Chapter 13
The Morning After
Una felt toasty despite the early morning chill.
Her pillow and mattress were warm and cozy, and she marveled at the feel of it: the clean linen, the softness beneath her, the gentle heat that seemed to wrap around her from every direction at once. She had not slept so well in years. She lay still a moment, eyes closed, simply enjoying it.
Then she became aware that her pillow was breathing.
She stilled completely.
There was a thigh interwoven with hers, heavy and warm, the solid muscle of it pressed against the back of her legs.
There was a broad forearm resting across her waist, a large hand curled loosely against her stomach.
She could feel the steady rise and fall of breathing at her back, deep and even with sleep, and the faint scratch of stubble at her temple.
He smelled of woodsmoke and clean skin and something she had no name for, and his body was curved around hers from shoulder to knee as though he had decided in the night that she required keeping.
Cormac.
She had practically been sleeping sprawled on top of the man.
She opened her eyes.
It was not yet fully light. The sky beyond the shuttered window had softened from black to the deep blue-grey of very early morning and the fire had burned to a low amber glow.
The inn around them was still silent, the held breath before the day began.
An hour, perhaps, before Maisie's kitchen stirred.
She had overslept. Badly.
Una cursed herself silently and with considerable feeling.
She had lain down with every intention of waiting Cormac out, her things placed by the door, her route east mapped in her head, and she had closed her eyes for just one moment and slept like a bairn until near-dawn, cocooned in the man's warmth.
She would have to wait until nightfall again, if he gave her another opportunity, which was becoming an increasingly doubtful prospect.
She permitted herself, since the damage was already done, to look at him.
He truly was a braw man.
Cormac remained in deep sleep and she allowed herself to watch him for a moment. He looked younger and more relaxed without the weight of the world on his shoulders. Dark lashes against his cheekbone. The clean line of his jaw carrying the shadow of a night's growth. He looked content and at peace.
And despite his chosen vocation he seemed to be a good man, at least toward her.
He had protected Una more than once and made her feel cherished in ways she had not expected and could not entirely account for.
Come to think of it, he and his men had not robbed anyone since she had been with them.
They were headed to Edinburgh; he had paid Maisie more than enough coin for their stay.
If they were such notorious raiders they ought to be pillaging every traveler and inn on the road, but they were not.
In fact, once they had come within sight of the inn the masks had been discarded entirely and they had looked like nothing more than ordinary travelers. Well-armed ordinary travelers.
Una was slightly baffled by it all.
She was still frowning at the ceiling and turning it over in her mind when Cormac shifted. Just slightly, a small unconscious movement, a mumbled word, and then he settled again, his arm tightening a fraction across her waist as he sank back into sleep.
That was her cue.
Gently, very gently, she began to ease herself toward the edge of the bed.
***
SHE HAD MOVED PERHAPS half a foot when the arm across her waist tightened.
"Morning, sweeting."
That voice. Low. Husky. Rough with sleep. Directly against her ear.
Una's eyes widened.
She shut them again immediately and feigned sleep.
A pause.
Then she felt the low rumble of laughter against her back.
"I ken ye are awake. I can hear ye thinking," he said.
She kept breathing.
"Ye went rigid as a fence post the moment I spoke. 'Tis not convincing."
She opened her eyes. "I was merely resting," she said.
"Ye were plotting," he replied. "There is a difference."
She had nothing to say to that because it was true.
Outside the shutter the sky was the pale grey-blue of pre-dawn.
The fire glowed low and steady. The inn was still quiet.
She was lying with her back to his chest, his arm across her middle, his leg warm and heavy against hers, and she was extraordinarily aware of every single point of contact between them.
She began to move again.
"Dinnae do that," he said softly.
"Cormac—"
"'Tis too early to be up and about. Maisie will not have that kitchen fire lit for another hour at least. Stay a while, lass."
She hesitated.
His thumb moved. A single slow stroke across her stomach through the linen.
"Cormac," she said, and hated that it came out softer than she intended.
"Aye," he replied in the same low voice.
She turned over.
It took some untangling of limbs, though his hand at her waist stayed steady throughout, and then she was facing him. He was right there, closer than she had quite accounted for, his dark eyes a little heavy-lidded, his jaw rough. He looked unguarded.
"We should get up," she said, without much conviction.
"Aye, we should," he agreed, and then he kissed her.
***
IT WAS SLOW AND CERTAIN and nothing like their first careful kiss at the table. Cormac kissed her with heat and passion, one hand cradling the back of her head. Una kissed him back with abandon.
His mouth moved to her jaw. Her throat. The warm hollow below her ear that made her shiver, and she felt him feel the shiver and do it again.
