Kira noticed two things the moment she followed Aidan and Tavish into the smoke-hazed, torchlit great hall. How quickly two plaid-wrapped, sword-toting Highlanders could plow their way through a teeming, jam-packed crowd of men, and the sharp, metallic smell of blood.
Trying to close her nose against the latter, she hurried after them. She couldn’t help noting the way half the men present glanced aside as she dashed past them. Not surprisingly, the other half gaped at her, their bearded faces filled with suspicion.
Or hostility.
Only one soul ignored her.
A portly, ruddy-faced giant of a man who needed only a furred, sleeveless jerkin and a silvered helmet to look like one of the Vikings who’d once ruled Wrath. Tall, broad-shouldered, and with a wild mane of reddish blond hair, he would’ve looked genial dressed in anything but his somber, dark robes. Maybe even like a merry, red-cheeked Norse Santa, were he not so focused on the strapping youth sprawled on his back across the rough planks of a trestle table pushed close to the hearth fire.
Obviously a healer, the man stood at the head of the table, gently probing an egg-sized lump on Kendrew’s forehead. He glanced up at Aidan’s approach. “He’s no’ by his wits,” he said, the words loud in the quiet of the hall. “The blow to his head is making him spout foolery. He’ll fare better once he’s rested.”
Aidan humphed. “I’d hear what happened. From the lad, or whoe’er. And someone – anyone – take men to comb the castle and grounds.” Stepping up to the table, he frowned when Kendrew moaned. “The lad didn’t end up like this from tangling with a mist wraith.”
The healer shrugged. “The sharp edge of the mounting block could’ve cut his shoulder. The knot on his head might be from the block’s stone as well,” he suggested, pulling on his beard. “Depends on how hard he fell.”
“Pah!” quipped an older woman hovering close. “He didn’t fall. Conan Dearg attacked him. The lad swore it.”
A second, equally grizzled woman, clucked in agreement.
She held a laver while the other dipped a rag into the bloodied water, then swabbed at the gash in Kendrew’s shoulder. “Aye,” she gabbled, turning bright eyes on Aidan, “the laddie said your cousin waved something strange at him, laughing that he’d now ‘best every foe, because he’d see them coming before the battle began.’” Straightening thin shoulders, the crone flashed a gap-toothed smile and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Conan Dearg then leapt down from the arch, knocking the poor laddie into the mounting block and dashing him on the head with the object.”
“The object?” Aidan folded his arms.
“The thing he claimed would let him see any foe’s approach,” the other old woman chirped, once more dipping her rag into the laver.
Kira stared at the two ancients in horror, scarce hearing their babbling. She saw only the youth’s shoulder gash and the filthy rag clutched in the woman’s gnarled and age-spotted hand.
Medieval healing at its finest.
Hygiene at its worst.
Shuddering, she clutched Aidan’s arm, pulling him back from the table.
“Make them stop,” she urged him, her voice rising when the rag-dipping old woman tossed the dripping cloth onto the floor rushes, then produced another, promptly blowing her nose into its ratty-looking folds before plunging the thing deep into Kendrew’s wound. “He’ll get an infection! Maybe even die. Those filthy rags are full of germs.”
“Hush, Kee-rah.” Aidan patted her hand. “Nils and the birthing sisters know what they’re about.”
“Oh, no, they don’t.” She glanced at them, her whole body trembling. “They’ll only make it worse.”
“Leave be, lass,” Aidan warned again, but three startled faces were already looking her way.
The tiniest, most wizened woman peered sharply at her, her lips tightening to a thin, disapproving line. The rag-dipper appeared confused, her knotty hand still pressing the offending cloth against Kendrew’s shoulder until Nils swelled his broad chest and plucked the cloth from her hand. Instead of tossing it onto the rushes, he dropped it into a pail at his feet.
“Lass!” he boomed, fixing Kira with a twinkling blue-eyed stare. “I dinnae understand half of what you said, but what I did grasp, is just what I’ve been trying to get through the thick heads of certain she-biddies for years!”
