Taming a Wild Scot: A Claimed by the Highlander Novel (10 page)

To some, it would seem an easy solution to simply cease healing—to live a quiet life in a hut in the woods, far from those who would do her harm.

Her hands tightened on the satchel. She’d even thought the same, back when her own healing powers were weak and unfocused. But healing wasn’t a choice. A healer could no sooner deny aid to an injured person than cut off her own arm. Having the power to save a life made it impossible to stand back and do nothing—even when the risk of discovery was high.

She was a healer, and that would never change.

Niall would find some other woman to love. A woman who could make him a home and bear him children, not drag him from hamlet to hamlet, one step ahead of a fiery justice.

Ana heaved a sigh. She would stay. She would help Lady Elayne deliver her son and help Niall recover from his injury, but she would not give in to the demands of her heart. When all was well, she would disappear into the foggy moors, just as she and her parents had disappeared many times before.

It was for the best.

•   •   •

Friar Colban was visiting with Lady Elayne when Ana arrived.

The sight of his voluminous black robes soured her belly, but Ana pasted on a smile and joined them by the fire. “Good day to you, Your Ladyship. I beg your forgiveness for my absence. A pleasure to see you as well, Friar.”

Elayne returned her smile. “Is your husband recovered, Goodhealer?”

“He’s on the mend,” Ana said. “Thank you for your concern. I understand you’ve been eating better.”

She wrinkled her nose. “The turnip broth is all I can manage.”

“The cook will try some other soups once the kitchens have been repaired. In the meantime, the broth is a fine meal.” Ana put a hand on Elayne’s forehead, then on her rounded belly. No clamminess and the babe moved with vigor. “You fare well.”

“Indeed.” Elayne glanced at the friar. “Friar Colban has encouraged me to resume my duties as chatelaine as soon as possible. The baron’s affairs need tending.”

“Childbearing is only a portion of your wifely duties,” the friar said, nodding.

“Lady Elayne is still far too weak to be exerting herself,” Ana responded firmly. “Directing a stronghold of this size is a formidable task. I believe she requires a few more days of healthy eating to regain her strength.”

“We don’t have a few days,” Elayne said, her smile broadening. “A messenger delivered the news this morn—weather has delayed King Alexander’s travels, and he will now stop in Duthes on his way to Edinburgh from Balconie Castle. He arrives two days hence.”

“The
king
?”

Elayne nodded happily. “A king under my roof. Is that not the greatest honor?”

Ana glanced at the friar. “I must still recommend rest for Lady Elayne.”

He shook his head. “For the next few days, none of us will have the luxury of rest. Lady Elayne must stand at her husband’s side as the king rides through the gate, and she must ensure he is properly welcomed. Every detail must be perfect. Such an opportunity may never come again. She must do her husband proud.”

“I fear she may collapse.”

“Nonsense.” He smiled at Elayne. “I believe the lady is much stronger than you suggest, Goodhealer.” His gaze slid back to Ana. “Lady Elayne has been a charming hostess this morn. I have lacked for nothing this past hour, including entertainment. She’s been regaling me with several fascinating tales.”

Ana’s stomach rolled. “Oh?”

“I was particularly interested in her description of your serpent pendant. May I see it?”

She swallowed.
Thank the Lord
. The pendant still lay in Niall’s hand. “I’m afraid I do not have it with me today, Friar.”

“How unfortunate,” he said coolly. “I trust you’ll bring it with you when next you pray in the church?”

“Of course.” A hot flush rose up her throat.
Liar
. She could never show him the pendant. The blackfriars were renowned for their zealous condemnation of pagan beliefs. “They were laying out the noontide meal as I passed through the great hall, Friar. Perhaps you’d like Bébinn to accompany you to the high table?”

He favored her with a hard look, then stood and held out his hand to Elayne.

“I think it best that you resume your duties immediately, Your Ladyship. Take your seat at the baron’s side. Show the gillies that you are strong and in control, and they’ll deliver finer work.”

Elayne placed her thin hand in his and rose awkwardly to her feet.

Ana frowned. “Are you sure you wish to do this, Your Ladyship? The scent of certain foods still causes you grief.”

The young woman nodded. “I must try. The baron has been ever so patient with me these past few months. He deserves my fidelity.”

