Chapter Twenty-One
The clouds had cleared enough that Rory could see the stars as he rested his head on his open palms and stared up at the sky. Alana slept peacefully beside him. Close enough to touch, but he restrained himself from doing so, just as he had many times since he’d first met her.
It mattered naught how much he wanted to.
She stirred and his gaze slid to her. She slept on her side, which seemed to be her favorite position, her hands tucked under her cheek. A lock of her hair fell across her eyes.
He sighed, wishing things were different. Different circumstances. A different time. A different place.
Just different.
“Can ye no’ sleep?” she whispered, pushing the hair out of her face, and pushing up to rest on her arm. “Ye should try,” she urged when he shook his head no.
Just beyond the perimeter of the light of the fire, there was a rustle in the brush. A distinct rustle that Rory kenned well. He stiffened and Alana sat up, immediately realizing something was amiss.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice low as her eyes, wide with fear, scanned the darkness.
He moved to her side, and instinctively, he moved her behind him as he grabbed his dagger, standing at the ready just as a wild boar charged them from the undergrowth. Behind him, Alana screamed as the beast rumbled toward them, snorting angrily as it gnashed its teeth.
Pushing Alana out of harm’s way, he yelled to her. “Stay down,” he shouted as he struck out at the beast, his blade sinking into its shoulder as the animal roared, kicking out and swinging its large head to and fro. Rory jumped back out of the way of its sharp tusks, trying not to get stabbed.
When it charged again, he swung his blade once more, this time hitting the boar in its rear flank. With a yelp, he thundered through their camp, nearly running into the fire, afore he disappeared into the woods on the other side, the sound of breaking branches echoing in its wake.
Rory ran to Alana, dropping to the ground beside her. His heart racing in his chest as he looked her over, checking her for wounds. Both of their breaths coming in short gasps.
“W-w-will he come back?” Her voice wavered, she was scared to death. It was evident in her pale face and her round eyes.
“Nay, we are safe. Are ye hurt?” He asked, worry making his question come out in a rough voice. As he waited for her to answer, he checked her for injuries, his hands roaming over her arms, her waist, her legs, taking care for her already injured ankle.
She shook her head.
He breathed a sigh of relief. She was fine, but she trembled violently.
Grasping his shirt in her fists, she whispered, “Ye could have been killed.” The pain and worry in her voice were like a punch to the gut. It was the realization that she was just as scared that he had been harmed as he was for her.
It was an awakening that seemed to take over his soul.
She cared for him. The way she was clinging to his shirt, looking up at him with her beautiful hazel eyes boring into his.
It was then he kenned. The dawning of what was growing betwixt them that had him wanting more.
Without thinking of the consequences or not caring about what the consequences would be, his mouth was on hers afore he could stop himself. His need raw and desperate.
Alana kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he reveled in the feeling of her. The taste of her. His tongue explored her mouth as if he was discovering a new land, and she let him. Sighing into him as her body relaxed flush against his, as her fists clutched at him.
He lowered them to the blankets, not breaking the kiss. He wasn’t ready for that yet. He didn’t care that he was desperate for air. He was desperate for Alana’s touch even more. Her kiss. Her mouth. Her taste.
She was lying on her back, he on his side next to her when they finally broke apart.
Each of them gasping, their chests heaving.
He was breathing so hard, he didn’t think he would ever recover.
He rested his forehead against hers, fighting a war within himself that crossed the line of what he wanted to do and what he kenned was right.
“This shouldnae have happened,” he said, hating the words as they left his lips. They tasted sour, bitter. Like the lies they were.
Alana didn’t say aught. She didn’t tell him to back away. To stop touching her. To leave her alone. Instead, she reached up and, with a gentle hand, stroked his cheek. Rory closed his eyes and leaned into her soft touch.
It was heaven.
Neither of them moved. They stayed that way until Rory thought he was going to scream in desperation. In want.
When Alana lifted and pressed her lips against his, Rory kenned there was no going back. He would not return from this. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He only kenned that he wanted to lose himself in Alana Duran more than aught he had ever wanted in his life afore.
He scooped her up in his arms, and she wrapped her legs around him with a squeal. “Where are we going?” She asked, her voice husky.
