Chapter 11
A ngus’s heart thundered, his mind and body totally consumed with need for the beauty in his arms. He pressed firm hands to her back, bringing her soft curves into perfect alignment with his harder planes. Aye, this lass with her secret had been made for him, molded to him as none before. Her compassion, her foibles enchanted him.
His tongue played across hers in shameless abandon, stroking, tasting, and teasing. When she mewed deep in her throat, lightening flashed through every vessel and organ he owned. She then arched, pressing closer, and he rolled instinctively.
He settled above her, his weight on his arms. As his hips gently rocked, pressing his swollen need between her quaking thighs, heat radiated off her with an intensity that nearly took his breath away.
Good God, the woman was made for loving.
He buried one hand deep into her luxurious hair just as he had dreamed of doing for four long days. He stroked her cheek. The soft press of her heaving breasts against his chest called to him and he gently slid his lips across her satin-smooth jaw, nibbling here and there as he eased down toward the glorious prize awaiting his eager hands and mouth. She smelled of babe and grass, of lust and woman, of all any man could ever want as her breath caught in uneven pants. His lips grazed along the column of her long slender neck, licking at her pulse, stroking that tender place above her collarbone. To his delight, her flushed skin pebbled and quivered. Her blood thundered under his fingers as they caressed her throat. Aye, lass, ye heart bounds as mine does.
He nuzzled at the edge of the gaping tunic she wore—his—and her hands fluttered up his ribs. Do ye know, lass, what I want to do—nay, need do—to satisfy this hunger ye’ve stirred in me?
His mouth had no difficulty finding the delicious, high swells he sought. Each quivered with mesmerizing delicacy with each hot lick. Ack, and the cloth hid the best. He could see in his mind’s eye the deep rose-tipped crests that lurked lower still, with nipples now ridged and straining against the fabric that once had covered his chest.
His right hand slid up and over her delicate ribs. Cupping one soft swell with the palm of his hand, he groaned and eased lower, his lips seeking the hard nubs making wee tents in the fabric. Ack, she’s more than any man could ever hope to have. Hands buried deep in his hair, Birdi mewed her approval. Good God Almighty, he wanted her, ached with tight painful need.
As his free hand slid down her thigh, seeking the hem of her covering, he heard a faint knocking at some great distance. Dismissing it, he turned his attention to her other breast. Drawing the tip into his mouth through the fabric, he heard her gasp and felt her back arch, giving him better purchase. “Aye, lass. ‘Tis the way.”
He sucked again and her legs wrapped about his waist. Her hips lifted, pressing moist heat into his bare stomach. “Oh, Birdi.”
She was panting now, anxious for what she didn’t understand fully, but he did. Oh, aye, he most certainly did.
Panting through gritted teeth, he shifted his weight to better lift the tunic blocking his access to the rose-tipped breasts he craved. He wanted her naked.
“ Claim her ,” something deep within ordered.
As the tunic rose above her waist, a hard rap sounded and Fraser shouted through the door, “MacDougall, I’ve ye sup!”
Ack! Not now, man. I’m about to—
Ah, shit!
He was about to tup the stuffing out of the woman he’d craved for days and thereby consummate the handfasting he’d sworn to break. God’s teeth! What was he thinking?
And there it was…the truth. He hadn’t been thinking past comforting her, not at all. His brain had deserted his head and run to his bags o’ sweeties. “Augh…”
He reluctantly eased the tunic back down over Birdi’s hips. Heart still beating at a breakneck pace, he reluctantly rolled onto his back.
As the knocking on the door resounded around the croft yet again, he blew out a frustrated breath and pulled Birdi into his side. He brushed a lock from her forehead. “I’m sorry, lass, but Fraiser’s apparently determined to feed us or ken the reason why.”
And thank God.
The man would never know he’d unwittingly saved Angus the Blood’s sorry arse and Birdi’s virtue, but Angus did, and would never forget it.
Birdi—her cheeks flushed, her gaze a bit unfocused, ran a slow hand across the fine hairs on his heaving chest. “But I’ve no desire for food right now, Angus.”
