Rory picked up a piece of wood. He twisted it around in his hand, inspecting the moss covered branch before tossing it aside. It was impossible to find decent kindling since last night’s storm made everything damp.
He started toward the small overhang that was off to his right. That area at least didn’t seem as wet, and there was a possibility that he might find dry wood there. When he bent down to pick up another piece of kindling, he heard something odd, something that sounded almost like a scream. It was likely some wild animal screeching in the thicket, but for some inexplicable reason, the hairs at the back of his neck rose. He heard it again, and this time there was no mistaking the clamor of someone in distress, someone who was Darra.
Rory had been more lax with Darra since he was certain that she had no means of escape, but now he cursed himself for allowing her out of his sight. Truly he couldn’t see how she would have gotten herself into trouble. All he asked her to do was to fetch some water. It wasn’t a difficult task, and it benefited her as well as everyone else.
Dropping the stack of wood that he carried onto the ground, he looked around him. Obviously, the forest was teeming with various animals. Since she was a skittish lass, perhaps some wee beastie had frightened her.
But she was nowhere to be seen. He crashed through the shrubbery, and looked over to where he last saw her. Perhaps she was fooling with him, and would emerge from her hiding place soon. However his hope vanished as soon as he caught sight of a pair of small leather slippers that sat neatly next to a storm ravaged tree trunk. The damage to the tree was extensive. Lightning had stuck it straight through, and the entire trunk leaned precariously into the rapid flowing river.
He could feel his heart accelerating even though the sound was almost drowned out by the noise from the river. Racing over to the river’s edge, he pulled aside the nearby shrubs and peered down into the cloudy water. The fierce wind ripped up the currents, pulling broken branches and other debris along as if they competed in some sort of contest.
Did she fall in?
“Darra!” he yelled, trying to make himself heard over the surging water.
He shoved aside the bushes, and caught sight of her, clinging desperately on to a tree branch that dangled in the water.
“Dinnae move!” he shouted. Even from this distance, he could sense her heartrending fear. And he realized that if he didn’t get to her in time, she would be swept away. “I’m coming tae get ye, lass!”
In his haste, his foot caught in a tangle of roots, and before he could free himself, his worst fear came true. The branch that she clutched made a sickening crack, snapping into two. The river took her away, its greedy waves swallowing her up.
“Nay!” He scrambled down the muddy bank, slipping and sliding in his rush to get to her. Suddenly it seemed all too certain that death hovered nearby. Although he didn’t want to admit it, he was starting to like the wee hellion, and he definitely didn’t want to see her killed.
***
Darra yanked hard on the tree branch, fighting to break through to the surface of the water so she could breathe. But it was too much for the branch to both support her weight and resist the strong current. And when the tree limb snapped, she was dragged back in; the water carried her away, pushing her through its turbid depths.
Even with fear choking her, her body managed to avoid crashing into the obstacles and debris in her path. Her skin was raw from scraping against the jagged rocks, although that was the least of her worries. She was getting tired, and she recognized that in order to survive, she needed to somehow overcome her exhaustion. However this proved to be a difficult task. The turbulent water rippled around her, and pulled her under time and again.
Please God, I do not want to die! She squeezed her eyes shut in a desperate prayer.
She let out a small whimper when another wave crashed over her head, making her sputter.
But just when she was about to surrender all hope, she caught sight of an object sticking out of the water. Allowing the river flow to drive her closer, she saw that it was a tree that was wrecked by the storm. It was as if God had answered her prayers. The lightning had split the tree, although a large section of it was still attached to a trunk which stood firm along the river bank.
Darra started to swim toward it, using the last of her strength. If she didn’t make it to the log, she was doomed. But she couldn’t think of that now. Pushing forward, she kicked her legs and swam hard in the direction of the broken tree. Once she was in line with the log, she allowed the current to propel her to the target. It was coming closer and closer. Then she grabbed one of the branches and held on tight.
The freezing water made her teeth clatter, and she started to fight with exhaustion again. Instinctively she saw that she could reach safety if only she could heave herself onto the broken tree.
“Move closer tae me!” a voice shouted, above the punishing water.
She looked up, half thinking that she was dreaming. But Rory’s familiar countenance filled her vision, and hope flooded to her chest. He was on the river bed, stretching out his hand for her to grab. But a gap still existed between them. She either had to move closer to Rory, or he would have to come to her. It was a dangerous undertaking in either circumstance.
Darra gripped the log, afraid to let go. What if the river swept her away again? She was fatigued. The course ahead seemed even more riddled with sizable rocks. If she smashed into one of those boulders, she would likely be injured or killed.
“I cannot,” she cried.
