Charlotte Boyett-Compo- Wyndsheer (2 page)

It was into a thirty foot by thirty foot cabin he took her, the unpainted clapboard walls and ceiling and floor having been built within the small cave he had chosen as his residence. Beside the single door were two windows that flanked it. Along one wall was a wide stone hearth in which a fire cast the only other light in the structure. Beside the hearth was a wood burning cook stove, a tin sink with a hand pump, floor to ceiling cupboards filled with jars of vegetables and fruits and bins of root vegetables, and a single wooden table with two chairs. Behind a plain wooden three-panel screen was a small copper tub, a dry sink over which hung an unframed mirror and which held a pitcher and ewer along with a glass containing his toothbrush, toothpaste and comb, and what could only be a garderobe, an opening in the rocky wall that led down into a cesspit far below. The opening was covered with a hinged plank that resembled a modern toilet seat. The rest of the furniture consisted of a tall, intricately carved armoire, a full-sized bed, nightstand, several shelves filled with books, and a rocking chair that sat before the hearth. An oval rag rug lay before the fireplace. No curtains hung at the window and there were no decorations on the wooden walls save for a large crucifix over the headboard of the bed.

He took her to the hearth and lowered her to the floor. Seeing her lying there with the firelight flickering over her still features, he had the urge to rip her clothing away and have his fill of her but even though his entire body quaked with the need to take her, he knew he could not give in to the demon that had made his cock rock hard in his jeans.

Kneeling beside her, he eased the simple black pumps from her feet and set them aside. Just as he’d imagined, she had pretty feet with clean, short toenails left unpolished. He longed to suckle those sweet little digits but already her body was quivering from the wet and cold despite lying so close to the fire and he feared she might wake at any moment.

Resolutely, he put his hands on the buttons of her white blouse and flicked them open, striving not to stare at the lacy bra for the darkness of her nipples could be seen pressing against the fabric. He eased her up to remove the blouse then set to unbuttoning and unzipping the navy slacks that covered her long legs. He tugged the slacks down her hips, gently working them down. The sight of the thin wisp of lacy panties set his blood to pounding fiercely in his ears and he could not resist sliding his hands between her legs.

He closed his eyes as the heat of her sex filled his palm. He ran his thumb back and forth slowly over the wiry strands of dark hair covered by the lace, aching to bury his face against the softness, to taste her.

She groaned and he snatched his hand away, his eyes flaring open, his breath held as he expected her to come to. But she did not move. Her eyes remained closed. She lay there defenseless before him and once more that strange sensation of protectiveness sprang up in his heart and he swallowed hard.

Breathing harshly, he snagged a towel from the arm of the rocker where he’d hung it to dry earlier that day and began drying her hair. When it was as dry as he could get it, he pulled it into two sections to either side of her face and loosely braided it. There would be time to brush it neatly when he returned from the crash site.

For a long while he just knelt there watching the soft rise of her breasts as she breathed. His eyes wandered over the silky smoothness of her arms--though there was a scar under one that puzzled him--the short fingernails that had just a hint of color to them, the flatness of her belly and shapeliness of her hips, the taper of her legs. He longed to run his hands over every inch of her but--just like with her hair--there would be time for all that.

She groaned again and he tensed as her head fell to one side. He could feel his heart racing again in the anticipation of her opening her eyes and seeing him but that did not happen.

Then he saw it--a dark stain on the rug beneath her head and when he reached down to touch it, his fingers came away stained with a crimson blotch that he knew was blood.

As carefully as possible, he eased her over and it was then he saw the ragged gash on her scalp, right at the back of her head. The rug beneath her head was soaked with blood and he cursed himself that he had not rubbed that portion of her head while drying her hair else he would have discovered the wound then.

“Ah, lass,” he said on a long sigh. Manipulating the injury with his fingers, he knew the cut was deep enough that it needed to be sutured.

He got up to fetch the first aid kit he kept over the kitchen sink and to light the wood stove to heat water. While the water came to a boil, he gathered what he needed to stitch the wound then eased her onto her left side.

