Authors: Gerri Russell
He tried to flail, but his limbs were caught against his body. A cold sweat swamped him just before he felt a sensation of flight followed by a hard thump and a rush of freezing water. He struggled even more, frantic now as the water rose and cut off his air.
Just when he began to despair, the barriers that confined him loosened. Cold sapped the breath from his lungs. Water crushed down over his head.
He stared up, or was it down, into the dark void that hungrily swallowed him. His lungs tightened at the lack of air. A hazy fog entered his brain. The dark waters seemed to stretch into eternity. A bittersweet smile came to his lips at the thought. Eternity was where he would be heading unless he could break through to the surface.
Please, God, let him find air. If he lived, he vowed he'd confess to Lord Lockhart.
Even if Lord Lockhart killed him after, at least his conscience would be cleansed.
He clawed at the thick blanket that trapped him, forcing it apart. Once free, his instinct told him to surge ahead. But was that up or down? He calmed his thoughts and drew the small iron ring from his finger. He knew that objects always fell down, whether on land or in the water.
The ring moved upward, so he twisted his body in the opposite direction. He gritted his teeth as hot, sickening pain seared his lungs. He thrust with his legs, and slowly moved toward the surface.
Too slow. Much too slow. He had to live. He had to warn Lord Lockhart of the bishop's plans.
Chapter Sixteen
Days. Mere days remained of battling yet another army with a Saracen sword. Camden and Orrin charged into the melee at each other's sides. They were no longer the gawkish boys who had been foreigners in a foreign land. Now they were men, battle seasoned, ruthless, and desperate to remain alive. Freedom would be theirs in a few more days.
He and Orrin fought together in the midst of the carnage, bonded as brothers by all they had suffered; they stumbled over dead men, dying men, slipped on blood-soaked ground, their voices raw from the Scottish war cries they had never left behind.
The holy man who had held them prisoner for six years, three hundred sixty-one days, had sworn to release them. A part of Camden wondered if Shaykh Haashim would keep his word. And still he fought on. He would survive. He would protect Orrin.
This would be the last battle among the great enemy … the last battle.
Camden awoke with a start, staring into the darkness, willing his heart to steady its wild cadence. It was only a dream he told himself. He was no longer in the Holy Land. He was no longer a slave. He and Orrin had earned their freedom. Camden lay in his own bed, thousands of miles away from Shaykh Haashim's mad desires. It was only a dream.
The walls of his chamber seemed to be drawing closer. He drew a calming breath, then got up and quickly dressed. He had to leave the chamber, go outside on the wall, walk and look at the land, breathe the fresh, heather-scented air he had come to associate with home. Aye, that was what he needed. Just the thought brought peace to his soul, banished the tumult, blurred the memories he longed to forget.
In that instant, another scented image came to mind — one of lavender and lemons. Rhiannon. Perhaps instead it was her scent he needed. Perhaps having her warmth in his arms would vanquish his dreams of the past with the joys of the present.
A knock sounded on the bedchamber door. Rhiannon sat up in the bed and tossed the woolen coverlet aside, wondering what emergency would bring someone to her room so late at night. She snatched up the coverlet and wrapped it about her shoulders, then tucked her newly healed feet into a pair of slippers Mistress Faulkner had provided before she raced across the room and threw open the door.
Camden stood in the hall, dressed in fawn-colored breeches, tall boots, and an ivory linen shirt. His hair was combed back away from his face. The sight of him sent her heart pounding.
He frowned. "You shouldn't open this door to just anyone."
Rhiannon narrowed her gaze. "With Hamish and Travis guarding my door, I doubt anyone with ill intent could make it into the bedchamber."
"You have a point," he replied, stepping inside.
She closed the door softly behind him.
"Were you asleep?" he asked, watching her closely, his gaze a soft caress.
Her breath caught at his expression. "I'm still too unsettled."
"How are your burns? Do they pain you much?"
She shook her head. "It's the most amazing thing." She almost pulled the edge of her nightrail to reveal her shins, then thought better of it. "Whatever was in that tonic you sent to the room made the burns all but disappear."
"Good," he said striding toward her, and slowly encircling her hips with his hands. He pulled her closer, as he had in the cottage.
"If you hadn't arrived when you did..." Her words trailed off as a warm glow rippled through her. Her body wanted desperately to melt against his. Her mind warned her to keep her distance. "I never thought I'd meet my end that way."
"Hush." He pulled her against his chest. Her cheek pressed against the linen of his shirt. His fierce voice vibrated low beneath her ear. "It is in the past."
"I'll be haunted by the memory for the rest of my days," she said.
He pulled back to stare down at her. He simply stared, as though trying to find the right words to say. "Talk about it, then put it to rest."
She hesitated. "What good will that do?"
"Tell me," he persisted.
And so she did, haltingly at first, then in a rush. The words tumbled from her. Her fear. Her feelings of abandonment. Her pain.
He listened, his face impassive, his gaze fixed upon her.
Her words finally slowed, then ceased. And she felt lighter somehow, less burdened. Sharing her terror with him had lessened it. "Thank you for listening."
He said nothing, simply pulled her back into his arms, crushing her to him. She could feel the beat of his heart, as though he'd run for miles instead of standing perfectly still. He buried his fingers in her hair, gently stroking, soothing, until his heart slowed. "Things will be different now. I promise."
"Don't make promises you can't keep," she whispered against his chest.
