The Wolf and the Highlander (Highland Wishes) (13 page)

“Don’t they grow cold in winter?”

“Aye. Verra cold, indeed. But when the day’s work and skirmishing is done, they go home to their wives or mistresses and get verra, verra warm.” Her saucy grin spoke of experience warming such men.

By the moon, this woman had taken many lovers. It infuriated him. And it excited him. Heat and energy spun in his gut at the thought of her vast experience.

Judging by the gleam in her eye, both wicked and gleeful, she knew what she did to him.

He pictured her nude amidst bedfurs, her glorious breasts rising and falling with her
needy pants as he covered her with his body and his scent. The primary reason to resist mating with her was growing distant and insubstantial: imprisonment.

He had not won the lottery. He had not paid for a breeding contract. Thus he could not mate with her according to Marann’s Breeding Law. To plant his seed in her womb would earn him a ten-year sentence. Ten years away from his cabin and his trapping. Ten years to do nothing but sit on a cold stone floor, eat bread and vermin, and relive the memory of her body beneath his, her heat surrounding him, her breath stirring the hair behind his ear, as it had done a few minutes ago when they’d been standing in the water.

If that were the only consequence, he’d do it. He’d mate with her. Tonight. In his cave. After feeding her with cooked meat and laying her down on the soft bed he kept there. He’d fill her with his seed and take pleasure from her and give her pleasure in return, the way he’d always dreamed. They’d be one for this night. And the next, and the next, and the next, until they reached Chroina. He’d hold her soft, lily-cool body tight to his while they slept, instead of settling for the press of her back against his. She’d be his, even if just for a short time. It would be worth it. He’d walk proud and smiling into his cell because no man would be able to take the memories from him.

But giving in to his urges would bring more than imprisonment down on his head. It would bring the shame of knowing he’d betrayed his king. Magnus was a good king, from a line of good kings and queens. He deserved Riggs’s loyalty. If he did what he wanted with Anya, it would be a betrayal of the most personal kind. She was not just another female his king would mate with in hopes of breeding. Anya was special. The king had publicly claimed her in faith long before Riggs had found her. By doing so, he had invited the mockery of half the country, including Riggs. But he’d given hope to the other half.

Of course, most of the ones who had taken heart at the king’s proclamation had gone to Danu’s breast like his sire, but maybe once Riggs brought Anya safe to Chroina, the ones who still mocked King Magnus would change their minds.

All of Marann would hear how she’d appeared in their midst like magic. Like Riggs, they’d have no choice but to consider that maybe, just maybe, Danu had not forgotten them. Maybe King Magnus wasn’t mad. Maybe new life would come to the world through this miracle lady.

So much depended on the next few days. He must resist the urges of his body. He must focus on keeping her safe. Hidden. He must not fail.

“Are
you going to bind that arm, or do I have to do everything for you?” Anya’s voice eased the weight of responsibility threatening to suffocate him. “I doona mind. I’ve undressed many men. Doctored some, too. But I canna do it and row at the same time. I only have two hands.”

He felt his mouth turn
up at the corner. She was flirting with him. He could flirt too. “I’m fond of this shirt. Maybe I should use yours. You have the cloak to wear, after all.”

Anya’s laughter filled the night with joyous harmony. “
Och,
you’d like that, would you? Well, too bad. I plan on keeping my shirt on around you.”

Smart lady.

“Cut strips from the hem,” she said, growing serious. “You’ll still be able to tuck it into your trews. No one will suspect.”

And wise.

He loosened the laces and tugged the shirt from his trousers, undoing his belt to ease the way. “Keep the moon to your left,” he told her as he drew his hunting knife and smoothed his shirt over his knees. He poked the blade through the fabric. “And point the bow at that jutting copse of trees.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the far-off marker for the hidden inlet that led to his cave.

“I canna see it. It’s dark as pitch. But I can keep the boat straight by keeping an eye on the moon. Just tell me if I drift.” Only she wasn’t looking at the moon. She was looking directly at his naked chest.

He bound his wounds, smiling to himself while the king’s lady, not nearly as night blind as she pretended, blushed beneath the three-quarters moon.

* * * *

Anya gazed at the moon as Riggs carried her up a steep slope. The cool white orb was high and bright and would reach its fullness in another two or three nights. Pebbles crunched beneath his boots, and the sound of his breathing filled her ears. The air smelled of fresh water and pine, and it nipped her face with the crisp bite of an autumn night. But she was warm against Riggs’s chest and bundled in his heavy cloak.

It wasn’t so bad, really, being carried about. Undignified, aye, but she’d trade a wee bit of dignity for the privilege of having such hard working arms around her and such a reliable shoulder to rest her cheek on. At least she’d been able to serve him tonight instead of him doing everything for her.

“We’re almost there,” he said. His voice was smaller than usual, as though he lacked his usual amount of breath. He must be beyond exhausted. He better not be thinking about seeing to her needs before his own. A few hours of rowing was nothing compared to his day of running and fighting.

The sound of his steps and his breathing grew louder and took on a faint echo. They’d entered a cave. His cave. He’d told her about it as she’d paddled. He’d been coming here with his da since he was a child. Even though his da was gone, like hers, he still came every spring and summer for the fish and the fine furs of the animals that lived in this place and no other on the island.

Pitch blackness settled over her like a second cloak.

“I’m starving,” he said as he lowered her onto a soft bed.

Leaves crackled as her weight compressed a welcoming padding of animal skins atop bracken. She settled in with a sigh, surrounded by the scent of clean bedfurs and Riggs.
Och,
she would be content to lie here for a week and not move.

“I’m going to hunt for myself first.” His voice was close to her. She could se
e nothing but felt the warmth and substance of him wonderfully near. “Then I’ll cook for you. Can you wait a little longer?”

