Her Highland Defender (5 page)

A horn rang out—the alarm.
Good lass.
The wolf lifted its snout and seemed to sniff the air. Mayhap he sensed danger or mayhap he’d simply caught another scent. Either way, the animal gave Blane a dismissive look and slunk away.

The air left his lungs and the faint buzz of bloodlust rushed away, leaving him drained. He waited until the darkness swallowed the wolf and headed back to the keep. The door flew open before he could enter and Ceana knocked into his chest. He steadied her and stepped inside.

“What are ye doing? Pray tell me ye were no’ planning to come outside?”

She lifted the blade in her hand—his sword—and gave him a sheepish smile. “Ye were weaponless.”

He shook his head. “I didnae rescue one sister for the other to get herself killed.”

Kate appeared behind them. “I told her ye wouldnae like it.”

Blane ignored the smugness in her tone. He couldn’t decide if the lass still hated him or not but he’d not lose sleep over it. “Ye’d have done no good out there, Ceana. Ye’d have only put yerself in danger.”

He took the sword from her unresisting fingers while she scowled in his direction.

“I could hardly leave ye. I’m not so useless.”

“I didnae say ye were useless.”

“Nay, but yer thinking it.”

He glanced at her sister and passed her the sword. “Kate, will ye put this in the armoury?” Her eyes widened and a grin came across her face. “I can trust ye not to do something foolish, can I not?”

Her grin vanished. “Of course ye can. I’m no’ a bairn.” She stalked off with his blade in hand and Blane resisted rolling his eyes. He turned his attention back to Ceana. When he tried to take her hand to lead her back into the hall, she whipped her hand away.

“Ye really do think I’m useless,” she declared. “I’ve been protecting this castle for a long time.”

A groan threatened to break free. He couldn’t win with these women. “If yer so capable, why did ye beg me for help?”

Her mouth opened and closed. Under the torchlight, colour warmed her cheeks. Those wide eyes seemed to burrow into his soul. He couldn’t leave her. As tempted as he was, he’d have to stay until this cousin arrived. 

“I’ll bid ye goodnight,” he bit out, pressing past her and leaving her in the entrance way. Somehow he’d survive the next three days.

He hoped.

Something told him these women were going to be the death of him and while he cared little for himself these days, he cared for them. He needed to stay alive to protect them.

Blane stomped through the hall and headed to his bedchamber. Och, he had to be addlebrained. And he knew who was to blame for that.

Ceana.

Ceana put a finger to the wooden door and traced the familiar notches. Though she only heard the drips and creaks of the castle punctuated by the occasional hoot of an owl or scratch of a cat, she imagined she heard Blane’s deep, steady breaths as he rested. She pictured him—dark hair, strong body, wide lips. He was beautiful. Whether her sister had been telling falsehoods about his attractiveness, she knew not. Who knew if they even found the same things attractive in a man? But Ceana knew, deep in her gut, that this man was beautiful. How could he not be? He’d chosen to take care of a group of women to whom he had no duty. 

Her own breaths were stilted and sounded loud to her ears. He wanted her. She needed him. With an ache so unbearable, she’d tossed and turned in her bed for too long. To be in his arms, even if only for a few hours, was more than she could hope for, and yet she did. Blane would leave them and likely never set foot on their land again but it mattered not. It had been so long since a man had touched her and the likelihood was no man ever would again. She wasn’t sure anyone had set her soul alight like he did.

This was her only chance. She swallowed and found the cold iron handle. Wincing as it screeched when she turned it, she slipped into his room and pressed it shut again. There were no candles lit and no breeze whispered over her skin telling her the shutters were closed. Not the faintest hint of light broke the shadows of her vision.

“Ceana?” His voice was raspy from sleep. Bed sheets rustled. Her stomach tangled in knots.

Ceana inched over, feeling as though she were wading through water. Her feet were bare so as to feel her way to the bed. Four paces—nay, five, was it not?—he addled her mind so that she miscounted and her shin struck the bed. Palms splayed, they met a solid wall of warmth underneath linen. Thick fingers curled around her upper arms and held her in place.

“Blane,” she whispered, the word reverent. “I’m sorry for earlier.”

He ignored her apology and held her still. Fire licked along her body where he touched her, spreading out from the heat of his fingertips. It pulsed low, gathering deep down inside, making her want to press against him.

She waited.

“Ceana,” he said again, the low timbre skating along her skin and making it prick.

Fingers speared into her hair suddenly, cradling her head. His other hand came to the base of her spine. The air left her body when he drew her close, urging her to come onto her knees on the bed. Then firm lips were upon hers—demanding, forceful.

