Cottage in the Mist Page 4

  The best way to warm a body quickly was contact with another body. And although he was not the kind of man to lie with a woman without her willing participation, he could see no other course of action.

  He walked over to the pallet that served as a bed. A plump mattress sat on a wooden frame covered by a sheet of linen beneath a blanket made from animal fur. Between that and his own body heat, he should be able to help her regain her own. Trying not to think about the softness of her skin or the sweet slope of her breasts, he peeled off the wet clothing, stopping with the odd underthings she wore, slips of colored silk that barely covered her not inconsiderable assets.

  He felt his body awakening and forced himself to ignore the growing urgency. This was a woman in trouble, not a barmaid wanting nothing more than a roll in the hay with the laird-to-be.

  He swallowed a laugh, the irony of his thoughts not lost on him. Whatever this woman had been through, he could at least in part relate. Less than a fortnight ago he had been the young master. Today he was a hunted man without a clan.

  Lily moaned again, but didn't open her eyes. Her breathing was quick and shallow now, as if the cold were pulling it from her body. Bram carefully laid her on the bed. Her lips trembled as her body reacted to the loss of his heat. Quickly he stripped off his garments and climbed onto the bed, and after covering them both with the fur, he pulled her close against his body, her back curled against his chest.

  He rested his chin against her hair, the smell of spring flowers teasing him with familiarity. It was almost as if he'd held her like this many times before.

  Perhaps he, too, had been addled by the storm.

  He smiled and pulled her closer, willing the warmth of his body into hers. He was fairly certain that the bump on her head wasn't dangerous, but unlike his mother, he had none of the healing ways about him.

  Lily sighed and nestled into his warmth. And again he was struck by the familiarity of their intimacy. It was almost as if they fit somehow. Two halves of a whole.

  He was a bloody romantic fool. She was a lost soul who needed his warmth, nothing more. And he was a man with no room for a woman in his life. Still, he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms and legs around her to provide a cocoon of warmth. And even as he sought to give her comfort, she gave it back to him in the soft inhale and exhale of her breathing and the way her fingers curled around his.

  For the first time in more days than he cared to remember, he felt at peace—or at least temporarily assuaged. Maybe there was magic afoot tonight, in the wildness of the storm or simply the sweet allure of the woman in his bed. Or maybe he had gone quite mad and this was only a dream. Either way, tomorrow's sun would banish the mists and whatever fantasy the night might have held.

  But for now, in this moment, he wanted nothing more than to hold on.

  *****

  Lily drifted to consciousness slowly, her first thought that she couldn't remember the last time she felt so safe and secure. She curled her toes, letting the warmth of the bed seep through her. The fire had died down, the room deep in shadows. Outside she could still hear the rain lashing against the roof and windows. With a sigh, she dug deeper into the warmth, simply luxuriating in the comfort, but then memory returned like a sledgehammer.

  The car. The cottage. The man.

  She struggled to sit up, but strong arms pulled her close as he whispered soft, soothing words. The action was rote; the man was still sleeping and despite the absurdity of the situation, she felt herself relaxing, her body savoring the feel of his skin against hers. There was nothing here to be afraid of. She knew that as clearly as she knew her own name.

  The rational part of her brain questioned her sanity, but her heart felt like it was home. She could feel it in the strength of his arms around her and the hot whisper of his breath against her cheek.

  And yet he was a stranger.

  A stranger who had saved her life.

  Or at least gotten her warm again.

  Her head still ached, but she was no longer wet and cold. She reached down to cover his hand with hers, and in so doing brushed across her bare breast. She was naked. He shifted against her.

  So was he.

  A hot blush rushed to her face, but she didn't pull away. There was something so wonderfully decadent in the fact that she was lying here with a stranger. A man who'd stolen her breath when she'd first seen him.