Once the head injury had been closed, he knelt beside her once more. His eyes were hungry, his hands sweating and he ran a tongue over his upper lip as though he were a starving man before whom a banquet had been laid. It took him a moment longer before he could work up the courage to remove her bra and panties and when he did, he felt flames licking at the very core of him. His shaft became so stiff it was acutely painful. He put a hand to the erection and knew he’d have to relieve himself before he could make the trek back to the wreckage.

His gaze kept roaming to the fleecy softness at the apex of her thighs. He could smell the womanly scent of her wafting up to him and it only seemed to intensify the discomfort between his own legs. He wanted to stroke that lush triangle, dip his fingers into the soft folds, feel her wetness on them, separate that sweet flesh, taste her ....

“Stop it, MacGivern!” he snarled.

With some effort, he got up and stalked to his bed, flung the covers aside then--grinding his teeth together to push aside the need riding him so brutally--he went back to scoop her up and carry her to the bed. He laid her down then covered her, blocking out the image of a body so delectable it made his mouth water.

Standing there beside her with his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, he strove to get his unrelenting lust under control. His cock throbbed and he put a hand to it, rubbed, adjusted, whimpered low in his throat. By God he was so desperate to possess her, to sink his flesh into hers he didn’t think he could wait until he returned from the crash site. He reached for her--saw his hand trembling--and backed away. She was too beautiful, too perfect to rush and he knew from past experience the wait would be well worth it.

He would make sure of it.

She groaned again and her head thrashed on the pillow. He feared she would wake before he was ready for her to.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. He couldn’t allow her to wake just yet.

He went to the kitchen area and reached for a small box hidden among the spices and extracts on the shelf. Opening the box, he took out a vac-syringe, sealed needle and a small vial of purple liquid. Breaking open the seal on the needle, he attached it to the vac-syringe then poked the needle through the vial’s rubber top, drawing up a precise amount of the fluid. He tapped on the syringe to get rid of any bubbles then released a small amount of the fluid before taking the loaded vac-syringe to the bed. With great care, he injected the thick med into a vein in her neck, flinching a little when she moaned at the invasion of the burning drug. But what he had done was crucially important. It was to assure she would remain asleep while he was gone.

The last thing he did before leaving her was to slip the open cuff of the shackle to the headboard and lock it, taking no chances that she could leave the bed.

With one final look at her, he went to the hidden door and pushed against it in a place only he knew to touch and when the portal swung open, left quickly before he could give in to the temptation to take her as his body demanded he do.

All the way back through the twisting, winding tunnels and narrow crevices to the entrance of the cave, his shaft rubbed savagely against his jeans. He was sweating, breathing hard and when he’d gained the entrance and stood there staring out into rain that continued to fall heavily, he unzipped his fly—leaving the clasp closed—and pulled out his cock. He leaned with his back against the wall, his legs spread and the moment his fingers closed around the thick erection just beneath the swollen head, he closed his eyes, his lower lip tucked between his teeth. Grabbing the inseam of his jeans, he tugged the fabric taut so the opening brought pressure upon the base and balls of his cock. His hand tightened around the shaft as he began the up and down motion to relieve the painful ache in his joint.

He thought of her firm breasts, her taut thighs, and the flat belly with its dark, damp triangle that called out to him. He longed to suck her nipples into his mouth and draw upon them, nibble them, suckle as he stroked her nether region deeply.

“Aye,” he whispered as he increased the speed of his movement.

Envisioning her open to him—hips raised as he lapped at her dewy center—he could almost smell the womanly scent of her surrounding him. His chest heaved. His breaths became shallow, loud. In his mind he was fingering her clit until it was a tight little bud ripe for bursting, ready to ooze its honeyed juice upon his waiting tongue.

