She shivered and gave a little laugh. “You make me sound like Cook’s sweets.”
“You’re so much better.” The look in his eyes was a mixture of teasing laughter and simmering desire. “Every time I see you I want to devour you.”
He dragged her close and kissed her, lingering over her lips as though she were the sweetest confection. His hands were in her hair, drawing her head back while he kissed her until they were both breathless. And still it wasn’t enough. He wanted to crawl inside her skin. To take her, hard and fast, like a barbarian. Instead, he held back, keeping his kisses gentle enough to allow her to relax and open to him.
Open she did. Her lips to his. Her body, straining toward his, with the most incredible rush of heat. And her heart, eager to accept the love he was offering.
Lost in the kiss, she reached out blindly, her hands clutching his waist. She had the sudden notion that her legs might fail her and she would slide bonelessly to the floor. His kisses had a way of doing that. Of making her weak, and turning her world on its head. Surely it was magic. A very special kind of mortal magic that only he possessed. Not that she cared, as long as he didn’t stop doing what he was doing, for it was mesmerizing.
He brushed wet nibbling kisses down the smooth column of her throat.
She tried to push away while bursting into gales of laughter. “Andrew, that tickles.”
“And this?” He drew her close and buried his mouth in the little hollow between her neck and shoulder.
Her laughter turned to a low moan of pleasure as he continued down her collarbone to her breast. Despite the barrier of her clothing her nipple hardened instantly at his touch.
She hadn’t expected that quick tug of desire, or the liquid warmth deep inside that had her trembling with strange new needs.
“A moment, Andrew.” She placed her palms against his chest. “I can’t think.”
He ran his hands lightly up her arms. “There’s no need to think, Imp. Just feel.”
“But I feel so…” She tried to put it into words, but all she could do was sigh. How could she possibly explain the way her body vibrated with such need, it had her shuddering.
He gave her a heart-stopping look. “Would you like me to stop?”
“Nay.” Her hands fisted at the front of his tunic, holding him when he started to pull away.
Against her lips he muttered, “Praise heaven for that. I don’t know what I’d do if you asked me to stop now.” With a chuckle he wrapped her in a fierce embrace and covered her mouth with his.
He took the kiss deeper until their chests were heaving, hearts thundering.
When at last they came up for air, he reached for the buttons of her gown. His fingers fumbled and he swore. “Why must there be so many buttons on women’s gowns?”
“I never thought of it before. Perhaps it’s intended to preserve our virtue.”
She saw his quick grin. “You don’t think a few buttons will do it?”
She laughed, and the warmth of it trickled over him like warm honey. “Not when you’re in such a mood as this. Shall I help you, my lord?”
“Allow me, my lady.” Before she had time to realize what he planned, he tore the bodice in two and the gown slipped away, pooling at her feet.
“Andrew.” Her eyes widened. “How will I explain this to Olnore?”
“You’ll tell her that the buttons were much too small for your lover’s hands.”
“My lover?” Again that wide-eyed reaction, as she realized the implication. “You are, aren’t you? Truly?”
“Truly.” He reached for the ribbons of her chemise. With one tug the delicate fabric parted.
He slid it from her shoulders, all the while staring at her with a look that spoke more than words. She was so incredibly lovely, standing in the spill of moonlight from high, narrow windows above. The sight of her took his breath away.
“Oh, my beautiful Imp.” The words were spoken with a sort of reverence.
Then those strong, warrior’s hands were touching her. Moving along her body. The soft curve of her breasts. The narrow waist. The gentle flare of hips. His mouth followed the trail of fire started by his fingertips. With lips and tongue he kissed, caressed, worshiped, slowly driving her mad.
He was losing himself in her. Her scent, as fresh as wildflowers. Her sighs, whispering over his senses like the siren song of some exotic bird. Her skin. Pale as milk, and softer than the underside of a rose petal.
Each time she trembled at his touch he found himself more and more aroused until he thought he’d go mad from the need for her.
When she reached for his tunic he helped her until his clothes joined hers on the floor.
Now she was free to touch him as he was touching her. Her fingers moved tentatively across his face, over his shoulder, down his chest.
“You’re so beautiful, Andrew.”
“I’ve a warrior’s body, covered with scars. It could hardly be called beautiful, Imp.”
“But it is. You are. All that muscle. I’ve never before seen a man’s body. It’s so different. So…splendid.” She trailed her hands across the flat planes of his stomach, then lower, until he moaned and covered her mouth in a savage kiss.
Her touch on his naked flesh was the most exquisite torture. He wanted, more than anything, to take what she offered here and now, and end this hard, driving need building inside. But he wanted so much more. He cautioned himself to go slowly. Now that he was free to indulge, he would have it all. He would take and give until they were both sated. A feast for one who’d been starving. A night undisturbed, to indulge in every kind of fantasy. This was what he craved for both of them. And they would have it, even if it took superhuman control.
Taking her hands he drew her down on the cloak and lay beside her, before covering her mouth in a searing kiss.
Gwenellen absorbed the quick rush of heat, then the slow, steady throb of need. She could actually feel her blood begin to pulse and flow like lava through her veins. When his lips left hers she made a sound of protest. But when his mouth began a lazy exploration of her body, she could do nothing more than sigh from the pure pleasure of it.
