Chapter Twenty-Six

Thirteen hours later, Daniel stumbled out of bed and then onto his knees. The herb and his long hours of sleep had weakened him. What the hell had she given him? His wound felt quite well, though, just a bit stiff. He gave himself a few more minutes before he attempted to regain his footing.

Successful this time, he noted the fresh, ivory linen shirt thrown across the chair and put it on. He didn’t remember Abby removing his boots, but they were on the floor next to the bed. Bending to retrieve them, his wound ached a little and he cursed his attacker. Was this what it would be like everywhere he brought Abigail MacGregor? Would men always want her enough to kill or be killed for her? Which of the two was he willing to do? Both?

The room spun him in a circle when he thought of Abby below stairs now, alone and unprotected for all these hours. How many hours? Daniel felt the color drain from his face and his heart leap to life. He hurried to the door in one boot and left the room with blood on his mind. One of them had gotten her. He gritted his teeth and clutched the hilt of his blade in the hand with the stronger arm. He wasn’t naturally left-handed, but he’d make do and kill anyone who harmed her.

He half-clicked all the way down the stairs, drawing attention to his bare foot.

“Daniel!”

He heard her voice and turned to find her rising from the innkeeper’s table. She looked unharmed, to his great relief.

“What are ye doing oot of bed? Are ye hungry?” She reached up and cupped his forehead and then his cheek in her palm. “No fever. Come, sit.”

He wanted to look her over a moment longer to make certain she’d suffered no harm in his absence.

He followed her to the table and he wondered if he would follow her to her death.

He looked around at the faces of men going back to their supper. None seemed overly interested in her. With the wind blown from his sails, he relaxed and slipped his dagger into his pants at the waist and accepted a seat at the table. He answered the half dozen questions she put to him and asked her a few of his own… mainly about the tea she had given him. As his usually good fortune would have it, he was just in time for supper. Hot stew and not so fresh bread. He was starving.

“Are ye not going to thank Ferguson for all his aid?” Abby asked him in a half whisper while he ate.

He looked up vaguely, “Who?”

“Ferguson Hampton, the innkeeper.”

Daniel eyed him and then tossed their chubby host a smile. “You have my thanks.”

Everyone at the table, including Ferguson’s wife and three daughters, smiled. It left Daniel feeling like he’d just signed his name in blood, to terms he didn’t remember agreeing to.

He kept his attention on Abby throughout the night, though the wine and watered-down whisky made it difficult to concentrate on much.

Laughter flowed more easily than Daniel would have expected from sitting with an innkeeper. Abby seemed to get along well with Lorraine, one of Ferguson’s daughters. Watching her interact with another woman distracted him from thoughts of protecting her to thoughts of devouring her.

When tables were cleared for dancing, he thought about asking her. He’d likely open his wound, but he wanted to hold her hands, draw her close, move around her to the sound of merry music. He hesitated until a young traveler left his chair and began walking toward them. Daniel kicked off his boot, clasped Abby’s hand, and drew her to her feet. His wound still ached but he could bear it. He turned her hand in his with an elegant flick of his wrist he’d learned from all his years around royalty and kissed the inside, where her pulse beat. “Dance with me, my lady.”

She nodded and moved away with him toward the center of the hall. She didn’t spare the man who’d been about to ask her to the floor another thought. Neither did Daniel.

“Ye dinna’ look to be the type who dances,” she said while they took position with the three other pairs and waited for the music to begin.

At the first note, he bowed, left arm and leg extended, right leg bent, tipping his body slightly forward, while he kept his right arm close to his wound. “What does the type who dances look like?”

She blinked and, moving closer, smiled at him, unknowingly making him forget the next step.

“Like ye, I presume.” Her voice fell across his ears like a soft kiss. She pulled away but was stopped by his gentle tug. He drew her under his arm and met her half turn with a smile. She let him lead her around the floor, sweeping her in wide circles or twirling her in his arm.

He liked dancing and didn’t get to do it often anymore, not like this. His boots were already off. Unrestraint beckoned him, just this once, to let go, to enjoy himself.