"Cormac," she breathed.
"I have ye," he murmured against her throat. "I have ye, lass."
His hands traced the neckline of her shift. She felt the pause, a question in it, and she nodded as Cormac drew it down off her shoulders with care, baring her breasts to his heated gaze.
He moved back just enough to look at her. His chest rose and fell. His jaw was tight.
"Ye're beautiful," he said.
Then he slowly lowered his head and his mouth closed over her nipple.
Una gasped and her hand flew to his hair.
Cormac suckled her slowly, his tongue circling, drawing her in, and the heat of it went straight through her belly and settled low as she arched into him.
He moved his mouth to her other breast and laved the stiffened peak with his tongue in slow circles.
Una moaned softly. Her fingers tightened in his hair.
"More," she managed, in a voice she barely recognized.
He kissed a trail along her throat and found her mouth again, his hip pressed against the juncture between her thighs, the solid weight of him settling over her.
She felt him then. Hard against her, long and thick and unmistakeable through the linen of her shift.
She ought to stop him. She did not. What happened instead started in her belly and moved outward, warm and insistent, and before she had thought about it she shifted her hips and rubbed herself against the hard length of him.
The sound he made was low and entirely involuntary.
"Damn it, lass," he breathed.
Una did it again. His forehead dropped to hers. His hand gripped her hip.
"Ye're killing me," he said roughly.
"Is that a complaint?" she whispered.
He answered by kissing her harder as he ground his length against her heat, pulling up the hem of her shift. Una parted her legs, rocking against him wanting to feel more. She felt his whole body shudder against hers. Then he groaned into her hair.
"Fenella..." he rasped.
Una's eyes flew open.
She went cold.
Fenella. He thought she was Fenella. She had let him think it, had worn the name like borrowed clothing for her own safety, and somehow in the warmth of his arms and the heat of his passion she had forgotten that entirely.
Una pushed him back. Both hands flat on his chest.
He went, startled and off-balance, and she scrambled upright and hauled her shift back over her shoulders.
He was up immediately, concern crossing his face. "Did I hurt ye?"
"No," she said. Her voice was steady. She was glad of that.
"Then what is it? What's the matter, Fenella?"
The name landed like a stone.
She looked away from him sharply, fixing her gaze on the pale slit of light at the edge of the shutter.
Her heart was hammering. Her skin was flushed.
Cormac was watching her with genuine concern.
He did not know her real name. He did not know a single true thing about her, and she had just let him suckle her breast and do more, all the while he thought she was someone else.
"I'm fine," she replied. "I just need a moment."
She moved to rise. She did not get far.
A firm arm hooked around her waist and Una found herself lifted and settled onto Cormac's lap, his arms encircling her before she could object.
"Let me go," she said.
"Not yet," he said quietly. "Not until I ken ye are all right."
"I told ye I am."
"No, ye told me what ye wanted me to hear. I owe ye an apology before either of us goes anywhere."
She stilled.
"I took liberties I had no right to," he said, his chin resting lightly at her temple. "Ye are in my care, and I took advantage of ye. I did not give ye the time to consider whether ye wanted this. For that I am truly sorry."
Una looked at the fire.
"I need to ken ye are well," he said. "Truly well."
The inn was quiet around them. The sky outside the shutter had lightened another degree, the deep blue-grey paling toward something softer, the first suggestion of dawn at the edges.
"Ye did not harm me. There is no need to be sorry," she said at last.
"Well, I am regardless."
His thumb moved across the back of her hand, slow and absent, back and forth.
"I will not press ye," he said. "Whatever ye wish to say or not say. But I want ye to ken that ye are safe with me. That has not changed."
She let out a slow breath. Some of the stiffness left her shoulders.
His fingers laced through hers, gentle, easy.
"I just dinnae think we should do anything we can't undo," she said.
"Aye, ye are right, and I'm sorry again, sweeting," he said, and pressed a kiss to her temple.
She nodded and let herself relax in his arms.
"Come, lie down a while longer," he murmured. "The day will come soon enough."
She turned her head and kissed him softly, her hand against his jaw, the scratch of his stubble against her palm, his mouth warm against hers. When they parted he pressed his forehead to hers and they simply breathed together for a moment.
"Better?" he murmured.
"Better," she agreed.
He drew her down beside him, tucking her close, her back to his chest. His arm settled across her waist. She could feel his breathing slowing against her hair, deepening, pulling toward sleep.
The fire glowed amber. The inn remained still and quiet.
Una lay in the warm circle of his arms and told herself she was merely waiting for a better opportunity to escape.
She was asleep before the thought was finished.
So was he.
***