Wild about the Witch (8 page)

“Time travel, eh?” Lizzie said, creeping further into the room. She knelt by the bed and pulled his shirt away from the bandage.

He cracked an eye and smiled crookedly at her. “I’m sorry I didna get ye home. We can try again when I’m rested.”

She was exhausted as well, and all the pent up fear she’d been pushing down the last terrifying week on the road with Wodge slowly dissolved into tears. One splashed down on the mattress beside Quinn and she hurried to wipe her eyes before he noticed. Had he actually just apologized to her?

Fearing a rejection, she took his hand. He didn’t twine his fingers with hers or even return her grip, but he didn’t pull away. She adjusted the bandage, which had slipped during the ride. Stupid man, he could have injured himself further. The slightest infection could kill a person in this time and her heart rate sped up with anxiety for him. In fact, did he feel hot already? She pressed her palm to his chest, and the side of his neck.

“How do you feel?” she asked, getting up to sit beside him on the mattress.

She brushed his hair back off his face and felt his forehead, trying to compare it to her own temperature. How did mothers do it? She couldn’t tell at all if he had a fever.

“I feel as if I’ve been shot,” he said. “And then jostled about on horseback.”

“That last is your own fault,” she reminded him, forgetting to worry about a fever, but keeping her hand lightly on his cheek. His dark blue eyes were still glazed with pain.

“Well, if ye dinna mind, I’m still going to complain about it.”

He turned his face into her hand so his lips brushed her palm. Not a kiss, but it reminded her of his sweet hand kissing habit.

“I don’t mind,” she said softly. She scooted down and tugged on his boot. “Let me help you get comfortable.”

She tried to maintain a business-like air as she pulled off his boots and then eyed his kilt. It was spattered with mud and blood, and his shirt was in shreds. A quick knock and the door opened to reveal a servant with a small tub of water and several sheets.

“Just what we needed, thank you,” she said, shooing the boy out the door after he put the tub down. She turned back to Quinn who raised his head quizzically. “Don’t you think you’ll be more comfortable if you’re clean?” she asked. “And it’s better for the wound as well,” she added.

He lifted his hands in surrender, helping her get his kilt off by rolling back and forth as she tugged it away, then tossed it in the corner. Trying not to stare at his muscular body, she covered his lower half with one of the sheets and began to sponge his shoulders and chest.

“Ye’re not responsible for this, ye know,” he said, pulling on a lock of her messy hair before tucking it behind her ear. “Ye dinna have to do this.”

She looked at him and bit her lower lip, not sure if he was subtly telling her to get lost. She watched his gaze drop to her lips as he licked his own.

“I want to,” she said. She really, really wanted to.

He nodded and dropped his head back onto the pillow, squeezing his eyes shut.

Bruises were already beginning to spread around the area of the gunshot, and she winced, remembering the doctor ruthlessly digging out the bullet. She worked her way lower, rinsing out the sponge as she swabbed away the dirt and blood, her fingers brushing over his rippling stomach muscles.

His smooth skin erupted in goosebumps when she rolled the damp sponge down his sides and she pressed the sheet to him to keep him warm, dislodging it from his hips and making her own skin heat up at the sight of him. She quickly straightened it, leaning across him to tuck it in on his other side, her breasts brushing against his ribcage.

She breathed out as her senses went berserk. Her hands shook, craving to touch him without the hindrance of the sponge, just run themselves all over him. Her fatigue was gone, replaced with a heavy, urgent longing. Slowly, torturously, she pulled herself away from him, unable to keep her hand from sliding over his hipbone, her fingertips disappearing under the sheet.

With a low moan, he grabbed her wrist, and she turned to see him looking at her intently, his eyes clear now, and full of the same desire she knew must be shining from her own. There were so many good memories of their secret, blazing times together in London. She wanted to relive them all. Now.

