wonderful expanse of his broad chest. Her heart jumped and then painfully bounced against her ribs. She tried to step back, but he brought his arms down and encircled her.
De Servian gave her a half smile. “I am weak. I need something to lean on.”
Skena slowly lifted her gaze. Standing in his embrace, she judged him strong enough. “You do not feel feeble to me, my lord,” she whispered as their stares met and held. But she did. She trembled in his arms, scared of what this man’s coming meant. Scared that he reached her as none other. A stranger, yet something seemed so familiar about him.
“You have no inkling just how weak I am.” His words were slow, leaving her to assume the tansy was hitting him full force.
De Servian leaned forward slightly, so close she could not draw air. If she did she would inhale that scent of pure male. Worse, there was nary a space between them. That single draw of air would press her breast to his chest.
Dizziness swirled through her mind as she remained perfectly still, caught in his embrace.
Chapter Four
Noel bit the inside of his lower lip to keep from smiling like a fox singling out a lambkin from the flock. He was finding he had an instant fondness for this Scots lass. Skena. She had stood over him, ready to protect him from the wolf, yet she trembled like a fawn in his arms. There was intelligence to the soft brown eyes, a caring that touched his heart. A heart he’d almost forgotten he had. He could not ever recall a woman ready to fight for him…. Not even his mother. Primitive mating instincts stirred to life within him, setting loose the driving need to stake his claim. It lent new power to his blood.
Suddenly, he did not feel so old.
He wanted her. Wanted to take her here and now. Elemental, raw, the craving clawed at his skin. His senses already buffeted from the warm bath, this strong longing finally even blotted out the dull pains completely. There was nothing but the pulse of his blood, beating out a tattoo of take her…take her…take her….
That she provoked such a violent response within him was staggering. He had not desired a woman this strongly since…Well, he could not recall when. Mayhap never. He considered if that dreadful potion she had fed him could be responsible for this violent reaction, some pagan love philter to stir his loins. After a moment’s hesitation, he dismissed it out of hand. This was too pure, too focused, and as wild and savage as a stallion scenting a mare in season.
He leaned toward her slightly, not enough to spook her, but in a testing of how she would react to his male threat. She stiffened and almost seemed to stop breathing; though she held still, she sought no retreat. He could not stop the slow smile from spreading over his lips. His tender warrior. Some people found courage naturally. They willfully charged into any situation and worried later about the backlash. True courage came when someone was scared, yet did not back down. She was frightened of him on several levels. He was male and bigger. He was English, the enemy in troubled times, a man who could be a threat to all she held dear. And most alarming to her, she was petrified of what he provoked her to feel. There was no hiding the response for it was written plainly on her lovely face.
She was so close her scent filled his mind. He tilted so his nose brushed the side of her hair, wanting to breathe in Skena. His muscles flexed to prevent him from nuzzling her cheek. That would be one step too far. The sharp coppery tang of the wolf’s blood hit his senses first, but underneath was ‘perfume’ that was Skena. Intoxicating. Heady.
Oh aye, Skena MacIain saved his life this night. Only, he suddenly had the fey sense she could rescue him from the grayness of this world.
If only she would dare.
For his whole life, he had simply taken each day one at a time. He was humbled being favored as an honorary Challon brother, felt privileged, safe in that acceptance.
De Servian gave her a half smile. “I am weak. I need something to lean on.”
Skena slowly lifted her gaze. Standing in his embrace, she judged him strong enough. “You do not feel feeble to me, my lord,” she whispered as their stares met and held. But she did. She trembled in his arms, scared of what this man’s coming meant. Scared that he reached her as none other. A stranger, yet something seemed so familiar about him.
“You have no inkling just how weak I am.” His words were slow, leaving her to assume the tansy was hitting him full force.
De Servian leaned forward slightly, so close she could not draw air. If she did she would inhale that scent of pure male. Worse, there was nary a space between them. That single draw of air would press her breast to his chest.
Dizziness swirled through her mind as she remained perfectly still, caught in his embrace.
Chapter Four
Noel bit the inside of his lower lip to keep from smiling like a fox singling out a lambkin from the flock. He was finding he had an instant fondness for this Scots lass. Skena. She had stood over him, ready to protect him from the wolf, yet she trembled like a fawn in his arms. There was intelligence to the soft brown eyes, a caring that touched his heart. A heart he’d almost forgotten he had. He could not ever recall a woman ready to fight for him…. Not even his mother. Primitive mating instincts stirred to life within him, setting loose the driving need to stake his claim. It lent new power to his blood.
Suddenly, he did not feel so old.
He wanted her. Wanted to take her here and now. Elemental, raw, the craving clawed at his skin. His senses already buffeted from the warm bath, this strong longing finally even blotted out the dull pains completely. There was nothing but the pulse of his blood, beating out a tattoo of take her…take her…take her….
That she provoked such a violent response within him was staggering. He had not desired a woman this strongly since…Well, he could not recall when. Mayhap never. He considered if that dreadful potion she had fed him could be responsible for this violent reaction, some pagan love philter to stir his loins. After a moment’s hesitation, he dismissed it out of hand. This was too pure, too focused, and as wild and savage as a stallion scenting a mare in season.
He leaned toward her slightly, not enough to spook her, but in a testing of how she would react to his male threat. She stiffened and almost seemed to stop breathing; though she held still, she sought no retreat. He could not stop the slow smile from spreading over his lips. His tender warrior. Some people found courage naturally. They willfully charged into any situation and worried later about the backlash. True courage came when someone was scared, yet did not back down. She was frightened of him on several levels. He was male and bigger. He was English, the enemy in troubled times, a man who could be a threat to all she held dear. And most alarming to her, she was petrified of what he provoked her to feel. There was no hiding the response for it was written plainly on her lovely face.
She was so close her scent filled his mind. He tilted so his nose brushed the side of her hair, wanting to breathe in Skena. His muscles flexed to prevent him from nuzzling her cheek. That would be one step too far. The sharp coppery tang of the wolf’s blood hit his senses first, but underneath was ‘perfume’ that was Skena. Intoxicating. Heady.
Oh aye, Skena MacIain saved his life this night. Only, he suddenly had the fey sense she could rescue him from the grayness of this world.
If only she would dare.
For his whole life, he had simply taken each day one at a time. He was humbled being favored as an honorary Challon brother, felt privileged, safe in that acceptance.
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