Emptying her spleen in front of a large crowd of people would not do the baron any great service, but speaking so frankly in front of the friar would only embarrass Lady Elayne, so Ana held her tongue. On that subject, at least. “I do not recommend you sample the food served to your husband, Your Ladyship. Shall I have your page bring you a bowl of broth?”

Elayne tossed her a grateful smile. “Yes, Goodhealer. That would please me.”

They left the room, Bébinn trailing along behind. Ana sighed heavily, then followed.

“B
loody stupid fool. What possessed you to wear the pendant whilst visiting the manor? You should have foreseen the result. No one to blame but yourself.”

Niall opened his eyes. He was lying on the bed, the thatch roof over his head. Bright sunlight streamed in through the chimney hole—midafternoon, judging by the angle. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Ana. No tipping or tilting of the bed this time, thank the gods. She was bent over the iron cauldron, scraping out the contents with a wooden spoon. Her brèid had been removed, and her dark red braid hung over one shoulder, the tip swaying with every angry jab of the spoon.

“Now what will you do?” she muttered. “You know he’ll keep asking for it. How long can you deny him?”

Encouraged by his clear head, Niall pushed to his elbows so he could better see her. A stab of pain shot through his shoulder, but it was bearable. “What happened?” he asked.

Ana dropped the spoon into the cauldron with a loud clatter and darted to the bed. Putting a warm hand to his forehead, she smiled. “Finally. You’ve awakened. How do you feel?”

“Well enough. Where’s my lèine?”

Her hand dropped back to her side. “Do you recall what befell you?”

“Aye,” he said, remembering the events with bitter clarity. “A craven cur shot me in the back with an arrow. Where’s my lèine?”

“I burned it.” She sank to the edge of the bed—so close that her sweetly feminine scent filled his nose. “’Twas little more than a rag, I’m afraid. We had to cut it off, and it was thoroughly stained with blood.”

He frowned. “We?”

“Gordie, the wheelwright’s apprentice, aided me. Fear not; he’ll hold his tongue. He’s a trustworthy sort.” She sighed. “Unlike my neighbor, the candle maker. I earned a visit from the constable, thanks to that scurrilous rat.”

“Is Mr. Hurley the cause of your current black cheer?”

“Nay. The constable was appeased for the moment.”

Niall replayed the night in his thoughts. The last thing he remembered was falling into the thicket some ways up the hill from the road. “How did you find me?”

“A wee bit of luck.”

“But I gave you no inclination as to my aims for the day.”

She shrugged. “You told me you would be back before dark, and you were eyeing the forest at the time. I took a risk.”

A wave of weariness hit Niall, and he fell back on the mattress, his gaze drifting over every gentle curve of Ana’s face. “Why? Had you left me to die, you’d have been free to depart Duthes.”

“It’s not in my nature to leave a man to die. Even you. Although I will admit, I took advantage of your weakened state and reclaimed my ring.”

A faint smile rose to his lips. “How unexpected.”

She adjusted his blanket, tucking it close around his chest. “You’ll be unusually weary for a day or two. I wasn’t able to get all the poison out.”

“Poison?” Niall glanced down at his shoulder. Neat strips of linen were wrapped around the injured area.

“Aye. Whoever shot you was determined to kill you.”

“I owe you a great debt, it would seem.” Niall tucked a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. It was just as silky as he remembered. “Thank you.”

A pretty blush filled her cheeks. “No thanks are required. I was merely fulfilling the necessities of my profession.”

He could have argued—she’d done far more—but he let the matter drop. “What pendant do you fret over?”

“You were not meant to hear that.” She looked away. “’Tis nothing.”

“Your dismay was evident. I would know the cause.”

“Truly, it does not matter. Apply your efforts toward regaining your health.”

Annoyed that she would deny him, he tore the blanket off and sat up. Ignoring the wave of dizziness that assailed him, he cupped her delicate face in his hands and forced her to look into his eyes. “I will not allow anyone or anything to distress my wife. Explain the situation and I will deal with it.”

A frown settled on her brow. “What will you do? Slay all my detractors with the great sword we found at your side in the woods? I need no such aid. What kind of healer would I be if I willingly invited death to solve my problems?”

Niall found the softness of her skin distracting. She was so damned beautiful. His fingers itched to explore, rather than simply hold. It took all his willpower to leave them where they were. “Some men deserve to die.”

