Rory leaned against the old oak tree, his arms folded over his chest as he watched Darra crouched at the ground, digging for Gaiaroot. He knew that he should offer to help her, but he was loathed to leave his post. At the moment, he had a good view of the slopes of her breasts, and he rather enjoyed the angle.
She looked up. “Thank you for bringing me here, Rory,” she said, sending him a sunny smile.
The smile hit him in the solar plexus. “Ye are welcome,” he said.
The sight of her captivating visage made the air catch in his gullet. Her oval face was so perfectly formed, her eyes as blue as the deep ocean. And her pink lips were as alluring as the day that he first he saw them. He felt the familiar urge to kiss her. Since their night in the woods, he dreamed of her, yearning to feel, touch and taste her sweet body. Then there was that moment in the stables yesterday. If they weren’t interrupted, they would have enjoyed a passionate spell in each other’s arms.
Darra lifted a hand and wiped at her brow. She happily surveyed the flowering heather which spanned the horizon.
“The Gaiaroots are so abundant here among the heather,” she explained. “Mairead brought me to this spot once to gather thyme, but I discovered these miracle plants. I never knew that they grew in the highlands.” She went back to her digging. “And ‘tis fortunate how easily I can replenish my supply.”
Darra continued with the medicinal virtues of the root, and how it could treat fevers, wounds, sore throats, and a host of other internal ailments. But he could scarcely concentrate on the stream of information when all he wanted was to take a strand of her silky golden hair, place it under his nose and breathe in her sweet womanly perfume.
He ached to feel her again.
Rory pushed away from the tree and approached her.
“My medicine book at home…” She paused in her digging, her voice trailing off as she spied his boots in front of her. Slowly she looked up, settling her regard on his visage.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked, a delicate brow raised in puzzlement.
A streak of energy shot through him as he took her hand, pulling her up from the ground. She felt the disturbance as well because she dropped the dagger in her hand. Darra stared at him as if he had somehow hexed her. But it was really she who bewitched him.
“There is nay one here but the two of us,” he said, reaching to touch her cheek, caressing the smooth, creamy skin. He remembered that the rest of her body was as soft, as lovely, and he wanted to plunge himself into her.
Her eyes darkened with barely suppressed hunger, and she licked her lips nervously. “What do you —?”
He shook his head, cutting her off. “We need tae finish what we started in the stable,” he said, his hot gaze roving over her curves.
A flush stained her cheeks and she bent her head.
“Nay, lass, dinnae look away from me,” he commanded softly.
Darra dragged her eyes from the ground. But then her attention became riveted to the sizable bulge beneath his great kilt.
When he was satisfied that he had Darra’s full attention, he lifted up his kilt to display his arousal, which was standing erect and proud. Even though she had seen him before, she allowed herself to study him with unabashed fascination. And he was as breathtaking as she remembered. Still, it was difficult to fathom how his entire shaft had entered her. But somehow it did.
“Do ye like what ye see, lass?” he murmured. His hand gripped his cock, and he began to stroke the rigid appendage.
At his question a streak of heat zipped through her entire frame. She wet her lips, but she was unable to speak.
One corner of his mouth quirked at her loss for words. With his muscular legs wide apart, he continued to knead the flanged head of his cock. She didn’t know if it was her imagination, but he seemed to grow bigger the longer she ogled him.
But then it seemed that he had enough of playing. Dropping his hand, he moved until he stood an arm’s length away. The intense heat that radiated off his muscular build made her take a step back and she bumped into the oak tree.
Placing a hand on the tree trunk, he bent his head. “In case ye didnae notice, lass, ye drive me mad with desire for ye,” he said, his hot breath brushing across her temple.
He brought one hand to cup her face, capturing her lips in a lush kiss that was laced with need, want, and primal hunger.
The intensity of the contact sparked a moment of shock to her system, but then little by little, her body began to yield, to melt against his solidness. It seemed to know that this was where it belonged, where it wanted to stay.
Darra placed her palms at the sides of his face, kissing him back. Sparks flew with every press of her lips. At first he held still, allowing her to leisurely explore his sculpted lips. But then he had enough.
His strong arms wrapped around her hips, drawing her closer until she could feel the ridge of his erection thrusting insistently against her sex. She already knew how it felt to be pleasured by him, to have that hard, firm part of him impale her.
A moan of pure desire purred in her chest. And an eagerness welled up in her belly. Suddenly she wanted him inside her. Now.
“Please, Rory,” she said.
“Please what?” he murmured.
His hand went to her hair, brushing it aside so that he exposed her neck. He then buried his face at the curve of her neck, grazing his hot lips along the sensitive part of her skin.
She let out a soft whimper and tilted her head, giving him greater access. His searing touch shot straight down to her stomach. That now familiar liquid fire coiled further down until it settled at her core, making her damp.
