Chapter 29

Satan’s claws!

Josselin bit her lip against crying out. For an instant she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. ’Twas like impaling herself on a great jagged knife.

Beneath her, Drew stiffened. “Oh, lass!” he whispered.

She refused to let him see her weakness. He’d warned her, after all. Aye, ’twas painful, but it had been her idea, and she wasn’t about to back down. Besides, she could no more undo what had been done than she could recall a careless slash of the sword.

So she blinked back the tears of pain starting in her eyes, clenched her teeth against the size of him inside her, and tried to move.

“Nae, love,” Drew murmured, stopping her. “Let me.”

She didn’t want to let him take the offensive, and she didn’t want his pity. ’Twould show she was weak. But he gave her no choice. For a man who didn’t have the bulging muscles of a caber-tosser, he was damned strong. Holding her against him with one hand on her buttocks, he gently rolled with her until he was once again on top.

Humiliated, she refused to meet his gaze. She’d felt so victorious a moment ago, and now…

“The pain will pass in a moment,” he told her, tenderly brushing the hair back from her brow, “I promise.”

“’Tis nothin’,” she lied. “I’ve had worse from a blade.”

He cupped her cheek and kissed the corner of her lip. “Breathe through the pain, and try to let it go. I won’t move a muscle till ye give the word.”

He kissed her again, this time full on the mouth, and she answered instinctively. Considering his bold invasion below, his trespass upon her lips was surprisingly delicate.

He stroked her with a feather-light touch, murmuring against her ear, “I’m sorry if I hurt ye.”

But already she was adjusting to his fullness, and she could feel the delicious erotic glow gradually returning to her skin.

The frantic need she’d experienced a moment before was gone. In its place was a slow-building, tender craving that was soothing her hurt and taking her to a sweeter place, a place to which they were journeying together.

“That’s it, love,” he said. “There’s no hurry. ’Tis a dance, not a race.”

His soft touch—along her jaw, over her shoulders, upon her breasts—began to bring her to life again. Soon, floating in a haze of arousal, she started to respond, returning his kisses, clutching at his shirt, weaving her fingers through his wild hair. Caught up in bliss, she almost forgot about her discomfort.

“If ye’ll allow me,” he whispered, “I can make it better.”

She couldn’t imagine anything better, but she wasn’t about to argue with him. She nodded.

He slipped his hand down to the place where they were joined, massaging her gently. She sucked in a sharp breath, not of pain, but of pleasure.

Like a swordsman with a blade at her heart, he held her hostage. With the slightest movement of his fingers, he controlled her passion. He could send her lust spiraling out of bounds or withhold his touch to leave her begging for more.

It shocked her to know how easily he’d usurped her dominance.

Thankfully, he was merciful. He caressed her with expert care, returning to claim her mouth with sweet persuasion. He played her with the same finesse he used on the course, keeping his eye on the target and nudging her gently toward the goal.

A strange yearning grew deep in her belly, and her breath came in rapid gulps. Lust mixed with despair as she realized he was going to win. In another moment, she’d surrender to the demands of her own body, and he’d emerge victorious.

Then a curious thing happened.

“Oh, Jossy,” he said tightly, withdrawing his hand, “please say ye’re ready.”

She peered up into his face. His eyes were dark with desire. His nostrils flared, and his lips were compressed with restraint. His brow was deeply furrowed, as if he suffered some terrible agony. Faith, he was as vulnerable to her as she was to him.

That knowledge sent a thrill of power through her veins. They were equals in this arena.

“Aye!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He moved within her, and this time there was no pain, only a satisfying fullness that made her arousal more complex. She strained upward, pressing against him, and he answered, delving more deeply. She drove against him to hasten his thrusts, and he complied, pumping to a faster rhythm. She curled her legs over his, claiming him, and he responded with a groan of delight, enfolding her in his arms.

Together they strove with increasing desperation until lust began to bubble up inside her like beer left overlong in the cask. She arched up, and in one frozen instant of time, every impulse centered on that one vulnerable pinpoint where their bodies connected. Then the world shattered into a thousand pieces, exploding outward like shards of a burst bottle.

Drew had managed to restrain himself, despite Jossy’s wanton gazes and welcoming arms and enthusiastic kisses and enticing moans and mouthwatering breasts and thrusting hips. But when she held him close in the throes of ecstasy, ’twas all he could do to keep from hammering the poor lass into the mattress.

