Authors: Sarah McKerrigan
"I
was... looking for you," she hedged. "I feared you might have gotten
lost."
He
raised a brow in amusement. "Lost?"
"Oh."
As if suddenly remembering, she held out the coin. "And I think you may
have dropped this."
"Indeed?”
He
patted his purse, checking to see if there
was a hole
in it.
"Nay,
I do not think 'tis mine."
Her eyes
flattened.
He was lying. It
had
to
be his.
Silver
coins
didn't simply spring up like mushrooms on
the
woodland
path. "Who else could it belong to?"
He reached
out, but instead of taking the silver, he enfolded her hand in his. closing her
fingers around the coin and giving her a wink. "If you found it, 'tis
yours, my lady."
"I
won't take silver that doesn't belong to me."
"Ah.
A woman of high moral value."
It
had naught to do with moral value. It had to do with the compulsion she had for
balance, a compulsion fostered by her training in Chinese warfare. " 'Tis
only that I cannot abide unbalanced accounts."
"You
must be quite good at managing a household then."
She
tried not to be flattered. To succumb to flattery made one weak. But 'twas
gratifying to be recognized for talents no one else seemed to notice. She
lowered her gaze to hide the secret pleasure in her eyes.
"Wait."
She
glanced up again.
His
brows came together as he opened her hand, then lifted it up to study the
silver more closely. "Hm." He angled her hand this way and that.
"Mm." He flipped the coin over in her palm, examining both sides.
"Mm-hm."
"What?"
He
stared soberly into her eyes and confided, "I think this is no ordinary
coin."
"What
do you mean?"
He
shook his head. "'Tis not like any I've seen before."
She
frowned and studied the coin herself. It looked perfectly ordinary to her.
"But—"
"Forsooth,
I don't think 'tis a coin of this realm at all." He closed her fingers
around the silver once more, glanced about to ensure there were no ears to
hear, then whispered solemnly, " 'Tis faerie silver."
For
a moment, he looked as serious as the grave.
A
hundred thoughts rushed through her mind. The
man
was crazed.
Or addled.
They
were alone out here. And he kept shackles in
his
pack.
Then a gleam
of
mischief slowly crept into his eyes,
and
she realized the varlet was
jesting with her.
She
shouldn't respond to him. Such trickery was childish. And manipulative. And
wicked. But despite her best efforts, a glimmer of amusement gradually found
its way into her own gaze.
"Indeed?
Faerie silver?" she echoed.
"Oh,
aye," he assured her, his expression quite stern. "They must have left
it on the path... to help guide you to me."
Miriel
stifled a smile. He was a gifted teller of tales, this knave, almost as gifted
as she was. "Forsooth?"
"Mm."
Though he furrowed his brow, there were crinkles of restrained delight at the
corners of his eyes. "Pity, though, you found me so soon," he said on
a sigh. "Otherwise, they might have left a whole
trail
of
silver."
She
arched a brow. "That much?"
"Oh,
aye."
"Well,
we cannot leave the faeries' accounts unbalanced." With a wicked gleam in
her eyes, she snapped up the coin in her fist and prepared to toss it into the
bushes.
"Nay!"
He
seized her arm.
She
smirked.
No man liked to part with silver.
Rather
than abandon his pretense, he quickly improvised. " 'Twas coin spent...
for a
service."
Then he faced her with a brilliant smile of victory.
"Very well spent if it led you to me." He raised her hand, giving the
back of it a chivalrous kiss.
Lord,
he was good. His banter was almost as charming as 'twas suspect.
Tucking
the coin into her purse, she wove her fingers companionably through Rand's.
"So,"
she asked as casually as possible, swinging their clasped hands leisurely back
and forth as they ambled along the path, "what have you been up to?"
He
shrugged. "Walking, exploring, soaking up the beauty of Rivenloch."
The way his gaze drifted over her face, there was little doubt of what beauty
he spoke.
She
looked away and ran an idle finger along a moss-covered oak branch. "You'd
been absent so long, I thought mayhap you'd gone trout fishing or cattle raiding
or hunting... for something." Her gaze slid sideways, gauging his
reaction.
He
studied her for a moment before answering, as if he wondered how much she'd
seen. "Forsooth, I
have
been hunting."
She
blinked, stopping on the path, admittedly startled by his candor.
"Indeed?"
"Aye."
He gave her a sheepish grin. "I've been hunting for flowers." He
lowered his gaze and dug a toe into the dirt. "I'd hoped to offer you some
small token of my love. But alas, I found not a blossom."
Miriel
raised her brows. Flowers?
He
took her fingers in his and ruefully shook his head. "Yet here I am, gone
so long I've made you fret." He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her
fingertips in apology. "Forced you to search for me..." He kissed her
knuckles. "All alone in the wood..." He kissed the back of her hand.
"Where all manner of dangerous creatures roam."
