Highlander Unbroken (Highland Adventure Book 8) (19 page)

She smoothed the balm onto his skin and massaged it in. At first, even her light touch was painful, but he would gladly endure it because she was touching him. Finally, the pain lessened and his muscles loosened. The mint and lavender scent of the salve helped soothe away the tension. He released a breath.

Anna extended her massage down his arm, over the spot where the bone had been broken.

When his body had started healing from the torture and his many injuries, he'd pushed himself each day to regain his previous mobility until finally he was scaling mountains faster than his clansmen. Some of them had never been injured and they had no inkling what it was to be bedridden and unable to move without assistance. Neacal had hated the helplessness he'd felt then. He'd sworn to himself, if he could ever get out of bed, he would train himself and become stronger than he'd ever been before. Now, he endured the lingering aches, ignoring them as best he could, in exchange for his renewed agility and strength.

Anna gently stroked the raised area on his upper arm. Her touch held him spellbound. Tingles and excitement flowed from her fingertips, sending charges of arousal through him.

"'Tis where my arm was broken," he said.

"What happened?"

A memory of the pain flashed through his mind. Squeezing his eyes closed, he shook his head. "'Tis better that you don't know."

"They say you were tortured. Is that true?" she whispered.

"Aye." He dropped silent, focusing instead on how amazing her massaging fingers felt.

"What did they do to you?" she asked.

"Are you certain you wish to know?"

"Of course. I told you everything that happened to me."

Indeed, and he admired her courage. Still, he had reservations about revealing the extent of the torture. Why laden her mind with such evil, to add to the abuse she'd already suffered? He would give her the tame and uncomplicated version. "I was a spy for King James. My da was always his loyal subject and was knighted for his service. I wished to be like him. The king knew some of the rebellious clans were ignoring the laws and doing whatever they wished. He sent me in to see what kind of mischief they were into and report back to him. He needed to know of any who were traitors to the crown."

"I see."

"Once they discovered my clandestine activity, they tossed me in their dungeon."

"But how did your arm get broken?" Anna whispered.

He shoved back the suffocating darkness and forced himself to speak normally. "They tied me to a torture device similar to a rack that stretched out my limbs. They dislocated my shoulder and broke the same arm. My right hip and left knee were dislocated."

"Good heavens. Who did this?" she asked in a fierce whisper.

"Titus, the MacRankin chief, and his henchmen." Nausea and rage rose up within him when he pictured the bastard's face. With each question he'd asked, Neacal had told the truth, but the persecutors had not liked his responses, cutting him shallowly with a dirk each time. MacRankin hadn't wanted to kill him right away; he'd wanted Neacal to suffer.

Anna's small hands massaged the tops of both his shoulders, creating a type of sensual torture. "Why did they decide to let you go?"

"They didn't. I ken they would've eventually killed me. I had lost so much blood from the cuts, I was nearly dead already. Once my father and the clan discovered my whereabouts, they brought a small army to rescue me."

"Oh. I'm so glad they did." Her breath stirred the hair near his ear, giving him an intense and heated shiver.

He had always felt torn about his rescue, and he still did. 'Twas true, his life had been saved, but he had lost so much in the process.

When he didn't respond, she asked, "Are you not?"

He shrugged and shook his head. "During the battle, my father was gravely injured. He lingered for months before finally succumbing to infection from the wounds that would not heal. I blame myself for his death." Neacal's chest ached as he experienced the loss yet again. He had been closer to his father than anyone.

"Nay. He made the decision to rescue you, and how could he not? You were his son."

"Aye, but I was careless to get myself into that mess."

"You were serving your country."

He turned, gauging her sincere expression. "Aye, but I was too unmindful of what was going on around me." In truth, he'd let himself be distracted by a woman.

"Mayhap 'twas his time to go, regardless of
how
," she whispered in a soothing tone.

Neacal frowned. "More of your destiny talk?"

She shrugged, her look obstinate again.

"Was it your husband's time to go when he was murdered?" he challenged.

"Aye, unfortunately."

"Indeed? How do you know?"

"He told me in a dream."

Neacal observed her from the corner of his eyes. Mayhap he wasn't the only one who was a wee bit mad.

"You think me insane?" Her brows lifted.

"No more than I am."

"We were not intended to live forever here on earth. We must all depart in one way or another."

"Truer words have ne'er been spoken." He faced forward again, wishing to concentrate on the magic her fingers created, loosening the tension in his muscles. Instead of thinking about death, he wanted to enjoy this moment of feeling intensely alive.

"Why did you leave your clan?" she asked.

She enjoyed asking the difficult questions, did she not? The odd thing was he didn't mind telling her things he wouldn't want to reveal to others. "My body healed for the most part, but 'tis possible the scars on my mind will never heal. There are times when I cannot control my anger. I might… go mad and kill someone. You saw what happened in the bailey during practice."

"So you came here?"

"Aye, and I lived on a remote island for a time. I hated the confining castle walls. I craved fresh air and the elements… things I couldn't have in the dungeon nor the sickbed."

Nodding, Anna massaged the slick salve over the hard, bulging muscles of Neacal's arm. She felt a slight bump in the bone from the break. How painful that must have been. Her fingers smoothed over the straight pink scars of what had obviously been knife cuts. Most had been stitched up, for the tiny dot scars on each side remained. But these were the least of the old wounds. Scars formed a jagged network across his shoulders and his back as if someone had tried to hack him to bits. Slipping a glance down over his bare chest, she saw his front was much the same, the skin over his sculpted muscles rough with irregular marks.

