Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Jeane’s heart seemed to stutter in her chest as she looked up at Fergus. He had told her that she had bewitched him, but what exactly did he mean by that?
“Stop,” she said, although she did not want him to stop. She wanted him to tell her more about how beautiful she was, how she had enchanted him.
“Aye, all right,” he mumbled, his expression shuttering. “Ye’re right. I cannae give ye what ye need.”
“And what’s that?”
He did not answer, and Jeane frowned up at him.
“We were havin’ such a good conversation. Daenae change on me now.”
“Change?”
“Ye’re hot and cold,” she accused. “One minute, I’ve bewitched ye, and the next, it’s like I’m just the healer.”
“Ye’re always more than a healer to me, Jeane.”
He looked down at her with the most earnest brown eyes, and he seemed so genuine. This was a different Fergus than the one who had captured her in the woods, even a different Fergus than the one who had first kissed her or had demanded that she marry him.
“I’m afraid,” she admitted. She was most afraid of her feelings for Fergus, but she did not say that. “Afraid that me father will find me—”
“If yer father steps foot on these lands tryin’ to take ye away from me, I will strike him down,” Fergus said, a fierce expression in his dark eyes as he looked at her.
He cupped her face with one hand, so close that he could kiss her in an instant. She breathed out his name, hoping that he would, but he did not.
Instead, he took a deep breath, dropping his hand from her face. He took a few steps back, and although it was sweltering in the forge, Jeane missed his warmth, his touch.
She flushed with something like embarrassment, but that was closer than desire.
He had sworn to protect her, even from her father.
That was what she had always wanted in a partner.
She had wanted someone who would choose her side, every time, and not listen to her father’s criticisms. She wanted someone who would protect her, and Fergus had just promised that he would.
And the way he made her feel… it was something deep in her bones, in her soul. Something that yearned for him. Wanted his touch, his kiss. And when he did touch her, when he did kiss her… oh Lord. It was something precious. Almost something holy. “Ye daenae have to kill him.”
“I will kill anyone who tries to take ye from me,” he said, just as fiercely, and he paced around the forge, walking a few steps forward and then back.
Jeane just watched him, sensing that he had something else he wanted to say to her.
“Ye’ve never asked me about these,” he said, turning toward her and gesturing to his face.
“Yer scars?” she asked softly.
“Aye, what else?” he snapped, taking a few steps toward her. “Ye cannae pretend ye daenae notice them. Do ye find me repulsive?”
She shook her head. “No, not at all! Honestly, I noticed them when we first met, but I daenae think about them now.”
“Ye arenae curious what turned me into… this?” he asked, something strained in his voice.
She tilted her head. “Do ye want to tell me?”
He let out a long breath. “I went to a festival with me man-at-arms and me best friend, Murphy,” he explained. “I was tired, nae paying much attention, and we came up upon a crowd of bandits. Too many of them.”
Jeane looked at him for a moment, trying to decide if he wanted her to respond or just listen. She figured it was the latter, so she kept her mouth shut, just watching him as he began to pace again.
“They came at us, probably ten of them, and I cut so many down. I did everythin’ I could, but me horse spooked, ran off, and I got cornered. Swords slashed at me from every angle. They cut me down.”
“And that’s when—”
He cut her off. “That’s when I got this.”
He pointed at the long scar from his left eyebrow down to his chin, looking away from her.
“And Murphy?” she asked, her heart seeming to still in her chest. She thought she knew what had happened to Murphy, but she could not be sure.
Fergus hung his head. “Dead. He bade me to run, and I did. Like a coward. I left him there, Jeane.”
“Ye had to go and get help,” she said softly, reaching out to touch his arm.
He flinched as if her touch burned him, but he did not pull away.
“Did ye ken I was betrothed then?”
Jeane froze, her heart dropping into her stomach.
Betrothed? Fergus was almost married.
Her head spun. What did the lass look like? Was she pretty? Prettier than Jeane? Had Fergus loved her? She had a million questions, but instead of pushing, she just waited, despite her jealousy.
“Her name was Iris,” Fergus said, and his tone was tinged with bitterness but no fondness. “She was a flighty little thing and only wanted to marry me because I was laird. As soon as she saw me after the attack, she wanted nothin’ to do with me.”
Jeane frowned. “What? Why?”
Fergus stared at her. “Why else? Because they made me a beast. A monster.”