As if he sensed the inviting heat from her sex, his sinewy arm tightened around her hips, drawing her close. At the same time, he dragged his mouth across her jaw line and settled his lips over hers. Her arms went up and circled his neck as she pressed herself closer to his rigid frame.
He slipped his tongue into her mouth while another sigh gathered deep in her throat. Just then, he pushed her gently against the tree trunk, and his large palm drifted down her leg. Hoisting the hem of her gown, he drew the material to her midriff. She vaguely noted a cool breeze brushing against her scorched skin. He raised her leg and wrapped it around his waist, pressing his throbbing member against her slick heat.
She gasped as his hips began to rock against her, the back and forth motion causing the tip of his rod to lightly stroke her moist folds. A streak of relentless anticipation coursed through her center. If it was possible, she could feel herself becoming wetter, slicker with each pass. It was pure torture. It was pure bliss.
Leaning back against the rough bark, she savored the delicious agony of his shaft rubbing along her clitoris. She thought that she would collapse from the pleasure of it.
But he stopped.
Vaguely, she felt him moving away from her as he tugged down her skirt.
“Rory?” she said as a sense of loss crashed down on her.
“Someone’s coming,” he said, quickly adjusting his kilt.
She looked past his shoulders, and saw Ewan riding toward them, his arm flailing in the air while he shouted Rory’s name.
Her heart froze as reality hit her like a bucket of freezing water. If Rory was less alert, she would have been caught in an illicit act. What was it about him that made her lose all her faculties?
A blush rose to her cheeks as she remembered her wanton behavior. The first time they made love, she merely wanted to experience rapturous passion. But now she wanted to keep experiencing it.
Ewan jumped down from his horse and picked his way through the rocky surface, his youthful face red with exertion. When he finally reached them, he bent over at his waist, his hands braced against his knees as he tried to catch his breath.
“Mairead —” he gasped. He tried again. “Mairead said tae come get ye.”
“Why?” Rory said, sharply.
“’Tis Da,” Ewan said, taking a big gulp of air and gesturing toward Tancraig Castle. “His fever is back and raging worse than before.”
Darra moved quickly to gather her basket. “Let us get back to the castle.”
They tore across the rocky, uneven terrain, their horses’ hooves kicking up clumps of heather and dirt. All the while, her mind raced. Why was Eanruing feverish again? When she had left, his temperature was stable. She had given Mairead instruction to administer the herbal tincture every three hours. Did she forget? It didn’t make any sense that his fever was getting worse.
Glancing over at Rory, she saw that his face was tensed. Any trace of the playful, passionate man that kissed her was gone.
Mairead waited for them at the steps of the keep. When she saw them approaching, the worried expression on her pretty face turned to relief.
“I was uncertain whether or nae Ewan would be able tae find ye.” She signaled for the stable hands to take the horses away.
“Tell me what happened,” Rory said.
Mairead gave them a recount as she led them to Eanruing’s bed chamber. Blane and the rest of Rory’s siblings were already there.
Everyone looked at them as soon as they entered.
“’Tis all her fault,” Blane said, pointing a finger at Darra. “I dinnae ken why ye brought her here, Rory. She cannae be trusted.”
Her steps faltered. “But I have not —”
“I think ye have given him poison.” Blane stared at everyone in the room. “Have ye ever considered that the “medicine” that she’s given tae Eanruing may nae contain the cure that she claims?”
Blane glared at her as if she was a murderess, and suddenly she was filled with righteous indignation. In all her work as a healer, she had never been blamed for harming anyone. And to be so falsely accused wounded her deeply.
“Why do you…?” Darra swallowed hard, struggling to control the anger in her voice. She tried again. “What have I ever done to make you hate me so?” she asked.
“Ye are English.” He bent his head and spat on the ground as if that was all the explanation that he needed to give. But when he raised his head again, he sent her a frigid glare that chilled her to her marrow. “I hate the English.”
She took a step back, feeling the blast of his enmity. “The English have also suffered,” she said. “I have seen what you Scots have done to my people.”
“’Tis nae the same!” he roared. “Your people destroyed my family.” His voice shook from the brutal force of his emotion. “My home burnt tae the ground and my family in it.” Unshed tears glistened in his eyes as he glowered at her. “They were innocent and harmed nay one.” He blinked and his tone lowered in remembered agony. “The bastards didnae ken that I was hiding in the hills overlooking my house, watching my kin being burned alive…”
She felt the blood drain from her visage.
“I am sorry for your loss,” she said, attempting to keep her voice stable as the shock of his revelation hit her. Darra didn’t know what King Harold and his men did outside the English borders. She certainly had no idea that they were so brutal, so cruel.
“What do ye ken of my loss?” Blane demanded furiously. He bunched his fists at his side as if he was restraining himself from ramming them into something or someone. “Ye live in your sheltered castle while your kinsmen go out and murder guid people.” The bitterness in his voice seeped into the room, affecting everyone in the vicinity.
