Chapter Twelve

Soon. It must be soon. Tansy must have Sir Malcolm Montgomery for her own, or she would surely perish.

Dhe, and she had not expected him to ride so far, or for so long. They had sent the injured mount back, guarded by that wee spell, hours ago, though it felt like days. Since then, Tansy’s mare had followed Master Cunningham’s horse and Sir Malcolm had scarcely so much as spoken to her, even though she threw all her persuasion at his muscular back.

Now, with night coming on, her long wait surely must be at an end. For she tired of staring at the back of his black head and her body—overly sensitized by desire—could barely endure the touch of her own clothing.

They needed to shed their clothes, both of them, and complete this act that would ease her. Soon.

She knew he wanted it as much as she did. Desire streamed from him like scent, and his refusal to look at her meant nothing. She knew, too, he had quite likely allowed her to accompany him for just that single purpose; she’d seen the look in his dark eyes when he agreed. She did not mind that. Persuasion would be easier accomplished in his arms.

At that thought, she shivered like a woman with fever. And, in answer to her prayer, he at last drew up his mount.

Here? She looked about. No town or clachan, no inn. Just a barren stretch of road, and a few trees. But aye, it would serve. For here came the blessed moon, rising full and golden-bellied through the branches, and anywhere she might be alone with this man would be good enough.

Still without looking at her, he said, “We will lay over here tonight.”

Aye, they would.

He dismounted and led his horse away into the trees. Tansy followed. There he asked her, “Will you gather wood for a fire as you did before? But for God’s sake, do no’ set the copse alight. I will tend the horses before we tak’ some supper.”

“We will both tend the horses.”

He spun to look at her. “What’s become of that obedience you promised?”

She shrugged. “No need to go mad wi’ it. The two of us tending the horses will make the job quicker. And I ha’ no need of a fire. Or food.”

His gaze narrowed on her. Could he fail to understand?

To make things clearer, she stepped up to him. “I think you ken fine what I want.”

The kiss exploded between them, hotter than any fire she could kindle, and she pressed her body to his, luxuriating in the sensation. Ah, this had she craved. This did she need: her mouth fused to his in answer to the unbearable ache of demand.

“Tansy.” He broke the kiss and gasped her name. “Are you certain?”

“Is this no’ the reason you brought me along? To give you comfort. Succor. Pleasure.”

“I will no’ force you. Have you had a man before?”

She laughed. Aye, she’d lain with Ossian. That, she sensed, bore no relation to this.

“Malcolm.” She gazed into his eyes and spoke his name in claiming. “I want this, only this. I want you, only you.” She smiled. “I will prove most obedient.”

Heat flared in his eyes, and he swore in what sounded like wonder. She’d intended to give him a little push from the magic simmering inside her. It would not be necessary. His hands shook as he began removing his clothing; his gaze burned on her as she unfastened her own garments.

Aye, and she’d never been so anxious to shed them. Not even with Ossian. That had been exciting, even daring. Now desire thrummed deep inside her, impossible to deny.

What would he think of her body? Small and willow slender, she made up in agility what she might lack in bosom. And he—aye, she’d glimpsed most of him back in the dispensary. Now, as his clothing came away, she saw his full magnificence. Long, muscular legs. That rippled stomach she’d glimpsed while tending his wounds. And—

Words failed her when she dropped her gaze. Thoughts failed her. She—who had never cared for anyone but herself—became aware of a strange desire to worship him.

“You are gey beautiful,” she said.

He did not hear her. Wrapped in desire far stronger than any spell she could ever weave, he gestured at the bare ground.

Tansy, moving with the promised obedience, finished shucking her own clothing before she dropped and spread herself upon the dirt and leaves. When first she lay with Ossian, she’d expected him to please her. Now she wanted to please this man, however he demanded.

“I dreamed of this while awake,” he said hoarsely as he stood surveying her. “But there was firelight.”

There would be firelight next time. “We have no need of firelight. There is the moon.”

“So there is.”

He knelt between her thighs, a proud man coming to her. She could feel stones and twigs digging into her naked back; she could smell the virgin ground, rife with damp. Her breasts peaked in the cool air, and she prayed he would take her soon. Any way he chose.

