Highland Captive by Hannah Howell Page B

to take her leave of her brother. Malcolm
went to wait by the door, allowing the siblings a moment of privacy. She bent
to kiss Leith on the cheek, glad to feel that, although still a touch warm, he
had already lost most of the searing heat of fever.
    “Dinnae
fash yourself,” she murmured. “If it is too big, I will lop a bit off.” She
smiled with relief when he chuckled softly.
    “I
willnae worry. My mind is set upon making him pay for this. ‘Tis all I can do
for now. I am not one to fret over that which cannae be changed.” He patted her
hand. “Have no hesitation about coming to me to talk if ye feel the need to. Ye
ken that there is little ye cannae talk of with me.”
    Leith
watched her go with Malcolm and sighed. He had meant what he had said. To lie
there seething would be an exercise in futility, and he was not a man to
indulge in that. He would save his anger for when he was well and free. Then he
would put his anger into action. Although he was sure he would be awake all
night wondering how Aimil fared in the hands of their captor, if she would find
the pleasure she sought or only abuse and shame, his body ruled, forcing him
into the healing folds of a deep sleep.
     
    It
was not easy for Aimil to quell her nervousness when Malcolm left her alone
with Parlan. She may have chosen to come to him, but what she now faced was
new, unknown, therefore frightening. As she sought to restore her calm, she
studied his quarters. Heavy drapes kept out the chill, and a large fire aided
while also controlling the damp that too often plagued a keep. The furnishings
were simple but strongly hewn. Rich carpets kept the cold from one’s feet. The
focal point of the room was the massive oak bed, high and enclosed with rich
velvet hangings, drawn back at the moment. It was somewhat barbaric in
appearance.
    Quickly
she turned her gaze to the man who leaned against a bed post with an indolence
she knew was false. He wore a heavy robe and, she suspected, little else. The
lingering wetness of his long hair told her he had recently bathed. She did not
know whether to be flattered by his efforts on her behalf or piqued that he was
so confident that she would come to him.
    “I
had begun to wonder if ye had decided to gift me with your horse.”
    “When
pigs crow the coming day.”
    He
grinned. “Have ye made a close study of all that is impossible?”
    Shrugging,
she eyed him intently. “I dinnae suppose ye may have changed your mind.”
    “Nay.
I was determined to have ye as soon as I kenned ye werenae a child too young
for the having.”
    Inwardly,
she sighed with relief. “Leith will kill ye for this.”
    “I
would think less of him if he didnae try. ‘Tis the reason I will try not to
kill him when he makes the attempt.”
    Even
though she suspected his confidence in his ability was well-founded, his
arrogance annoyed her. “He could weel kill ye.”
    “That
is a chance. A slim one though.”
    “I
think ye have far too high an opinion of yourself.”
    Her
last word ended on a squeak as he scooped her up in his arms and gently
deposited her on the bed. It astounded her that such a large man could move
with such silent speed. When he partially covered her body with his own, she shivered
slightly. His large, strong body made her feel very small and very fragile, yet
she was not really afraid. Instead, she felt the desire she craved to taste eke
into her veins.
    “Dinnae
be afeard of me, sweeting. I mean only to pleasure ye,” he whispered, brushing
soft kisses over her cheeks.
    “Pleasure
yourself, ye mean,” she grumbled, but felt an odd tingling where his lips
touched her skin.
    “Aye,
but ye as weel, Aimil. Just relax and give yourself over to me.”
    “I
will give ye naught.” She hoped he believed her protests for she had no wish to
let him know she was there for reasons other than his bargain.
    “Oh,
ye will, Aimil Mengue.” He trailed kisses down her nose to her mouth. “Aye, ye
will.”
    When
his lips