“The lass cannae be blamed for the death of your relations,” Rory said, cutting into the thick silence. “Indeed the womenfolk cannot be responsible for what their men do.”
“Then ye are a fool tae believe it,” Blane said bitterly. “The enemy is the enemy, whether they be womenfolk or nae.” He waved at the basket in Darra’s hand. “She claims tae ken how tae heal, sae she would also ken how tae kill.”
“I dinnae believe it.” Rory shook his head and folded his arms across his massive chest.
“Ye dinnae believe it because ye are too busy fucking your English whore,” Blane said, his face darkening.
Darra drew in a sharp breath. His words lashed out at her like a whip. With everyone assessing her, she wanted to perish from the humiliation.
Rory walked up to Blane. “Dinnae call the lass that,” he said, his voice dangerously soft.
“Or what will ye do, Rory?” he said, his voice tight and taunting. “Everyone kens what ye have been doing with the whore —”
Rory pulled his arm back and rammed his fist into Blane’s jaw, causing the other man’s head to snap back.
“I said dinnae call the lass that,” he said. Turning to Darra, his expression was apologetic. “’Tis unfortunate that ye had tae hear that, lass.” He appeared as if he was going to say more when he stopped abruptly, and focused on something past her shoulders. Darra whirled around, and watched in horror as Blane came throttling toward them like a rabid boar.
Reaching for her arm, Rory flung her aside just as Blane dove at him, knocking his legs out from under him. The air whooshed from his lungs and he landed flat on his back.
In the next moment, Blane was straddled on top of him, ramming Rory’s face with his fists.
“Stop it!” Darra yelled. When the brawling men ignored her, she turned to the person closest to her. “Griogair, do something! Rory is getting hurt!”
Griogair started to a step forward when Duncan stopped him. “This is between Rory and Blane.”
She looked at Duncan in disbelief. “You cannot mean to have the man beat on your brother!”
“Rory would nae like it if we interfered,” Duncan said.
They hadn’t fought like this since they were lads, but this battle was different. Blane was out for blood. He seemed to dip into his inner rage, and every slight, every torment he suffered in the hands of the English was targeted at Rory.
Fortunately Rory managed to throw in a few solid strikes, but his friend retaliated and delivered his fair share of hits.
Rory raised his forearms to avoid another punch to his head, but the impact on his arms still rattled his teeth. After several more pounding blows, he sensed that Blane was tiring, his jabs becoming slower, more sloppy.
Blane’s cheek was red and swollen, and a trickle of blood ran down the side of his lip. As he threw another fist, Rory trapped it between his arms, locking onto the limb and wrenching it downward. The abrupt movement propelled Blane’s torso forward, throwing him off balance.
Then calling upon his reserve, Rory lifted his hips in the air, pitched his weight to the side, and flipped them both over so that he was positioned on top.
“I bested ye when we were lads,” he growled. “Today willnae be different.”
With that, he rained down his fists, aiming at Blane’s unprotected head. But Blane wasn’t new to fighting, and he twisted his head right and left, left and right, dodging the powerful punches.
Before he understood what was happening, Blane lifted one leg up and planted his foot on Rory’s chest. And with one big, violent heave, he hoisted Rory off of him.
The force of the shove hurled Rory backward, causing his arms to flail involuntarily. He spun his head around in time to see Darra, a shocked expression on her face. Why was she standing behind him and Blane? Move it, damn it! his mind screamed.
But then as if time slowed down, he felt himself hurtling in her direction, the moment of impact imminent.
And when the collision finally came, his larger form slammed into hers. She screamed. And then her body flung backward, crashing against the stone wall with a sickening thud.
She slid to the ground.
“Darra!” he cried hoarsely, clawing his way over to her and ignoring the sharp pain that shot down his back.
But when he got to her, her body was limp and lifeless.
“Nay!” he gathered her tightly in his arms, rocking her to and fro.
Mairead and Kila rushed over to his side, but he didn’t want them to touch her.
Blane watched the commotion, his eyes narrowed and his chest heaving heavily. Reaching up, he wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Ye shouldnae have brought her here,” he said. “All ye did was tae bring trouble on our heads.”
“Get out of my sight!” Rory bellowed, despair clenching at his lungs. “I dinnae want tae see your face here ever again!”
“Rory,” Mairead said sharply, drawing his attention to her. “Let me see her.”
Finally he nodded and allowed his sister to place her hand underneath Darra’s nose. When she glanced up again, Rory saw her relief.
“She’s breathing.” Mairead opened her mouth to continue, but then her troubled eyes moved past Rory, and she watched as Blane retreated from the chamber. She took in a deep breath as if to compose herself before returning her attention back to Rory. “Dinnae worry, Rory,” she said. “Your Darra will recover.”