“That’s your belief. ’Tis not mine.”

He snorted. “Clearly, you’ve not seen the things I’ve seen.”

“Most men are redeemable. If you kill them, that opportunity is lost.”

Niall shook his head. “Leniency is for good men gone astray, not for craven curs.”

She opened her mouth to argue further, but Niall was weary of the debate. He only wanted the name of her antagonist.
And to kiss her
. Which was as good a place to start as any. He tugged her toward him.

She did not protest. Not as the heat of their bodies slowly mingled, nor as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Her lips were soft as flower petals, and his first instinct was to avoid crushing them. But when she slid her arms about his neck and returned the kiss without any hint of shame or fear, his good intentions fell victim to a surge of white-hot desire. His blood thrummed insistently through his veins, consuming all rational thought. He forgot that his intent was to coax a name from her; he forgot that he was freshly injured.

Swift and sure, he took her to the mattress, pinning her with his weight.

He freed his hands from their self-imposed tethers and dragged them over the sweet curves of her body, plumping and squeezing, memorizing every dip and hollow. He fully intended to revisit each spot with his tongue.

But only after he was done ravishing her mouth.

•   •   •

Ana knew she should stop him. A man so recently injured should not be making love to a woman—the risk to a knitting wound was too great. Except, there was no partially knitted wound beneath the bandages on his shoulder. No scabs, no ooze, no sundered flesh. She’d covered the area with linen to hide the truth, to avoid his questions. If she wanted to maintain the illusion, she should push back.

But she didn’t.

The sensations pulsing through her body were too delightful. Too thrilling. Gooseflesh rose on her skin in the trail of his touch, and shivers ran down her spine. Hot, heady desire pooled between her thighs. Instinctively, she arched her back, closing the gap between the muscular ridges of his chest and her belly, trying to satisfy the exquisite ache in her core. But it wasn’t enough. She needed him closer. Deeper.

Almost as if he read her mind, Niall’s hips ground against her mons, his erection thick and hard. Sensation exploded inside her. Delirious with pleasure, Ana writhed underneath him, increasing the friction to a fever pitch. A wanton mewl vibrated in her throat.

He answered by yanking up her skirts and slipping a hand between her legs. He sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers met a warm, wet welcome.

“Sweet Jesu,” he muttered shakily.

“Take me,” she encouraged. “Take me
now
.”

He lifted his head and looked in her eyes. His incredibly handsome face was dark with passion, the crests of his cheekbones flushed, his nostrils flared. “Are you truly a widow?”

“What does it matter?”

He groaned and dropped a hard kiss on her lips. “I do not make a habit of deflowering maidens. Have you been with a man before, or no?”

“The time to ask that question was
before
you kissed me.”

“Agreed,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m a fool, and I beg your forgiveness. Now answer the bloody question.”

“I’m not a maiden.” Ana took a deep breath and waited for the inevitable demand for details. Men never liked knowing they were not the first. But it never came.

“Good,” he grunted. He stole another scorching kiss. Then he lifted her hips, positioned his cock at the well of her femininity, and drove into her. Full and deep and hard.

Ana gasped and clutched the blanket.

Her sheath clenched around him. She’d never felt so completely and utterly taken. So consumed by the flames of desire. Pleasure sang through her body, carrying its vibrant melody to the very tips of her fingers and toes. Perspiration beaded on her chest and trickled down between her breasts.

He gave her but a moment to catch her breath before he began to rock in and out.

Ana’s eyelids drifted down. Each intimate stroke was strong and sure, and each tapped just the right spot to spawn shudders of ecstasy. Tension built in the core of her being, tight as a bowstring, promising a release of untold joy. She wrapped her legs around Niall’s torso, giving him even greater access, and lifted her hips to meet his pounding tempo.

The sound he released was half groan, half deep-throated growl.

His powerful arms caged her on the bed, and his mouth swooped down to capture hers once more. Sweat slickened every taut muscle of his body, and Ana slid her hands up the ropes of his arms, over the dark pattern of his tattoo, and down the planes of his chest to his incredibly honed belly. She’d never seen a man so beautiful. Or met a man who could tempt her so sweetly and drive her to the edge of insanity with his glorious body.

Her hands slipped around to his lean, clenching buttocks.

“Faster,” she urged.

And he obliged.