Good. He would see to himself first. As a good protector should. One could not protect if one did not keep strong.

“I’ve gone longer than a day without food before. I’ll survive. But you’ve fought and bled today. You need fresh blood to replace what you’ve lost.”

Earlier, it had disturbed her to see Riggs return from hunting covered in blood. Tonight, she craved blood for him. She’d noticed the moon reflecting glassy hunger in his eyes as he’d dragged the logboat into its hiding place and the way his skin stretched tight over his cheekbones. He needed fresh meat. Blood. Viscera. Whatever a wolf-man consumed. She wanted him to have all he needed. Always.

“Go. Take as long as you need. I’ll likely be asleep before you set foot out of the cave, I’m so weary.”

She squeezed the burning muscle between her neck and shoulder. The rowing had been a welcome activity, but she’d pay for it tomorrow with soreness. At least they’d have the next day to rest—Riggs had assured her they’d be safe for at least that long.

“I’ll return as soon as I can.” She heard his clothing rub as he shifted. “I might go far to find what I need. Keep your knife in your hand. And use this if you need to.” A clunking sound must have been his axe meeting the stone floor. “Do not make any noise. And do not leave the cave for any reason.”

“
You said the trackers wouldn’t find this place. Not so soon.”

“I’m not worried about the trackers. There are wolves and lynxes in this area. I’ve seen bear not far from here. I won’t lose you to a wild animal.”

She reached out until her hand cupped his cheek. His beard was cool and coarse, so terribly masculine. She stroked her thumb up and over the skin of his cheekbones. Even to her blind touch, the bone felt more prominent than it should. “Go on with you. I’ll be fine.”

Riggs put his hand over hers, molding her hand tighter to his face. He wasn’t leaving. He nuzzled into her hand and leaned closer.

She threaded her fingers into his hair and lifted her face to his. Inviting his affection was as natural as breathing. It shouldn’t be, kenning he planned to leave her in less than a week. But
och,
it was.

He rubbed his beard over
her forehead. A gentle, lingering caress. “You did well today, lady.” He spoke against her skin.

“As did you.”

She heard him swallow. He shifted even closer until he was over her, pressing her into the furs with his presence rather than his weight.

If she arched her back, her breasts would touch his chest. She didn’t. He needed to hunt. But she couldn’t seem to stop touching his beard, his cheeks, his strong jaw, his mouth. His lips were soft and warm in that luxurious nest of tidy hair.

He was a wolf-man who lived secluded in the wilderness, but he kept his beard trimmed. He kept himself clean. He was gruff, but he was a gentleman in every way. He might slaughter his own meat and eat it raw, but his cleanliness and civil behavior put many a Highlander to shame.

She wanted to kiss those lips, wanted that mouth on her body. She craved him in every way a woman could. They could make a life together. Here in this cave. They could hide from the trackers, and when they were no longer hunted, return to his cabin.

“Why must ye take me to Chroina?” she blurted.

“I told you. You won’t be safe anywhere else.”

She remembered him telling her that. Safe from what? From whom? What did Riggs fear when he was capable of fending off wolves to protect her? “I don’t believe that. You’ve kept me safe thus far.” She cupped his neck, just below his jaw, let her thumb rub over his ear. “Don’t take me to Chroina.”

He remained silent and motionless, except for his breathing. She felt his pulse beating in his neck, felt the movement of his chest when his shirt brushed her cloak with each inhalation.

“Keep me here. With you.”

Och,
what was she doing? Asking a man to keep her had never turned out well before. She’d asked Aodhan, and he’d jested and distracted her from her talk of marriage with his wicked mouth. She’d asked Steafan, and he’d called her a whore when she hadn’t even worked at the bawdyhouse as yet. Now she asked Riggs. Would he crush her hopes like the others? She held her breath.

“I’d love nothing more.”

Her breath rushed out with relief. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tried to draw him down on top of her. Was she actually considering having him tup her? Could she do so and enjoy it without fearing his reaction to her twisted leg? Yes. Here in the dark, where he wouldn’t see, yes.
Och,
yes.

Riggs didn’t budge, but remained inches above her. His neck tensed. “But I can’t.”

The words hit her chest so hard, she felt like she’d been kicked by a mule. How had she let herself come to a state where his rejection should hurt as it did? She shoved at his shoulders, needing to get away.

He was immovable as a boulder.

“Lady,” he whispered. “Sweet lady.” He rubbed his cheek on hers as he had at dusk. First one side, then the other. The warm friction at her cheek ignited a matching heat low in her belly.

Curse her body for clinging to hope when his words had stamped it out. He didn’t want her. The one man she thought mayhap she could trust not to recoil from her brokenness, and he wanted nothing to do with her. She should scorn him, unman him with her words. That had always been the penalty for any who dared refuse her before.

But she couldn’t. Not when he’d bled for her today. She bit her tongue to keep silent.

“I need to hunt.” The words sounded forced. His arm trembled as he braced over her, demonstrating how hungry he must be.

Silence throbbed between them.

“Go. Eat.” She rolled away, giving him her back.

He rose to stand by the bed, saying nothing. But she heard him there, breathing.

“I’ll be fine. Go.” She made her voice airy, as though she weren’t aching inside.

Without a word, he left.

Riggs stalked from the cave, leaving Anya warm and welcoming and flooding his bed with her fragrant musk. And it nearly killed him.

He skidded down the rocky incline he’d climbed a few minutes ago. When he reached level ground, he kicked off his boots. His hands shook as he unlaced his shirt. His body was strung so tight with desire it caused him pain to push down his trousers.

It was more than physical longing. Yeah, his body roused to her, but his full response went so much deeper. Being with Anya pulled tight strings that reached way down to the core of his person. Being away from her made it feel like someone plucked too hard at those strings and made them discordant.