"I can keep this promise. I will."
Warmth curled inside her stomach when he returned his heated gaze to her face. "I appreciate your efforts."
A curious half-smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, making the cleft in his chin more pronounced. "Come with me."
"Where?" Her voice sounded as breathless as she felt. She pulled the coverlet tighter about her. All he had to do was look at her and the world seemed to stop.
"To a special place." His hand slipped from her hip to curl around her hand.
The heat of his touch melted whatever reserve she might have mustered. She nodded, her fingers twining with his. "Will we need an escort?" she asked as they headed for the door.
At his puzzled frown, she added, "Hamish and Travis."
Dark humor lit his eyes. "I bid them to find their beds for the rest of the night."
Her heart leapt with anticipation. She followed him down the hallway, away from the stairs, around several corners, then up a long spiral staircase that led to a bolted door.
"I used to come here as a child," he explained, dropping her hand to pry the thick metal bolt from its latch. He opened the door and motioned for her to proceed. "You can see all the way to the sea from here."
She stepped outside onto the wall walk. The area was deserted except for the two of them. A small watch fire burned in a metal grate nearby, keeping the chill of the night at bay. "Where are your guards?"
His smile turned reckless. "I gave them the rest of the night off as well."
"And the fire? Who set it?" she asked, not really needing an answer as much as she needed a moment to adjust to his nearness. He wanted them to be alone. Understanding softened his smile. "The fires are always set at night to keep the guards warm." He turned to the wall and picked up two small logs from the pile, then added them to the grate. "Now the fire will keep us warm instead."
She moved to stand between two crenellations, gazing out at the silvery light of predawn. Her heart raced. She should return to her room where she'd be safe from her feelings for this man. How many times had her mother warned her that proper young ladies did not walk about unescorted, especially in the dark. Dangerous things happened if they did. God knew her father had ordered some of those dangerous things to happen.
She kept her gaze focused on the landscape, looking out at the sea, when she felt him come up behind her and encircle her with his arms.
Instinctively, she leaned back against his chest. His embrace closed around her, his head resting near her ear. "What are you thinking about, Rhiannon?"
"That I shouldn't be here with you."
He smiled against her temple. "That was honest."
"I am an honest person."
He turned her around in his arms. "To be honest with you," he paused, "I want more of what we shared in the cottage." He slipped the woolen coverlet from her shoulders as his hands skimmed the thin white linen that covered her arms.
The early morning air pressed her nightrail against her body, caressed her limbs, heightening her awareness of her bare skin beneath the thin layer of cloth. His gaze traveled over her tousled hair, the curves of her breasts and hips, to her slippered feet. And again, warmth surged inside her, flowed through her veins, tuning all her responses to the warmth of his touch.
"You are dangerous to me," she replied, making no attempt to move away. "When you touch me I can't think." His lips brushed her temple. "I can't breathe."
She closed her eyes, trying to block the riotous sensations his lips created. The darkness only intensified the effect. She opened her eyes as her power to resist him ebbed away.
"I'll never hurt you."
He would hurt her. He was hurting her now with his soft touch and honeyed words. He would hurt her over and over again, every time he touched her. The kind of magic they shared could never last. She was certain of it. Her heart would break and she'd only have herself to blame.
Today's horrific events had taught her one thing; life was unpredictable. Staring death in the face helped to clarify her desires. And she desired the man who held her in his arms. She would willingly risk her heart to be with him, even for a short while.
The night smelled crisp, fresh snow mixed with the soft scent of heather, bewitching her further as she relaxed against his chest.
His breath hitched at her surrender. "I will stop whenever you say the word," he whispered against her ear as he pulled her forward until the sheer linen of her nightrail pressed against his shirt.
Her nipples hardened.
"We belong together like this, Rhiannon. Let's not fight whatever destiny brought us together. Let's enjoy what we can, without guilt or remorse."
"Resisting you is like resisting the tide." She could feel the heat of his body against hers building like a maddening tension. The muscles of her limbs felt heavy and weak, unable to support her weight.
He pulled her closer and brought his lips down to explore the length of her exposed throat.
She inhaled sharply and a shiver ran through her.
He pulled away from her. Before she could mourn his loss, he hitched himself up on the stone ledge, then brought her forward to stand between his legs.
He lifted her gown to just below her breasts and brushed her flesh with his lips. She groaned at the exquisite feel of his hard cheek against the softness of her chest and her abdomen.
"This is no good," he said and pulled back. A moment later, he stripped his shirt and tossed it to the ground. "I need to feel you against me."
With gentle hands, he guided her chemise over her head. Before her skin had a chance to cool, he pulled her to him again. His head lowered and his mouth closed over her right breast as if he were starving for her.
Rhiannon gasped as a streak of hot fire burned through her. The muscles of her stomach clenched. Boldly, she tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him against her, wanting more.
His tongue was so warm, each sensation he wrought robbed her of thought and breath. His lust for her was wildly exciting — primal, intense, fierce.
His left hand slid down her abdomen to the thatch of curls surrounding her womanhood and began to rub back and forth. "Your skin is so soft, like nothing I've ever touched before. It makes me want to—" He broke off, his voice hoarse. He looked at her with fire in his eyes, warming the blue to the color of the sky on a hot summer's day.
Rhiannon shuddered in response to his stroking. He created a strange ache between her thighs. "Open yourself to me," he commanded, his voice gentle.