Planting beefy hands on his hips, he cast a frown on the two old women. “To think they call themselves midwives,” he scolded, his tone good-natured all the same. “Me, having seen the work of the great healers of the East, and some here still choose not to heed me when I tell them to use clean lengths of linen and fresh water on wounds.”
“Fresh, boiled water,” Kira allowed, sensing an ally in Nils the healer.
Even if the so-called clean bits of linen he was now pulling from some hidden cache in his robes, looked anything but snowy white.
They’d surely never been bleached or disinfected.
But they were a vast improvement over the ghastly rags the birthing sisters seemed so fond of.
A chill running through her, she opened her mouth to say more, but glanced at Aidan first. Relief swept her when he jerked a quick nod, giving her his approval.
At his elbow, Tavish grinned. “Nils learned the healing arts in Jaffa.” He edged close so only she could hear him. “He went there as a lad, tagging along on an uncle’s pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre, but the poor man succumbed to the journey. Nils was stranded there for years, learning much before he could return. Naught you might say will shock him.”
No’ even talk of flying machines and tour buses filled with Ameri-cains? Kira was sure she heard Aidan mutter beneath his breath.
She wasn’t about to comment, not here in his hall.
She did hesitate, her gaze flicking between the healer, Tavish, and Aidan.
Then she glanced at Kendrew, his pale face and glittering eyes, deciding her.
She had to help him.
“These, too, should be boiled.” She indicated two impossibly large bone needles lying on a nearby stool, a suspicious coil of horse-tail thread revealing their purpose. “Kendrew could catch an infec- … I mean, it could go bad for him if these things aren’t properly cleaned before they’re put to use.”
The two old women sniffed in unison.
The men who’d narrowed eyes at her upon entering the hall crowded round, looking on expectantly. Those who’d averted their gazes, shook their heads and grumbled. They all pressed forward, curiosity winning out over stubbornness.
Nils the Viking hooted and grabbed her arm, pulling her closer to the table. Grinning, he thrust one of his almost-clean cloths into her hands.
“She’ll bespell him!” someone objected from the throng.
“Be wary, Nils!” another agreed. “You might find those healing cloths turned into snakes next time you reach for one!”
Ignoring them, Nils handed her a bowl of unsavory-looking paste. “This is woundwort,” he told her. “My own special betony healing salve. If you aren’t faint of heart, you can apply it to Kendrew’s shoulder. It’ll help draw out the evil.”
“Of course.” Kira took the bowl, steeling herself. “I should wash my hands first.” She forced a smile, not wanting to offend. “You should, too. Anyone who touches-”
“Ho, Nils! You speak of evil. I say she be wicked.” A female voice cut her off, rising clear and angry from somewhere near. “Telling a healer and his helpers how to care for the lad!”
Spinning about, Kira almost collided with the speaker, a beautiful woman with the creamiest skin and brightest hair she’d ever seen. Flame-bright hair that glistened in the torchlight, her braid swinging as she plunked down a basket of fresh linens at Nils’ feet, then whipped around to disappear into the crowd without a further word.
Kira opened her mouth to protest, but the rag-dipper scuttled forward then, snatching the cloth and bowl. “Sinead and the others speak true.” She shunted Kira aside with a bony elbow. “With so many strange goings-on these days, it willnae do to have you poking and prodding at the laddie.”
Bristling, Kira rubbed her ribs. “I only wanted to help.” She tried to ignore the sharp pain, amazed the tiny old woman could pack such an elbow jab. “I know you mean well, but-”
“What do you know?” A big, great-bearded clansman stepped up to them, eyeing her critically. “You dinnae look like any healer I’ve e’er seen.”
“My father was a healer.” Kira lifted her chin, hoping the lie wasn’t flashing on her forehead. But better a fib than tell them she knew what she did from life in a future century. “He worked for a king,” she added, borrowing the name of her dad’s boss, Elliot King, at the Tile Bonanza.
An uproar rose from the hall. Men pushed closer, scores of bushy brows snapping together as they glared at her, skepticism in every eye.
Aidan was also frowning. He stood watching her, his arms still folded and his dark expression saying exactly what his tightly clamped lips didn’t.
He’d warned her to keep out of it and she hadn’t.