Sorely tempted to ask what she did desire, he thought better of it. He’d likely give it to her, pledge or no pledge, Donaliegh or no Donaliegh, for something beyond lust, beyond compassion, whispered “ Mine! ” whenever he held her gaze.
“Aye, I ken, love—more than ye’ll ever know—but we’d best let the man in before he breaks down the door.”
And they sure as hell couldn’t spend the night together in this bed. He’d best sleep on the floor.
Birdi, lower lip caught between small even teeth, her brow furrowed, nodded. Using his chest as a fulcrum, she sat up. Fingers splayed like the teeth of a comb, she pushed the hair off her face and looked about as if confused.
Guilt rippled in his gut. “Are ye all right, lass?”
She shrugged as she contemplated his question. “More befuddled than anything, I think.” When the pounding started again, she murmured, “Mayhap ye best let the man in.”
Angus rolled out of bed, painfully aware of the swollen tightness pressing against his belly. Raking his hands through his hair, he took his time getting to the door.
Fraser, arms nigh on to overflowing, greeted him with a smile. “Good eve.”
Angus, a full head taller, grunted and waved the man in.
Fraser headed for the table. “I’d have let ye sleep, but experience has taught me these fish pies are best eaten hot.” He chuckled. “My Kelsea may be fair on the eye but she’s rough on a man’s gut, though God kens she tries.” He dropped the basket of singed pies on the table along with a round loaf of dark bread and a crock of honey. A pitcher of ale followed with a loud thunk. “If ye’re still hungry after all this, just shout. There’s more, mores the pity.”
Fraser turned as Birdi stood. “And how are ye feelin’, lass?”
Birdi managed a brittle smile. In truth, she felt awful, like she’d been hauled through brambles feet first, then trounced upon. Her skin felt too tight, still tingled with the memory of Angus’s hands and mouth. Her belly still churned—with what, she didn’t know—but churn it did, while her heart felt like a lodestone sat in the middle of her chest. “A bit better, thank ye.”
“Good. My Kelsea’s been fashin’ somethin’ awful about ye.”
Birdi only nodded. She wanted to cry, as goes yer daughter’s joy, so goes my anguish, but she couldn’t. She never had and never would let those she healed know what helping them did to her.
“ ‘Tis yer burden alone to bear,” Minnie had warned on her deathbed, “should ye, too, have the gift. ‘Tis yer penance.”
Birdi took a deep shuddering breath, wanting but unable to ask after Wee Angus; understanding that if she did the fragile wall—the levee Angus had somehow created with his kisses—would break and the mind-bending pain still lurking within her would rush out and wreak havoc once again.
Fraser eyed the dwindling fire and threw a few blocks of peat into it. He then turned and smiled. “I’ll take my leave now and let ye eat. If ye need anything, ye’ll find me at home.”
When he left, Birdi held her breath, anxious to know what Angus would next do. Would he take her in his arms again, reinforcing the levee he’d built? She could only hope and pray to Goddess that he would.
Angus cleared his throat and then pulled out a chair, indicating she should sit. She did, wondering why he appeared so uncomfortable. He found two cups, then sat across from her, broke the bread, put food before her, and started eating.
All without touching her, without saying a word.
Confused, she reached for his hand, and he snatched it away, but not before she sensed his need for avoidance, withdrawal.
Stinging pain erupted within her chest; though all too familiar, it hurt far more than usual. Appetite gone, she swallowed the thickness burning at the back of her throat and folded her hands in her lap. What had she done or said that he now wanted to keep his distance from her? Had it been her kiss? Had it been her refusal to ask after Wee Angus? If she asked him, he’d no doubt deny anything was wrong, just as the villagers always did when she’d found the courage to ask. Finding the room suddenly stifling, fearing she’d start to keen and never stop, she pushed back her chair and rose. Without thought she held out her hands, seeking the door she kenned to be at her back.
“Where are ye going?”
Ah, he speaks. “Out.”