Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“ C ome on, sit down over her and let me take those off for ye,” she offered, stumbling a little herself when he put his arm around her shoulders and leaned heavily on her. Somehow, she got him into a chair, knelt in front of him, and managed to pull off his boots. “Ye stink of whisky,” she told him, turning up her nose as she placed the boots to one side and then looked up at him.
“D’ye nae like it?” he slurred, giving her one of his heart-melting, crooked smiles as he gazed at her. The intense look in his dark eyes sent little tingles of excitement racing through her veins. She felt her cheeks heating up and looked away.
“Hmm, I suppose it makes a change from the usual smell of horse,” she replied jokingly, doing her best to hide how he was making her feel. He guffawed loudly, and she could not help but join in with his laughter. She made to rise, but he stopped her.
“Nay, dinnae go, lass,” he said softly, laying one hand on her shoulder and slowly easing off her cap with the other. Her plait fell down over her shoulder, and to Isla’s surprise, he began gently stroking her hair.
“What are ye up tae, ye fool?” she asked a little nervously as tiny flames, invisible flames danced across her skin, tingling where he touched it.
“Ye have beautiful hair, Annie, the mosht beautiful hair I’ve ever sheen. Ye dinnae ken how much I’ve wanted tae touch it like this. ’Tis so shoft, like shilk,” he murmured.
Half kneeling at his feet, Isla found she could not move, she did not wish to move. Waves of pleasure coursed through her body, and she entered a trance-like state as he began unraveling her plait, loosening her hair from its bonds, and then combing his fingers through the golden lengths as he spread it over her shoulders until it flowed freely, almost touching the floor.
It was when he leaned forward a little and gazed at her so hungrily, she knew he was about to kiss her, that she snapped back to reality. While acknowledging her own growing desire for him, she knew it would be a bad mistake to give into it. So, half-reluctantly, she forced herself to push past his restraining hand and get to her feet.
She stood before him, arms akimbo. “Ye’re sweatin’. I’ll fetch a damp cloth tae wipe yer forehead, and then ye must get tae bed,” she said, eager to do something to distract him from his lascivious antics.
“Och, now she wants me in her bed, demands it even!”
“Wheesht, ye dummart,” she chided him, excited by his words yet unable to stop laughing.
“Ach, Annie, come back here. I was only gonnae give ye a wee kish,” he complained mildly, laughing too as he tried playfully to catch her arm. “D’ye nae want a wee kish?” He blew her a smacking one. “There’s one tae be goin’ on with.”
She smiled as she nimbly eluded him and went to fetch the cloth. “I dinnae want one that reeks of whisky,” she replied briskly, wondering if there was, as the old adage said, “truth in wine.”
“Oh? So, if I wasnae drunk, would ye kish me then?” he asked, wriggling his brows at her comically.
“But ye are drunk. Ye cannae even speak properly. Ye would nae ask me if ye were sober,” she replied over her shoulder from the washstand, drenching a clean cloth in cold water and wringing it out. She brought it back and stood by him, laying the folded cloth on his damp brow and holding it there for a few moments to cool him down.
“Maybe I wouldnae, but I might be thinkin’ about it,” he told her with a playful chuckle, gazing at her, his eyes dark, liquid pools in the flickering candlelight. “I think about it quite a lot.”
“That’s the whisky talkin’. Ye ken, ye’re gonnae regret sayin’ all this in the mornin’, and ye’ll have a hell of a sore head to boot,” she warned him, excitement nevertheless tightening her belly.
“I dinnae care about that. I only want tae tell ye how beautiful ye are and kish ye. Kiss ye, I mean. Is that so wrong?” Despite herself, she giggled when he snatched the cloth from her hand and threw it aside. Then, his arms went around her waist, and he pulled her in, hugging her tightly and laying his head on her belly. “Mmm, so soft and warm. ’Tis better than any pillow. I think I’ll go tae sleep right here.”
Isla laughed, and before she knew what she was doing, she found herself ruffling his hair, running her fingers gently through the dark locks, and stroking his head. He murmured softly, sounds of contentment, his breath coming hot through the homespun of her shirt on her belly, sending tremors though her.