  Or maybe that had been the cold, some rational corner of her brain insisted. But she pushed the thought away. Life was for living. If she'd learned nothing else in the wake of her parents' deaths and Justin's defection, it was that the things you loved most could disappear in an instant.

  And she wasn't going to lose this moment. Even if it was only fantasy. Because lying here next to this stranger, she felt as if everything was right with the world. As if having him with her was more important somehow than breathing.

  Of course none of that made any sense at all. It had to be her brain compensating for the pain. She smiled. If this was compensation, she'd hit the mother lode. She lay for a moment, just relishing the cadence of his breathing and hers. The soft inhale and exhale of breath. Life at its most basic.

  In and out, in and out.

  And then suddenly she found herself wondering what would happen if she were to roll over. To press herself against him. To open herself to his kisses. To relish the touch of his hands on her body. To feel him moving deep inside her.

  The thought was both enticing and insane. God, she wanted him. More than she'd ever wanted a man before. And again the enormity of what she was considering hit her hard. She wasn't the kind of woman to take risks. To throw herself at a stranger.

  But then again, look where playing the girl next door had gotten her.

  Again she smiled, the wind outside still whipping beneath the eves of the house. Maybe this was just a fantasy. And if that were true, then she'd be damned if she'd wake without knowing at least what he tasted like. There was nothing to be gained in virtue. She was already lying skin to skin with the man.

  And besides, she still couldn't shake the certainty that she had done this before. With this man. There was nothing here to be afraid of. No risk. No danger at all. He belonged to her.

  The thought startled her, and yet she didn't reject it. Instead, she rolled over.

  His face was deep in shadow, but she could still make out the strong line of his jaw. This wasn't a man to trifle with, even in sleep. The thought was fleeting but she knew it to be the truth. And still she wasn't afraid. Slowly, half fearing that he'd disappear, she reached out her hand, brushing her fingers across his cheek.

  His eyes opened, and his gaze collided with hers.

  She waited, holding her breath, her heart pounding even as her body tightened in anticipation. For what seemed an eternity he looked into her eyes, and then with a groan, he pulled her close, his lips closing over hers, his mouth hungry, demanding.

  She opened her mouth, their tongues dueling, her body trembling with the contact. He deepened the kiss, and she drank him in, his taste seeming almost familiar.

  "Lily." He whispered her name and she pressed against him, desperately needing to feel his heat.

  His lips stroked hers, taking and giving, stirring the fire inside her. The little voice in her head called for her to stop. But God help her, she didn't want to. All she wanted was him. Lightning split the sky, the crescendo of thunder chasing behind it. Where before the storm had threatened her, now, its fury fed her senses. His strong hands cupped her breasts as he kissed her, thumbs circling, desire mixing with pleasure until she could hardly breathe.

  "Lily," he whispered again. "Are you sure, then?"

  "Yes," she answered, her voice hoarse with desire.

  His lips trailed along the line of her neck, shivers of pure passion rocking through her. She pressed against him, wanting to feel closer—to feel a part of him. His lips moved lower, tracing the swell of her breast. She arched upwards, needing more, and he obliged, pulling her nipple into h
is mouth, the resulting pressure almost her undoing.

  She ground her hips against him, offering herself, and he slid his hand lower, his fingers hot as they moved against her skin. While teasing her nipple with his lips and teeth, he slid a finger inside her, the friction setting off shivers of pleasure. She fought for breath even as she pressed closer—wanting more.

  His finger moved, in and out, stroking teasing. And then his thumb pressed against her secret spot and she moaned as pleasure surged through her.

  "Tell me what you want," he whispered, his breath hot against her breasts, his finger moving in and out, each succeeding stroke deeper, stronger. "Tell me."

  "You," she whispered. "Dear God, I want you."

  The thunder drowned out her moans as his mouth and his fingers danced across her skin, sensations ratcheting tighter and tighter until she felt herself shatter, pleasure racking through her in shuddering waves.

  "Please," she rasped. "Please. More."

