Chapter 10
Jamie’s blood chilled at Aftyn’s words. They had the ring of prophesy, but he shook himself and started walking down the rough track into the glen. To warm his blood, he told himself, not because of anything the daft lass had said.
Daft, aye. But also strong, to dismiss his help when she could be in danger from Agatha’s rantings.
Or overconfident. She was, after all, merely a lass, poorly trained to care for her people, but trying her best, and unable to defend herself if someone attacked her.
Yet she was so much more. She filled his dreams with images of holding her, touching her, feeling her arms go around him and her body press against his, eager to return his kisses.
His caresses. In the deepest part of the night, he sometimes dreamt of taking her to his bed, their clothes left on the floor, and making love to her.
Those dreams left him hard, aching, and kicking himself for foolish yearnings.
On other nights, not all of his imaginings were good.
He paused for a moment, listening for her footsteps following him in the springy ground.
But also to force the image from his mind of Aftyn tied to a stake in the village’s market square, flames rising around her as a mob chanted, “Burn, witch, burn” and she fought the scream tearing her throat.
He had no gift of prophesy, thankfully, just a vivid imagination that helped him see what his talent revealed.
The one gift he had gave him trouble enough.
He heard nothing behind him, and turned. Aftyn still stood where he’d left her, staring off into space, her expression unguarded. Worried, if the crease between her brows was to be believed. But not fearful. Not yet.
For a moment, he saw the flames lick around her again. He shook his head and started back up the hill. “Let me escort ye home, lass.” It was the least he could do.
“I should check on Robena before I go.” She actually took a step back toward the croft.
“Ye should leave her to Agatha for now,” he told her. “She’ll be better off the sooner everyone leaves her be and lets her rest.”
“I could wait for Colin.”
Jamie extended a hand. “Colin will see for himself how she fares. Ye dinna need to tell him. Come.”
She eyed him, then shrugged, made her way the dozen steps he’d taken down the hill and reached him.
Her hips, her stride, made him aware of the number of steps without counting them.
Only when she stood just above him did he notice she gazed directly into his face, not up as most lasses did.
She could be no more than a hand’s width shorter than he.
His gaze fell to her lips, full and moist. Had she been kissed? Surely some man must have given in to the urge filling him now to touch them with his, to part them and explore her mouth’s secret recess. To see if her cheek, her throat, tasted as creamy as they looked.
Her eyes, blue as spring bluebells, glinted as though she had a secret. What did she know, or think she knew?
He tried not to frown at the thought, but saw when Aftyn noted the crease between his brows. Hers mirrored his. “What?”
Aftyn’s troubles were compounded beyond anything she could imagine. But he could. He wished he had not been in Edinburgh that day.
Guilt made him press his lips together rather than seek oblivion in her kiss, as he wanted to do. “How long have ye lived here?”
“I was born here. My father fought with the king’s men at Flodden Field. He was one of the few who survived that day. My mother, as Agatha so charmingly put it, taught me the little I ken of healing before she died. What of ye?”
“My parents met when my mother, a healer, arrived with an army invading a nearby clan my da visited, nearly three years after Flodden. My father was briefly a prisoner. He took her with him when he escaped back to my clan’s stronghold, the Aerie.
I was born the next year, one of triplets.
” He took her arm and started down the hill, Aftyn beside him.
“Triplets! All survived?”
“Aye, and twins two years later, all hale and troublesome.”
“So we are of an age, ye and I.”
“Close enough.” Close enough for what? A family? Bairns of their own? His imaginings were getting out of control.
The track they walked entered a small wood. They were as alone as they ever would be. He took her arm and turned her to face him. “I need to say something… do something…”
A puzzled frown creased Aftyn’s brow. “Ye already apologized, and offered to stay to protect me. What more?”
Jamie was done waiting. He bent his head, cradled her cheek in one hand, and kissed her.
Aftyn froze, then leaned away, her gaze locked with his, eyes wide and dark.
Jamie had a moment to fear she would slap him or pull out of his embrace and run away. Instead, she took a breath, then kissed him back.
“Lass, I…”
“Later, Jamie,” she murmured. Her lips parted, allowing him access to deepen the kiss.