The bed squeaked and groaned under the force of their movements, and as the exquisite hum of her body reached a fever pitch, she added short, breathless squeals to the chorus. “Oh, oh, oh.” Ana’s fingers dug into Niall’s buttocks as her excitement grew unbearable. And then she flew apart. With every pulsing overture, a sweet wave of weariness stole the strength from her limbs and left her floating in a sea of bliss.

Niall sensed her release and drove into her one last time. Then he lifted his head, uttered a deep, primal roar, and found his own shuddering fulfillment.

Niall collapsed on the bed beside Ana, utterly spent. Something hard and metal dug into his hip, and he reached into the folds of the blanket to secure it. He glanced at the pendant briefly, but it could not hold his attention. Staring at Ana’s passion-flushed face was far more interesting.

“You are a very beautiful woman,” he said.

She shrugged. A languid movement that bespoke deep satisfaction.

“Would you rather I admired your wit?”

She turned her head to look at him. A tendril of red hair curled damply against her brow. “When you die, what words do you hope will be said over your grave? That you were comely? Or that you were an honorable warrior who met his responsibilities well?”

“The latter, of course. But women prefer to be seen as desirable.”

“Not all women.” She smiled. “I’d rather be remembered for my healing.”

He ran a finger over her soft lips. They were still pink and full from his kisses. “I must admit you heal with exceptional skill. I felt nothing but a twinge or two.”

The glow of her cheeks deepened to scarlet. “I should probably check the bandages for bleeding. Despite the lack of pain, you may have torn the wound open again.”

“Later.” He cupped her chin and leaned in to kiss her again. She tasted like sunshine and sweet summer wine. “First you must tell me who has been vexing you. Is it the friar?”

“He does not like me.”

“He does not like anyone,” Niall said with a snort. “To him, we’re all sinners with scant chance of passing through the pearly gates. What did you do with my sword?”

Her gaze lifted to meet his. “You can’t run the village priest through.”

“Why not?”

“If I have to answer that question, you are not the man I thought you were.”

He smiled slowly. “Careful, lass. That was almost a compliment. Fear not. I have no intention of slaying the wretch. But neither will I stand back while he makes threats against my wife.”

“I am not your wife.”

He kissed her again. Hard. “My lover, then.”

“I’m not your lover, either.” She straightened her skirts. “This was a sweet interval, but it cannot be repeated.”

Niall watched her scoot off the bed, his eyes narrowed. “You care for me.”

Standing, she turned to face him. “Nay, I do not.”

“A woman does not risk everything to save a man she does not care for,” he said softly.

“She does if she owes that man her life,” she retorted. “You saved me from certain death in Lochurkie, and I returned the favor. A life for a life. It was nothing more.”

Niall studied the twin flags of color in Ana’s cheeks. The brazen chit was lying to him. She
did
care for him—she just preferred not to admit it. Well, he could live with that. “And why, exactly, are we not to repeat the lovemaking?”

“It will muddy the terms of our agreement.”

He bounded from the bed, naked as the day he was born, and met her toe-to-toe. “The agreement where you do anything I ask, or I inform the constable of your unsavory past?”

Her lovely lips tightened. “Aye.”

“You truly want to limit our relationship to that?”

“Aye.”

He shook his head. “Be careful what you wish for, lass.”

Ana swallowed tightly. Niall was just as intimidating stark naked as he was fully clothed. Perhaps more so. There was raw power visible in every flexed muscle. “Your sword is under the bed.”

He stared into her eyes for a long moment, then turned and retrieved his weapon. Ana was treated to a breathtaking view of his lean backside as he bent—and of the ten red arcs caused by her fingernails.
Lord
. She’d quite forgotten herself.

“What’s this?” he asked, pulling out a small burlap-wrapped bundle.

“The arrow that felled you. Gordie thought the fletching might give you a clue to the shooter, so I held it.”

He laid his sword on the bed, then peeled back the layers of burlap. His face darkened as his fingers ran over the pale gray fletching.

“Are you familiar with the color?”

“Aye.”

“So you know who shot you?”

“Aye.” He rewrapped the arrow and thrust the bundle at her. “Bury it in the woods. The constable should not discover it here.”

Ana placed the rolled burlap on the table. “An unlikely event. I convinced Mr. Hurley that you were sick with the ague, not injured by an arrow.”