“My father did work for a king.” She put her hands on her hips and glanced round, letting her own dark look dare any of them to challenge her. “I helped him sometimes.”
She left off that her helping consisted of long-ago summer jobs at the tile shop’s check out.
“Then prove it.” One of the men edged closer, clearly unimpressed. He pointed at Kendrew, sleeping soundly now. “Do something for the lad.”
Kira swallowed.
Heat was beginning to bloom inside her. Any minute now it would sweep up her throat and burst onto her cheeks, revealing her for the impostor she was.
“It isn’t that easy.” She straightened her back, aware of every stare. “My knowledge isn’t very fresh. It’s been years since I assisted my father,” she added, almost choking on the words.
It was more than years.
Considering where she was, her father hadn’t even yet been born.
Even if he were here, he was a ceramic tile salesman, not a healer of kings.
She bit back a groan. She’d really flubbed it this time. Aidan had every right to be scowling at her.
“Good lass.” He came over to her then, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “I will have water boiled for the cloths and stitching needles,” he said, nodding to Nils and the two birthing sisters. “Now tell us what else you know. Perhaps something that will ease young Kendrew’s pain?”
Kira sighed and shoved a hand through her hair.
What Kendrew needed was morphine and penicillin. He should have a clean, freshly laundered bed in a sterile-smelling hospital, with cute and smiling nurses cooing over him. Instead, he was cared for by a dark-robed giant who looked like a Viking and two tiny, birdlike women who smelled like they hadn’t bathed in a hundred years.
If ever.
She slid a glance at them, hoping Aidan’s threat to make his men bathe applied to them as well. Not that their stares would be any less hostile if their bodies were sweet-smelling.
“See?” The rag-dipper pointed at her. “She cannae answer you, my lord,” she gloated, beaming at Aidan.
“Well, lass?” He squeezed her shoulders, the gesture giving her courage. “Prove to Ella and Etta that you know what you’re about.”
Kira took a deep breath and closed her eyes, concentrating.
Silence filled the hall as everyone waited. A great, ominous silence, unbroken until a long ago memory flashed across her mind, filling her ears with her dad’s grumbles and groans. His endless fussing the day he’d been brought home from work with a huge lump on his head after a heavy box of tile had tumbled off a shelf, striking him.
Kira almost smiled, remembering, too, how her mother had immediately slapped a cloth-wrapped bag of frozen peas onto his head and given him two aspirins.
Her eyes snapped open and she did smile, certain she had the answer.
“I know how to care for that lump on Kendrew’s forehead,” she announced, pitching her voice to sound like a healer’s daughter. “I’ll need something cold. Really cold.” She slipped out from under Aidan’s arm and faced the crowd, hands on her hips. “What can you bring me that is cold as winter ice?”
A sea of blank faces stared back at her.
“The siege well in the kitchen has cold water,” Tavish spoke up. “Would that do?”
Before she could answer, Mundy the Irishman pushed forward. “There’s a wee spring out near the byres with water much colder than the kitchen well. One sip is enough to make a man think his teeth will crack.”
“That’s it!” Kira clapped her hands. “Go, and bring me buckets of it. And” – she glanced at Aidan – “send someone to the kitchens for several small sacks of dried peas.”
He looked at her, his brows starting to pull together again. “Dried peas?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “Just make sure the sacks are as clean as possible,” she added, hoping ice packs made of dried medieval peas soaked in spring water would decrease the swelling as quickly as her mother’s bags of frozen veggies.
A muscle jerked in Aidan’s jaw. “Right. Peas,” he said, not looking entirely convinced.
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” Kira reached to touch his plaid, willing him to trust her. “We’ll soak the sacks of peas in the icy water,” she explained. “When they’re cold enough, we’ll place a cloth-wrapped sack on Kendrew’s forehead, leaving it there until the sack isn’t cold anymore. We’ll apply a new sack every two hours, so someone will have to keep bringing chilled water from the spring.”
“Tavish! Mundy!” Aidan swung around to the other men. “See that her orders are followed,” he said, nodding in satisfaction when they took off at a run.
He glanced back at her. “Aught else?”