  Again the thunder bellowed, the cottage shaking, the intensity mimicking her body’s release. Lightning flashed, flickering against his face as he pulled her close, his touch gentle and soothing—almost worshipful. As she trembled against him, he caressed her with murmured words and soft kisses.

  For a moment, they stayed like that, his arms around her, their legs entwined, hearts beating almost as one. Then she felt her body awaking, felt desire begin to blossom again. She tipped back her head, offering herself. And he greedily accepted the invitation, exploring every inch of her, leaving nothing untouched.

  Trembling with the sheer power of the feelings he evoked, she rolled on top of him, indulging her need to taste him. She'd never felt so reckless and yet so sure of herself. The sounds of the storm played out like a symphony, a soundtrack accompanying the splendor of their lovemaking. She ran her hands along the rugged planes of his body, reveling in the hardened muscles. She traced the line of a scar, then followed her touch with kisses.

  And then he straddled her, pinning her with his weight. Catching her gaze, he waited, poised above her, his glittering eyes promising everything. With a sharp intake of breath, she wrapped her legs around him, and with one swift move he buried himself inside her. The pleasure was exquisite, and she pushed against him, taking him even deeper.

  There was passion reflected in the depths of his eyes, passion and triumph—and something else, something so tender it almost took her breath away. She lost herself then, in the icy blue depth of his eyes.

  "Are you ready, lass?" he whispered, the touch of his breath against her ear almost as sensual as his sinewy movements inside her.

  "Yes," she sighed, pressing against him, wanting only to pull him deeper still. "Oh, please. Yes."

  His arms circled around her, anchoring her to him as he thrust, their bodies fusing together as he began to move, slowly, almost languorously at first. The movement both tormented and delighted. With a moan, she slammed upward, driving him home, and the fury erupted, the storm reaching crescendo. Still, moving inside her, he slipped a hand between her legs, one finger stroking her core.

  She gasped, arching up to drive him deeper, tightening around him, wanting to give him as much as he was giving her. They moved together faster and faster, pumping and thrusting, locked together in their own special dance. With a crash, thunder filled the room, the reverberation echoing off the walls. For a moment they teetered at the edge of the cliff. And then with one last powerful thrust they fell.

  His arms tightened around her as white hot pleasure raced through her, her body shaking with the intensity, sensation overriding all rational thought. There was only the two of them together. And even though she knew it was an illusion, she held fast to the dream. There’d be time enough for reality tomorrow.

  CHAPTER 5

  BRAM LAY IN THE STILLNESS listening to Lily breathe. The worst of the storm had passed now, the light patter of rain against the thatched roof the only sign it had been there at all.

  That and the woman in his bed.

  He knew he should not have taken advantage of her. She could not be thinking clearly after all that had happened. And yet when she had turned to him, he could not stop himself. Holding her had been like holding something precious. Something that he could never replace. And he'd only wanted more. And so when she had offered, he had accepted, meaning only to steal a kiss. To feel her lips beneath his. But one kiss had not been enough and now—well, now he felt as hungry as before. As if there could never be enough.

  Not with her. Not with Lily.

  She stirred beside him, her eyes fluttering open.

  "You are awake," he said, stating a blinding glimpse of the obvious, but then she had a way of stealing his words.

  She nodded and ducked her head, clearly embarrassed.

  "Dinna turn from me, Lily. There is no shame here." And as he said the words he knew that they were true. This was his woman. He knew it in his heart and in his soul. She belonged to him. And he to her.

  "I'm not ashamed," she said, offering a small smile. "Just feeling a little odd. As if I've woken in your arms a million times before. It's silly, I know…"

  "But 'tis the truth," he whispered. "I feel it, too."

  She lifted her face, her eyes meeting his. "Then this isn't a dream?"

  "If it is, then I hope never to waken." He pulled her close against him, feeling the steady beat of her heart.

