Page 21 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
She rocked against him, and it was sweetly, maddeningly wonderful.
She wanted him. Even if he hurt her, she wanted to feel the length of his body, red-blooded and hard. She wanted to know all that he might do to her; to know his strength and his size.
She pushed her hips upward and arched her back, wanting his hand fully upon her breast; wanting him to pinch where he teased, to touch her more forcefully.
Wanting everything.
Her muscles clenched about him and Ragnall groaned, louder this time. “Lass, ye dinnae ken what ye do tae me.” He began moving again and she clung to him as his thrusts grew swifter.
She feared she’d been wrong in what she’d wished for. Ragnall seemed beyond the control he’d first exerted, his eyes heavy with lustful need, but something drew her upon the same shameless wave, making her score her nails upon his back—as much to hurt him as to urge him on.
He threw back his head when the spasm overtook him and pulsed inside, spilling his seed deep.
A gentle snorefrom the other side of the bed told her Ragnall Dalreagh was no longer awake.
She’d done exactly as she’d planned, using his desire to place herself in his bed—and here he was, asleep beside her and vulnerable to the dirk resting beneath her pillow.
Turning on his side, the laird tucked her against his chest. His leg alongside hers, pinning her just as surely as the arm flung across her body.
Even in sleep, he was strong, but she could still reach the blade. She had only to slide it free and push it into his neck. He wouldn’t know what was happening until too late.
Ragnall shifted again, nestling his chin in the nook of her neck and sighing.
Trying to ignore the sound of his breathing, and the warmth of his hand resting upon her belly, Flora steeled herself to act.
Now that it came to it, the deed filled her with dread—not least because of the intimacy she and he had shared.
She’d known all along, hadn’t she, that it would be difficult.
It was murder.
A grievous sin.
And committed in these Yule days, honouring the Lord’s birth.
She’d knelt in the chapel with the other servants of the castle the morning before, like a true Christian, and all the while plotting an act that might send her soul to the devil.
Did God forgive such things?
Many a man killed in the name of honour, protecting his people and his lands.
Many killed for revenge as well.
But what of killing he whom all the clan called chieftain?
The man who should call her wife and to whom she’d given herself, as she would have done on their true wedding night?
The man who might have planted a babe in her belly?
The thought stopped her cold. If she were with child, could she live with herself knowing she was the killer of the innocent's father? Since running away, turning her back on all that might have been, she'd denied any thought of motherhood. Such a path was not for her; not now.
It couldn't be.
But, the thought nagged at her.
What would be the fate of this babe, if it were ever born?
A father slain and a mother condemned for murder?
