Grimm stared at her, disconcerted. “What else did Quinn tell you?”
“That you love me,” she said simply.
He swept her into his embrace in one swift move. He buried his hands in her hair and kissed her urgently. She savored the rock-hard press of his body against hers, his teasing tongue, his strong hands cupping her face. Jillian melted against him, wordlessly demanding more. The past month without him, followed by hours pressed against his muscled body as they’d ridden, had begun a slow burn of desire within her. For the past hour, her skin had tingled at every point of contact with his body, and a trembling heat had gathered in her midsection, seeping lower, awakening shockingly intense feelings of desire. She’d been oblivious to the terrain, her mind fully occupied with imagining, in blush-inducing detail, the many different ways she wanted to make love with him.
Now she practically vibrated with need, and she responded wildly to his kiss. Her body was already prepared for him, and she pressed encouragingly against his hips.
He stopped kissing her as suddenly as he’d begun. “We must continue riding,” he said tightly. “We have a long way to go, lass. I doona wish to keep you out here in the cold any longer than I must.”
He pulled away so abruptly that Jillian gaped at him and nearly screamed with frustration. She was so heated from his kiss that the chill air was inconsequential, and she certainly had no intention of waiting even a moment longer to make love with him again.
She let her eyes flutter slowly closed and swayed a bit. Grimm eyed her intently. “Are you feeling all right, lass?”
“No,” Jillian replied, casting him a sidelong glance beneath her lowered lashes. “Frankly, I feel decidedly odd, Grimm, and I don’t know what to make of it.”
He moved back to her side instantly, and she prepared to spring her trap.
“Where do you feel odd, Jillian? Have I—”
“Here.” She swiftly took his hand and placed it on her breast. “And here.” She guided his other hand to her hips.
Grimm took several deep breaths and blew them out, willing his thundering heart to slow, to quit pumping so much blood to his loins and perhaps let his brain in on the bargain so he might entertain a coherent thought. “Jillian,” he said, exhaling a frustrated breath.
“Well, my,” she said mischievously, moving her hands over his body. “You seem to be suffering the same ailment.” Her hand closed over him through his plaid, and he made a low, growling sound deep in his throat.
They both spoke at once.
“It’s freezing out here, lass. I won’t subject you—”
“I’m not—”
“—to the cold for my own selfish needs—”
“—fragile, Grimm. And what about my selfish needs?”
“—and I can’t make love to you properly outside!”
“Oh, and is properly the only way you’ve ever wanted me?” she mocked.
His gaze locked with hers, and his eyes darkened with desire. He seemed immobilized, obtusely assessing the cold, considering all of her needs—except for the one that really mattered.
In a low voice she said, “Do it. Take me. Now.”
His eyes narrowed and he sucked in a harsh breath. “Jillian.” A storm gathered in his ice-blue eyes, and she wondered for a moment what she’d called forth. A beast—her beast. And she wanted him exactly the way he was.
The force of his passion hit her like a sea gale, hot and salty and primitive in its power, holding nothing back. They exploded against each other, driving their bodies as close together as they could. He backed her against a tree, thrust her gown up, and pushed his plaid aside, all the while kissing her eyelids, her nose, her lips, plunging his tongue so deeply into her mouth that she felt herself drowning in the man’s sensuality.
“I need you, Jillian St. Clair. Ever since I tossed you up on my horse I’ve been wanting nothing more than to drag you back off it and bury myself in you, without a word of explanation or apology—because I need you.”
“Yes,” she whispered fervently. “That’s what I want!”
With a swift stroke he plunged deeply into her, but the storm was in her body and it raged with the devastating fury of a hurricane.
She tossed her head back and freed her voice, crying out to him, only the creatures of the wilderness to hear. She moved against him urgently, her hips rising to meet every thrust. Her hands clawed at his shoulders and she raised her legs, wrapping them tightly around his waist, locking her ankles over his muscled hips. With each thrust he pressed her back against the tree trunk and she used it to rock herself back into him, taking him as deeply into her body as she could. Only the sounds of passion escaped their lips; words simply weren’t needed. Bonding and pledging through contact, their bodies spoke in a tongue ancient and unmistakable.