His arms tightened about her, and she closed her eyes, her heart pounding as she cradled his head against her belly, overwhelmed by powerful feelings of affection and tenderness for him. Nothing she had ever felt before had prepared her for the way he made her feel. Wars and sieges and death and destruction seemed a world away. She suddenly knew she only wanted to hold him close like this always, to be at his side forever, this beautiful, clever, funny man… who was her mortal enemy.
When he started to snore softly, she shook herself from her daze and released herself gently from his hold. She patted his cheek. “Ewan wake up, come on, I’ll help ye tae bed.”
“Mmm? Och, there ye are, Annie. Where did ye go?” He ruffled his hair, looking adorably confused as he grinned up at her.
She had to smile as she brushed a stray lock from his clammy forehead. “Come on, ye fool, ye’re nearly asleep on yer feet. Ye need tae come and lie down properly.” She put her arms about him and tried to lift him out of the chair and onto his feet. She may as well have tried to lift his horse.
“Oof! Ach, ye’re heavy as lead,” she exclaimed, straining. “Help me, Ewan. Dinnae go tae sleep again, or I’ll havetae leave ye in the chair.” She patted his face again, her fingertips straying over his dark stubbly chin. Fleetingly, she marveled at how it could be so soft and prickly at the same time.
“What?” He came round a little again and gazed up at her, his handsome face relaxed and boyish. It made her heart skip just to look at him. “I’m nae ashleep, I tell ye, I’m just restin’ me eyes,” he insisted.
She snorted with laughter. “Come on, I’ll help ye tae the bed.”
“Aye, all right woman. Hold yer horshes. Why, ye’re fairly draggin’ me tae the bed. Can ye nae keep yer hands off o’ me?” He heaved himself up and draped himself over her shoulders again. Isla supported him as best she could as they tottered over to the cot.
“Annie, Annie, lishen tae me now, I have sumfin’ very important tae tell ye,” he slurred.
Isla’s ears pricked up. Could this be the piece of vital information she had been waiting for? Something vital that would save Gregory and the rest of their clan?
They got to the bed, and Ewan collapsed full-length upon it with a great sigh. “What is it ye have tae tell me that’s so important?” Isla asked, holding her breath in anticipation as she helped him arrange his long limbs comfortably and plumped the pillow for him. She did not expect him to reach up and grab her and pull her down on top of him, pinning her whole body against his with his arms, their faces a hairbreadth apart.
“Ewan, what are ye doin’?” she cried, struggling to get loose. But her efforts were in vain because he merely hugged her closer.
“I’m givin’ ye a cuddle. I’ve wanted tae give ye a cuddle fer ages, but, well, ye ken…” he replied sleepily, his deep voice resonating all through her.
“Well, now ye are. What was it that ye wanted tae tell me?” She still had hopes of hearing something useful before she persuaded him to release her.
“Hmm?”
“Ach, never mind!” She gave up asking, realizing she would get no sense out of him. A little exasperated, she wriggled and tried to free herself again, but it was no good. Drunk he may be, but he clearly had no intention of letting her go, and now he was nuzzling at her neck and stroking hair again, running his fingers through it, sending thrills chasing all over her.
“Ewan! Will ye stop that!” she protested, trying to get away from his questing lips for fear of what might happen if she did not.
He stopped and let his head fall back on the pillow, regarding her with dazed eyes. She could smell the whisky sweet on his breath. “I’m sorry. I cannae help it, Annie. Ye smell so good,” he tightened his hold, “I’m gonnae hold ye next tae me like this all night long while I’m sleepin’.”
“But I can hardly breathe!” Suddenly, there was an infinitesimal decrease in the pressure of his hold, and she could breathe more easily. “Thank ye,” she said, taking in a lungful of air gratefully.
Just then, he opened his eyes and looked deeply into hers. “I havetae tell ye how beautiful ye are, Annie. Ye’re the most beautiful lassie I’ve ever laid eyes on. Ye have beautiful hair, and ye have beautiful eyes. Sometimes they’re the color of the sea, and when ye’re angry, they’re the color of a storm. And yer skin, aye, yer skin… I dinnae have words for that…” He trailed off, his dark eyes glittering in the candlelight, intent upon her.