His release came upon him like the powerful drive of a longnose club, striking hard and catapulting him high into the heavens. He shuddered with the strength of it, and when he finally fell to earth, his satisfaction was so complete and so perfect, ’twas as if he’d sunk his ball in one stroke.

Utterly drained, he used the last of his energy to ease off of the lass so he’d not suffocate her. He gathered her to him, holding her near and kissing her hair. And for the first time in his life, he felt like he was exactly where he belonged.

“Are ye all right?” he whispered.

“Mm.”

He smiled and snuggled closer.

She mumbled against his throat. “Are ye?”

His smile widened into a grin. “Oh, aye, lass.”

She breathed a contented sigh that tickled his chest and warmed him down to his toes, and he closed his eyes, utterly fulfilled.

He must have dozed off then. When he awoke, the fire had gone out, and he could hear Jossy sleeping in the dark beside him.

Worried she might get chilled, he carefully dragged the coverlet over her shoulders, but his movement woke her.

She stirred groggily for a moment, then sat up with a gasp. “Shite!”

His heart knifed in his chest. “What?” Damn, he should have known she’d blame him for…

“I have to get back to the beer wagon!”

She threw back the coverlet and scrambled off the bed.

Relief flooded him. He sat up, raking his hands through his hair, which was probably a tangled mess. “Don’t worry, lass. I’m sure Davey’s… Shite!”

“What?”

“I have to get back to Cochrane!”

Later that night, Josselin tried to maintain a stern expression as she pushed Drew back against the tavern wall, poking him in the chest. She knew she was failing miserably.

“I told ye ne’er to come to my place o’ work.”

She looked nervously over at the innkeeper of The White Hart, hoping he was too busy with patrons to notice her.

Drew only grinned and coiled a lock of her hair around his finger. “Ye’re done workin’.”

Damn him! When he looked at her with those irresistible laughing eyes and arched that seductive brow, she couldn’t stay vexed with him for long.

“Shite.”

An unwilling smile tugged at her lips, and she shook her head at her own folly. He wasn’t going to leave, and in truth, she didn’t want him to. She didn’t know what enchantment he’d worked on her today, but she could hardly bear the thought of separation.

“Come on then,” she told him in mock disgust, untying her apron. “At least order me supper so we’ve a reason to sit at the table.”

Josselin watched him walk to the counter, her gaze dropping to his handsome arse, and a lusty shiver went through her. She wanted him again.

’Twas absurd. Only this morn she’d been a maid, pure as snow, and already she was a wanton, ready to crawl into bed with the next man who wagged his handsome arse at her.

Nae, she corrected, not any man. ’Twas only Drew who left her hot and troubled.

She’d never imagined that making love could be so divine.

She’d seen the hasty, furtive coupling of animals. For Josselin, it had always seemed like a ruthless duel in which the male always won.

She’d even glimpsed the occasional harlot in an alley, and that had appeared to be a transaction in which the female was largely detached.

This had been something altogether different, like swimming together in a wild sea or fighting side by side in battle. She’d felt helpless and powerful all at once, both worshipper and goddess. And for the first time in her life, she hadn’t wished she was a lad, but exalted in the fact that she was a woman.

She smiled as she watched him return with a pair of ales. How she could have doubted Drew, she didn’t know. Aye, she’d wondered about that magnificent sword, but he’d explained that the weapon had belonged to his father. He’d learned to use it, but the only combat he ever engaged in took place on the golf course.

He certainly wasn’t a spy. He could never be a follower of that woman-hating John Knox. Drew was kind and gentle and sweet and charming and luscious and…

“Ye’d better stop lookin’ at me like that, darlin’,” he murmured with a smoky glance, setting down the tankards, “or I’m apt to bed ye right here in front o’ the whole tavern.”

She blushed with wicked delight. “And I’m apt to let ye.”

He laughed. ’Twas a wonderful sound, and it warmed her like a winter fire. Oh, aye, she planned to bed him again—tonight, if he’d have her. After all, her lodgings were just upstairs. She raised her tankard in a toast, and he gave her a smile that promised a long night of warm trysting. Indeed, with the Highlander for company, she expected she’d never be cold again.