“Jillian!” he roared as he exploded inside her. An unfettered laugh of delight escaped her as the rush of his liquid warmth inside her pushed her over the edge of pleasure, and she bucked against him.
They held on to each other for a reverent moment. Leaning against her in a soft crush, he seemed reluctant to move, as if he wanted to stay joined to her forever. And when he began to stiffen inside her, she knew she’d convinced him that a little cold air was good for the soul.
Grimm whistled for Occam. Summoning his horse from the woods, he tightened the tethers on the packs. It was full dark, and they needed to be on their way. There was no shelter to be secured tonight, but by the following day they would be far enough into the Highlands that he could provide shelter for them each night to come. He glanced over his shoulder at Jillian. It was imperative to him that he keep her happy, warm, and safe. “Are you hungry, Jillian? Are you dry enough? Warm enough?”
“No, yes, and yes. Where are we going, Grimm?” she asked, still feeling dreamy from their intense lovemaking.
“There’s an abandoned cottage a day’s ride from here.”
“I didn’t mean now, I meant where are you taking me after that?”
Grimm pondered his answer. He’d originally planned to ride directly to Dalkeith, then leave as soon as they’d gathered his fortune and loaded the horses. But he’d begun to think running might not be necessary. He’d spent much of their time on the ride from Caithness mulling over something Quinn had said. Hell, man, rouse an army and fight the McKane once and for all. I know scores of men who would fight for you. I would. As would the Hawk’s army, as well as many of the men he’d known at court, men who fought for hire.
Grimm loathed the idea of taking Jillian away from Scotland, from her family. He knew what it was like to be without a clan. If he triumphed over the McKane, he could purchase an estate near her family and have only one demon to battle. He could devote his energy to concealing his nature and making Jillian a fine husband.
Promise me you’ll tell her the truth, Quinn had demanded in a low, urgent whisper against his ear.
Grimm had nodded.
But he hadn’t said when, he prevaricated lamely as he studied her innocent features. Maybe next year, or a lifetime from now. In the meantime, he had other battles to wage.
“Dalkeith. My good friend and his wife are laird and lady there. You’ll be safe with them.”
Jillian snapped to attention, dreamy reverie squashed by the thought of an impending separation. “What do you mean, I will be safe there? Don’t you mean we will be safe there?”
Grimm fidgeted with Occam’s saddle.
“Grimm—we, right?”
He muttered, deliberately incoherent.
Jillian eyed him a moment and snorted delicately. “Grimm, you don’t plan to take me to Dalkeith and leave me there by myself, do you?” Her eyes narrowed, forecasting a tempest if such was his intention.
Without raising his head from an intent inspection of Occam’s tethers, he replied, “Only for a time, Jillian. There’s something I must do, and I need to know you’ll be safe while I’m doing it.”
Jillian watched him fidget and considered her options.
“His good friend and his wife,” he’d said, people who would know something about her man of mystery. That was promising, if not her preference. She wished he would confide in her, tell her what kept him solitary, but she would work with what she could get. Maybe what had happened in his past was too painful for him to discuss. “Where is Dalkeith?”
“In the Highlands.”
“Near where you were born?”
“Past there. We have to circle around Tuluth to get to Dalkeith.”
“Why circle around it? Why not ride through it?” Jillian fished.
“Because I’ve never gone back to Tuluth and I doona plan to now. Besides, the village was destroyed.”
“Well, if it was destroyed, that makes it even odder to ride around it. Why avoid nothing?”
Grimm raised a brow. “Must you always be so logical?”
“Must you always be so evasive?” she countered, arching a brow of her own.
“I just doona wish to ride through it, all right?”
“Are you certain it’s in ruins?”
