Lyon's Gift (27 page)

“
I... I dinna
remember.”

He lifted a brow. “You do not remember?”

Meghan shook her head.

He released her suddenly, and stood once more,
looking down upon her. Her heart hammered as he slid aside the
candle upon the desk. Without warning, he reached down, plucking
her up from the chair. Meghan gasped in surprise as he sat her upon
the desk, and then seated himself before her.

“
Shall we rouse your memory,
then?” he suggested, and reached down, sliding his hand beneath the
arch of her foot. Meghan’s heart leapt into her throat at the
intimacy of his caress.

His written words came back to her with the first
touch:
I laved her feet with my tongue. It is as though I am a
slave to my passion... and this the ultimate gift as I humble
myself at her feet in worship... craving the taste of her flesh
like a man with strong drink, and inebriated with the desire only
to please...

“
W-what are you going to
do?”

“
Shhh…”

His gaze never left her face as he began to massage
her bare foot, stroking the arch and caressing her skin gently.

“
Do you remember what I wrote of
this, Meghan?”

Meghan’s breath quickened at the question. She
nodded as his fingers massaged her foot, gently lacing through her
toes. And then he raked the seat backward from the desk and Meghan
thought she would swoon as he lifted her foot to his beautiful
mouth, watching her face all the while as his tongue darted out to
lap at her toe.

Wicked.

A shudder flew through her.

She knew she should protest—God only knew that she
should—but she couldn’t. She couldn’t find the words to deny him...
to deny herself... even knowing where this could lead.

Feeling paralyzed with uncertainty, and dizzy with
anticipation, she watched as he drew his tongue along the arch of
her foot, tasting her flesh where his fingers had caressed. And
then her heart leapt against her ribs as he drew her toe into his
mouth, gently, suckling it, his eyes gleaming with a hunger she
could but yield to.

Gooseflesh raced over her limbs as he massaged her
calves, pushing up her gown as he moved toward her thighs, all the
while continuing to suckle at her toe...

God have mercy upon her wicked soul, but she could
not bring herself to still his hands as they climbed upward... like
warm velvet across the flesh of her thighs...

He withdrew her toe from his mouth. “I want you for
my own, Meghan Brodie,” he said without ceremony.

“
You want my body,” she answered
breathlessly, scarcely able to think for the way his hands were
making her feel.

He didn’t want her. There was a difference, Meghan
understood. She fought to remember that through the haze of
pleasure.

“
Aye,” he whispered, his voice low
and husky with a desire he didn’t attempt to conceal. “I’ll not
deny it. I do,” he confessed, and fell to his knees before
her.

“
I want your body, Meghan,” he
whispered. “I wish to know you...” He spread her legs, settling
himself before her, and Meghan’s heart thundered within her breast
as he shoved up her skirts and cast her a last hungry glance before
leaning forward to blow out the taper.

Under cover of darkness, he moved in to kiss her
where no man had ever laid his eyes upon her before.

“
I want to know the taste of you
upon my tongue,” he whispered, “upon my lips…” And he moaned as the
warmth of his mouth opened over her most private place.

Meghan gasped, and her head lolled backward,
enveloped by a sweet heady pleasure unlike any she had ever
experienced before. Wrapped within a cocoon of pure sensation, she
fell backward against the wall, crying out... not in protest, or in
pain, but in utter surrender.

His heart hammering, Lyon closed his eyes and
concentrated not on the burn of his loins, but the taste of her
upon his tongue.

This time it was not for him, he told himself.

As much as he craved the taste of her... as much
satisfaction as he received in the pleasuring... for once, it was
not a means to an end, his end, but an act of giving. He wanted to
give her this with all his heart.

He could see in her eyes that she was not completely
lucid, and he didn’t simply desire her surrender... he wanted the
gift of her heart along with that of her body.

Nay, this time it would be different.

Because
she
was different.

