"I jest . . ." He hesitated, looking uncomfortable, and then sighed and asked, "What are yer feelings fer MacDonnell?"
Saidh stared at him blankly and then asked, "What? Why? What're ye--?"
"I think he loves ye, lass," Aulay interrupted, looking truly uncomfortable now.
"Aye," Saidh said.
Aulay raised his eyebrows. "Aye? That's it? Aye?"
"What else should I say?" she asked with a frown. " 'Tis no' a surprise. He already told me that."
"Oh." He looked surprised and then asked. "And what did ye say?"
"Nothing," she admitted.
"The man tells ye he loves ye and ye say nothing?" Dougall growled, looking horrified.
"Well, I did no' get the chance to say anything," she snapped. "It was while we were talking to Bowie and--"
"All right, all right. Do no' fash yerself," Aulay soothed, glancing toward Greer. Following his gaze, Saidh saw that her husband had stopped pacing and was eyeing them suspiciously from across the room.
" 'Tis no wonder he's so fashed," Dougall muttered, once Greer started to pace again. "He's declared himself and no' yet received one in return."
"Do ye love him, Saidh?" Rory asked curiously as he worked. He'd sliced her gown away from the waist up, but had tucked a bit of cloth over the little bit revealed of her uninjured breast she saw. Now he moved around to clean the stab wounds on her back.
"Well, do ye?" Dougall asked when she didn't answer right away.
Saidh shrugged helplessly. "I do no' ken. How do ye ken if ye love someone?"
Aulay considered the question and then asked, "Do ye enjoy consummatin' with him?"
Saidh smiled faintly. "I want to punch him e'erytime he kisses me."
"What?" Rory barked, straightening and coming around in front of her to see her face.
"Well, that's how it feels," she said helplessly. "O' course, I do no' do it. 'Tis jest that he fair makes me blood boil with his kisses and I want to . . ." She shook her head. "But I do no' hit him and then he starts in touching and thrusting and me head fair explodes and I do no' want to hit him anymore."
"Ah," Rory said weakly and moved around back of her again to return to work.
Saidh glanced to Aulay and frowned when she saw the amusement on his face. "What?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, clearing his expression.
"So does she like it or nay?" Dougall asked, appearing uncertain.
"Aye," Aulay assured him dryly.
"Then why does she want to hit him?" Dougall asked. "It seems an odd reaction if she's liking it. And it can no' be healthy fer her head to explode."
Aulay turned to him with disbelief. "Ha'e ye e'er e'en lain with a woman, Dougall?"
"O' course I ha'e," he snapped. "But I ha'e ne'er wanted to hit one while doing it, and me head certainly does no' explode. At least no' the head on me shoulders," he added with a grin.
"She does no' mean she really wants to hit him, or that her head really explodes, Dougall," Rory said with exasperation behind her.
"Well, then why did she say it?" Dougall asked with a frown.
"She means . . . I'll explain later," Aulay said with a grimace, and then turned back to Saidh. "Is there anything else ye like about him?"
"Oh, aye. He's got a pretty . . . arse," she finished, saying arse instead of face as her gaze landed on Aulay's scars and she recalled his self-consciousness about it.
"What does it matter if his arse is pretty?" Dougall asked with disgust as Rory made a sound that might have been a laugh, or just as easily could have been a cough.
Saidh scowled and rushed on, "And I like to talk to him. He's verra clever. I like the way he thinks. And I like when he fusses o'er me."
"Ye do?" Rory asked with surprise, beginning to bind her waist to cover the wounds he'd just cleaned. It seemed to have gone quickly, and hadn't been too painful, but she had been distracted.
"Ye jest get angry when we fuss," Dougall grumbled.
"Aye, well, he does it different," she said dryly. "He makes me feel like he cares, no' like he thinks me weak."
"If the castle was on fire, who would ye rescue first?" Aulay asked suddenly.
"Alpin," she said at once. "He's weakest."
"No' MacDonnell?" he asked with a frown.
Saidh snorted. "He'd already be up trying to rescue me."
Aulay smiled slowly.
"What?" Saidh asked suspiciously.