She
smirked and withdrew her hand. She'd wandered this forest from the time she was
a wee lass. Dangerous creatures indeed
"Savage
beasts," he confided, his eyes twinkling darkly, "that might spring
out to devour you." He inclined his head so that he whispered into her
hair, and his breath blew warm upon her brow. "Ravage your tender body.
Feast upon your sweet flesh." He growled.
The
knave was insufferable. Miriel rolled her eyes and slapped him away. But he
seemed undaunted. And the way he was looking at her now, his dark eyes smoky
and sparkling, like stars peeking through clouds, made her fickle heart
flutter.
Still,
she refused to be charmed. "I'm not afraid of beasts."
"Ah,
but you should be, my lady," he warned her in dramatic tones.
"They're wild and unpredictable. You never know when one will...
attack." Before she could brace herself, he lunged forward all at once to
nip playfully at the side of her neck.
She
sucked in her breath and pulled away, but not before a shiver of unwelcome lust
coursed through her. She countered breathlessly, "Then beasts should
beware, for a lady has teeth as well."
His
grin turned wolfish. "That may be. But unlike the
beast's,"
he
said, lowering his eyes to her mouth, "your
teeth, my
lady,
are sheathed in the softest of lips."
She
didn't
mean to become distracted. But the sultry
warmth
of
his
gaze, the gentle rasp of his voice, and
the
sensual
memory of his kiss sent a
disturbing ripple
through
the still pond of her thoughts. Suddenly, solving the mystery of his
clandestine activities seemed not so urgent.
Her
gaze drifted to his mouth. Would it be so wicked to taste his lips again? They'd
be sweet and supple and moist. His arms would drift around her, pulling her
close, and she'd feel his broad chest pressed intimately against her breasts.
His hands would roam over her back, stirring her flesh and perchance wandering
up to tangle in the cloud of her hair. 'Twould not be an unpleasant thing.
Besides,
she reasoned, did she not have to keep up a pretense of courting him? What
would be more convincing than allowing him to kiss her now and then?
He
cupped her cheek and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. Then he lowered his
head to murmur against her hair. "Forsooth, my lady, one kiss from you
would tame the wildest of beasts." Tilting her head back, he leaned
forward to place a single, featherlight kiss upon her mouth.
'Twas
as if an angel touched her. Or a spirit. Or mayhap one of Rand's wee faeries.
Indeed, if her eyes hadn't been open a peep, she might have believed she'd
imagined the kiss, so insubstantial was it.
'Twas
not at all what she remembered. She remembered the heart-racing,
blood-searing, breath-stealing sensation he'd elicited in her before.
He
started to back away, and she leaned forward. He withdrew his hand, and she
snagged her fingers in the front of his tabard. And when his lips parted in
surprise, she advanced to claim them.
"My
la—"
She
cut off his words with her kiss, and this time there was no question that he
was a man of substance. His mouth felt firm and real beneath hers. His skin was
vibrant, almost as if lightning flowed through his body. When she let her fingers
rove, climbing up the wide expanse
of his
chest to settle
upon
the warm flesh of his neck, she felt his
pulse
beating strong and true.
Most
convincing, when he at last succumbed, sighing into her mouth and hauling her
up against him, she felt the unmistakable manifestation of lust pressing
against her belly.
************************************
Rand
was more than willing to oblige the wanton lass. After all, he'd claimed to
come with courtship in mind.
If
she wanted adoring glances, he'd melt her with his gaze.
If
she yearned for honeyed words, he'd seduce her with flowery verses.
If
she hungered for sweet kisses, he'd let her feast upon him until she was sated.
Of
course, he could go no further, not yet. If he succumbed to her will too soon,
she might tire of him before his work was done.
But,
God, he wanted her.
Why
she summoned forth such powerful desire in him, he didn't know. 'Twas not as if
he hadn't bedded his share of damsels, some of them certainly as willing and as
fair as this Scots maid. 'Twas not even that it had been that many days since
he'd engaged a woman in his bed.
A mercenary
with silver in his purse
never suffered long
for want
of an agreeable companion.
But
something
about this lass in particular both delighted him and drove him mad with lust.
Perchance
'twas that their lies had pushed them into intimacy far quicker than was
natural. Or mayhap 'twas simply that they were cubs of the same litter.
Whatever 'twas, their fellowship of deception was rapidly taking on a life of
its own. One mere kiss from her left him trembling like an untried lad.
When
her hand wandered mischievously from his neck, down his chest, to the back of
his waist, then descended his hip to squeeze his buttock, he finally woke to
his own perilous lack of control, to the awareness that he was becoming
distracted from his mission.
He
broke away with unaccustomed violence, holding her at arm's length, scarcely
able to catch his breath, trying to force his lust to subside.
Her
expression was so bewildered, so bereft, so ravaged with need, that he almost
drew her back into his arms again.