The most beautiful woman in Great Britain was in his arms and he’d withheld his affection long enough. He wanted to feel her naked in his arms again, aroused and wet enough to take him. He intended to sweep her up, make her laugh, and shower her with everything she deserved.

“Tonight”—he pulled her in close and dropped his gaze to hers—“I don’t give a damn about tomorrow.”

Her lips curled in a smile that sucked the breath from him. “Nor do I.”

He wanted to snatch her off her feet, right here and now, and race up the stairs to their bed. She was awakening parts of him that had been put to sleep long ago. Duty to God and to the throne came before selfish desire. Honor came before love. But not tonight.

Tonight, he wanted to kiss her and waltz with her with equal abandon. He would give her what she wanted, and take what he needed. He’d promise her his heart amid the music and the spirits, and the laughter born from both.

By the end of the night, he’d danced with her and every other female at the inn. He met Abby on the dance floor four times and then once again with the innkeeper on her arm. They drank too much wine and they danced too closely when they came together. Or were they doomed before this?

Daniel didn’t think about anything but Abby while he finally followed her up the stairs. Not Charlotte, or the queen, or Skye, or what they had just done, or what they were going to do. He thought of only one thing. He loved her. He loved her with his entire being. There wasn’t a single iota of him that wasn’t madly, deeply in love with her—a proscribed MacGregor Jacobite. He sighed as he brought her to their room. What else could he do but sigh?

“Ye’ve been staring at me like that all evening.”

He smiled, pulling her into his arms. “How do you know how I looked when you were in front of me?”

She gazed up at him; her lids were heavy and shafts of diamond blue stilled his breath. “I can feel it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Aye.” She nodded her head and quirked her mouth at him.

He gathered her in closer and kissed her as they came to the door. He kicked it open with his bare foot. He wanted to toss her on the bed and jump in after her. Hell, why did he have to be wounded tonight?

“Tell me how I look then?” he asked, returning to the door to bolt it.

“Like a starving man.”

He turned from the door to find her removing her kirtle. His lips curled when her dress fell to the floor. “That,” he told her while he unlaced his pants and moved toward her, “I am.”

Somewhere deep in Abby’s muddy thoughts, she heard a small voice, warning her about trusting him so quickly. She denied it and clasped his shirt in both fists when he got close enough. Dancing with him, watching him dance with others, and laugh, and make friends—it all left her very enthralled and… excited.

She’d danced before, at home in Camlochlin, but none of her partners had ever danced like him. Daniel moved with fluidity of grace in every step, undeniable masculinity oozing from his pores. Every lass present wanted to dance with him, and he obliged them while she watched, laughing and clapping and knowing where he was sleeping tonight.

It probably should mortify her, but she had drunk too much to care. He sparked fires in her all evening and she felt like she would combust if she didn’t have him. She didn’t know exactly what it was that her body craved. Him. More of him. All of him. She began by tugging at his shirt. When he helped, tearing it over his head and casting it over his shoulder, she bit her lip and ran her fingertips down his chest. His smile, so intimate and deep with desire, emboldened her to slip her fingers down the front of his pants and tug.

His arm coiled around her back and pulled her up close against his hard, rigid body. She tilted her face to him and parted her lips, waiting… waiting.

His mouth, hot and hungry on hers, unglued her and drew long, lusty groans from her. She fell to pieces in his arms as they landed on the bed in passion’s embrace. His tongue explored the inside of her mouth with slow, sensuous strokes that set her nerves aflame. He tasted her, delighted in her, while he cupped her breasts and pinched her stiff nipples. As if waiting until the precise moment when she was ripe for the picking, he dipped his head and took her in with a tight growl that made her insides burn and her legs spread beneath him. His tongue burned like a flame skipping across her nipple, then down the valley between her breasts. She spoke his name. “Daniel.” She wanted to say it. “Whether ye mean to or not, ye’re emblazoning yerself into me. ’Twill be verra’ difficult trying to ferget ye when the time comes.”

She didn’t know what it was that she said exactly, but it made him look up from his kisses, a troubling thought marring his brow. When she smiled, he stretched out his body beside her on the bed.

“If we both know the outcome, why do we do this?”

She leaned up on her elbow and stared at him above her. “Because if we dinna’ do it, I fear I will go mad.”

