Incarnate: The Moray Druids #3 (Highland Historical) (3 page)

She blinked a couple more times before replying.  “I see.”

Lowering to her furs, she cast his cloak to the side and stretched out on her back, hair fanning out beneath her shoulders.

Malcolm could see her nipples beneath the thin garment she wore.  It molded to her long torso, and flared with her hips, dipping in between legs that seemed to go on forever.  To say her shape was fine would be like saying the night was dark or the December wind was bitter. 

“You’re staring.”  She smiled up at him. 

“Sorry.”  Kneeling beside her, he reached for her scalp again.  “May I examine ye?”

“I’m at your mercy.” 

Heat flared beneath the chill of the evening at her words, and Malcolm again reached into her soft tresses in search of a bump.  Still finding none, he gently put his finger beneath each of her remarkable eyes and leaned in to check her pupils for signs of inconsistency.  “Is yer vision blurry at all?” he queried. 

“Nay.”

“Are ye nauseated or faint?”

“Nay.”

Her breath mingled with his, and a strange kinetic kind of energy seemed to leap between their skin.  “Ye should stay warm,” he said, lamenting the husky note in his voice as he reached for his cloak to cover her again. 

Malcolm found it strange that she seemed perplexed as he tucked his cloak around her.  She had to be chilly; it was colder than a sow’s teat in autumn. 

“What about yer headache?”

“It’s better now.” She shook her head back and forth as though to prove it.

Malcolm paused, his hand resting on her shoulder.  There was naught left to do, and yet he didn’t want to leave her here. 

A soft hand snaked from beneath the cloak and covered his.  “Is there… aught I can do to repay you for your kindness?”  She moved his hand from her shoulder to her breast, emphasizing her meaning. 

Malcolm had to force his next words around a throat gone dry.  “Nay,” he said. “I’d never take an offer like that as payment.”

“Then what would it take, to get you to share my bed?”

Vían thought Malcolm would hastily accept her invitation. 

Instead, he backed away and gained his feet, knocking his head on the ceiling in his haste.  “I should… go.” Moving the door, he ducked out and replaced it with a final-sounding
thunk
.

No man she’d been forced to seduce for the Wyrd Sisters in her century or more of confinement had ever turned her down.  It seemed that the more odious her charge, the more willing they were to take her.  There was not one thing odious about Malcolm de Moray. The man was built as strong as the castle he lorded over, and had features just as finely crafted. 

Sitting up, Vían brought her knees to her chest and hugged them, staring at the hovel’s entry.  Maybe he’d seen past her beauty, to the demonic creature she’d become, and it drove him away.  Maybe he suspected her intentions, or perhaps he would rather lie with a man than a woman.  After all, a king his age and not married?  A rare thing, indeed.

Or maybe he was married.  Come to think of it, the Wyrd Sisters had never mentioned it.

Vían considered every last one of these options before landing on her real fear.  What if he found her repugnant?  Maybe the spark between them was one-sided and he was in a rush to quit her company.  Instead of a damsel who enticed him, she might be a pauper who repulsed him.     

The question was, what difference did that make to her?  Why was she so forlorn over his rejection? 

She hadn’t been sent to
fall
for Malcolm de Moray.  Her job was to get him to fall for her charms just long enough to fuck her. He’d hate her much worse than that when he found out who she was, who she worked for, and why she’d betrayed him.

And betray him, she would. 

Vían’s intention to stay out of the void that imprisoned her soul for more than a century had gone past desperation, past madness, into a determined ruthlessness that drove her like nothing before.  If Malcolm de Moray had to be a casualty of regaining her freedom, then so be it.  She couldn’t go back into that place, the dark hole where despair swallowed her in endless torment, and she couldn’t even look forward to death as a release. 

There was no release.  No escape. Only this. 

Running her cheek along her drawn up knees, she reveled in the warmth of his fine cloak.  He’d left it for her.  Why?  Because he pitied her?  Because he was a decent man?

Most likely because he had a hundred more like it in his castle chambers and left this one to ease his conscience. 

Well, it would give her the perfect opportunity to see him again.  She could request an audience at Dun Moray under the guise of returning it to him.  He’d be more relaxed in his own home, less guarded, and easier to seduce.  There would be beds, candlelight, and maybe she could get Nemain to craft her a spell that would—

The collection of sticks that passed for a door moved again, stunning her thoughts to silence.  Malcolm bent to enter, carrying a bundle of kindling and a few larger logs.  “Yer wood pile is nigh empty,” he chastised gently.  “We’ll need to remedy that.”

Vían could only stare, as he bent to lay a fire in the meager circle of stones that passed for a fire pit. 

“We?” she finally ventured. 

