Page 23 of Fallen
“Aye … it is.” He stepped closer to her, dipping his chin just a little so that he could continue to hold her gaze. “Ye saved my life … and I will never forget it. Ye are an angel.”
An angel.
Coira’s breathing quickened, as if she’d just been running. The low timbre of his voice, the sensuality of it, made her struggle to catch her breath. For the first time, his nearness, the heat of his body, caused her to feel light-headed.
What was the man doing? It almost seemed as if he was trying to seduce her.
“I am a healer,” she finally managed, cursing the sudden huskiness in her voice. “I wasn’t going to let ye die, was I?”
“No.” There was a smile in his voice now, a masculine self-confidence that was both attractive and irritating. And yet she wasn’t cowed by him. For years, she’d been afraid of men—any man. The first few farmers from Torrin she’d tended had terrified her; big men with rough voices and hot stares. She’d been sure they’d take liberties, and yet they hadn’t.
Craeg was taller and stronger than her. He was a warrior used to living rough, and he shared the same blood as a man who’d used and tormented her. But he wasn’t Duncan MacKinnon. The past days had made that evident.
He stepped even closer to her then, and suddenly she realized that they were standing little more than a hand-span apart. Coira lifted her chin, holding his eye.
She heaved in a steadying breath. The air seemed to have been sucked out of the clearing, and her surroundings disappeared. The roar of the wind, the chill of the night air, the rich smell of damp earth and vegetation—all of it faded. Craeg dominated her senses.
“Ye and I are but ships passing each other in the fog,” Craeg said softly, his voice husky now, “but know this, Sister Coira … if things were different. If I wasn’t a fugitive, and if ye weren’t a Bride of Christ, I would do all I could to make ye mine.” His hand reached up and, gently, his knuckles brushed her cheek. Coira stopped breathing, stopped thinking. “I’ve never met a woman like ye,” he concluded softly, “and I doubt I will again.”
10
Unrepentant
I WOULD DO all I could to make ye mine.
Craeg’s words whispered to Coira, mocked her, all the way back to Kilbride. She strode out briskly, cheeks burning, yet his voice, rough with longing, still followed her.
I’ve never met a woman like ye, and I doubt I will again.
They were bold words, charming words, and yet they had drawn a web around Coira. And she’d been ensnared by them. Once he’d finished speaking, they’d stared at each other for a long, drawn-out moment—and then he’d stepped back from her, dropping his hand and breaking the spell.
Clutching her staff so hard her knuckles ached, Coira had spun on her heel and taken off back the way she’d come.
They’re just words.Aye, but words had power. Hadn’t Coira been her most frightened when Duncan MacKinnon loomed over her, whispering cruel, hateful things?
Why hadn’t she seen this coming? All these days Craeg had been her patient and she hadn’t realized that he’d developed feelings for her. Coira hadn’t encouraged him. She’d treated him as she did all those who needed her help—but that hadn’t prevented him from seeing her as a woman.
Looking back, she now saw the signs. The way his gaze often lingered upon her face, the intense way he watched her, and the warmth of his smiles.
How could I have been so blind?
It was improper, both she and Craeg knew it. A man didn’t say things like that to a nun, and a nun wouldn’t tolerate it. She should have reviled him, should have made the sign of the cross and warded him off like the devil. But instead, she’d turned tail and fled.
Coira’s breathing came in ragged gasps. Despite the cool wind whipping against her face, the blush that had started in her cheeks had now spread over her entire torso, pooling in her lower belly.
“Dear Lord,” she murmured, horrified by her body’s betrayal, “please forgive me.” She couldn’t believe how swiftly she’d responded to Craeg, how she’d leaned into him as he spoke. For an instant she’d longed for him to dip his head and capture her lips with his. She’d wanted to tangle her fingers in his wild, dark hair, to plunge her tongue into his mouth and—
Stop it!
Coira clenched her jaw so fiercely that pain darted through her left ear. This was wrong, all of it. When she returned to the abbey, she’d spend the night praying on the floor of her cell. She’d do anything to send these lustful thoughts back to whence they’d come.
She hurriedly retraced her steps back to the abbey, and when the high walls of Kilbride loomed before her, Coira sucked in a deep, relieved breath. Despite all the dangers around them, the abbey was still her refuge, still the place where she could shut out the rest of the world.
Pushing the gates open wide enough so that she could slip through, Coira re-entered the abbey. As she’d expected, both Sisters Firtha and Mina had retired to the dormitory for the night. The yard before the kirk was empty, and no cloaked figures waited in the shadows around it.
Coira pushed the gates shut, but didn’t risk bolting them. She didn’t like leaving the abbey gates unlocked, but even in the wind, the noise would travel. She would just have to hope that no one slipped in.
Heaving a deep breath, Coira edged her way right, past the stables and the guest lodgings—where the abbot and his monks would be slumbering—toward the low-slung complex of buildings that were the dormitories, and the cells belonging to the more senior nuns. And since Coira had lived at Kilbride for many years now, she was considered one of them.