Deep in his soul, he sensed that in her arms he
would find all his answers—all the revelations he sought were
hidden behind the mirror of her gaze.

He craved them madly.

Answers.

Closing his eyes, he adored her with his mouth...
his lips... his tongue... wanting to please her...
needing
to please her. She fell backward, whimpering with pleasure, and the
sweet sound of it sent desire clawing through his loins. His body
hardened, pulsed with need, but he ignored it, seizing her good
hand into his own, and anchoring it about his neck. Sheer and utter
exultation filled him as she responded by thrusting her fingers
through his hair, clutching him in ecstasy.

Aye, he was well aware she was drugged... that she
might not have allowed him so much liberty otherwise, but he’d
never confessed to moral restraint. He’d never intended mercy in
his pursuit, nor did he play fairly.

He played as he fought as he loved...

To win.

Only this time, the prize was hers to receive.

Not his.

He wanted to hear her cry of release... wanted to
feel her tremble sweetly against his lips... taste her honey...
wanted her to cry out his name.

And then when at last she slept...

When at last she dreamt...

When she awoke in the morn...

He wanted her to remember every instant of pleasure
he’d given her.

He wanted her to think of naught else but him every
waking hour of the day—as he did with her.

She was in his blood.

He was obsessed.

He wanted to look upon her beautiful face and see
her flush of desire. And he wanted her to look him in the eyes and
beg for more.

He worked feverishly, denying his own need, his
heart pounding and his blood thrumming through his veins as he
worshipped her body with every lap and every suckle. She wrapped
her thighs about his neck in utter abandon, and he felt a fierce
satisfaction in her pleasure.

When she cried out at last, embracing his head as
though she were clinging to him for her very life, he felt joy as
he’d never experienced in his own completion.

Closing his eyes, inhaling the sweet feminine scent
of her, Lyon kissed her and then each of her thighs in turn. He
kissed her belly then and lifted his head to her breast, listening
to the thundering beat of her heart.

Who would have thought after all this time without a
bloody woman... he would find such perverse pleasure in his own
denial. Christ, but he did!

He held her, taking thorough gratification in every
throbbing pulse of his own unfulfilled desire.

Aye, this time was different, he assured himself,
and he didn’t give a damn if she was mad or not—if she was bloody
mad, let him be mad with her—he wanted Meghan Brodie for the rest
of his life.

CHAPTER 21

Bless you, Cameron!” Alison MacLean said,
and bent to kiss the old man upon the cheek. “Thank you again for
coming to fetch me when Meghan fell. And bless your true Scots
heart for doing this for me now!”

The old man blushed fiercely, his face
mottling with color. “’Twas naught,” he replied. “Dinna thank me,
lass, as I didna want the bastard mon upon my birth land, anyhow,
and I dinna appreciate the way he takes what he wills—arrogant
Sassenach!”

“
I know!” Alison agreed.
“But I could not do this without you, Cameron, so I can thank you
if I please!”

The old man nodded. “You were a brave lass,”
he said, “going in there like that to help your friend.”

“
How could I not!” Alison
declared. “Meghan Brodie is my verra best friend! She would have
done the same for me.” And Meghan would, she knew. It had twisted
Alison’s heart to see her friend lying there in so much pain. If
she could have lifted her up and carried her from that wretched
place, she would have! As it was, she’d had to tend Meghan and then
hurry away lest he recognize her face.

Cameron nodded again in agreement, and
Alison went on, “I was so worried! I had to see with my verra own
eyes that she was well.” In truth, she’d not thought up her plan
until King David had sounded so uncertain of Meghan’s sanity. It
had startled her, as Meghan Brodie was the sweetest, smartest
person Alison knew! But Alison had taken advantage of David’s
uncertainty and had formed this hasty plan. She hadn’t known how
well it would go, but it was worth a try. “Anyway, Montgomerie did
not recognize me so all is well. But I cannot risk myself again so
soon, if I am to go back and trade places with Meghan later. So,
then, be sure to give her this,” she instructed, and pressed a
small sack into the old man’s hands. “’Tis verra important! And you
tell her just what I told you, all right?”