Then he did something that she didn’t expect him to do. He took off his boots and came down the muddy bank. While holding tightly onto a branch attached to the damaged tree, he carefully maneuvered in her direction.
“Take my hand,” he yelled.
She stared helplessly at his outstretched hand, although she was well aware that she couldn’t stay in the water forever. Rory gave her an encouraging look. And this time, she decided to trust him. Putting out a trembling hand, she reached for him. His warm, strong grip enclosed over her wrist as he pulled her toward him.
“I will lift ye, but ye have tae grab the shrubbery and pull yourself up, understand?” he said.
“Aye,” she said, giving a tired nod. She was shivering and her teeth clattered uncontrollably.
He hoisted her up so she could reach a shrub and drag herself onto dry land. Finally, she was safe, and her heart could cease its frantic pace.
A moment later Rory followed her, clambering onto the bank. He threw himself down beside her, his breath coming out in harsh spurts.
She glanced over at him. “Th — thank you,” she said, barely able to get the word out.
“Ye gave me quite a fright,” he said.
“I — I was fri — frightened as well,” she said, hugging her arms to her chest, and rocking to and fro.
“Ye are shivering,” he said, frowning. “Let me warm ye.”
“But I will get you wet,” she said.
Ignoring her protest, he picked her up as if she weighed no more than a flower petal, and placed her on his lap. Unpinning his brooch, he loosened the top section of his great kilt. He reached behind him, dragging the surplus fabric over his shoulders and wrapping it around them. His heavy arms then gathered her close, pressing her against his muscular chest.
“There, that should warm ye,” he said.
Indeed, she felt the warmth emanating from his chest, although she was still cold. For too long, she was caught in the icy water, and the memory of it sent another shiver through her. She tucked her head underneath his chin, and his powerful arms tightened in response.
Rory held her like this for a long while, and she was grateful for it.
With her ear pressed to his torso, she could hear the solid, static beating of his heart. Except for her father, she had never sat this close to a man before. Snuggling against Rory, she breathed in his musky male scent. She was comforted by their intimacy, and for some peculiar reason, she felt content too. Perhaps the horrid ordeal had changed her, but it no longer mattered to her that Rory was a Scot, and that her people saw him as the enemy. All that mattered was that he cared enough to save her. And when he rescued her, he gave no thought to his own safety. Was this a sign of a callous savage who didn’t have a heart?
She had never really examined Rory before, but now that he held her in his arms, she studied his rugged beauty. He seemed to belong to the wilderness since the air of untamed power enveloped him like a second skin, making him appear dangerous, ruthless. Unable to help it, his proximity caused her to shudder, but she knew it wasn’t from fear or from the cold.
His tousled red hair fell slightly above his shoulders, framing a narrow, handsome visage. It was almost sinful that he should look so fair. But he seemed unaware or unconcerned about his physical attributes. At the moment, his forehead was creased with worry, and his beautiful green eyes were tempered by gentleness. She really didn’t know what to make of his expression, since he declared that he despised everything English. Well, she was English; there was no disputing that fact. Still, his manner seemed to suggest that he liked her. Or at least liked her enough to see to her comfort.
Darra surveyed the curve of his strong jaw structure, and noticed that it was covered with crimson stubble. For some bizarre reason she wanted to skim her fingers along his jaw, and feel the bristly roughness there.
He was so different from any other man that she had known. In fact he was the polar opposite to Sir Dudley, her suitor. First of all, Rory was younger and more fair than the other knight. When Rory spoke to her, it was as if he saw her as a person and not chattel. And when he looked at her, she felt as desirable as one of the exquisite ladies at King Harold’s court.
Sir Dudley, on the other hand, saw her as a sole means to breed his offspring. This wasn’t an unusual concept. A woman of her stature could only hope to marry a kind, respectable lord. Except that when she became acquainted with Sir Dudley, she discovered that while he was respectable, he was not kind. He had proved his unpleasantness when he demanded that she honor an agreement that he had forged with her father.
“We had a pact,” the old knight said. “A year ago, Sir Arthur pledged your daughter to me in marriage. I am now ready to marry her.”
“Darra is not ready to marry yet,” Lady Venora said, her face turning white.
“I understand that she is almost eighteen years old — an age that is ripe for marriage.”
“My husband has recently died, sire,” she said, blinking rapidly. She laced her fingers together and folded them on the trestle table. “I cannot allow Lady Darra to marry while we still grieve.”
Darra caught her mother’s eye and sent her a grateful look.
“Nevertheless the maiden will need a man to support her,” he said, ignoring the exchange between mother and daughter. He sent Darra a leering smile. “And what better man to provide for her than an established lord like myself?”