He stood again and left just as abruptly as before, returning with his saddle bags.  Retrieving implements from within them, he bent to start a fire on some tinder striking the flint together blowing on the spot where sparks began to catch. 

Vían knew she should be re-strategizing her approach, and she would, just as soon as she could tear her eyes from the way his back and shoulders stretched at the seams of his fine shirt, or how his kilt rested on his bent backside. 

His legs were so long.  Lithe and powerful.  Her fingers itched to get at what was under that kilt.

For the sake of freedom, of course, she reminded herself. 

Vían got the impression that Malcolm wasn’t a man of many words.  He worked quietly, absorbed in the task of building a fire, and didn’t look up until the blaze was stable and throwing off a furnace of heat.  That accomplished, he reached again for the saddle bags and extracted a cloth wrapped around some cheese, some bread, and a few slices of cured meat.  Next came a skein of something, hopefully spirits or ale.

It had been so long.

“If yer not nauseated, ye should eat and drink something,” he murmured.  Taking her knife, he crouched down and cut her generous portions of the food, handing it to her without truly looking at her. “I retrieved water from the spring trickling into the loch, there. While ye eat, I’ll restock yer wood pile.” He frowned, motioning for her to take the food he offered.  “I’ll not leave ye here with no axe to pick through frosty kindling.  I’d have to question my manhood if I did.”

Vían thought of the member that had twitched and throbbed against her rump while they’d shared the saddle.  No one in the history of the world would ever be able to question
his
manhood.  Lord, but it was generous. 

Blinking down at the offered fare, shock and something else entirely clouded her vision with moisture.  Behind that was panic.  Where was this coming from?  Why did she suddenly have a lump in her throat so big she was unable to form words of thanks?  And just how in the hell could she seduce a man if she was a sobbing mess?

If she failed, she’d go back to the void.  She needed to pull herself together. 

Now
.

“Why?” she whispered before she could stop herself, hating that her voice was tight with tears.

“Why, what?”

She didn’t look up from her lap, keeping her eyes firmly fixed on her knees.  “If you do not want to lie with me, why are you being so kind?”

His big, warm hand reached out to cup her cheek, and he guided her face to turn toward him, his green eyes as sharp as cut emeralds and twice as brilliant in the firelight.  “I’m kind because I am a Druid and yer king, and therefore kindness is not just my responsibility, but my way of life.”  He dropped his hand from her cheek then, but his next words reached so deep, they seared her very bones.  “But make no mistake, lass, I want to take ye in ways that would wipe the word ‘kind’ from yer thoughts of me.”

Her breath caught around a lump in her throat made of half emotion, and half elation.  “Then, take me,” she whispered. 

“It wouldna be right,” he forced through clenched teeth, his eyes those of a warrior valiantly fighting a losing battle. 

“I need…”  She didn’t dare say it.  Couldn’t put into words what it was he made her want.  She had to lie with him in order to take his powers, but this was the first time in a long time, maybe ever, that she truly wanted to. 

Which made Malcolm de Moray more dangerous than she’d ever considered. 

Through with words, she rose on her knees, and undid the ties of her garment, letting it fall to the earth beneath her.  Malcolm regarded her from those jewel green eyes like one would an approaching viper.  Which was closer to the truth than she’d like to admit.

His nostrils flared, and his fists clenched at his sides, but he remained where he was, obviously locked in a battle with his decency.  His eyes devoured her like a starving man at a feast, but he didn’t make one move toward her.

Decency be damned.
  Once he realized who she was and what she’d done to him, he’d wish he’d left her in the woods to rot. 

Firmly pushing that thought to the side, she reached for him, sliding her hands up his shoulders and around his neck to lock behind him, pulling his head down to hers. 

 Her lips pressed against his, but Vían didn’t have control of the situation for long. 

Malcolm dragged her hard against his body in a deep, starving kiss.  With a groan of surrender, he plunged his tongue into her welcoming mouth with a thrusting rhythm that set her loins on fire. 

She’d have to try very hard to keep her wits about her.  Already, her legs were beginning to fail, becoming weak enough that she leaned into him.  Once he felt her submission, he lowered them to her furs and stretched his hard body above her supple one. 

He whispered a few unfamiliar words against her mouth and the packed earth beneath her thin bedding suddenly became soft and fragrant with flora.

“Magick,” she marveled aloud. 

“Like yer skin,” he murmured against her, before taking her mouth again.  One moment his hot, silky tongue tangled with hers, the next he was nibbling and sucking at her lips, teasing her with alternating pleasures. 

She shifted so her thighs could split beneath him, cradling that swollen, needy part of him against her sex.  His clothes still separated them, but he ground against her instinctively, and Vían hissed at the intensity of the sensation. 

Hungry for more of him, she lifted the hem of his shirt and wordlessly demanded that he help her peel it away. 