“Only that we need to get the icy sacks onto Kendrew’s forehead as quickly as possible.”
“It will be done.” He looked at her and something flared in his eyes.
Something heated that went straight to her toes.
“Aye, it will be done,” he repeated. “Whate’er you want.”
She blinked, her heart pounding. What she wanted was to continue what they’d started in the solar.
But now was clearly not the time.
So she touched a grateful hand to Nils the Viking’s sleeve and gave Ella and Etta her best smile. She hoped they’d accept a truce if poor Kendrew’s goose egg went down as quickly as she hoped.
Aidan looked hopeful, too, and that pleased her more than she would have believed.
Folding his arms again, he raked his men with a triumphant gaze. “Soon, Kendrew will be well,” he announced, his voice ringing.
Almost as if he’d suggested the chilled pea sacks.
Not that she minded.
Indeed, she didn’t care at all. Not as long as he made it up to her the instant they were alone again. Then she’d tell him exactly what she wanted.
Judging by the way he’d just looked at her, he was more than ready to indulge her desire.
She smiled, already melting.
For a night that had soured so quickly, things were definitely looking up now.
Several hours later, Kira sat alone at a heavy oaken table in Aidan’s room, frowning at a stack of parchment sheets. Moonlight slanting through a nearby window arch and two heavy wax candles illuminated the unwieldy scrolls. Her efforts to record her time traveling experiences for Dan. Everything that had happened to her since arriving in Scotland, up to and including Kendrew’s mysterious scuffle and how she’d subsequently introduced ice packs to the good folk of Castle Wrath.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t yet write about whether they’d worked or not. She’d gladly let Aidan usher her from the hall when Nils the Viking placed a smooth bit of wood between Kendrew’s teeth just before the birthing sisters set to work with their bone needles and horsetail thread.
Kira shuddered, certain she’d been wise to leave.
At least, thanks to Aidan’s nod and the healer’s open-mindedness, the sisters had used sterilized needles.
Not sure that they would make much difference, all things considered, she helped herself to a small sip of the wine someone had thoughtfully left sitting beside her parchments. Still not fond of the rather piquant taste of medieval spirits, she wrinkled her nose, restricting herself to a very small sip.
A cloud passed over the moon then, dimming her vision. She blinked and edged the two candles closer, needing better light to see. Ink splotches blotted some of her words, the sight of them making her head pound with annoyance. Rubbing her temples, she peered down at the squiggled lines, not sure if she should credit the messiness of her scribbles to the awkwardness of using an inkwell and quill or if working on a keyboard had just ruined her handwriting.
Either way, she could only hope that if ever the parchments reached Dan, he’d be better at deciphering her script than she was.
She also hoped Aidan would return soon.
The moonlight was making her ache for him, its pale glow spilling not just across the table and her parchments, but the luscious coverings of his great timbered bed across the room. Every time she glanced that way, a delicious curl of anticipation warmed the deepest part of her, making her tingle with excitement. He’d promised to hurry back, the swift, heated kiss he’d given her at the door, suggesting even more.
Shivering, she took a deep breath, her scribblings forgotten as his words from earlier, circled through her like heady, honeyed wine.
Whate’er you want.
Delicious chills sweeping her, she smiled. The words sent heat spiraling through her even as her body trembled. Her breath quickened, and her heart began to thump with a slow, erratic beat. She could almost feel him striding into the room, claiming it and her as his own as he crossed over to her. Possession in mind, he’d yank up her skirts and settle himself beneath them, telling her that he knew what she wanted so badly and that he wanted it even more.
Hot and cold in turns now, she bit her lip, not wanting to get too worked up before his return. She also needed to write more. Now, with everything so fresh in her mind. But it was hard to concentrate, and the squiggly lines were beginning to look even squigglier, some of them seeming to dance and swim before her eyes.
“Was your father truly a healer of kings?” Aidan spoke from right beside her.
“Oh!” She jumped, her heart skittering. She looked up, the quill slipping from her fingers, its ink splashing across the parchment.
Pushing to her feet, she swayed, nerves or the lateness of the hour making her clumsy. “Sheesh!” She frowned and grabbed the chairback, needing its support.