She released a gasp and curled her fingers into his shoulders, using him like an anchor in a storm. Whoever this man was, no matter how little she really knew of him, she knew this—he would take care of her tonight. He’d bring her to the peaks of pleasure and make her feel like more than an impaired woman fighting to survive. For those brief moments, she would give herself completely, for what could she lose?

At present, she could only consider the gain. A hundred memories to keep her warm at night. A chance to feel something more than frustration and fear.

The world shifted but he didn’t break the kiss as he laid her down. He tasted of mint leaves and something sweeter, though she couldn’t decide what. She traced the line and sinew of his arm to where he held her hip, all the way down to where his shirt sleeves were rolled up so she could feel the veins in the back of his hands and the way they pulsed with life.

In his arms, she felt so alive. Blackness might dominate her vision but there was colour here. So much colour.

Blane pressed the kiss deeper, finding the deep recesses of her mouth. His breaths came hard and fast, echoing her own, yet she couldn’t slow the pace.

More.

“Aye.”

Ceana must have said the word aloud. She hardly knew what she was doing. She fumbled with his shirt, tearing and tugging. Blane’s impatience must have equalled her own as he broke the kiss briefly to rip the garment off. Then there was hot skin everywhere.

She took the time to trace the way the muscles of his back rippled when he moved. His lips met her neck, hot and wet, nipping, kissing. Ceana drew in a sharp, thick breath and pushed her hands through his hair to hold him there. It was too sweet, too beautiful. Surely this was all a dream?

The hardness pressing against her body and the width of his hips between her thighs couldn’t be a dream, though. Nor could she have imagined how his weight would feel atop her.  The thick length of his hair sifted between her fingers and she drew the strands out, picturing how it fell around the nape of his neck and imaging how it would look when he pushed a hand through it in irritation.

She paused. “Wait.”

He stilled, his entire body tense and ready. She had a true warrior in her bed and the thought sent a shudder through her. Almost fearful of making him bolt, she moved with caution—nothing new for her, but doing something for pure pleasure’s sake was. If she was to do this, she needed to take the time to appreciate every part of this man.

Blane lifted away a fraction. “Ceana, have I—”

“I need to...” She put a hand out to find his face and cupped the rough line of his jaw. He must not have shaved since his arrival. The release of a shuddery breath from him made her skin tingle. Ceana stroked the long length of his nose. Strong, fierce. Then his brow. Fierce there too. Furrows marred his skin and she suspected his expression was forever severe. Could she soften it?

Though she had felt his lips against hers, she traced the line of them. It was too easy to get lost in the hazy swirl of desire when he kissed her but now she could feel how firm they were and how they were pulled into a grim line. If she could, she would make him smile too.

 “What colour are yer eyes?” she asked, the only thing missing to complete the picture.

“Green.”

“Like the hills? Or the loch?”

“I dinnae know. They’re just green.”

Ceana laughed. “I’ll ask Kate.”

“She’ll no’ have anything good to say about my eyes.”

“Aye, mayhap.” Sweeping her hands back over his shoulders, she gave a sigh at all that muscled strength laid out just for her.

“I dinnae care what Kate thinks, though. ‘Tis ye that matters.”

She burrowed her face into the welcoming cocoon of his shoulder and laid several kisses there. “I think ye should take me, Blane. Make me yers, just for tonight.”

“Aye.” A hand came down to the hem of her shift. “That I can do.”

He inched up the linen, too slowly for her liking. He made her squirm and want to beg as his fingers brushed her outer thigh, then her hips, then each rib.

“Ye should eat more. I feel like I could break ye.”

“Ye wouldnae.”

“Would I not?”

Ceana shook her head, not knowing how well he could even see her in the dark. She pressed a hand to his chest and the reassuring, steady thud of his heart echoed there. It was the beat of a strong, good heart. She wasn’t sure what had made him doubt that and she wasn’t fool enough to believe she could conquer it in one night or even another two days, but she’d at least show him what he meant to her. He couldn’t know it, but he’d done more for her in these past two days than anyone in her life. Blane treated her like something other than a blind woman. He treated her as simply a woman.

“Touch me,” she begged, achingly aware of his hand resting on her ribs, so close to where she needed his touch.

Blane shifted to one side, giving her the opportunity to feel the flex of a thigh between hers. She arched her hips and he pressed that thigh to the ache that only he could conquer. A hand slipped under her chemise and cupped her breast. He gave a shuddery groan before pushing the garment up and over her head.

Cool air touched her skin, heated muscle covered it. Wet warmth surrounded her nipple suddenly and she gasped, arching into his mouth while sensations soared through her. Ceana dug her nails into his shoulders and curled her legs around his hips.

