Page 9 of When a Highlander Weds a Hellion
“Good. I gave ye a wee bit of mandrake root to aid with the pain.”
“Ahhhh,” she said, drawing the word out which had drifted from her of its own volition. She vaguely felt her leg throbbing, but Broch’s eyes were so very blue and his arms so very well formed… She lost the thought, laughed, and when he smiled at her, she realized how sinful his mouth looked. It was as if he had used it many a time to kiss a lass senseless.
A strong wish to be senseless and unguarded gripped her. Ever since her mother and sister had died, she’d been told to be wary around men, and in this moment, the effort felt too much. She wanted to release herself from the chains that bound her.
“Ye need to let me seal yer leg now,” he said.
She shook her head. She did not want pain. She wanted pleasure. From this particular man, too. Never had she wanted a man to kiss her, but this man, this Scot, she wanted him to do just that. “Kiss me.”
“Ye want me to kiss ye?” he asked, and his shock—or was it distaste?—was apparent in his tone.
“Forget my words,” she muttered and waved a hand at him that seemed to move in slow-motion before her face. “If ye dunnae think me bonny—”
“Good God, it’s nae that.” His chest expanded with his deep inhalation. “I think ye verra bonny, but ye are to be wed.”
“Oh, do cease talking, ye clot-heid!” She reached out, slid her hand around his neck, and tugged him so close that his heat nearly overwhelmed her. His scents swirled around her, and her belly tightened. He smelled like smoke, woods, and warrior. “I’ll let ye seal my wound only if ye kiss me.”
Had she really just said that?
By the parting of his lips, she knew she had, and she grinned.
“Christ’s teeth, ye earned yer name, I can see. From how many men have ye demanded a kiss?”
“Just one.” She scowled at him. “Just ye. But with a foolish question like that, I may rescind my offer.”
“God save us both,” he muttered. He set down the dagger he’d been clutching and cupped her face in his strong hands.
Impatient and sensing she was beginning to question what she was doing, she gave a little tug on his neck, and then his mouth slanted over hers. His tongue slid over the crease of her lips. She parted her mouth for him, and then he was inside, his tongue hot, exploring, and demanding. Her toes curled at his heat, his mead-tainted breath, and the growling sounds coming from him.
Her heart was pounding, and all her thoughts scattered except for one.
More.
She wanted more of his kiss. She twined her fingers in his hair, and his kiss became almost savage, reminding her of a hunt, except this time she was the prey. It didn’t frighten her, though. This man excited her. She returned his kiss with all the desire she tasted in him, and then just as suddenly as it had begun, he pulled back and stared at her with an almost-pained expression.
When only the sound of their labored breathing continued between them, she blurted, “Did I do it wrong?”
“Nay.” He shook his head and reached out to trace his fingers across her lips. “Ye did it verra, verra right. But ye are to be another man’s wife…”
She pushed his hand away, looked down, and tried to focus on the bite on her leg, but her thoughts felt a little slippery, like a fish. What in the world had come over her? It had to be the mandrake root he’d given her. Why else would she have acted so recklessly?
She stole a glance at him from under her lashes and found him staring at her with an uneasy look. Suddenly, she was completely embarrassed. She had forced him to kiss her by saying she’d not allow him to heal her! On top of her swiftly mounting mortification, her leg was throbbing fiercely. She didn’t know what to say, so she blurted, “I must be delirious.”
Unmistakable relief swept his face, and her humiliation, which she would have sworn a breath ago could not grow worse, felt as if it would kill her if her leg didn’t. Why had she demanded a kiss? What must he think of her? She glanced longingly at the dirt beside her, wishing wholeheartedly it would swallow her up so she’d not have to face him. But since that was not going to happen and she refused to turn cowardly, she notched up her chin and met his gaze. “Are ye going to stand there staring at me the rest of the night, or are ye going to tend to my wound?”
Broch clenched his jaw at her brittle tone. Devil take the damnable situation! He’d injured her feelings. He’d hoped he’d hidden his relief that she’d decided she was delirious, but he must have done poorly. What did he say now? He could tell her that he’d only been relieved because he feared he’d not have been able to say no if she wanted another kiss, nor have been able to stop himself again. He could tell her that in just her one kiss, he’d felt desire stronger than anything he’d ever known. He could tell her that he’d gladly and willingly kiss her again if she was not required by the king to wed another. No, he could not tell her any of those things. It would not serve them well. The best thing to do would be to pretend nothing had occurred and to ensure nothing else did.
“I’ll warm the dagger,” he said and turned to do just that. Maybe when he sealed her wound she would reveal that she was not as brave as he thought. No lass could be as perfect as she seemed. He tested the dagger to ensure it was hot enough, and then he quickly kneeled before her and set a hand on her injured leg.
She flinched, and he caught her gaze. “I’ll be fast.”
“I hope so,” she said, her voice catching.
“Ye kinnae move yer leg. I dunnae want to burn yer healthy skin.”
“I’ll nae.” The determined look that settled on her face made him smile. Most lasses would be wailing by now. But not this one, God help him.
“If ye need to scream—”
