Chapter Thirty-Three
Regret never hit Alan till after, once the overmastering impulses had been satisfied and a measure of sense returned to his mind. After he’d acted upon the demands of his body—and, let it be admitted, hers—and emptied himself inside her. And thoughts of the possible consequences filtered in.
Och, what had he done?
Given in to his most basic impulses. The way Evan always did.
Ah, but she was warm and welcoming and smelled like heaven, every part of her an invitation if not, aye, a demand. Her mouth, hot and sweet. Her breasts soft. And down below…
Damn it, his thoughts had him growing hard again. Already.
He’d meant to withdraw before spilling his seed. The last thing they wanted was the tangible connection of a child between them. And yet—was she not his wife?
She lay very still beneath him, only her breasts rising and falling as she sought to catch her breath. Glorious breasts, with nipples that peaked against his tongue.
Ah, God.
What would she say to him now? What could he say? Would she claim that was not what she had wanted?
He shifted onto his side, to ease his weight from her and relieve the pull of his wound which, till this very moment, he had not even felt. She sighed and spoke, her first words proving their minds, if not their bodies, still moved in tandem.
“Did ye harm yoursel’ wi’ all that? Let me see.” She ran the palm of her hand down his chest to the bandaging. Squinting down at it, he saw it was tinged red.
“Ye’re bleeding. Does it hurt?”
“Nay. To tell ye the truth, I forgot all about it.”
He had to touch her. He brushed the thick brown hair back from her cheek. Their gazes met and held.
She whispered, “I should no’ ha’ asked—not injured as ye are.”
Asked. She believed she’d asked for what they’d shared.
“I do no’ mind. I do no’ care,” he said, fumbling the words. Did she now feel regret?
“Still and all,” she whispered. “Ye maun have a care. I will no’ touch ye again.” In defiance of the words—in direct defiance—her hand slid from the bandage downward, across his belly to where he stood for her. He caught his breath.
“How long,” she asked not quite artlessly, “before—”
“Should no’ be this quick,” he grunted.
“Still and all.” She jerked her hand away. “I should no’ touch.”
Nor should he. Yet his hand shifted from her hair to her breast.
She gasped.
“So,” she said even as his thumb moved against her nipple, “I ha’ been served, ha’ I? Even as a mare is served by a stallion?”
“If ye would term it that way.”
“And wi’ the same result?” Her gaze prodded his. “Will I produce a foal?”
That made him smile despite himself. “I do no’ suppose ’tis quite so certain as wi’ horses. It may take repeated—er—servicing.”
“Ah. A pity, that.” She kissed him, her tongue plunging into his mouth this time, and her meaning could not be clearer. A minx, was his wife. And not easily satisfied.
Especially as, during the kiss, she spread her legs in the manner of a cat stretching.
“I always imagined,” she purred when the kiss ended, “a woman was bred from behind, just like animals.”
“As I say, that can well be. I might show ye.”
She licked her lips. “Aye, then. Show me.”
He turned her over with careful hands. Drew her up into position. Near lost his mind with the headiness of it.
His wound be damned.
****
“On the whole,” Annista said drowsily, “I believe I prefer face-to-face. Not that the other was no’—thrilling. Utterly thrilling. But I like being able to kiss ye and to look into your eyes while we…”
The fire had died in the grate, the room gone soft with gloom. Alan’s wife lay half draped over him, and in his heart—well, there was a rare peace that seemed to have lodged there despite all the madness that beset them.
He tried to focus on that madness. It proved difficult with Annista snuggled into the crook of his neck, one naked leg draped over both of his and the taste of her kisses still on his tongue.
Danger yet surrounded them. That of the political intrigue into which Father had plunged him and the far more immediate threat posed by Evan.
What were they to do about Evan? And what further madness would this day hold?
“What is it?” Annista asked softly. “Ye be frowning. If ye prefer to mount me from behind—”
“Hush, nay.” In truth, he preferred to take her any way she chose. His wife most clearly enjoyed relations with him. “’Tis nay that.”
“Then, what?” Again she gazed into his eyes, searching. Was this the same woman who had once refused to do more than glare at him in anger? Who’d made him promise not to touch?
Was he falling in love with her? That thought startled him so much he went silent.
“Alan?” she prompted. “Are ye in pain?”
He shook his head.
“Alan—” she repeated.
“I am but wondering what the day ahead will hold.”
“Surely we ha’ hours yet before we maun face that. Let us sleep for a while. I want to sleep in your arms.”
Was his wife falling in love with him?
Nay, surely not. Both of them had been forced into this against their will. She but floated now on the feelings resulting from what they’d shared together.
Because, as he’d been taught all his life, he most certainly had naught to recommend him.
He whispered back to her, “I should rise and go mak’ certain all is well in the house. Do a circuit of the stable also. I do no’ ken whether Father has returned wi’ the search party.” To be fair, the house might have collapsed on their heads and he’d not have noticed.
“All is quiet.” She did not release him.
“Mayhap too quiet.”
He had a sudden vision of Evan bursting in through the door of his chamber, brandishing some weapon, his face contorted with murderous rage. He would have time to do no more than throw his body over Annista’s as a shield.
She groaned. “If ye insist on going out on patrol, I am coming wi’ ye.”
Ah, well, that would save her from remaining here alone.
“Is it still raining?” she asked as she slipped from his arms and out of the bed, gloriously naked.
“Aye—I can hear it.”
“Then gi’ me leave to find some proper clothing. And to check and mak’ sure Bonnie is all right.”
She slipped off to the adjoining chamber. When Alan got up and moved, he discovered he did hurt most terribly.
Wondrous, what a man could overlook when he had a willing woman in his arms.
“I am going to need your help.” Suddenly Annista was there again, her back turned to him. “Wi’ the wee buttons. I am no’ able to reach, and Bonnie is sleeping. Sleeping and safe.”
“That is good.” Alan bumbled over the task, and over finding clothing for himself. Unsteady on his feet.
When they went out into the hall, they startled Seumas, who leaned against Annista’s door, apparently dozing.
“Master Alan?” His gaze flicked over them. “Is somewhat amiss?”
“No’ that I know of. I merely want to mak’ a circuit o’ the house and yard. Has my father returned?”
Seumas shook his head. “I ha’ no’ heard them. Shall I come wi’ ye?”
“Nay.” It was Annista who answered. “Keep a guard here, for Bonnie.”
“Aye, Mistress.”
They slipped off down the stairs, and Annista whispered, “I am armed wi’ a knife in my pocket.”
“Are ye?” He gave her a startled look.
“Aye.”
So she’d said before. “And where did ye get yer weapon?”
“I brought it fro’ home. My mother gave it to me.”
“Och, well, are ye and yer mother no’ full o’ surprises.”
“Are we?”
“Och, aye.”
“A woman should no’ go defenseless.”
“I am fortunate ye did no’ slit my throat, given I ha’ shattered our bargain.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs. She faced him and raised a hand to his cheek. “I broke that also, voluntarily. Anyway—I would ne’er harm ye.”
An incredible rush of warmth flooded Alan. “Would ye no’?” he asked almost tenderly.
“Nay. And I left the knife in my own chamber last night, by any road. Only fetched it when I got my clothing.”
That made him chuckle ruefully. Ah, well, it was something.
“Come along,” he urged. “At my back, in case we meet—” That image of a wild and vicious Evan invaded his mind again. “Promise ye will stay back.”
“I canna mak’ that promise. We stand together, Alan MacKallan, or no’ at all.”
Aye, indeed, he might well be falling in love—deep in love—with his wife.