"Ye trust that ye can rely on him," he said simply and then turned his back and gestured to Dougall to do so as well to give her privacy as Rory began to cut away the bindings around her chest wound.
"O' course I trust him," Saidh said with confusion.
"Saidh," Aulay said solemnly without turning around. "Ha'e ye e'er before met a man ye thought strong and smart and that ye could depend on?"
"Ye mean besides me husband?" she asked and when he nodded, answered promptly. "Da. You. And Dougall, Rory, Conran, Geordie, Niels--"
"Men who are no' Buchanans," Aulay interrupted.
Saidh considered the question. "Mayhap Sinclair. He seems a'right, but most men are puling, lackwitted--Oh," she said with understanding.
Aulay nodded. "Ye like and respect the man, trust him and enjoy him in bed."
"She loves him," Dougall announced, and she saw her brothers grin at each other.
"Aye," Rory agreed with a smile as he finished cutting away the bandages and began to examine her chest wound.
"I am glad ye do. I like and respect him too," Aulay said quietly.
"Aye," Dougall said. "He could ha'e been a Buchanan."
Saidh smiled, knowing that was the biggest compliment her brother could give.
"Ye've made a fine choice fer a husband, sister," Rory murmured.
"Thank ye," she whispered and glanced down as he began to replace the bandages he'd cut away with fresh strips of linen. "I do no' need more stitches?"
"Nay. A couple stitches had torn a bit, but are still holding and already healing. Ye're a fast healer," he added, as though congratulating her on an unexpected skill.
Saidh just shook her head and watched as he finished binding her up. By the time he was done, she was pretty much covered from her waist to her neck in bandages with just her arms and one shoulder still on view. He'd even fully covered her uninjured breast this time, she noted mournfully.
"All done," Rory announced, straightening.
"Then we should leave the two o' ye alone," Aulay announced, then bent to kiss her cheek before saying. "Put yer husband out o' his misery and tell him ye love him."
"Aye." Saidh nodded, and then watched her brothers leave, before turning to peer at Greer. He'd stopped pacing to watch them leave as well, his expression unreadable, and Saidh bit her lips, wondering how she should tell him she loved him. Should she just blurt it out, or wait for him to say it again? She wondered and then worried that he might not say it again. He might even regret saying it the first time. Or he might be waiting for her to say it herself, ere repeating it.
"What were ye and yer brothers whispering about o'er here?"
Saidh raised her head at that quiet question and found her husband standing in front of her. He looked . . . She frowned, trying to find the word. Stoic was the only one to come to mind, but that was not it. It was more as if he were braced for a blow.
"We were no' whispering," Saidh protested, and then admitted, "They were trying to help me sort out if I loved ye."
That had definitely surprised him, Saidh thought wryly as his jaw dropped to hit his chest. Quickly pulling it closed, he raised an eyebrow and asked, "And? What was the conclusion?"
"That I want to hit ye e'ery time ye kiss me, and would no' save ye were the castle on fire," she blurted.
He reacted as if she'd punched him in the gut, stumbling back a step, his face paling. Pulling himself upright, he asked gruffly, "When are they taking ye?"
"Taking me where?" she asked with confusion.
"Home to Buchanan," he said stiffly
.
Saidh shook her head with bewilderment. "Why would they take me to Buchanan?"
"Because 'tis obvious I am a poor excuse fer a husband and can no' keep ye safe," he said shortly.
Saidh snorted at the claim, but asked, "That is why ye were pacing so angrily? Ye blame yerself fer me injuries?"
"I am yer husband. I should ha'e kept ye safe," he said grimly.
"And ye did. Ye saved me and Alpin from Tilda in the bell tower," she pointed out with a shrug.
"No' before ye took yet more wounds."
"Me brothers were watching me when Tilda took me," she pointed out. "They were also supposed to be guarding me when Alpin and I slipped away to the gardens and got hurt. So, if ye want to blame anyone, blame them."
"Oy!" The shout came muffled through the door. It was followed by, "We can hear ye! These doors are thin."
"Then stop pressing yer ears to it and go below. I'm trying to talk to me husband here!" Saidh snapped and heard the shuffle of feet as her brothers moved away from the door. Honestly, they were like a heard of bulls the lot of them, she thought and then glanced back to Greer and said solemnly, "This is me home now. Me brothers ken I love ye. They'll no' be taking me anywhere."