The firelight threw shadows into the groves and valleys of his sinewed frame.  He was light-skinned and fine, like the marble statues in the Roman ruins.

Vian stared as he lifted himself to sweep away his kilt and boots. 

He stared at her, too.  His eyes traveled her smooth skin and latched onto the apex of her parted thighs which she shamelessly bared to him.

“I’ve never seen a woman of yer like,” he breathed.  “Ye’re so fucking beautiful.”

He gave her the compliment with such ferocity, she had to hide behind her lashes for a moment and gather her strength. 

He was beautiful, as well.  Not in the lovely way a woman was, but in a raw-boned, utilitarian way.  Each swell and dip and angle fashioned for power and purpose. 

And all that power was about to be unleashed upon her.

Within her. 

Vían’s breath sped to a pant and she reached for him, suddenly feeling vulnerable stretched out and spread beneath him. 

He came to her instantly, his hands roaming everywhere, his mouth capturing hers with a wild possession.  Finding the softness of her bare ass, his fingers dug into the flesh there, pulling her firmly against his cock. 

Vían would have liked to think she was not as affected with lust and wanting as he, but they both shuddered with the intensity of their connection, and it was her body that wept with slick desire. 

Keep your heart encased in ice,
she warned herself. 
Let your body burn. 

His venturing fingers found her most private heat and, again, they both moaned their pleasure.  He was gentle, crooning things into her ear as he kissed and licked the sensitive lobe.  His words melted her core as his probing fingers drove her higher than she’d ever imagined. 

 “Come for me, lass,” he commanded into her ear.   When his teeth nipped down on her lobe, he pressed that pliant flesh with just enough pressure to launch her to the stars with an astonished cry. 

When one lived the majority of their years in a hole looking up to where the mortals walked, flying seemed out the realm of possibility.

But fly she did. 

And before she truly returned to earth, he was above her, then inside her, thrusting deep and long until their hips met.  His fingers reached beneath her head and threaded into the hair at her scalp until her head rested in his palm, secured and immobile.

“Look at me while I love ye,” he said, and began to move. 

For all of his easy confidence, Malcolm de Moray made love like a doomed man, desperate for a safe harbor against the storms that loomed on the horizon.  He fucked her like he knew tomorrow was not guaranteed and he needed the pleasure to fill whatever hollow pain lurked in his eyes.

She could only see the wounds now that they were this close, nose to nose, sharing each other’s breath.  And flesh. 

It was like everything slipped away.  The void.  The witches.  His Magick.  Her lies.  While his cock slid inside the tight, slippery skin of her sex, it was as though he had truly become a part of her, somehow.  With each thrust, he branded her.  Each moan and gasp was a wordless promise. 

And the ecstasy was unparalleled. 

Vían was too entranced to fight her second climax.  It ripped through her with all the power and inevitability of a tempest.  She saw it on the horizon, flashing with lightning and threatening with thunder, but she was just as helpless to stop it.  And when the storm hit, it locked her in its verdant clutches with arching tremors and pleas for mercy. 

He gave her none, but followed after her with thick, hot pulses of bliss against her womb and a roar of pleasure sent to the Gods. 

***

Vían stared at the fire for what seemed like an eternity after.

She’d failed her charge.  She’d not said the curse. 

Malcolm dropped to his side between her and the wall, and turned them both to face the flames. Tucking her bottom against his hips, he wrapped his strong arms around her and allowed them both to catch their breath. 

His felt warm and strong, tickling her hair and brushing her skin with the sweetest of sensations.  For the second time that night, her eyes filled with tears.  

“Ye’re going to think I’m daft,” he said against her hair. “But I like it here, with ye.”

“In my lonely hovel?” she said, fighting the frightening surge of emotion.

His soft chuckle brushed her face. “I truly didn’t mean to offend ye,” he rumbled, nuzzling through her hair and reaching her neck.  “The earth in this forest is fragrant and soft.  The night isna bitter, but chilly enough to enjoy the fire and yer warm body so close to mine.”  He pulled her deeper into the hollow he’d made with his frame.  “It’s different where I live, so much responsibility.  So much always at stake.  I am in charge of it all, and yet feel as though I control nothing.  Here, the forest does my bidding and is simply happy at my presence.”

“How can a forest be happy?” she wondered aloud.

Goosebumps flared on her skin as Malcolm’s fingers idly ran over her shoulder and down her arm before dipping into her waist and flowing over the curve of her hip.  Vían’s tears overflowed her lids and slid across her cheeks and nose in a continuous hot path of pain.

“It’s hard to explain,” he continued, unable to see the effect his touch had on her. “But I am a protector of life, a vanguard of the earth and her forests.  They welcome me, because I bring good Magick and nurture life.  Here I am not but a Druid man and a creature of the earth.”