Tears burned her eyes.

Imagining the extreme pain he must have been in, a tremor moved through her. And yet he sat before her as a powerful man, a warrior of incredible skill.

"How did you grow so strong again?" she whispered.

"Tavia patched me up, as you know, set my broken bones, snapped my joints back into place. At least, that's what I was told. I remember none of it. I was passed out for days. I recall waking in extreme pain. She urged me to drink a warm bitter tea she'd brewed. It took the pain away and made me sleep. I learned later it was opium poppy. What must have been weeks later, when I could barely move across the room with the help of someone else, I swore to myself when my bones and skin knitted back together, I would challenge myself to be stronger than everyone I knew. At the beginning, climbing the steps to the ramparts was an accomplishment. Then, I climbed mountains. Slowly at first. But each day I went further. As you well know, 'tis amazing what we can do if determined."

She nodded. "I admire you so much," she whispered and sat on the stool beside his. She could not even express the extent of her regard for him.

He watched her, his blue eyes half shadowed behind his hair, the scarred side of his face hidden. He was the most handsome man she had ever met, scars or not.

"That feels much better," he said, taking the salve from the floor where she'd set it. "Now, I'll put some on your neck."

His words surprised her. Imagining him massaging the medicinal balm into her neck, she shivered. "'Tis not necessary."

"It pains you. I saw you rubbing it earlier." His stark blue gaze challenged her to deny it.

"Well… aye." She glanced down, her heart rate accelerating at the thought of him touching her again.

He faced her. "Turn a wee bit more."

She did as he said, lifting the stray strands of hair off her neck and sitting straight to give him access.

At the first touch of his fingers, a chill slid over her. The salve felt cool, but the more he stroked it over her skin and massaged it deep into her taut muscles, the warmer she became. He tugged at the back of her neckline and rubbed the base of her neck. His fingers felt marvelous. She sighed.

Soon, she realized he was massaging her neck and shoulders with both hands and her
arisaid
and smock had slipped down. She grasped her clothing in front to hold it in place.

"Never have I received such a wondrous massage," she whispered, forcing herself not to moan in delight.

His large, strong fingers gently caressing her, he leaned into her and breathed warmth against her hair, her ear. Tingles covered her, trailing down her neck to her breasts and beyond. Heavens! What was he doing to her?

Unable to believe the way he held her in thrall, she heard an unintentional moan escape her mouth.

"Anna," he breathed. In that one simple word, he'd expressed a thousand thoughts and emotions, deep yearnings. She did not comprehend it with her rational mind. 'Twas something that touched her soul. A connection that linked them. She leaned back into him, against the hard wall of his chest. His arms surrounded her and he drew her closer still. His lips grazed over her cheek.

Coming to her senses, she realized she should not be doing this for several reasons, one of which was the madman hunting her down. She pulled back, eyeing Neacal cautiously, gauging his seductive gaze in the dimness.

With one finger, he stroked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Are you afraid of me, lass?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. But, because of Blackburn…"

"To hell with him. You are not his wife." At close range, Neacal's fierce eyes searched hers. "Are you?"

"Nay. 'Twas never consummated either."

He released a breath. "Thank the saints. I feared he might have forced you."

She shook her head. "I was sick and frail after I lost the bairn, very wan because I'd lost so much blood. He could barely stand the sight of me. He kept telling the healer and the servants to fatten me up. He wanted me to be curvaceous and healthy before he had his way with me."

"The bastard," Neacal hissed. "I'll make him regret every pain he inflicted upon you."

Iciness trickled through her veins. "Nay! I wish you to stay away from him."

"Only if he never shows his face. But if he comes here, I'll destroy him for what he's done to you."

The vehemence and passion in his voice and his gaze struck her heart with fear. "Nay, Neacal. I want you to stay safe."

"If no one else will see justice served, I will."

Tears burned her eyes. How could he want to risk his life for her? She stroked her hand up his scarred cheek into his thick dark hair. Pushing it out of the way, she pressed a kiss to the jagged scar on his face.

He turned his head, placing his unmarred cheek next to her. Why had he done that? Did he think his scar bothered her?

"Nay," she said, pushing his square, bristly chin in the other direction and brushing her lips across the roughened scar again. "You are a beautiful man," she whispered, placing tiny kisses over the puckered skin of the old injury.

"Hmph," he grunted and kissed her temple. "Nay, Anna,
you
are the one who is beautiful, like an angel consigned to earth." His warm lips and sweet words completely seduced her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember how to breathe normally. He kissed each of her cheeks.

She turned her head slightly, seeking his mouth. When her lips touched his, so firm and smooth, her breath halted and need grasped hold of her. She dug her fingers into the plaid over his thigh. She wanted to rip the garment from his steel-hard body.

Slowly, gently, his lips explored hers. She dared not even breathe for fear he would stop. This felt like the rarest and most special moment she had experienced in years.

When his tongue flicked between her lips, she thought she might expire on the spot. She turned, facing him more and slid her hands around his neck, into his midnight hair to grasp handfuls of the thick locks.

He kissed her slow and easy, patiently seducing her mouth open with subtle flicks of his tongue. She drew in a sharp breath, lest she pass out from the lightheadedness overcoming her, and offered her mouth to him to do with as he would. He did not disappoint. He gained entrance and teased her tongue into a silent banter.

A soft moan escaped him as he buried his hands in her hair and massaged her scalp with gentle fingers. His mouth grew more persistent, more determined to taste and devour every inch of hers. He was sinful seduction itself, the type no woman could resist.