Greer blinked as if uncertain he'd heard her right, or unable to process her words. "Ye love me?"
"Aye. Did I no' jest tell ye me brothers helped me sort that out?" she asked impatiently.
"Nay. Ye said ye want to hit me e'ery time I kiss ye, and would no' save me were the castle on fire," he snapped.
"Exactly," Saidh said with satisfaction. "That's how much I love ye."
"What?" he asked with disbelief. "Ye think the fact that ye'd rather hit me than kiss me and would leave me to die in a burning building means that ye love me?"
"That's no' what I meant," Saidh squawked, and then clucked under her tongue. "And I told them ye were clever."
"Wife," he said through his teeth.
Saidh sighed, and shook her head. "I would ne'er leave ye to die in a burning building," she said with exasperation, and explained, "Aulay asked me who I would save were the castle on fire, and I said Alpin, 'cause he was weakest. And he asked why no' you, and I said because ye'd already be up and about trying to drag me out o' the castle." She raised her eyebrows. "See? He says that's a sign that I trust and rely on ye, and I do. Like me da and brothers, ye're a brave, braugh man with a fine head on yer shoulders. I trust that ye'll always be there and ha'e me back. I can count on ye."
"Oh," Greer breathed, relaxing a little. Smiling crookedly, he took her hands. "That is one o' the things I love about ye too, Saidh. I love yer strength and yer stubbornness. The wildness that seems to flow through e'ery part o' yer body," he said with admiration and bent his head to kiss her. It started out a gentle drifting of his lips over hers, but quickly turned into something more carnal and heated as it always did when he kissed her.
Saidh moaned, and wrapped her arms around Greer's waist as desire and need began to bubble up within her, building to the point where she was desperate for an outlet. Something aggressive and physical. Tearing her mouth away, she turned her head to the side and gasped, "About the punching."
"I remember," he growled by her ear.
"Ye do?" she asked with confusion. "What do ye remember?"
"The stables," he reminded her, one hand drifting up her thigh under her skirt and she smiled as she recalled that day. Her telling him that the things he did to her made her want to punch him, and his showing her what she really wanted. How long ago it seemed now. A lifetime, she thought, and then pulled back to peer at him when his hand stilled.
"What is it?" she asked worriedly, afraid she was so unattractive now with all her bindings that he couldn't bear to touch her. Not one to shy from saying what she was thinking, she asked, "It it because I'm wrapped up in linens like a corpse?" Grimacing, she added, "I suppose 'tis hardly attractive."
"Saidh," he said seriously, cupping her face in both hands. "I will always find ye beautiful." He didn't kiss her then as she hoped, but added, "It's jest ye've so many wounds now, I'm afraid o' hurting ye."
"Then keep yer hands below the waist and yer lips above the neck," she suggested pragmatically, and added, "Because I feel like punching someone."
A short laugh slipped from Greer's lips and then he murmured, "As my lady wife demands," and urged her legs apart so that he could step between them. Pausing then, he caught her face in his hands again and said, "I do love ye, Saidh."
"And I love ye too, Greer," she assured him as his lips lowered to claim hers.
Keep reading
for a sneak peek
of Lynsay Sands's next
New York Times bestselling
Argeneau novel
ABOUT A VAMPIRE
Available October 2015
from Avon Books
Justin Bricker rolled the gurney stacked with dead rogues in front of the retort. After kicking the wheel locks to keep it in place, he then glanced to Anders, his partner in tonight's endeavor.
With his dark hair and skin and the black leather clothes he wore, Anders was like a shadow in the white room. He was presently looming over the crematorium technician who stood in the corner. The adult male mortal who had opened the back door at their knock now looked like little more than a naughty schoolboy put there for punishment by an irate teacher. Only the child's resentment was missing . . . the man's expression was blank as Anders worked to remove their arrival from his memories and keep him where he stood, safely out of the way.
When Anders relaxed and turned to walk toward him, Justin raised his eyebrows. "Are we good?"
Anders nodded. "But we have to be quick. His shift ends in fifteen minutes. A new guy will be showing up soon."