“
Aye, lass, I remember it
all.”

“
Verra good, and this is
for you.” She held out a few gold coins.

“
For me?” He peered up at
her in surprise.

“
Aye,” Alison smiled
brilliantly. “For you. And thank you again, Cameron of the
MacLeans, and go on with ye now. I’ll need you soon enough if my
plan is to work. Run now to Meghan and tell her to follow my
instructions precisely.”

The old man smiled as he took the coins from
her. “Aye, lass. I’ll give her the sack the instant she is alone, I
promise.”

“
Thank you,” Alison said
with feeling, and threw her arms about his neck in appreciation.
“You’re a sweet auld mon,” she said and drew away. “Go quickly
now,” she urged him.

“
No sooner said than
done,” he promised, and turned on his heel.

Alison watched him wend his way through the
forest until he was gone from her sight, and then she turned and
hurried home. There was much to do before her final performance,
she knew.

She had colored her face with a thin layer
of mud, not enough to make her appear grimy, but enough to dry her
skin and give her the appearance of wrinkles, and she had been
thankful for the dim light of his chamber that he could not make
out her eyes, for though she’d met him only the once, she knew they
were revealing, crossing as they did so oft.

She didn’t worry he would suspect her later,
because by the time Cameron snuck her in to trade places with
Meghan, he would be ready to believe anything. And her hair and eye
color were close enough to Meghan’s, that as long as she kept her
face concealed, it would give them more than enough time to sneak
Meghan out and carry her home. And then Alison would simply slip
away herself, remove her wimple and makeup, and leave with none the
wiser. Meghan would be home and safe and just in time to see her
wedded to Leith.

She smiled at that, certain that Meghan was
going to be surprised with the turn of events. Alison could
scarcely believe it herself, but Leith Mac Brodie had been so kind
to her. And if she’d initially believed his proposal one of mere
pity, she no longer thought so. He sent her gifts, one each day,
and Alison was beginning to wonder what it was she ever saw in
Colin Mac Brodie. A handsome face alone was not nearly enough to
recommend a person, she knew, and Colin Mac Brodie had never
treated her kindly. How could she have been so blind to Leith? How
could she have done to him what Colin had done to her? She’d nearly
discarded Leith without a second glance merely because his face was
not as comely as Colin’s.

“
You should be ashamed,
Alison!” she berated herself. And she certainly was!

And that brought her to another thought
entirely...

Could she have misjudged Piers Montgomerie
as well? She knew what she’d spied in his eyes—the way he’d looked
upon Meghan as she’d lain so still within his bed. It seemed to
Alison that he had gazed upon her with genuine distress. And
perhaps it was no more than he should rightly feel, as it was his
fault Meghan was insured to begin with.

And yet... Alison could have sworn there was
something more in his eyes when he gazed upon Meghan.

And he had purchased the potion at an
exorbitant price—one she had set only to make him think her greedy.
As far as Alison was concerned, Meghan had a right to choose her
own husband. If Lyon Montgomerie wished to woo her once she was
home, then that was another thing entirely. Let him court her
properly as would any self-respecting man.

And with that decided, she lifted her skirts
and ran the rest of the way home, not wanting to be discovered, not
even by her father, lest he forbid her to do what she knew she
must. For once in her life she was doing something that mattered,
and Alison didn’t care what the risks were.

Meghan needed her.

The fact that she could make a difference so
exhilarated her that she wanted naught more than to run home and
share the news with her father. She wanted to run and tell Leith
what she’d done and what she planned, but she didn’t dare, lest the
two of them, in their silly male pride, forbid her to help and
insist upon saving Meghan themselves. Nay, she wasn’t about to tell
them! Male pride had gotten them thus far, and it was time to use
their wits, not might!

Foolish men!