It had been a long time for him and while he strained to catch just the right rhythm, just the right pressure around his cock, he thought of her lovely face and the full lips he wanted to devour with kisses, the sweet mouth he wanted to invade with soft thrusts of his tongue deep inside. He imagined her opening her eyes to look at him as he hovered over her and he saw those lips smile with invitation, watched her tongue come out to lap at a perfect upper lip.

“Aye,” he said louder and his hand moved frantically on his flesh until his cock was primed for release. He felt it building in his sac and soaring upward, burning all the way down his length. He arched the shaft away from him just a second before it erupted in a thick, hot stream. He watched it spurting as he stood there tense against the wall until the last squirt left him and he sagged, his head falling to his chest, panting with each breath, hearing the blood pounding in his ears, feeling the climax all the way to his booted feet.

It was rare for him to relieve himself as he’d just done and each time he gave in to the enticement, he experienced a deep shame flooding him afterwards. This time was no different and he felt his cheeks grow hot, felt the dishonor deep in his soul. He knew better. He’d been trained better. What he’d done was morally wrong. It was a sin to spend his seed upon the ground.

But he knew himself better than those who had instructed him did and he knew had he taken her as he’d desired to, he might possibly have hurt her--such was the depth of the need that prodded him. And there was the time constraint. A woman like the one lying in his bed deserved more than a quick rut.

His breathing once more calm, he stuffed himself back in his jeans and pushed away from the wall. The smell of his spent semen made him wrinkle his nose with disgust and he kicked sand over the tell-tale globs at his feet.

Despite the downpour, he had a job to do and he set out into the gloom to see it done. His shoulders hunched against the pelting rain, he made a mental note to retrieve his crossbow on the way. It would not do for a search party to find such an expensive weapon and wonder how it came to be high in the Pionós Mountains where there should be no human life.

Not that he was entirely human, he thought as he thrust his hands into the pockets of his sodden jeans.

The trek back to the wreckage took him longer than he expected for the rain had caused mud slides around which he had to work his way. Cold wind buffeted him yet all he wore was a shirt and jeans--both of which had been soaking wet for hours. Mentally berating himself for not having the foresight to at least grab a jacket, he doggedly climbed the trail to the crash site with the droning sound of the search plane circling overhead.

Looking up at the sweeping branches of the trees above him he knew there was no way his progress could be seen from the low-hanging clouds that no doubt obscured much of the searchers’ line of sight. Nevertheless, he increased his speed, determined to get back to his cabin as quickly as he could.

Digging his muddy boots into the incline beyond which the debris was hidden he stood beneath a tall pine with his hand on the rough bark, catching his breath. He was in the best shape of his life but his energy was beginning to flag. Bending over to rest his aching back, he stared at the scattered plane parts littering the site. With the eye of a professional he scanned the area, making note what needed to be addressed, what needed to be handled.

Once more the search plane flew overhead. With it came the whop-whop-whop of an incoming helicopter and he knew he had to hurry.

Rearranging the scene to make it look as though the woman had scrambled free and slid down in the mud several times before heading to the ledge took only a couple of minutes. He made it appear that she was dragging a leg behind her, careful not to make the passing through the mud and leaves too deep for an injured woman to have made. At the cliff, he had to be more cautious of the circling helo—lying on his belly to scrape away the bushes and rocks at the edge so it would look as though she’d skidded over the drop, clawing at the bank for purchase before tumbling into the killing waters below.

Scooting back across the decomposing leaves and pine needles, he covered his own passing and took one last look around the plane, searching for anything that might belong to her. He dared not go inside for by then he was covered in mud and he didn’t want the investigators to surmise anyone other than the three in the plane had been there.

At last satisfied he’d done all he could, he headed back to the blind where he’d left his crossbow.

By the time Jamie entered his cabin, his back was on fire with pain. He had spent the last fifteen minutes constantly rubbing his left side but the ache was deep and it hurt so badly tears were beginning to blur his vision. He had deposited the crossbow with his other weapons in a concealed niche in the tunnel leading to the hidden portal and it had been all he could do to drag himself the last five yards.