With a whimper, she turned away to rinse the sponge and get herself under control. Even without a corset, she couldn’t breathe, and she was sure he could hear her heartbeat if her gasping wasn’t so loud. He had a gunshot wound for God’s sake, and she wanted to crawl on top of him. What was wrong with her? He made her shameless.

Quinn put his hand on her hip and she shifted back around to face him, nodding her chin down at the sheet that covered him. She shook her head, not daring to look, but instead placed her hands on the bed on either side of him and leaned down so their noses almost touched. He lifted his head off the pillow to capture her mouth with his, weaving his fingers into her hair, tossing the few remaining pins.

She didn’t understand what it meant, only cared that his lips were pressed to hers, his tongue claiming her, his hands— oh God, his hands. Going without his touch the last week had been worse than the lack of food. She pulled away from his kiss and straddled him, taking his hands and pressing them to her waist. He laughed low in his throat and ran them up her sides and around her back. There was no way she could handle the amount of time it would take to get out of her gown. She wanted his hands on her. It was imperative.

“Please, Quinn,” she gasped, shoving away the sheet that separated their bodies and yanking up her skirts.

The way he looked at her with his beautiful face, she let go of her dress, only wanting to kiss him again. As he worked at the laces, she leaned over again and kissed him almost violently, biting his lower lip. He dropped his hands to her hips to press her downward against him, and as much as she liked the hard feel of him, that wasn’t getting her out of her clothes.

“No,” she cried, sitting up again and moving his hands back to the laces, while pulling at the neckline of her gown. She was going mad wanting everything at once and unable to get any of it.

“Ye have to make up your mind,” he said.

He reached up and trailed his fingers down the sides of her neck, tracing the exposed skin at her throat. Did he have a fever? She didn’t know how steam wasn’t rising off of them, she felt so hot.

“I need you to touch me,” she said, grinding against his hips.

His eyes darkened and he took hold of her dress from the top, tearing it open and sliding his big hands inside to cup her breasts. His calloused fingers tracing her tender flesh set her further aflame. Unable to look away, she hurriedly got the rest of her skirts out of the way and reached down to grasp him. His eyes closed and he shoved her torn dress down her shoulders, pushing himself up close to her to take her nipple in his mouth. She positioned herself and slid over his hard length, loving the hot, smooth feel of him against her.

“Ah, Christ,” he murmured, falling back onto the pillow.

She stopped moving, and grappled for his neck to check for a pulse. His eyes flew open.

“Why did ye stop?” he asked, his voice ragged.

“I thought I killed you,” she admitted, leaning down to kiss him slowly and fully before starting her movement again.

“This is exactly how I want to die,” he said.

Staring down at him, she finally lowered herself fully, taking him into her in one swift movement. She couldn’t grab his shoulders, and almost fell over from the intense, perfect pleasure that rushed through her. He held onto her hips to steady her, making a low growling noise as he moved with her.

Lizzie felt like she herself had died and now resided in the best part of heaven as his strong hands wandered over her body. She wanted to drag it out forever, but honestly feared hurting him, and she was already on the brink. She shook him a little to get him to open his eyes and slowed, leaning down to kiss him. How could she tell him she didn’t want this to be the last time? She could only try to let him know without words how she felt and linked her fingers with his.

“This is so good,” she breathed, all the while thinking,
I love you.

She raised up to look at him and he nodded, his blue eyes never straying from hers. She closed her eyes, imagining and hoping he thought the same, and let him take her over the edge.

R
esting her head against his good shoulder, she kissed the side of his neck, licking the salty sweat from her lips. His hands rested heavily on her hips and she rolled carefully off him, pulling her torn dress together as best she could.

Her bag had been left in the other time, with the horses and Wodge. Getting a new gown was going to be embarrassing, but she wouldn’t trade what just happened to be spared it. She sighed happily against his shoulder, then lifted herself up to check on his bandage. She’d tried to be careful of knocking into it, and felt a bit guilty for ravaging him when he was so badly injured. She smiled to herself as she looked at his sleepy face. She didn’t really feel guilty at all.

