Hidden Jewel (Heartfire Series) (31 page)

       
Jacob's head turned sharply at the sound; after a moment, he snapped the reins, leading his mount further up the trail to give his twin a bit of privacy. If Micah was on the verge of  getting some from the fiery little vixen on the back of a horse, he wasn't about to stand in the way. An experience like that would loosen the guy up once and for all, in his opinion, and possibly open the door for Jacob, himself, to get his hands on that perfect body, more desirous than any he had ever had, more beautiful than any he had ever seen...and that was saying alot.

       
Ailill had stiffened at the sound that escaped from her lips, had seen the way that Jacob moved farther away with an obvious sense of decisive expectation. Feeling suddenly unnerved by her own reaction to Micah's questing fingers, his drugged state giving him far more strength than he knew, she pushed his hands away and straightened her gown, her breath coming in soft, shallow pants as her heart pounded in her ears. Her neck felt icy where his mouth had been.

       
Undeterred by her actions, Micah ran his fingers up her arms, feeling extraordinary strength beneath the silky skin, his head whirling from the effects of whatever it was that he had drunk. Unable to believe that she had much medical knowledge beyond the unusual ability to heal with the touch of a hand, he had tipped up the small bottle and drained half the contents. Even the tiniest bit of pain throughout his body had disappeared instantly. By the time Ailill had accepted the idea of him sharing her ride, her tiny, shapely rear comfortably settled between his thighs, he was feeling pleasantly intoxicated. She smelled incredible. Spicy and sweet with a musky scent underneath that was like a wake-up call to his senses. The warmth and softness of her skin hit him in the pit of his stomach; his loins ached for her touch. He found it impossible to keep from touching her. Rubbing her shoulders, her arms, his fingers gliding over the dips and swells of her small womanly body, he leaned down, kissing the elegant  arch of her neck, flicking his tongue lightly across her warm skin where he had just suckled.

       
"Do you still taste as sweet as a peach, Abby?" he breathed drunkenly, drawing her head around with a thumb, kissing her lips with gentle pressure. She trembled under his touch, tasting him, his lips moving away as his tongue flicked over the tip of her own, tasting the tang of the medicinal tonic, wanting him as she had before; shocked at her own audacity, the mere fact that one day had not been enough to cool her ever increasing ardor. He could feel the pulsebeat racing beneath her jaw and pulled away.

      
"Do you fear me, Abby?"

       
The whispered question startled her and she half turned to look up at him. It was almost too dark to see in the dense forest but her eyes were well accustomed to seeing in the dark. His eyes glistened in his well-formed face and his forehead was deeply creased in a frown of consternation. He stared back at her in uneasy silence.

       
"I do not," she answered truthfully, meeting his gaze. "But a part of you fears me; and I fear my response to you."

       
"Why?"

       
"Because I haven't felt this way for a very long while. I didn't expect to be feeling anything at all...and yet, I do. I cannot help myself."

       
He smiled slightly in relief, the white of his teeth gleaming brightly. "A couple weeks ago you admitted that you saved yourself for me, Abby. Sounds like you're sayin' you... love me." It was more of a statement than a question and she stiffened involuntarily.

       
"I knew it would be you whilst in the dreamworld, Micah, so, aye, I did save myself for you. That is what brought me back, the gift o' my innocence meant for you... no other." Struck by a thought, she met his eyes with a look of disbelief. "Sweet Brigit, did you believe I've been away in Scotland learnin' the art o' sex for fourteen years? That I would come to you unpure?"

       
"You nearly did; you said so yourself."

        
"Aye, and yet I didn't. You took me, painted my sheets with the mark o' Venus no but five days ago." Slightly vexed, terribly offended, Ailill turned away, pulling back on the reins hard enough to make the mare snort and shake her shaggy mane in annoyance as she came to an abrupt halt. Lifting her leg in preparation to dismount, Ailill found Micah's hands around her waist, barring her from moving an inch, his strength inhuman.

       
"Just so you know, it was thirteen days ago, not five! You slept for almost two weeks. We were scairt for you, you slept so deeply. Please don't go, Abby," he said softly into her hair. "Please stay with me. I understand how you feel."

      
Suddenly angry, she hissed, "No, you do not." Keeping her back turned, she exclaimed, "Until you, I've really never done too much more than kiss a lad; one lad, that's all, Micah, my own innocence well guarded even by that one laddie, knowing that he must give me up to you and to Jacob first. I never even went so far as to lay a finger on his tadger, nor has he dared touch me so intimately, not once in all these years! And now? Well, now he has made it clear that he does not want me for me, the lass he claimed to love, in words and spilled blood. No, he bids me to hurry only because it is required by...by, mphmm... ah, fuckit!"

      
Sliding her leg up over the back of the horse, Ailill turned her body around, sitting so that she faced Micah and, lifting herself, wrapped her legs about his narrow waist. She kissed him with frantic feeling, placed his large hands firmly on her buttocks as she did so. Micah pulled away in surprise, half hoping that the horse didn't decide to suddenly take off at a trot.

      
"You want me, I ken it well ," she said quickly. "I felt you... the morning I arrived. You wanted me then, when I washed and changed into clean clothes. I waited... for you to come to me, to see you, but you didn't. I ken what happened there. I felt it, Micah, as I felt it when we made love; as I do each and every day; the burning deep within, the want; the desire to do anything you can think of, no matter how kinky it might seem. I know that Jacob wants me more than he has ever wanted for anything, any
one
; and I know that you would willingly share me, take me to bed and put me through the hell of two lovers at once because you love the lad so much. I've half a mind to meet the challenge... my senses scatter to the four winds with but the touch of your hand, your breath."