She swallowed hard, pulling up all her strength to stand tall and look normal.
Unfazed by tiredness and immune to moon glow. Wholly unaffected by her beloved Highlander’s dark, penetrating gaze. Or whatever it was that had her mouth so dry and her legs feeling like rubber bands. The way he changed the very air just by being there.
She blinked, her fingers still clutching the chair. “Is Kendrew okay?”
To her relief, he smiled.
“The lad sleeps.” He looked pleased. Equally good, holding her gaze as he did, he didn’t seem to notice her death grip on the chair. “Nils gave him a strong sleeping draught after Ella and Etta did their stitching. I doubt he’ll wake till the morrow’s noon.”
“What about the lump on his forehead?” She was almost afraid to ask. “Did it go down?”
Bemusement lit his eyes. “Och, aye. With remarkable speed, much to everyone’s astonishment.”
Kira released a ragged breath. “Thank goodness.”
“So tell me, lass.” He stepped back and folded his arms, once more assuming his most lairdly tone. “Was your father truly a healer? And of kings?”
“Ahhh….” She tailed off. She’d meant to tell him the truth, but her tongue wouldn’t form the words, even felt too big in her mouth.
She swallowed and tried again. “No, he isn’t a healer. It just seemed like the most diplomatic thing to say. He’s a ceramic tile salesman.”
One raven brow lifted. “No royal connections?”
Kira shook her head. “Only through a name. He works for a man named King.”
His smile returned. “Hah!” He gave a short laugh. “I thought as much.”
“You aren’t mad? Not even a bit disappointed?”
She’d thought he would be.
At least until she explained herself.
Instead, he stood looking at her, his smile slowly broadening into a grin. The warmth in his gaze slid right into her, wrapping around her heart and making her rubbery knees even more unsteady.
“You, lass, could ne’er disappoint me.” He spoke softly, his voice almost a caress. “Nae, I’m no’ mad.”
“You didn’t want me to interfere. I saw it on your face in the hall.” She swallowed again, still finding it hard to form words. “Then I lied, making my father something he’s not.”
He touched a finger to her mouth, tracing the curve of her lips. “You delighted me this e’en and have won o’er my men with naught but a few sacks of dried peas and icy water from a spring.”
“What?” She blinked. “They’re no longer calling for my head?”
“They think you most wise. Even Ella and Etta paid you grudging respect.”
“The birthing sisters?” She could hardly believe it. “What about the redheaded woman? The one with the milk-white skin?”
He frowned, looking puzzled. “Ach,” he said after a moment, “you must mean Sinead, the laundress?”
Kira nodded, even now feeling the stab of the woman’s resentful stare. “She doesn’t like me at all.”
“She isn’t fond of any women.” He gave a half shrug, dismissing her. “Especially beautiful ones who are far more desirable than herself.”
His words made her heart soar. “I think you are a flatterer.”
“I speak but the truth.” He leaned close to lightly kiss her brow. “Sinead is of no consequence. You needn’t fret about her.”
“Then why is she here?”
He sighed. “She is laundress, and more. In a castle with so many unmarried men, such women are a necessity. She means naught to me.”
“Oh.” She should have known.
Wishing she’d never mentioned the woman, much less seen her, she took a deep breath. As deep as she could with her chest feeling so tight and achy. She pressed a hand to her breast, trying to ease the pressure.
“Forget the woman. There are one or two others like her here. You needn’t pay heed to any of them.” He kissed her again, on the cheek this time. “Every man in Wrath’s hall drinks to your health this night. Even Ross and Geordie.”
“They were that pleased to see Kendrew’s swelling go down?”
“Och, to be sure, though I’d wager their pleasure is more self-serving.” He drew her to him, sliding his arms around her back. “You wouldn’t believe what they’re doing just now. Nor would I, had I no’ seen it myself.”
He pulled back to look her, a smile hovering on his lips. “If you were to slip down there, you’d find at least half of them lying about with chilled sacks of dried peas pressed to whate’er body parts they claim ails them. The others are glaring at them, impatiently waiting their turn because there aren’t enough pea sacks for everyone.”