He laid his palm on her breast and her whole body leaped in response. A growl of demand came from her throat, and he smiled at her.

Oh, and he so seldom smiled. It stole the last of her breath.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Are you going to beg, Tansy Bellrose Gant?”

“If I must.”

“We canna’ have that.”

He replaced his palm with his mouth, hot and hungry, and she nearly convulsed with pleasure. Aye, and he seemed to find naught wanting in her diminutive size, for he devoured her, taking her into him, making her flesh his own. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer in.

“Delicious. You taste like heaven.” He gasped the words, his breath skittering across her wet flesh. “How can that be, and you a witch?”

Tansy sought for words—clever, barbed ones such as she usually employed—and found none. He gazed into her eyes and her heart stuttered in her chest.

Oh, holy hell, she would no’ survive this. She did not want to.

“Let us see how obedient you are, bonny Tansy. Kiss me.”

She fused her open mouth to his. She breathed into him and felt him breathe into her also, and gasped as his tongue met hers. Something inside her, always tight and unyielding, melted, and an unnamed pain slid away, replaced with passion so hot it threatened to consume them both.

He murmured, his mouth still fast to hers, a hum deep in his throat, a vibration. Her whole body screamed for him to slide into her.

And then he did, and her mind exploded a split second before her body followed in wave upon wave of exquisite pleasure.

****

“Quick. That was too quick.” Malcolm buried his face in Tansy’s hair, which smelled of thyme, and held tight. She still trembled in his arms, and he remained inside her. A wonder he could speak at all.

He felt…powerful, vulnerable, victorious, and lost, greedy, and sated. He wanted this moment to last forever, even as he knew it could not.

Ah, God, she fitted him like his own skin. Never had he known such comfort, or imagined it.

“I am sorry.”

“Sorry?” She repeated the word as if she’d never before heard it.

“I would ha’ lasted longer for you.”

“We went up like flame.” She laughed softly. “No holding back flame, when it erupts. But, my fine Sir Knight…” She ran her fingers through his sweated hair. “Next time you can tak’ as long as you like.”

“Will there be a next time, Tansy Bellrose Gant?”

“If you ask; I am ever obedient.”

That made him laugh along with her. It also made him grow hard inside her, imagining Tansy Bellrose Gant obedient.

On her knees, perhaps. Och, God!

He kissed her slowly, deeply, seeking each drop of sweetness her mouth contained. They began to move without word or intention, there in the moonlight.

Aye, and it took longer this time, but not enough. Never enough.

Wondrous lass! Splendid, dangerous lass. She had enchanted him.

****

Tansy Bellrose Gant slept. Malcolm wrapped her in a blanket and left her to it while he collected wood and lit a fire beneath the single eye of the moon. They had mated together on the forest floor like beasts of the wild. What had he been thinking? He crouched in front of the fire and slanted a look at her. Immediately, his crotch tightened.

What in hell ailed him? He had not been so far beyond control since the age of sixteen. He’d supposed indulging himself with her would answer the craving and be the cure. Instead, the desire had merely intensified.

He needed to master himself.

Yet look how she slept, curled on her side in unconscious grace, one hand against her cheek. Her lashes showed very black against her pale skin, in the moonlight. Her hair streamed like a river of ebony.

Not the sort of woman who usually caught his eye. He preferred lasses like Catha, fair and rosy.

Catha. How could he have thrust his mission to the back of his mind even for a moment?

Tansy stirred where she lay. She unwound like a wee squirrel in its nest, and her gaze found him beside the fire.

He quickened as if lashed by a whip of desire. Aye, he could not trust himself near this woman. He could not…

“You left me,” she accused softly.

“I wished only to keep you warm.” He indicated the fire.

“I can think of a better way.” She opened the blanket to him; he caught a glimpse of one delicate shoulder. His whole body leaped.

Christ, he could not possibly want her again. Not so soon.

Yet he approached her like a man drawn by chains and stood looking down at her. She smiled—a smile as old as time itself, ancient as the first man and woman, soft and knowing.

“Forget the fire, Sir Knight, and come back to bed.”