When Grimm buried a hand in his hair, Jillian finally understood. The only time Grimm Roderick started messing with his hair was when she asked him a question he didn’t want to answer. She almost laughed; if she continued questioning him he might rip it out by the handfuls. But she needed answers, and occasionally her digging resulted in a few treasures. What could possibly make him avoid Tuluth like the darkest plague? “Oh, my goodness,” she breathed as intuition pointed an unerring finger toward the truth. “Your family is still alive, aren’t they, Grimm?”
Ice-blue eyes flew to hers, and she watched him struggle to avoid her question. He toyed with his war braids and she bit her lip, waiting.
“My da is still alive,” he conceded.
Although she’d already arrived at such a conclusion herself, his admission threw her off balance. “What else didn’t you tell me, Grimm?”
“That Quinn told you the truth. He’s an insane old man,” Grimm said bitterly.
“Truly insane, or do you mean you just disagree about things, like most people do with their parents?”
“I doona wish to talk about it.”
“How old is your da? Have you other family I don’t know about?”
Grimm walked away and started pacing. “No.”
“Well, what is your home like? In Tuluth.”
“It’s not in Tuluth,” he said through set teeth. “My home was in a bleak, dreary castle carved into the mountain above Tuluth.”
Jillian wondered what other astonishing things might be revealed if he kept answering her questions. “If your home was in the castle, then you must be either a servant—” She eyed him from head to toe and shook her head as comprehension crashed over her. “Oh! Here I am prattling on about titles and you don’t even say anything! You’re a chieftain’s son, aren’t you? You wouldn’t, by chance, be his oldest son, would you?” she asked, mostly in jest. When he quickly averted his gaze, she exclaimed, “You mean you’ll be the laird one day? There’s a clan awaiting your return?”
“Never. I will never return to Tuluth, and that’s the end of this discussion. My da is a batty old bastard and the castle is in ruins. Along with the village, half my clan was destroyed years ago, and I’m certain the remaining half scattered to escape the old man and rebuild elsewhere. I doubt there’s anyone left in Tuluth at all—it’s likely nothing but ruins.” He stole a surreptitious glance at Jillian to see how she was taking his confession.
Jillian’s mind was whirling. Something didn’t make sense, and she knew she was lacking vital information. Grimm’s childhood home lay between here and their destination, and answers lay in the moldering old ruin. A “batty old da” and insight that would show her the way to Grimm’s deepest heart.
“Why did you leave?” she asked gently.
He faced her, his blue eyes glittering in the fading light. “Jillian, please. Not so many questions at once. Give me time. These things … I haven’t spoken of them since they happened.” His eyes wordlessly pleaded with her for patience and understanding.
“Time, I can give. I’ll be patient, but I won’t give up.”
“Promise me that.” He was suddenly grave. “Promise me you’ll never give up, no matter what.”
“On you? I wouldn’t. Goodness, as mean as you were to me when I was a wee lass, I still didn’t give up on you,” she said lightly, hoping to brighten his somber expression.
“On us, Jillian. Promise me you’ll never give up on us.” He tugged her back into his arms and gazed down at her so intensely, it nearly took her breath away.
“I promise,” she breathed. “And I take my honor as seriously as any warrior.”
He relaxed infinitesimally, hoping he’d never need to remind her of her words.
“Are you certain you’re not hungry yet?” He changed the subject swiftly.
“I can wait until we stop for the night,” she assured him absently, too occupied with her thoughts to consider physical demands. She no longer wondered why he had appeared so late, bloody and mud-stained. He had come, and that was enough for now.
There were other, bigger questions she needed answered.
As they remounted, he drew her against him and she relaxed, relishing the feel of his hard body.
A few hours later, she reached a decision. A lass has to do what a lass has to do, she told herself firmly. By morning she planned to acquire a sudden case of inexplicable illness that would demand they secure permanent shelter long before they reached Dalkeith. She had no idea that, by morning, serendipity would take charge of events for her with a twisted sense of humor.