The depths of his eyes tempted her to expose all to him, not just her body, and then explore everything about him. She pulled him back down and stole a kiss from his decadently shaped mouth. “But even if nothing changes,” she whispered, “ye’ll always be mine, and I’ll always be yers.”

When he smiled again, she pushed him off her and mounted him all in one swift movement, careful of his wound. Her bold advance made her head spin, thanks to all the whisky she’d consumed. Setting her palms on his chest, she pushed herself up. A flick of her hair to get it off her face made her dizzy again and she gave it a moment to pass.

His hands went from holding her steady to cupping her, kneading her, caressing every curve. His eyes basked in her while she set herself down on the thick bulge under his pants. She wanted to release him and feel his flesh against hers, but in a moment. His body felt so good beneath her right now, she almost didn’t want to move. But she did. She rubbed and wriggled until he nearly snapped. She wanted him and if she had to tear off his pants herself, she would.

She straightened her back and he followed. When he moved to kiss her, she backed away. “Ye seem to have brought oot a side of me I didna’ know existed.”

“I like it,” he said in deep rasp riddled with desire.

Aye, so did she, she thought, leaping off him. “Take off yer pants,” she demanded with a playful smile.

His breath came hard and heavy as he rose off the bed and shook his head. She knew why.

“While ye were dancing with Eileen Hampton I took the opportunity to mix a few herbs I know to stop pregnancy from occurring and steeped it in my drinks.”

“A trusted concoction?” he asked, his voice covering her from the other side of the room.

“I wouldna’ risk so much if ’twasna’ trusted.”

His mouth hooked into a dark smile that made her want to run. She watched him undress and then stand fully naked before her. He was a long, lean masterpiece with a huge cock reaching toward the heavens.

She hadn’t seen it before in all its glory. She’d felt it, but that was different. Seeing the size of it, and the intent in his eyes of what he was going to do to her with it, frightened her a little. But Abigail MacGregor prided herself on not scaring easily. A chief should be brave.

When he moved toward her, she held her ground. It wasn’t easy, but it was she, after all, who’d demanded he remove his pants. Now wasn’t the time to second-guess her decision. He was coming to take what he wanted, and she wanted to give it all. Her breath stalled as he neared, spreading his warmth over her. When he caught her up in his arms, she was certain she was going to faint in them. She’d come to feel safe in them, and she’d come to ache for them. She never wanted to leave his embrace. She remembered to breathe and looked up into his smoldering gaze, and then forgot again as his mouth descended on hers.

He snatched away her air and left her gasping with the passion of his kiss. His flirty lips parted to let his tongue invade her with sensual, teasing licks that deepened quickly into something more like complete possession. Things were about to change and she didn’t want to stop it. She didn’t resist him but tossed back her head in surrender when he hoisted her over his naked body and wrapped her legs around his hips.

She held on tight while he kissed her and moved them back toward the bed. His hands beneath her rump supported her, and it also gave him control of her movements. What he did was rather sinful. The way he rubbed her all over him, up and down his fiery lance, until she thought she might combust.

She wanted more, something instinctual and feral, something he gave to no other woman before her or after her. More than his body, she wanted the wild heart beneath all the armor. If he wanted to give her more, who was she to argue? She would take it all. Every scintillatingly slick, steel inch.

He guided her over him one last time before she took control of her own movements. Tightening her thighs around his waist, she leaned up and out of his hands and paused at his swollen tip. She held herself up for a moment, pressed snugly against him, her breasts pushed against his chin. She closed her eyes, preparing herself to be cleaved in half. It couldn’t be that bad or other women would never do it.

While she was still pondering it, he snatched her back, dragged her over his steel once, and then again, and then dropped her onto the bed.

He stood over her, heavy cock in hand, and without taking his eyes off her, gave himself two pumps and erupted poised between her legs. He soaked her and smiled like pure temptation come in the flesh.

She couldn’t deny that the sight of him thrilled her senseless, and that she could have watched his passion all night long. But that was the problem. “ ’Twas over rather quickly fer ye,” she told him, “and I told ye that I drank a mixture of herbs—”

He leaned over her and bit her right lobe before he whispered against her ear, “We’re not close to being done.”