senses.

Unable to resist, he dropped another soft kiss to her temple, then along her brow, her cheekbones, and even those lovely eyelashes.

Blessedly she didn't stir. At least she didn't until she splayed her fingers across his chest and slid her hands up to his shoulders, gripping tight.

"Darroc..." Her voice was husky.

He tightened his arms around her, no longer caring if he was callous or not. She was so soft, rounded, and warm against him. His need for her consumed him and he wanted her now, without shame and regret. Somewhere he imagined a buzz of activity, his men's laughter and the clanging of the gong, the sounds breaking rudely into his dreams of sinking into Arabella's silken, womanly heat.

He frowned, trying to ignore them.

"Darroc." The voice came even deeper. Grasping fingers dug into his shoulders, shaking him much harder than Arabella had the strength to do. "Wake up, you oaf. You slept soundly and warm I see!"

"Damnation!" Darroc's eyes snapped open.

Conall's hairy legs came into frightening focus. The bastard loomed above him, grinning like a fool. Behind him, Hugh, one of the oarsmen, beat the gong, and it took Darroc all of a blink to note that they were flying across the waves. And that the weak, watery sun had made its appearance more than a few hours before.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, amazed that Arabella still slumbered deeply. "Why didn't you wake me?" He glared at Conall, grudgingly accepting the oatcakes and cup of morning ale his cousin offered him.

"What?" Conall laughed. "Wake you and ruin what looks to have been a most warm night?"

"We'll have words later, whatever." Darroc took a deliberate munch out of his oatcake. "Dinna think I'll forget."

Conall grinned again and sketched a mocking bow.

"Darroc..." This time it was Arabella. She tugged on his arm, looking so delectable in her disarray that his heart twisted despite his cousin's gawking presence.

"Look! There is land," she said, pointing.

"Sakes!" Darroc leapt to his feet, pulling her up with him. "That's Olaf Big Nose's isle."

"Indeed." Conall punched him in the arm, beaming. "Now you see why I wakened you. We've made good time while you've entertained us with your snores."

Scarce believing his eyes, Darroc stared at his friend's isle. They were so close he could make out its jagged cliffs, cut into so many small headlands and sweet narrow bays. Already small fishermen's huts could be seen dotting one of the larger sea lochs. Cook smoke rose in blue threads above the huts' thatched roofs and several beached longships were pulled up on the golden sand. A thickly wooded defile stretched behind the settlement and thin morning mist still wreathed the tops of the trees.

Somewhere a dog barked, the sound carrying on the wind. But what caught everyone's eye and brought a cheer from the men on the rowing benches was the single-sailed, low-slung galley that swept around the loch-head and raced toward them. Moving at speed, the galley's double banks of flashing long oars sent up great clouds of spume as the craft flew across the water.

"Ho, MacConacher - welcome!" A huge bear of a man bellowed the greeting as the galley swept up with a grand flourish, the oarsmen only back-watering the sweeps when they were well within shouting distance. "You come timely!" Olaf Big Nose grinned even more broadly than Darroc's men. "I have great tidings! News we have waited long to hear!"

"And I have news for you," Darroc called to his friend, signaling his men to lower their oars as the galley drew near. "Grim tidings, Olaf, but a stroke of fate we can turn to our advantage."

Jumping down from the stern platform, he ran forward, leaping onto the bow platform even as the two prows bumped together.

"I've brought a maid." He flung out an arm to indicate Arabella, still standing beside her sail screen. "She survived a Black Viking attack. The dastards rammed the merchant cog she was traveling on and - "

Olaf Big Nose threw back his head and laughed. "Can I ne'er outdo you?" He sprang across the narrow space separating them, grabbing Darroc's arms when he landed on the bow platform. "You've stolen my news."

Darroc stared at him. "You heard of the Merry Dancer?"

Olaf nodded. "The whole sorry tale, just!" He stepped back and folded his arms.

"I've a bedbound survivor we found just days ago, clinging to a skerry. The man has a fever, but he'll pull through. The Black Vikings meant to ransom him, but" -

he cast a glance at Arabella and lowered his voice - "when they discovered he'd lied about his connections, they set him out on the reef to drown."

Darroc felt his jaw slip. "And who is he?"

Olaf Big Nose's chest swelled. "A Norseman," he boasted, his voice ringing with pride. "You know it's nigh impossible to have done with us."

"And his name?" Arabella was suddenly at Darroc's side. She slipped a hand through his arm and he could tell that she was trembling. "Who is this man?"

"One who will be right happy to see you, lass." Olaf Big Nose turned to her, grinning. "He's the cog's ship-master. Captain Arnkel Arneborg."

Lady Arabella!" Arnkel Arneborg's voice was a raspy croak. "God be praised it is you."

"Captain Arneborg." Arabella looked down at the man in the narrow bed, buried to his chin beneath linens and fur coverings. Sweat beaded his brow and his blue eyes glittered feverishly. He'd lost his ruddy coloring and his cheeks were sunken, his jaw beneath the bushy blond beard jutting like a blade. Everywhere in the dimly lit room braziers glowed softly, giving off warmth and scenting the air with aromatic herbs.

A heavy wax candle burned on an iron wall pricket near the bed and in its flickering light, the shipmaster looked almost cadaverous. Of the laughing-eyed sea captain with his bluster and plague bells was nary a trace.

Arabella forced a smile. "It would seem the saints cast their eye on us both."

She hoped the words didn't sound as hollow as they felt. Truth was she could clench her fists and rail at the saints for not treating him as kindly as they had her. Before Olaf Big Nose had ushered her toward the heavy woolen hanging that separated the sickroom from the rest of his longhouse, he'd sworn that his women were seeing to the captain's every need. He'd also declared that he was sure Arneborg would regain his strength and recover fully.

Seeing him now, Arabella wasn't so sure.

She took his hand, trying not to show her dismay when she found his fingers clammy and limp. "I have Mina." She struggled for something to say. "I tied her in a length of blanketing and kept her bundled in my cloak. She is well and has charmed everyone at Castle Bane."

Captain Arneborg's eyelids flickered and he gave a terrible rattling cough. "I've heard that you have charmed someone, too, my lady."

Arabella flushed. Before she could reply, there was a soft clacking of curtain rings and the swooshing of the wool room divider being drawn aside. An attractive blond woman with large breasts, dressed in a colorful full-skirted gown, swept in, carrying a copper laving bowl and an armful of linen cloths. She set the bowl, filled with steaming water, on a small table beside the bed and turned to smile at Arabella.

"It is time that one was charmed," she said, her voice low-pitched, almost smoky.

"Darroc MacConacher has needed a good woman for long."