He moved to her other nipple and pushed a rough hand behind her back. Whimpering, she held onto him and rocked her hips against his thigh. He answered with a harsh groan and came back up to take her mouth in a deep, sensual kiss.

The calluses on his palms chafed deliciously against her skin. He moulded her breast to his palm, skimmed down to clasp her hip and slipped a hand between them to tease her. Bedsheets rasped beneath them and bedropes creaked. The scent of male skin filled her nostrils.

His kisses grew erratic when he pressed two fingers into her. It had been so long since anyone had touched her like that, since even she had. Her duties had left her wearied and unable to find pleasure in life. Blane had brought pleasure back to her.

Underneath her fingers, his skin grew slick. Each movement of his body told her of his need but he refused to give into it, instead sliding his fingers in and out, learning the shape of her and what made her thighs tremble. This big, bold warrior—a man whose life had taught him only how to fight and kill—touched her with such care it made her heart full and aching.

Once the bliss began to sizzle through her, when her breaths grew shallow and rapid, he moved again.

“Am I crushing you?”

“Nay.”

Ceana relished the feel of him atop her. She ran her palms over the tautness of his arms and admired all that withheld power. He could break her, he’d said. Yet she’d never felt more safe.

Blane eased her legs father apart with his hips and his solid heat touched her. She jolted, desperation rolling through her.

“Ceana?”

He must have mistaken her need for fear. She didn’t think she could ever fear this man. Moving her hips in invitation, she kissed his damp neck and gripped his rear. He hissed and forged forward. Bit by bit, inch by inch, he joined them. She released an involuntary moan and urged him on again.

Blane stopped when they were fully joined. She saw nothing but felt everything. Him solid inside her, hard against her, his muscles quivering with restraint, harsh breaths across her face.

“Are ye looking at me?”

“Aye.”

She’d known somehow. Had felt his gaze upon her. “What do ye see?”

“’Tis dark, but I see enough. Yer lips beg for my kiss and yer skin glistens under the moonlight that steals into the room. Yer hair...yer hair is wild.”

She heard the grin in his voice. “’Tis always wild.”

“I like it. ‘Tis wild like ye.” He punctuated the word with a slight shift of his hips.

“I am no’ wild. I’m careful, cautious. I have to be.”

“Aye, but underneath that, I see wildness in ye.”

Tears brushed the corners of her eyes. She wasn’t sure why his words had touched her but she supposed it was because he’d seen so much more of her than anyone else. Inside there was a girl who longed to run across the Highlands with no fear of tripping. The kind of girl who slipped into a near stranger’s bed simply because she wanted a moment of pleasure.

“Ye bring the wildness out in me.”

“Good. But keep yer wildness only for me, Ceana,
a ghràdh
.” He kissed beneath her ear and gave a tiny thrust again. “Wildness can get ye killed. Save it for me, wildling. Can ye do that?”

She nodded.

“Promise me, Ceana.” He took the moment to withdraw and thrust deeply, sending sparks through her body.  “Promise me.”

“I promise.”

Blane gave her an unsteady kiss and rocked forward on a groan.

“I promise,” she whispered, over and over with each movement until her voice vanished. She couldn’t recall ever being called wild and she was happy to save it for him, even if it meant never behaving so again once he was gone.

His rear flexed under her hands while he pounded into her. The bed creaked anew and each thrust sent her soaring. Harder, faster. She could barely hold on. He made love to her as though fighting a battle—ferociously and without apology.

Blane scattered kisses across her face and she felt the tightening of his muscles. She felt like an animal waiting to strike, tense and coiled. Ready to shatter. He only needed to move a hand between them and touch her briefly to send her into a trembling mass of pleasure. New colours came across her vision and she saw him, this beautiful highlander, as he gave her this. It didn’t matter how accurate her version of him was, she knew enough of him. She’d felt his scars and heard the softness in his voice. He’d touched more than her body this night.

A harsh sound rumbled from deep inside him while she gathered her breath and let the contentment roll through her limbs. He withdrew hastily and spilled on her stomach. She somehow regretted that he hadn’t remained inside her, even knowing of the dangers. How could she look after a child anyway?

His mouth tickled her nose and brushed across her lips before he moved away. She lay there, aware of where he was in the room because of his heavy footsteps. Although a slight sinking feeling grew in the pit of her stomach as she waited for him to ask her to leave, regret refused to take the place of the gratification warming her body.

She’d been right. The memories would be well worth giving herself up to him for.

Something cold touched her belly and she gasped.

“Forgive me.”