       
Her breath came quick between her words, her own hands lifting his shirt, touching his body all over at once; with a quick jerk the lacings of her nightdress fell away, baring her breasts; she rubbed them enticingly across his own chest, a soft moan sounding from deep within, and he thought his head would explode from the unexpected sensation on the sensitive erectness of his nipples. She reached below his kilt, boldly seeking, and he thought he would die right there atop the horse, his senses overwhelmed with the unusual drug, the feel of her.

       
"You want me, always, and here I am." Kissing him again, it took his breath away when she pulled back and whispered, "You can have me. Do it now, Micah, fuck me now!"

       
She was holding him tightly in her small fist, hips rolling over him in a frenzy of crazy desire. With a jerk she pushed the head of his erection into her slick opening and gasped, suddenly afraid to move, fearful of letting him enter her. Her body throbbed with longing, muscles taut with fearful indecision as she fought a wicked sense of propriety, his own questions, his hurts demanding attention more than her selfish needs, her mind in turmoil; if she pushed all reasonable thought away, she knew, she could easily believe that he was Tiernan, her heart's desire. She could use him, and he would know naught of it.

       
"I can't," he gasped painfully. "I can't, Abby; not like this. It ain't at all what you deserve... upon a horse?... but I-just-can't-stop-myself!"

       
Eyes opened wide as saucers, Ailill pulled slowly back, just enough to look at him. He groaned loudly and she felt a stiffening in the erect organ in her hand, a quaking build up of pressure. She let go as if she had been burned. Reaching around her waist one handed, he yanked her forward, filling her until she felt his insistent caress on her womb, and further, to the point of pleasure and pain as strong hands jerked her roughly against him. The rapid motions made her lose herself completely, her whispered demands met, reciprocated, his own hoarse mutterings echoed in a wordless song of worship as they moved together, backed off, only to come together again. He bit her then, hard, making her rake her fingernails down his arms, his back, to keep from crying out, the belief that he would drain her of her lifeforce if he didn't let go bringing her quickly to one peak, then another before her head exploded in a whirlwind of lights, sounds of her own breath, panting, begging for mercy until he drew away at last, a low growl of utter satisfaction filling her ears as he moved her slowly, drawing out the last of his seed.

       
For what seemed a very long time he did not move, barely breathed, his head bowed low above her own. When she felt wet drops hit her shoulder and glide down her arm, Ailill became concerned. Her soft, husky voice held fear and just a touch of curiosity when she asked, "have I hurt ye, Micah?" Looking up into his face, her eyes wide enough that he could see the darkness of the irises, she raised a hand, traced the glistening silver trail of a teardrop down his cheek with her fingertip. "You're crying. I think I have hurt you."

      
Letting out a long sigh, Micah shook his head and pulled her close, frightened of himself, of what he might have done, because in the end he had wanted so fervently to possess her that he felt a strangeness come over himself, a change unlike anything he had ever felt before.

       
"I'm not hurt, Ailill," he said in a hoarse whisper. "Not by you. I am...that was...I mean..."

       
He stopped, obviously embarrassed, and cleared his throat with a grimace.

       
"Incredible," he croaked, pulling her close, burying his face in the soft mass of her hair. "I'm pleased is all, not hurt, I've never been so fulfilled. It was... different, that's all. I scairt myself a little. Did I hurt you?"

"No, you didn't, though I had begun to wonder if you might kill me with your lovin'." Her tone was soft, almost tremulous; he had frightened her as well; she wanted desperately to look at him, to study him closely, to see the change that had come over him before it was gone; his face was painted in shadows.

"Make me a promise?"

"Aye?"

"Don't tell Jacob that I did that, that I took so much. It ain't right in the first place, yet, I can't help myself with you. I want you so much, all the time; it's a good feeling, but a bad feeling, too, Ailill, and it only got stronger. I feel like you drugged me, no control, you know?"

Smiling through the darkness, Ailill gave his hand a squeeze. "I did, only it was you who overindulged on the
dun-belle
. I only meant to lessen the pain, Micah, not make ye feel badly. I will not tell Jacob. You have my word."

He leaned down and kissed her tenderly, sealing the promise with the small action.

"We better get going. Jacob'll be waiting for us," he said after a few moments. Without a word, Ailill rearranged her clothing and turned around, settling herself with a snap of the reins. Micah's arm came up around her waist automatically, his claim on her, his hopeful expectations, apparent in the comforting weight, the warmth of his light embrace.

Jacob was, indeed, waiting for them to catch up to him and, as they neared Rosewater, he stepped silently out from behind a tree, spooking Ailill's mare so, that she nearly unseated both riders. Jumping down lightly, Ailill settled the frightened equine instantly with the gentling touch of her hand, soothing words spoken in Gaelic.

The house stood only a few hundred yards away from the spring fed pond. The roses that grew wild around the perimeter of the bank gave the place its name and in the warmth of the late Spring eve the new blooms filled the air with a heady perfume that wafted across the yard and in through the open windows whenever the breeze blew just right. The house, a massive three storied log structure comparable in size only to a mansion, or a medieval castle, if one were to include the outbuildings as part of the keep, was dark against the clouds gathering above; a single narrow beam of light from the kitchen peeked through the darkness, swathed the shadowed ground in a golden veil that reflected invitingly over the surface of the placid water like so many facets of a gem.