A streak of fear ran through Darra, negating the relief that she experienced earlier. “We will need to consider my other marriage prospects as well, sire,” she said, daring to voice the first thing that came to her mind.
Sir Dudley fingered the sleeve of his tunic as his eyes swept over her figure. She suppressed a shudder.
“My sources tell me that you have no other marriage prospects, my dear.” Suddenly he thrust out his chest. “Fine, I owe that you are both grieving over the loss of a good knight. I will allow one year for you to overcome your grief. And milady,” he said, giving Lady Venora a long measured look, “after this mourning period, I mean to take Lady Darra as wife.”
His words sounded like a threat, and Darra glanced at her mother in alarm.
The knight pivoted and exited the great hall with his guards following in his wake.
But of course that situation occurred almost a year ago. They had gone back to their routine where Sir Dudley called upon her on occasion. Darra bore those visits with restrained civility, and was glad when he left her in peace.
In the meantime, she had thrown herself into her work, healing the castle inhabitants and the peasants that came to seek her help. Any free time she had, she spent in the solar brewing, and experimenting with new herbal formulations.
Darra sighed, forcibly dragging her mind back to the present. Rory’s warmth seeped into her chilled body, and she relaxed against his firm trunk.
Why couldn’t her suitor be more like this Highlander? A sudden inherent desire awakened in her, and her heart began to flutter at the thought of having his firm lips pressed against hers. What would it feel like? Tender. Passionate. Delicious. It would be all those things, she realized. And most of all it, would be different from the sloppy kisses that she received from Sir Dud —
“Ye are safe now,” Rory said, his deep brogue interrupting her thoughts.
“Aye,” she said, his words reminding her that she nearly drowned in the rapids. If he hadn’t searched for her when she plummeted into the watercourse, she would likely be dead now. That notion caused a lump to form at the back of her throat.
“The current,” she cleared her throat, and tried again, “The current was fierce, and it kept pulling me under, and — and I thought for certain that…”
“Dinnae think about it,” he said softly. He placed his callused thumb and forefinger under her chin, tilting it up. “Ye are here with me now, do ye understand?”
She nodded and closed her eyes. The smooth cadence of his voice glided over her skin, soothing her nerves, comforting her. He dropped his hand and placed it lightly at her hip. She heard the concern in his voice, and it surprised her. Her own mother, who was a Scotswoman, raised her to believe that the Highlanders were nothing more than duplicitous barbarians. Was her mother mistaken?
Sensing his regard on her, she opened her eyes only to discover that his eyelids were hooded and his expression unreadable. As their gazes connected, her pulse increased as if something triggered its tempo. She was so close that she felt enthralled by the heady male scent of him. Words failed her, and she fumbled for something to say.
“Thank you for saving me,” she said quickly. Her eyes dropped to his chiseled mouth, and she noticed a small crease at the bottom lip, slightly marring its male perfection. Before she dissuaded herself, she placed her hands on his shoulders, raising herself a bit before brushing a chaste kiss on his lips.
Shock appeared in his green depths.
Darra felt a blush rise to her cheeks, almost immediately regretting her rash behavior. Her bold conduct could only be attributed to her close brush with death. Pulling away, she started to apologize, but he stayed her movements. Raising a finger, he lightly traced along the curve of her bottom lip, prompting the words to suddenly die in her throat.
The expression on his striking face softened while his pupils dilated. There was a raw intensity reflected in the heavy lidded gaze, an intensity that he didn’t pretend to hide. She held her breath, disbelieving that a man could be so dangerous and exciting all at once. Never had she met any man that possessed such untamed power.
With a glint in his emerald eyes, he said, “I desire a more enthusiastic thanking.”
Her breath hitched in her throat, and her heart thrummed as if it threatened to burst out from her ribcage at any second. Did he want her to kiss him again?
As if he was aware of the frantic thoughts swirling in her mind, he fixed his gaze on her lips. If she was standing, her knees would have buckled under the magnitude of his wicked inspection. But even though they were seated, his steady regard still caused tingles to flow down her body in thrilling waves.
“Thank me again, lass,” he commanded softly.
Her hand reached out and tentatively touched the side of his whiskered face, exploring the rugged contours. All the while, she was intensely aware of the solid muscular frame beneath her, and the strong corded strength that encircled her hips. He stared at her, his eyes narrowed, and his body still.
As if her fingers belonged to another woman, she watched them trail slowly along his rigid jaw. She became more emboldened when he made no protest. Darra flattened one hand on his warm cheek, and slid it around to curve at his nape. With the other palm, she slid it downward, slowly exploring his sinewy neck, down his broad shoulder until it came to rest on his bicep. The muscle flexed instinctively at her touch, and she squeezed it lightly. The strength and brawn here were born from combative training and laborious work.