Kira let go of the chair to wrap her arms around his neck. His smile was getting to her, the dark gleam in his eyes, making her breath hitch.
“You look surprised.” His voice was deep, low and soft with a richness that strummed her soul.
Holding fast to his shoulders, she leaned into him, certain she’d melt at his feet if she didn’t. Her legs did feel seriously like rubber.
She frowned. “I think there’s something wrong-”
“Naught for you to fash yourself about.” He caught one of her hands, bringing it to his lips. “My men are no’ bad, Kee-rah. I knew they would warm to you in time.” Releasing her hand, he smoothed the hair back from her face. “Any who still bear doubts will lose them soon. I promise you.”
Not so sure, she looked at him, trying to focus. She wished the clouds would stop blotting the moonlight. Or the candles on the table would burn brighter. At times, his face seemed to blur, lost in the darkening shadows.
She blinked, then squinted, relieved when the dimness receded. “Maybe I should tell your men about hot water bottles?” she offered, her voice sounding far away.
Almost tinny, as if she were speaking in a drum.
“Hot water bottles?” He looked amused. “Are they another future healing method?”
She nodded, regretting it instantly for the swift movement nearly split her head. “They are like the heated stones you put in beds to warm them, but better. You need only fill a small leather pouch skin with boiling water to have soothing heat wherever you need it.”
His smile turned wicked. “I can think of a different kind of soothing heat.” He took her hand again, this time pressing a kiss into her palm. “A slick, sweet heat I’ve been hungering for all e’en.”
“Oh.” Kira caught her lip between her teeth, the heat he meant pulsing in hot response.
“I want you naked. Need us both naked.” He stepped closer, looking at her in a way that indicated just how sensuously intense their night was about to become. “I’ve an urge to kiss and lick every inch of you.”
“Oh, please, yes!” She leaned into him, the hot tingles between her legs so urgent the room began to spin. Heavens, she tingled everywhere. Even her mouth and lips, her fingers.
This was what she wanted, needed.
Aidan’s smile positively wolfish now, he reached for the large Celtic brooch at his shoulder, unclasping it faster than her eyes could follow. He whipped off his plaid with equal speed, his sword belt, tunic, and everything else vanishing in a blur until he stood unclothed before her.
Naked, proud, and leaving her no doubt about how much he wanted her.
He raised his arms over his head, cracking his knuckles, then tossed his hair over his shoulders, the look in his eyes exciting her. “I am ravenous for you,” he growled, reaching for her and stripping off her clothes so quickly, she was naked in his arms before she could even blink.
Crossing the room with swift, easy strides, he lowered her onto the bed. He joined her, kissing her long and deep, one hand kneading her breasts while he slid the other between her thighs, rubbing and probing the sleek, damp, softness there. Groaning, he cupped her firmly, her hot wetness and the musky scent of her arousal making him run hard as granite. She went soft and pliant against him, her sweet moans and the way she opened her mouth beneath his, firing his blood, making him burn for her.
“I must taste you.” Shifting on the bed, he covered her body with his and turned his attention to her breasts, smoothing his face against their fullness. He licked and laved them, flicking her nipples with his tongue, then drawing one deep into his mouth, suckling. He continued to rub her silken heat, taking special care to keep a circling finger on her most sensitive spot.
She whimpered, rocking her hips and pressing herself against his hand. Then she went limp again, a great shudder rippling through her. “Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice a mere whisper, her legs opening, giving him greater access.
“Och, lass, I could love you for days.” He pushed up on his elbows to look at her, the sight of her parted, kiss-swollen lips and passion-heavy eyes, making him even harder.
His heart pounding as fiercely as the hot throbbing in his loins, he returned to her breasts, once more licking her satiny-smooth flesh before moving lower, trailing hot, openmouthed kisses down her stomach, stopping only when he reached her triangle of soft, fragrant curls, the rich, musky scent of her almost splitting his soul.
“By the gods!” He reached down and gripped himself, squeezing hard until the sharp edge receded, not wanting to spill before he’d had enough of her.