She lay steeped in the most amazing sensations. As though she had just discovered her own body through his touch. She’d never dreamed a man’s hands could be so compelling. She could feel him in every pore. Could taste him on her lips. Could smell the distinct male musky scent of him deep in her lungs.
She felt beautiful. Desirable.
Andrew could feel her begin to relax in his arms, as trust replaced fear. Trust. More than desire, more than need, the knowledge that she trusted him had his heart swelling with love for her.
His kisses deepened. His touch became more impatient. Teasing. Arousing, until she moaned and clung, afraid that at any moment she would burn to ash from the heat building inside her.
He saw the look of surprise mingled with pleasure as he brought her to the first unexpected peak. Those wide innocent eyes going sightless. The lips pursed in a question. And then her hands fisted in the cloak as she rode the crest.
This was how he’d wanted her. Alive, vibrant, and aching with need for him. This was how he’d dreamed of her as he’d paced his chambers in the dark of the night, thinking of the beautiful creature who slept but a door away. His. Only his. His woman.
He could feel the need rising, threatening to take him over the edge. Once again he pushed it aside, wanted to give her more. So much more.
His kisses were no longer gentle, but demanding, drawing her in, taking her to a newer, darker place. A place of hot, slick flesh, and shallow breaths that couldn’t quite fill lungs that were straining.
Gwenellen was reminded of the first time she’d seen him. There had been a darkness about this man that had been as exciting as it was frightening. Now she was joining him in his darkness. But instead of fear, she felt a ripple of excitement. She not only welcomed it, but reveled in it.
She could feel her flesh melting, her bones dissolv
ing. Despite the lack of fire on the hearth she was burning with fever. A fever that had her breath growing more shallow with every minute; her heartbeat more thunderous.
The room was so still, the only thing she could hear was the sound of ragged breathing. Hers and his. Two hearts drummed in unison. The only thing she could see was Andrew. Those dark eyes narrowed on her with such fierce concentration. Those warm, clever lips that were curved in a mysterious smile as he looked into her eyes. Those strong warrior’s hands that brought such pleasure.
Following his lead she touched him as he’d been touching her and was rewarded by his low growl that seemed more animal than human. He dragged her into his arms and kissed her, long and slow and deep, until he could feel her actually quivering with need.
“Andrew.” A voice she barely recognized as her own sounded more like a whimper than a sigh.
He knew he could wait no longer. As he levered himself over her he felt her tense.
Against her mouth he whispered, “I’ll try not to hurt you, Imp.”
She smiled then. The sunlight that he craved, lighting all the darkness inside him. “I know you could never hurt me, Andrew.”
Her trust in him was as erotic as her touch. He knew now there was no way to stop, or even to slow the crest sweeping them both up and over. The beast inside him was struggling to be set free. He was being carried along in a tide of unbelievable pleasure as she took him in deeper and began to move with him. Climb with him.
“My beloved Highland warrior.” Her words were a whispered sigh as she wrapped herself around him and matched her strength to his.
She would make him hers. Only hers.
With hearts thundering, lungs straining, they began to climb, to soar, until they reached the highest peak. With a starburst of incredible sensations they stepped off the edge of a high, steep cliff.
And soared through the heavens.
“What’s this?” They lay, still joined, while their breathing slowed and their heartbeats steadied. With his lips against her cheek he tasted the salt and lifted his head to touch a finger to the corner of her eye. “Tears, Imp?” His tone hardened as he started to push free. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Nay, Andrew.” She drew him close and touched a hand to his cheek. “You didn’t hurt me. I don’t know what caused these tears.” She sounded mortified. “I never cry.”
“Of course you don’t.” He was feeling far too tender at the moment to remind her of the tears she’d shed not more than an hour ago. He rolled to one side and drew her gently into his embrace, wrapping her cloak around them both. “You’re too sunny to weep.”
“I am?” She snuggled close, loving the feel of his strong arms around her.
He nodded. “Do you know, each time I look at you I see sunshine?” He tangled his fingers in her hair. “It’s probably because of all this light that surrounds you like a halo.”
“I’ve heard of halos. I’m no saint.”
His grin was quick. “Aye. I’ll attest to that. But there’s an aura of bright colors that seem always to surround you.”
She lifted a finger to his face and began tracing the outline of his lips. Such amazing lips. They brought such unbelievable pleasure. “What else do you see when you look at me?”
He turned slightly, staring into her eyes and wondering that, even now, the mere touch of her could be so arousing. “Are you hoping to unearth all my secrets now, Imp?”
“Aye. If I were one of my sisters, I could see for myself. But since I haven’t the gift of sight, tell me what you see, Andrew.”
He traced a finger over the curve of her brow, the outline of her mouth. “In your eyes I see truth. On your lips I hear only honesty. While others around me might mask their feelings to spare mine, you’ll tell me what I need to hear, even if it isn’t to my liking.”
“I thought that angered you.”
He chuckled. “It does. Nobody wants to hear unpleasant things. But I admire you for your honesty, Imp. Especially since I’ve made it so difficult for you to speak the truth.”