CHAPTER 26
JILLIAN ROLLED OVER, STRETCHED, AND PEERED through the dim light at Grimm. Furs hung over the windows of the cottage. They barred entrance to the bitter wind, but also permitted little light. The fire had burned down to embers hours ago, and in the amber glow that remained he looked like a bronzed warrior, a heroic, mighty Viking stretched out on the pallet of furs with one arm bent behind his head, the other curled about her waist.
By the saints, but the man was beautiful! In repose, his face had the kind of perfection that made one think of an archangel, created by a joyous God. His brows winged in black arches above eyes that were fringed with thick lashes. Although tiny lines splayed out from the corners of his eyes, he had few laugh lines around his mouth, a lack she intended to remedy. His nose was straight and proud, his lips … she could spend a day just gazing at those firm pink lips that curved sensually even in his sleep. She dropped a whisper-light kiss upon the stubborn cleft in his chin.
When they’d arrived the night before, Grimm had built a roaring fire and melted buckets of snow for a bath. They’d shared a tub, shivering in the frigid air until the heat of passion had warmed them to the bone. On a lush pile of furs, they’d wordlessly renewed their pledge to each other. The man was patently inexhaustible, she thought contentedly. Her body ached pleasantly from the marathon lovemaking. He’d shown her things that made her cheeks flame and her heart race in anticipation of more.
Steamy thoughts decamped abruptly when her stomach chose that moment to lurch alarmingly. Rendered momentarily breathless from the sudden nausea, she curled on her side and waited for the feeling to recede. As they’d had little to eat last night and been very active, she concluded she was probably hungry. An aching tummy would certainly make her plan to convince Grimm she was too sick to ride to Dalkeith easier to enact. What illness could she claim? An upset stomach might not be convincing enough to make him consider stopping in a village he’d sworn never to see again.
Conveniently, another wave of nausea gripped her. She scowled as the possibility occurred to her that she’d actually made herself ill merely by planning to pretend she was. She lay motionless, waiting for the discomfort to subside, and conjured visions of her favorite food, hoping that imagination would quaff the hunger pains.
Thoughts of Kaley’s pork roast nearly doubled her over. Baked fish in wine
sauce had her gagging in an instant. Bread? That didn’t sound so bad. The crustier the better. She tried to inch away from Grimm to snatch the satchel where she’d seen a loaf of brown bread the night before, but in his sleep he tightened his arm around her waist. Stealthily she worked at his fingers, but they were like iron vises. As a fresh wave of nausea assaulted her, she moaned and curled into a ball, clutching her stomach. The sound woke Grimm instantly.
“Are you all right, lass? Did I hurt you?”
Afraid he was referring to their excessive lovemaking, she hastened to reassure him. She didn’t wish to give him any reason to think twice before bestowing such pleasure on her again. “I’m only a bit sore,” she said, then groaned as her stomach heaved again.
“What is it?” Grimm shot up in bed, and despite her misery she marveled at his beauty. His black hair fell about his face, and although the thought of food made her feel impossibly queasy, his lips still looked inviting.
“Did I harm you in my sleep?” he asked hoarsely. “What is it? Talk to me, lass!”
“I just don’t feel well. I don’t know what’s wrong. My stomach hurts.”
“Would food help?” He scuffled through the packs rapidly. Uncovering a large piece of greasy, salted beef, he thrust it beneath her nose.
“Oh, no!” she wailed, lunging to her knees. She scuttled away from him as quickly as possible, but made it only a few feet before retching. He was at her side in a heartbeat, smoothing the hair back from her face. “Don’t,” she cried. “Don’t even look at me.” Jillian hadn’t been sick much in her life, but when she had she loathed anyone seeing her weakened by forces beyond her control. It made her feel helpless.
She was probably being punished for planning to be deceitful. That was hardly fair, she thought crossly. She’d never been deceitful in her life—surely she was entitled to one time, especially since it was for a such good cause. They had to stop at Tuluth. She needed answers that she suspected could be found only by returning to Grimm’s roots.