Kissing the tip of her nose, he smiled. “Ye’ll see.”
He carried her through the trees, to a spring that he kenned was near there. It drained into a crystal blue pool of water.
“’Tis beautiful,” she said, craning her neck to peer into the water.
The spring wasn’t large, nor was the pool.
Instead, they offered an intimate place for two people to splash around, amongst other things.
But most importantly, the small size of the pool meant that the water wouldn’t be nearly as cold as other, larger bodies.
Setting Alana down on her feet, careful not to agitate her ankle, he smiled and tugged off his tunic. “Ye can say nay. I willnae be angry.”
With wide eyes, she shook her head, tentatively reaching out her hands, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
Her fingertips brushed over his pectorals, making the muscles jump.
She flattened her hands so her palms were splayed out over his skin as she dragged them down, lower, to his abdominal muscles, which contracted under her touch.
He bit back the groan her touch elicited.
He snatched her hands up and kissed her fingers greedily.
“Yer fingers are like magic, bewitching me until I cannae think straight.”
She gave him a wicked smile. “I believe I rather like the sound of that.”
“Ye are a naughty minx, Bluebell.” He pulled her closer and was happy that she allowed it and didn’t push away.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down to her so their lips could touch, gently, softly.
So different from the feelings warring inside of him.
He didn’t want gentle. He didn’t want soft.
He wanted to capture her mouth in a deep kiss that would leave nay doubt of his feelings for her.
He wanted to drive into her heat and lose himself in the sensation of her milking his cock.
Alana stepped away, dipping her head, and looking up at him through lowered lashes.
She lifted her skirts, slowly revealing her legs as she raised them higher and higher.
The pale, smooth skin of her calves teased him first, afore her knees were bared, and then, Rory sucked in a breath betwixt his teeth, her thighs. His breath escaped in a sharp hiss.
Noticing his reaction, Alana’s smile grew wider, then she dropped her skirts and covered all the treasure she had just so brazenly uncovered for him to get a glimpse at.
“Ye tease me,” he accused.
“Do I? I think no’.”
He reached out and pulled her to him. “Ye do. I dinnae like it,” he growled, and nuzzled her neck.
She pushed off his chest. “Ye didnae like what ye saw?” Her brows furrowed and she looked hurt.
“Och, no’ like ye are thinking. I enjoyed what I saw verra much. I didnae like it when ye hid yerself from my gaze.”
“Ah,” she purred, and the sound went straight to his hardening manhood, straining against his trews. “’Tis a reason for that.”
“Aye?” He questioned.
Alana nodded. “Surely, ye dinnae think I can pull my skirts o’er my head.” She chuckled. “Nay, I must slide them down my hips.”
Rory closed his eyes on a groan at her words. Did she ken how much her talk was making his body roar to life?
“Do ye need help with such a task?” He asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
She tilted her head, meeting his gaze, and then looked toward the water, and shivered. “It looks cold.”
“’Tis no’. The water here is actually quite warm. I believe ye will find it refreshing.”
She lifted a brow as if she didn’t believe him.
“’Tis true. The springs used to be a hot spring, howe’er o’er the years, they’ve lessened. Now they’re warm, but quite pleasant.”
He waited, letting her decide on what she wanted to do.
He would force her into naught, so each move would be her own.
Each decision her own. He was giving her the gift of choice.
Something no one in her life had given her afore.
But that didn’t mean he wasn’t saying a silent prayer that she would agree and soon they would be skin on skin in the warm water.
“Weel, then. I guess we are wasting time, shivering in the cool e’ening air when we could be relaxing in warm waters.”
Rory beamed. He couldn’t help it.
“Let me assist ye so ye dinnae hurt yer ankle any further.”
Alana paused for a moment, and Rory feared that she had changed her mind. But she nodded and lifted her foot, balancing on her good leg, so he could untie her boot. Then she leaned against him so he could do the same for her other leg.
Standing in her bare feet, Rory watched as she slowly untied her belt. Then painfully slowly, she removed her outer garments until she stood in front of him in only her thin shift.
His eyes roamed over her body. He could see the silhouette of her body through the sheer material. It was perfect in every way. From the width of her hips, to the indent of her waist that he could wrap his hands around, to the swell of her breasts.
Perfection.