“Are you starving?” she asked, looking at the door which she hadn’t thought to get up and lock. “It’s a good thing they didn’t bring you something.” She took his hand and frowned at how quiet he was being.

“I wager they did, but were frightened away by your noises,” he said, a weak smile turning up the corner of his mouth.

She smoothed his hair and kissed him. “I’ll bring you some food.”

“Dinna bother,” he said. “I shall be fine until morning.” He closed his eyes and slid his hand out of hers.

She sat next to him for a moment, wondering if she should curl up next to him, or try to get some sleep in the chair in the corner. He was sprawled out on the bed, breathing deeply, and she lifted his arm to get in position under it.

“Best ye find your chamber, lass,” he said without opening his eyes.

The cold, quiet tone of his voice hurt worse than a slap and she sucked in her breath. Perhaps he was too exhausted to want to share the bed with her, perhaps he was in too much pain.

“You don’t want me to stay?” she asked, hating the pathetic pleading way it came out. “In case you need something in the night?” She felt sick. Had she been wrong to think they were fine again?

“I’ll be all right,” he assured her with finality, still not opening his eyes. “Go get some rest.”

“Quinn?” She waited, thinking he was asleep. She swallowed hard, holding her dress closed in front of her, then put her hand on his chest. “What did this mean?” she asked quietly, knowing she needed to go, but wanting to look at him for a moment longer. All the glow of being with him was gone. She felt worse than empty, she felt filled with dust.

“It means we wanted each other,” he said, pulling the sheet up and displacing her hand.

She left the room quickly, cold with shock, and walked without knowing where she was going. She couldn’t go to the dining hall with her dress torn down the front, and didn’t know where her room was. She found a stairway and went down it, concentrating on the problem at hand, and pretending her heart wasn’t broken. Again. Trying to ignore the cruel voice that kept telling her she deserved what she got.

Bella emerged from a room and spied her hovering around on the landing. Lizzie sighed with relief and rushed toward her, keeping her arms crossed tight in front of herself.

“Miss Burnet, ye look as if ye’ve seen a ghost,” Bella said, taking her arm and leading her to a nearby room. “This one will do for ye, and it’s close to the nursery, where I shall be all night.”

The room was a bit larger than Quinn’s and she stood in the middle of it while Bella lit a lamp. When she turned and saw the state of her gown, her jaw dropped.

“Tell me what happened at once,” she said, looking as if she was about to call forth an army.

Lizzie shook her head miserably. Bugger it all. “Nothing, really. It’s my own doing.”

“Are ye in love with Quinn?” Bella asked, once more flooring her with her uncanny ability to see what was going on.

“How do you know everything?” Lizzie wailed, sitting on the bed.

Bella tutted and sat beside her. “Because I observe everything. I dinna used to. But it became useful, especially since every once in a while someone wants to murder my husband or kidnap my children. Aye, it’s no garden of roses being the lady of this place.” She patted Lizzie’s knee and smiled. “And because ye acted like ye were in love with him. Dinna feel bad about it. He’s difficult to resist, or so I recall the last time he stayed here. Someone stabbed him, but I dinna remember if it was over a wife or a daughter.” Bella stopped speaking and frowned. “This isna making ye feel any better is it?”

Lizzie shook her head. “Might I have some sewing things to mend my dress?” she asked. “My other clothes got left behind.”

She didn’t want to think about Quinn, or the fact that she was another of a long list. She thought of London, and his avowal of love. That had been real. It had.

“Aye, we shall get your gown mended and get ye a new one to wear in the mean time. I’d love to stay and hear everything that’s happened, but my wee lad is ill, and I canna be away from him any longer.”

“Thank you,” Lizzie sniffled.

“Ye’ll be fine,” Bella said, already half out the door. “Three doors down, if ye need anything.”