"No problem. We'll be out of here by then. As flammable as we are, these guys will be dust in minutes." Justin turned to open the door of the retort, and whistled at the wave of heat that blew out at him. He glanced to Anders as the other man reached his side. "So . . . what did you do to piss off Lucian?"
Rather than answer, Anders asked, "What makes you think I did anything to piss him off?"
Justin grinned. "Well, he gave me clean-up duty because I pissed him off. So I figure you must be in the same boat."
Anders merely grunted and pulled the top body off the stack to send it into the retort.
"Come on," Justin said as the flames shooting into the retort hit the body and it was set ablaze as if it were made of dry straw. "You must have done something."
Anders watched him pick up another body to send it into the retort. Finally, he said, "I might have made some joke or other about his missing so many meals at home since Leigh turned vegetarian."
Justin raised his eyebrows. "That wouldn't bother him . . . unless you said it in front of Leigh."
Anders grimaced, and then started to pick up the next body. "Unfortunately, Leigh came into the room behind me as I was saying it. I fear she overheard me."
"Ah." Justin winced, knowing Anders wouldn't have deliberately hurt the woman's feelings. None of the hunters would. Leigh was a good woman, they all liked her. "Yeah, I bet that-- Look out! The head--"
Anders froze with this body half off the gurney, but it was too late. One of the heads had been dislodged and was rolling off the edge of the metal table. Justin made a grab for it, but wasn't in time and the decapitated head hit the floor with a wet splat.
Both men stood and grimaced at the mess, and then Anders nodded toward the crematorium technician and muttered, "I don't suppose we can make him clean this up?"
"You suppose right. It would be hard to erase that from his memory and ensure it stayed erased," Justin said with amusement as he watched Anders grab the head by the man's long hair and toss it into the retort. It rolled forward like a lopsided bowling ball wobbling into the flame jets, where it exploded into immediate flames. Shaking his head, he murmured, "Like kindling."
"Yeah, we're pretty flammable," Anders commented.
"I
guess that makes us hot stuff," Justin said and laughed at his own joke. It even brought a smile from Anders as he finished lifting the body he held and sent it into the retort after the head. Anders wasn't known for a sense of humor, so the smile was the equivalent of a belly laugh from anyone else, Justin thought.
A shuffling sound and a moan drew his attention around to a woman standing at the corner of the cooler. She was short and rounded with a wave of raven-black hair pouring over her shoulders and down her back, a shiny black mass against the tan trench coat she wore. She also had one hand pressed against the cooler wall as if to hold herself up, and her complexion was positively green as she stared at the puddle on the floor where the head had been just seconds ago. Justin was pretty sure she'd witnessed the whole head-rolling-off-the-table-onto-the-floor bit. No doubt a gruesome sight for someone not used to dealing with the dead. Hell, he had to do it on a semi regular basis and it had been gruesome to him.
Her eyes lifted reluctantly to him and Anders now and Justin noted that they were a lovely pale blue. She had nice lips too, full and kissable, and the cutest little slightly turned up nose . . . and she was looking at him and Anders with a sort of mindless horror.
"I have the mess on the floor to clean up, so you get to deal with our tourist here," Anders announced grimly.
"Thanks," Justin said sarcastically, but didn't really mind. He loved women, always had, and this one was a cutie. The only shame was that he wouldn't get to play with more than her mind. Once he took control of her and wiped her memories, he'd have to avoid contact with her again to avoid those memories returning. Ah well, plenty more in the sea, he thought, and concentrated his gaze on her forehead, trying to penetrate her thoughts.
"Well?" Anders asked after a moment. "What are you waiting for? Take control of her."
Justin blinked, confusion sliding through him and then said weakly, "I can't."
"What?" Anders asked with surprise.
"I can't read her," he clarified, hardly able to believe it himself. Her thoughts were a complete blank to him.
"Seriously?" Anders asked, eyes narrowing.
"Seriously," Justin assured him, aware that his voice sounded as dazed as he felt. Damn. He couldn't read her. That meant--
"Well, then I'd get after her if I were you," Anders suggested and when Bricker just stared at him in blank confusion, he gestured to where the woman had been just a moment before and pointed out, "She's running."