She tilted her face up, and with only a small urging, she tugged his head downward to press her lips against his.
His chest expanded with a sharp inhalation, and he released a low growl. His hand reached up and cupped the back of her head as if her offering wasn’t enough, and he demanded more. Much more. He increased the pressure, melding their lips together, devouring her. A wanton, mindless pleasure overwhelmed her, and she surrendered to the exquisite onslaught. So this was how lovers kissed.
Rory broke away for half a second, and before she could stop it, a sound of protest escaped from her lips. She looked longingly at his sensual mouth, desiring more of it.
But he took pity on her and lowered his head to possess her lips again. One large, callused hand framed the side of her face, while the other hand slid up and down her back, causing flames to spread wherever he touched.
His hot, sensual tongue ran across the seam of her lips, coaxing them apart. And when they parted under his gentle persuasion, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth. A small gasp escaped from her. Taking advantage of her surprise, his skilled tongue delved deeper into her crevice, as if starved to taste more of her honeyed essence. An inexplicable wetness formed between her legs, and a yearning so powerful rocked her.
He pivoted her smaller frame around so that she faced him. The skirt of her gown bunched up, and she attempted to tug it down.
“Nay, lass.” He gently brushed her hand aside and pushed the material up higher, exposing her thighs. She felt the cool air skim against her bare skin, and she was all too aware that the only barrier between them was his great kilt and air.
He pulled her closer so that she could feel the thick ridge of his erection through the plaid.
To preserve her maidenly instincts, Darra should have jumped off Rory’s lap long ago, demanding an apology. But instead, a part of her wanted to stay, wanted to learn what the fair Highlander had to offer, wanted to know why the sensations he stirred in her was so heady, so wickedly exciting.
His heated lips moved to her neck, hitting a sensitive spot, and causing her to arch her back. But the motion served to allow him better access to the tender area, and he thoroughly exploited it. She whimpered.
Rory groaned, responding to her evident pleasure. And his searing mouth moved south, finding its way to the exposed skin above the bodice of her gown. He dragged his scorching tongue along the delicate skin, licking at the area above the slopes of her breasts. The sweet torture of his erotic heat caused her nipples to pucker against the fabric of her gown. All the while a heavy ache thrummed between her thighs. And suddenly it seemed that there was too much clothing between them.
She closed her eyes and leaned into him, deeply breathing in his manly scent. The desire to taste him consumed her, and her hands went around to his steely forearms, holding onto them as if they were anchors.
Rory’s large hands moved to her buttocks, tugging her abruptly forward. She was flushed against the outline of his rigid cock, and as if nothing existed between them, he circled her hips so that he rubbed her sex on his arousal.
Their kiss intensified, deepened, and ragged, fevered panting filled her ears, although she was uncertain whether the noises came from herself or from Rory.
Suddenly he tore his lips away, his breathing coming out in deep, jagged spurts.
Her eyes opened at feeling the abrupt loss of his heat, and she looked at him, confusion coiling in her head.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he rasped, his chest heaving as he struggled for control. He rested his chin on the top of her head. “I didnae mean for things tae get out of hand.”
Darra pushed away from him and stood up. She placed her fingers to her lips, still feeling the tingling there. But reality was flooding back to her, and she began to realize what happened, what could have happened.
“Do not worry over it. It will not occur again,” she said.
He stood and studied her for a long moment, as if he was trying to discern her thoughts. Her fingers clenched at her skirt. What was he thinking? She felt the blood rising to her cheeks, and she braced herself for what he was going to say next. But then he surprised her by saying, “Ye must be tired. I’ll carry ye back tae camp.”
“Nay,” she said, putting out a hand, stopping him. She couldn’t risk having temptation seize her again, and rob her of her wits. His body intoxicated her, and with one touch she knew that she would soften helplessly in his arms. She might even do something that a maiden should never consider. “I will walk.”
Darra began to move, to prove her resolve, but she found that her legs wobbled and she staggered slightly.
“Ye need tae conserve your strength,” he said, his lips curling almost into a snarl. He bent down and easily scooped her up from the ground. “We still have a long journey ahead of us.”
With her securely in his arms, he found his boots and slipped them on. Then with long, powerful strides, he made his way back toward the camp.
All that Darra could do was to circle her arms around his neck. She really had no choice, she told herself. She took a deep breath, enjoying the delicious sensation of weightlessness, of being cradled so closely, so protectively against his hard frame. And for a fleeting moment, she could even pretend that her English blood meant nothing to him, and that he truly cared for her…