“Annie, d’ye remember what happened at the pond?” he suddenly whispered close to her ear again. Isla stiffened, caught completely off-guard. A hot flush ran over her entire body as the embarrassing, yet tantalizing memory popped into her mind with shocking clarity.
“What about it?” she muttered, squirming inwardly, still deeply ashamed of her behavior that night. She trembled to think of why he had brought it up.
“D’ye ever think of it?” His voice was deep and thick in her ear, his warm breath tickling her, teasing her.
“Are ye nae tired? I’m tired,” she replied, flustered. She was afraid to admit she thought about it at least once, maybe two, and sometimes three times during the day, but especially during the nights spent crammed in the one-man cot next to him.
“I think of it, Annie. I think of it…often.”
She held her breath, unable to move or speak, lest the truth come bursting out. She felt once more the same strange tendrils of heat that had snaked between her legs and wound through her belly that night when he had held her naked body next to his in the moonlit waters of the pond. The same powerful urge to kiss him, to give into overwhelming physical desire gripped her. But this time, there was nowhere to escape to. Choking back a helpless sob, she fought it down, finally succeeding in getting control of herself again.
When she saw his eyes close and his head loll to one side, she slowly let out the breath she had been holding. When he started snoring softly again, she let relief flow through her like a cooling breeze. But though he appeared to be asleep, when she tried once more to extricate herself from his arms, there was no slackening in his grip on her.
She had to lift her head—practically the only part of her she could move—to look at him. She was about to try to rouse him and beg him to let her go or at least loosen his hold a little more. But when she saw his expression, her heart melted, and she stayed quiet, watching him. His eyes were closed, and he had a beatific smile on his face. In the shadow play of the candlelight, he was so heartbreakingly handsome, Isla could have wept.
With a sigh of surrender, she laid her head on his brawny shoulder, carefully avoiding putting pressure on her wound. She wound her arms around his neck, accustoming herself to the pleasing sensation of being pinned against his warm, powerful body while she waited for him to eventually fall more deeply asleep and relinquish his hold. After a time, lulled by his breathing and the steady beat of his heart against her ear, she fell into a doze.
The birds woke her at dawn with their choral twittering. Feeling wonderfully comfortable and secure, her former headache reduced to a bearable ache above her brow, she opened her eyes… and saw Ewan’s face right next to hers. He appeared to be fast asleep, his long, dark lashes fanned out below his eyes. She was amazed to find that she must have fallen asleep on top of him and lain like that all night, caught fast in his embrace.
For a while, she did not move except to lift her head and study him. With her eyes, she traced his strong, chiseled features one by one, admiring the way they came together in such a harmonious whole. Every aspect of his face was endlessly pleasing to her. She could not imagine she would ever get tired of looking at him.
The warm rush of affection… love? … she had felt for him the night before, when he had been drunk and so vulnerable, declaring her beautiful and talking of their intimate encounter at the pond, seemed to have lodged in her heart. It manifested in concern for him. Although she had never been drunk herself, she had witnessed it in others many times, Gregory for one. She knew that when Ewan finally awoke, his head would be splitting, and he would feel like death. Unfathomably, she did not want him to suffer like that, and she immediately thought of Ella.
Aware that he usually woke up if she moved an inch, she relied upon the after effects of the whisky to keep him unconscious as she began stealthily extracting herself from his arms. It took some time, but she eventually managed it. When she at last stood on the floor, she had a scare when he stirred. Afraid to breathe—she wanted what she was about to do to be a surprise—she waited, motionless, until he turned over on his side and carried on sleeping.
With a small sigh, she quietly slid into Harris’s guise, pulling on her trusty cap to hide her hair. Carrying her boots in her hand, she slipped silently from the tent. Outside, she paused to put them on, listening to the birdsong and looking at the sky as she shoved her stockinged feet into them. The sun was yet a hard line of lemon on the horizon, slowly expanding, its light tinting with gold the blazing banners of pink, peach, and blue painted across the heavens, sending the night fleeing. A beautiful day.