“You can be a bit…overbearing, my lord.”
“Overbearing?” He folded his hands behind his head. “I’m a model of evenhandedness. A man of infinite patience.”
That had her laughing. “Aye. A paragon of virtue.”
His laughter faded. “I haven’t always been kind to you, and for that I’m truly sorry. Earlier today I made you cry and…”
She sat up and touched a hand to his mouth. “Hush. You couldn’t know why I’d attempted another spell.”
“But I assumed the worst.”
“It was no more than I deserved.” She flushed. “I’m well aware that my spells haven’t always been successful. As for you, Andrew, I’ve seen how hard you’re working to ease the pain of the villagers. And I’ve heard from them about your many kindnesses. You may pretend to be a heartless warrior, but your people knew better. They wouldn’t have asked you to be laird if they hadn’t considered you worthy.”
“Oh, Imp.” He drew her down and treated himself to a long, lingering kiss. “You almost make me believe that I can do some good here.”
“You’re needed here. Without your leadership, what would these good people do?”
Before she could say more he shot her a dangerous smile and ran hot, wet kisses down her throat. “Why are we wasting time talking, when there are so many more…pleasurable things to do?”
At the spiral of heat she clutched his waist and gave a little gasp of pleasure. “You mean we aren’t finished? There’s…more that women and mortal men can do?”
“Oh, my wonderful, delightful little Imp.” He threw back his head and roared with delight. “There’s so much more.”
With a growl of pleasure he covered her mouth with his and proceeded to show her.
As moonlight spilled over them like liquid gold, they lost themselves in the wonder of their newly-discovered love.
Chapter Fifteen
Gwenellen lay very still, wondering what had awakened her from a sound sleep. It took a moment to recall where she was. Then it all came rushing back to her. The library in the old portion of the abbey. The love she had shared with Andrew.
It felt so good to be here with him. So right. As though everything in her life had been moving her toward this place, this man.
It wasn’t just the joy, the passion, the pleasure they’d shared. It was this room. It was, she felt certain, an enchanted place. The spirits of the ones who had sought refuge here eons ago lingered still. She could feel their presence. Could sense their approval. It gave her great comfort.
Some time during the night Andrew had started a fire and carried her to the fur-covered chaise. There, warm and cozy, they had whispered words of love while indulging all their fantasies.
He had been an amazing lover. At times so easy and gentle with her, as though they had known each other for a lifetime. At other times their lovemaking had more resembled a sudden summer storm. All thunder and lightning and bursts of passion that caught them both by surprise, sending them into a frenzy of need.
She heard the sound of labored breathing and Andrew’s muttered oath as, caught in the throes of a nightmare, he thrashed among the furs.
“Andrew.” Alarmed, Gwenellen touched a hand to his shoulder and felt him flinch. She shook him gently. “My love, wake up.”
He sat up suddenly, his hand going to his waist, as though to reach for his sword. Feeling his bare flesh, his eyes snapped open.
He stared blankly at the vision beside him, before he blinked and seemed to pull himself from a dark place in his mind. “Forgive me, Imp. I woke you.”
“You were having a bad dream, Andrew.”
“Aye.” In the glow of embers his skin was slick with sweat; his eyes narrowed in thought.
“Would it help to tell me about it?”
Instead of a reply he walked to the fireplace and tossed a fresh log on the hot coals. Within minutes flames began licking at the bark.
She studied the way he looked in the firelight. Tall and proud, his profile so cold and stern it could have been carved from marble. She could see, by the hands clenched at his sides, that he was still struggling with his demons.
His words, when at last he spoke, were gruff, as though forced from a throat raw with grief. “I had a bitter argument with my father before I left for Edinburgh. Things were said in the heat of anger that can never be recalled.”
“What things, Andrew?”
He returned to the chaise, but instead of sitting beside her, he knelt at her feet and caught her hands in his.
“I’ll not speak of them, for they’re too painful even now. But I thought, when I left, that I never wanted to see him again. I can’t help thinking that my wish was the cause of all that’s happened here.”
Gwenellen squeezed his hands tightly. “You must never think that, Andrew. You weren’t responsible for what happened to your father.”
“How do you know that? I wished it, didn’t I? And now my wish has been granted.” He shoved a hand roughly through the hair that had fallen over his forehead.
She closed a hand over his, feeling the spill of dark hair over their joined fingers. “Your guilt will do nothing but add to your burden.” She slid her hand to his cheek. “If you are seeking someone to blame, then look to your enemy.”
Seeing that he was about to protest further, she touched a finger to his lips and stared deeply into his eyes, as though daring him to argue. “Your father bears no resentment toward you. In our conversations he has expressed only love.”
Andrew sighed. “If only he could speak to me. But I suppose I must be content with the fact that he can speak to you.”
“Then you don’t mind if I continue conversing with your father?”
“I welcome it. In fact, since I’m being completely truthful…” He caught a wisp of her hair and twirled it around and around his finger, studying the look in her eyes. “…I must admit that I’m more than a little jealous of your ability to speak with my father.”
“You can speak to him, as well, Andrew.”