“Aidan ….” Her voice came even softer, a faint shiver in the air, a barely-there gasp in the wild thunder drumming in his ears.
But she opened her legs wider, giving him what he needed, her slick woman’s flesh, wet, glistening, and beautiful in the candlelight, his for the taking.
Needing her badly, he stared down at her, drinking in her beauty as he slid his hands up and down her inner thighs. He stroked her again and again, urging her knees wider apart with each possessive pass of his hands. Far from resisting such intimacy, she only moaned softly, allowing him to open her fully, letting him look his fill.
Then, just when he was sure he’d burst no matter how fiercely he might squeeze himself, he plunged his face between her legs and nuzzled her roughly, pulling in great, rousing breaths of her hot, womanly scent. Groaning, he opened his mouth over all of her, sucking hard, needing the taste of her. He craved and burned for her with a madness he’d never felt for any other woman.
“I will ne’er get enough of you.” He kissed her glistening flesh, breathed the words against her pulsing heat. “Ne’er in a thousand lifetimes. You are mine, forever.”
She said nothing, but another little quiver sped through her. And, he’d swear, the scent of her arousal deepened, as did the wetness of her slippery-sleek heat.
“Ach, but you are sweet!” He rubbed his head back and forth against her, tasting, licking, and nipping.
Most especially licking.
Long, leisurely broad-tongued strokes, each greedy sweep of his tongue, thorough and claiming. The fierceness of his desire enflamed him, his need so powerful he thrust his hands beneath her, digging his fingers into her buttocks as he lifted her hips, bringing her even closer to his questing, licking tongue.
The same tongue that would have had her writhing in ecstasy by now were he licking her in their dreams.
Only now, she wasn’t writhing at all.
Truth was, she’d gone still.
The wild pounding of Aidan’s heart slowed a beat, the furious thunder of his blood in his ears quieting just enough for him to note that her sweet moans and whimpers had also stopped.
Frowning, he slowed his licking, his tongue coming to rest in the sleek dampness of her slick femininity. Something was wrong.
Horribly so.
His passion ebbing, he sat up, his pride stinging to see that she’d fallen asleep. Her lips were still parted, but her eyes had fallen shut. Eyes, he now suspected, that hadn’t looked at him with lust-heavy need, but had been weighted with imminent sleep.
“Thor’s bluidy hammer!” He pulled a hand down over his face, then blew out a breath. Frustration warring with his wounded pride and a certain still-aching problem, he considered helping himself to ease but cast aside the notion at once.
Kira slept too deeply.
His curse alone should have wakened her.
Yet she slumbered on, her sweet body still as stone, her face pale in the moonlight.
“Kee-rah!” He leapt from the bed and reached for her, shaking her by the shoulders. She remained limp, her eyes closed and her head lolling to the side.
“Lass, speak to me!” He shook her again, his blood once more roaring in his ears and his heart galloping, each fearing beat slamming against his ribs. “What ails you?”
But only silence answered him.
“Damnation!” He eased her back against the pillows, relief flooding him when he pressed his ear to her breast and heard the beat of her heart.
Faint, but steady.
Her skin felt cold, her soft breath tinged with something he hadn’t noticed before. Trying to place it, he rammed a hand through his hair, dismissing the first thought that came to mind.
Ne’er would he have been so crazed with lust not to have noticed such a piquant scent.
He frowned again.
He’d been wild with wanting her.
Maddened enough that the hot scent of her musky womanliness must’ve drenched his senses, blotting all else.
Dread piercing him, he sniffed her breath, then ran across the room, grabbing the ewer sitting so innocently beside her parchments. The half-filled cup of wine she’d clearly been sipping from.
Both the wine in the ewer and the cup smelled strongly of monkshood. The same herb in the potion Nils had given to Kendrew.
A fine painkiller and sleep-bringer, but a deadly poison if dosed by the wrong hands.
Cold terror racing up his spine, he threw the ewer and the cup into the hearth, then snatched up his plaid. Grabbing his sword as well, he pounded from the room, two things on his mind. Saving Kira and murdering whoever had tried to poison her.
But most of all, keeping Kira alive.
Anything else was unthinkable.