  They lay like that for moments or hours—time didn't seem to matter. But then she stirred again, rolling away to prop herself on one elbow. "It isn't fair. You know my name but I don't know yours."

  He smiled into the darkness. "Bram Macgillivray," he replied with a flourish of his hand. "At your service, my lady."

  Her laughter rang through the room. "Actually, I'm the one indebted to you." Her expression sobered. "I've a feeling you saved my life."

  "Well, you owe me naught. I am just glad you've recovered. 'Tis a nasty bruise you have on your forehead. What happened to you out there?"

  She shivered at the memory and he reached for her hand. "I wasn't paying attention, I guess. The storm had turned fierce. Then the river rose out of nowhere and I lost control and hit a tree and slammed my head on the wheel. But I saw the light and made my way to the cottage. And you were here and..." She trailed off, clearly remembering exactly how that had all ended up.

  "And I got you warm again," he finished for her. "So where were you going?" He'd not ask why she'd been alone. If there was a story to tell, she'd do it in her own time. He'd not press her now.

  "I was on my way to the castle when the storm hit and the river washed out."

  "The castle?" He frowned.

  "Duncreag," she replied, her pronunciation awkward. "I think you call it a tower."

  "You know Katherine and Iain, then?" The idea appealed. If she knew his cousin then she could not have been sent by his enemies. He hated himself for even having the thought. Her plight had been real, that much he was certain of. And what had passed between them this night was real as well. He pushed his traitorous thoughts aside.

  "If you mean the new laird and his wife—" she said, thankfully unaware of the turn of his thoughts, "—then no. I don't actually know them. My aunt—well, actually she's my mother's best friend—she's the one who knows them. Or at least some of the people that live there. She arranged for me to come. She thought that maybe the Highlands would be good for me."

  "And how is that turning out for you?" he quipped with a smile, his worries forgotten as his body responded to the memory of their lovemaking.

  "I'd have to say that despite a soggy start, really well, so far." Again she laughed, the joyous sound doing wonders for his tortured heart.

  "And what was it that you needed to get away from?" he asked, realizing suddenly that if someone had hurt her, he'd hunt them down to the ends of the earth.

  She chewed on her lip, clearly considering how much to tell him, but then she blew out a sigh. "My mother and father were killed in an accident a few weeks ago."

/>   This was a pain he knew only too well.

  "There were complications," she continued. "More than I could deal with actually. So Valerie, my mom's friend, suggested I come here."

  "'Tis as good a place as any, I suppose. You're no' from the Highlands, I take it?"

  "No." She shook her head. "Connecticut."

  'Twas an odd word. "I dinna know it," he said.

  "It's only a little state and it's very far from here." She lay back, and as she did so the silver necklace she wore slipped over her shoulder. He caught it between his fingers.

  His heart twisted. 'Twas a wedding ring.

  "Is this yours?" he asked, his voice so low that he feared she had not heard the question. He held his breath, waiting, praying that it wasn't true.

  "No." She shook her head, her gaze locking with his. "Of course not." There was a multitude of meaning behind her denial, but for the moment he simply accepted the words for what they were, relief washing through him like the western tide. "The ring belonged to my father." She reached out to take it from him, her thumb caressing the silver band gently. "My mother gave it to him when they were married. I thought if I wore it, I'd feel closer to them somehow."

  "Your father would be honored."

  "I hope so." Her voice was sad and a little wistful.

  "I lost my father, too," he said before he had time to think about it. He only wanted to help. To make her feel better somehow.

  "I'm sorry." She reached up to touch his face. "I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone. Was it recently?"

  "Aye." He nodded, staring at the ceiling. "'Tis been no more than a se'nnight." He'd actually lost track of time, between running and hiding.

  She frowned. "A week. Oh, Bram, I'm so sorry." She reached for him, her voice filled with sympathy. "What happened?"

  Bram swallowed, the bitterness rising in his chest. "He was murdered."