She tasted sweet, womanly, and even more enticing than he'd imagined during those lonely, sleepless nights he'd spent since he first saw her. He wrapped her in his arms and tangled his tongue with hers. She didn’t retreat, but met him, kiss for kiss.
Her tongue teased his lips, then she sucked his lower lip between her teeth and nipped it.
Hot blood headed downward, filling his cock and making him groan, his body as full and hard as he had ever been.
He slid his hands down her back and gripped her waist, pulling her tighter against him. Her answering moan filled his mouth. He nearly came.
Her fingers raked through his hair, then down his throat and into the top of his tunic.
His heart beat so hard against his ribs he was certain she could feel his chest pulse.
He put her back against a smooth-barked tree, afraid he’d drop her, then moved his kiss from her lips to her cheek, the shell of her ear, and down her throat.
She arched against him, her breasts crushed against his chest, whimpering with need.
Could he take her? Would she stop him? She wanted him, too. Even here, against a tree in the woods, where anyone might happen by. Like Agatha.
He lifted his head and stilled. “Aftyn, nay. I canna do this to ye.”
Panting, she looked up at him, her expression clearing as the haze of lust left her and something else took its place. Fear? Embarrassment?
“I want ye lass, never doubt it,” he said as he stepped back, pure torture to his engorged senses, and held her until her feet were steady on the ground. “But I willna take ye like this.” He kept her wrapped in his arms, reluctant to let her go, now or ever.
“I… want ye, too,” she said and rested her head on his shoulder. Her hand balled into a fist on his chest.
“We must wait. This isna the time or the place. If someone came by…”
“Agatha!” She colored and glanced around him, clearly mortified at the thought of Agatha finding them—finding her—like this.
“The thought of her stopped me,” he told her, grinning. “Something ye will thank her for someday.”
Aftyn reached up and smoothed his hair, then straightened his tunic.
His body responded to her touch and he fought not to taste her lips again. If he did, he’d be lost.
“A very long time will pass before I thank her for anything, I think,” she finally told him and stepped out of his embrace. “We should go.”
The path passed through some closely spaced trees, forcing them to go single file. Jamie followed, silent, waiting, expecting her to say he never should have kissed her. Or touched her. But she, too, remained silent until they broke out into another field, this one already harvested.
“That cottage on the edge of the village,” she told him, pointing. “My gran lived there. My mother lived with her until…”
“Ye miss her, aye?
“I should be over the grief by now.”
“Why? She raised ye. She was everything to ye. Ye have every right to miss her.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Thank ye. Most would say ’tis time to get over the loss, find a good husband and make a family but my chances are limited here… oh!”
Her hand flew to her mouth and Jamie hid a grin.
“I’m sorry. I didna mean to be so forward, to imply…”
“I ken it, lass. Dinna fash.”
“Ye needna fash, either. I dinna intend ever to marry. Unless Agatha’s lies convince the villagers to shun me, my work will sustain me.”
Jamie’s belly clenched. Did she mean it?
She never wanted to marry? He’d thought she jested at Mhairi’s when she threatened to stab a husband who ordered her around.
And now this? Jamie’s thoughts churned. If he was going to leave and never see her again, he shouldn’t care.
But if he stayed to protect her, she might change her mind.
What did he want? His thoughts kept going in circles until they passed through the Keith gates and reached the door into the keep.
Jamie had the look he often wore after seeing a patient, wrung out and at his limit.
Why would treating the injured and ill exhaust him?
Was it the care, or the empathy she’d thought he exhibited in the market?
He didn't appear the same way after making sure Rory hadn’t harmed Alastair.
Jamie had jested with him, smiling all the while.
The lad did not need his care. Was that the difference?
Her conflict with Agatha disturbed Jamie, too. He’d offered to stay here and protect her. Was that why he’d kissed her in the wood?
She led him to a table, her mind on what they’d done there.
His body didn’t lie. He wanted her. And she'd wanted all of him. But being discovered by Agatha? She couldn’t bear the thought.
Judging by the set of Jamie’s shoulders and the crease between his brows, neither could he.
He’d protected her again, from herself this time.
How could she let him leave when Niall was strong enough to go? He made her feel wanted. Needed.