thought for certain those hands would find their way to her center to torment her further. But he nudged her limbs aside and got up from the bed, washing his hands in the basin and putting the vial of ointment back into the trunk. She watched as he paced around, wondering at his purpose. He blew out all the lanterns and lay down next to her, both of them still fully clothed. Pulling up a blanket, he rolled her onto one side so her back was pressed to his broad chest. He wrapped an iron arm around her middle and pressed his groin against her bottom, scorching it more than his hands had, even through the layers of fabric.
His breath sucked in deep, then released like a fire bellow. “Go to sleep, Fiona. We’ve another long day before us tomorrow.”
She said nothing. Only waited. Surely there was more to come. Soon he’d push her skirts aside and plunder her with his lips and tongue and worse. But he didn’t. He just breathed, in and out, in and out, ruffling the hair near her ear with exhalation, his chest pressing close and then retreating.
She’d been ready for a fight. Had stewed all day about how to give enough, just enough, to placate him, yet not be distracted and give in to his touch. She’d let loose no more careless whimpers or wanton sighs. She’d have no more accusations of spurring him on! Indeed, the very thought galled her. He could take her body, but she’d make certain he knew she wanted no part of it. No part of him.
But he was...doing nothing, save breathing. The steady rhythm of it annoyed her agitated senses. What a numbskull he was, to fall asleep so easily, relaxed as an infant in its mother’s arms. The lack of threat she apparently posed was insulting. Shemoved abruptly under the guise of resettling herself into a more comfortable position, but she made sure to whack him in the jaw with the back of her head. A mistake, for his jaw was like castle rock. He grunted softly and pulled her closer.
She pushed his forearm lower, farther from her breasts, but he moved it up again without bothering to comment or open his eyes. Another moment passed, and she flopped around once more.
“If you continue to fidget so, perhaps you’d be more comfortable sleeping without your gown.” His voice was low, warm against her ear, and stilled her motions like a slice to the throat. She must remember her purpose. A wise warrior knew patience. Fiona let loose her breath in one last huff and willed her limbs to be still. She must wait until the moment was right.
CHAPTER 7
M YLES WILLED HIS breath to steady, though his heart clamored in his chest at the restraint. She was soft and pliant in his arms, and even a day in the saddle could not erase the smell of vanilla that lingered on her skin. He wanted to press his face into the mass of deep-red tresses now tickling his nose. That damn hair of hers may as well be tickling his balls, for the sensation shot straight to them like an arrow. Her every wiggle was like a stroke to his prick. The girl obviously had no notion what it was like to be a man.
His mind galloped toward lust. He could take her, still. ’Twas well within his rights. She was his wife after all. But the bruises haunted him. They’d ridden hard today, hoping to clear both Sinclair and Fraser land before nightfall. Campbells were unwelcome this far north, and any party, even one as well armed and well trained as his, was at risk from opportunistic marauders. Some would be after their coffers, but as many would attack simply to eliminate a Campbell from their woods.
Fiona moved again, and he considered pulling her astride so he might ease into her and take his pleasure without more damage to her tender backside. But a horse nickered outside, and another answered. The quiet murmur of the men seeped through the tentwalls. She’d not be silent if he pressed his advance. And in truth, he didn’t trust his own ability for discretion while undertaking such an ardent endeavor. It was one thing to
His breath sucked in deep, then released like a fire bellow. “Go to sleep, Fiona. We’ve another long day before us tomorrow.”
She said nothing. Only waited. Surely there was more to come. Soon he’d push her skirts aside and plunder her with his lips and tongue and worse. But he didn’t. He just breathed, in and out, in and out, ruffling the hair near her ear with exhalation, his chest pressing close and then retreating.
She’d been ready for a fight. Had stewed all day about how to give enough, just enough, to placate him, yet not be distracted and give in to his touch. She’d let loose no more careless whimpers or wanton sighs. She’d have no more accusations of spurring him on! Indeed, the very thought galled her. He could take her body, but she’d make certain he knew she wanted no part of it. No part of him.
But he was...doing nothing, save breathing. The steady rhythm of it annoyed her agitated senses. What a numbskull he was, to fall asleep so easily, relaxed as an infant in its mother’s arms. The lack of threat she apparently posed was insulting. Shemoved abruptly under the guise of resettling herself into a more comfortable position, but she made sure to whack him in the jaw with the back of her head. A mistake, for his jaw was like castle rock. He grunted softly and pulled her closer.
She pushed his forearm lower, farther from her breasts, but he moved it up again without bothering to comment or open his eyes. Another moment passed, and she flopped around once more.
“If you continue to fidget so, perhaps you’d be more comfortable sleeping without your gown.” His voice was low, warm against her ear, and stilled her motions like a slice to the throat. She must remember her purpose. A wise warrior knew patience. Fiona let loose her breath in one last huff and willed her limbs to be still. She must wait until the moment was right.
CHAPTER 7
M YLES WILLED HIS breath to steady, though his heart clamored in his chest at the restraint. She was soft and pliant in his arms, and even a day in the saddle could not erase the smell of vanilla that lingered on her skin. He wanted to press his face into the mass of deep-red tresses now tickling his nose. That damn hair of hers may as well be tickling his balls, for the sensation shot straight to them like an arrow. Her every wiggle was like a stroke to his prick. The girl obviously had no notion what it was like to be a man.
His mind galloped toward lust. He could take her, still. ’Twas well within his rights. She was his wife after all. But the bruises haunted him. They’d ridden hard today, hoping to clear both Sinclair and Fraser land before nightfall. Campbells were unwelcome this far north, and any party, even one as well armed and well trained as his, was at risk from opportunistic marauders. Some would be after their coffers, but as many would attack simply to eliminate a Campbell from their woods.
Fiona moved again, and he considered pulling her astride so he might ease into her and take his pleasure without more damage to her tender backside. But a horse nickered outside, and another answered. The quiet murmur of the men seeped through the tentwalls. She’d not be silent if he pressed his advance. And in truth, he didn’t trust his own ability for discretion while undertaking such an ardent endeavor. It was one thing to
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