“Did she call ye that?” she asked, her voice low and almost dangerous. She was angry, rage rushing through her veins. She had been jealous of this Iris, and now, she just hated her.
“Aye,” he said miserably, and Jeane stepped ever closer. “And she was right. After that, I wasnae the same man. I was bitter, cold. I let myself become… this. A monster inside and out.”
“That’s nonsense. Ye arenae a monster.”
“Nay?” he barked out a bitter chuckle. “Isnae that why ye rejected me? Why ye daenae want to marry me?”
“What?” She gaped at him, shocked and a little hurt that he would think her so shallow. “Nay, of course nae.”
He frowned, stepping forward and glaring down at her.
“Then why? Why did ye reject me, little mouse?”
She bit her lip, looking up at him through her blonde eyelashes.
“I thought ye cruel. Ye did kidnap me after all.”
Fergus just stared at her for a long moment.
“And what do ye think now?”
That I am falling in love with ye.
The thought, unbidden, scared her. She blinked at him, unsure what to say.
She did love him, more than she ever thought possible, but she was loath to admit it, even to herself.
She could no longer deny it, though, not after that night they had kissed when he had touched her, not after their walk in the woods, and not after he had told her about his dark past.
“I’m nae sure, but I daenae think ye’re cruel anymore.”
“Nay?”
“Nay,” she answered, giving him a small smile.
“Daenae do that to me, lass.”
“Do what?” she asked, her smile widening into a grin.
“Daenae smile at me like that,” he growled, his expression still intense as he looked down at her.
“Why nae?”
Instead of answering, he grabbed the back of her head, pulling her close and kissing her.
His tongue spread across her lips slowly, asking for entrance.
Jeane gasped for breath, her chest tight, and Fergus took the opportunity to shove his tongue in her mouth.
Jeane could not help but moan into his mouth, and he answered her in kind.
He kissed her again and again, trapping her tongue between his lips to suck on it, and Jeane’s heart felt like it might explode.
Jeane’s head spun as he sat down again, pulling her into his lap but this time, facing him.
She was sweating from the heat of the forge, but he did not seem to care, kissing her over and over.
Jeane felt dizzy, and she was sure it was not just from the heat but his nearness and the way his manhood pressed against her core. She could feel how hot and hard he was, even through the fabric of her dress and his kilt.
Fergus just kept kissing her, as if it was the only thing he wanted to do from now on, focused, his hands sliding up her back before moving back down to grab her hips.
He guided her onto his lap, and she could not help but roll her hips, wanting friction, wanting more.
Fergus cursed. “Ye want me to touch ye again, little mouse?”
“Aye,” she whispered. “Please.”
He bunched her skirt around her hips, pushing aside her undergarments and sliding his fingers across her bud as she cried out against his lips.
The feeling of him touching her there, of how his fingers slid through her slick, made her heart beat so fast she worried it might explode.
Pleasure swirled in her lower belly again, building and building just as it had before, but she wanted more, needed something else to get her over the edge.
“Inside,” she managed, flushing all over. She was so embarrassed that she felt so wanton, so… sinful.
Fergus breathed out against her neck, and she thought it might be another curse, but she was not sure. She could feel how hard he was against her hip now, pressing into it. It was not uncomfortable, though. She liked knowing he wanted her.
He moved his fingers from her bud just long enough to pop them into his mouth, pushing them past his lips and sucking on them. Jeane watched him, her face getting hotter and hotter as pleasure shot through her.
She wondered if she would taste herself on his tongue when she kissed him and then cursed herself for the sinful thought.
He shoved his hand back under her skirts, pressing two fingers inside of her, deeper than before, and at first, the stretch was a little uncomfortable.
But it was also good, and when she started to roll her hips, Fergus groaned against her neck, kissing her there, open-mouthed.
The stretch got easier, slicker, and she let out little whimpers as her pleasure started to peak. She was so close to some edge, whatever that meant, and she wanted to get there, wanted to feel like she was flying just like the last time.
Did Lottie feel like this when Aiden kissed her, touched her? Did other women?
She had heard her girlfriends talk about kissing boys, but they certainly had never talked about the boy’s manhoods pressing against them. Was Jeane just… evil? A witch like Fergus had teased her? Why did she want this so much, want his fingers inside her?
She wanted him to take her maidenhood, and she was ashamed of the thought, but she could not help it.