My Cursed Highlander (19 page)

Lusting after her was a physical draw he didn't try to control, but the emotions he'd suffered when he thought her dead niggled too close to the pain he'd seen in Da's eyes the whole of his life. It was the same pain he saw in Keegan's eyes when his brother looked at his wife; fear, desperation, longing... love.

Love had never been an option, nor was it one now. Unlike Da and Keegan, Taveon accepted his curse long ago and held no desire to repeat either of their mistakes.

Remi made a tsking sound. "Miocchi, come." A shuffling of blankets followed.

Taveon snapped out of his fretting and focused on fighting the cold. While he was certain to regret his next words, he wouldn't let possessiveness steal his senses. "Monroe, bring your blankets and get under the wool with us. My lady wife needs your body heat."

A pause of silence prefaced the crunching of ice and snow beneath Monroe's boots. The man obeyed without comment, but Taveon was certain there was a quip just itching to jump off his tongue.

Not once did Monroe look at Taveon as he stripped to his skin. A cloud of breath formed in front of his face when he bent to lift the covers and settle in behind Viviana, his back to hers. "Christalmighty! Your wee wife's backside is..." pause, "...cold."

Taveon felt certain Monroe intended to use a different word. Soft, round, or voluptuous came to mind. The fingers of jealousy poked at him. "Ye are a good friend and a fine warrior, but rest assured, if ye roll over, I will make ye a eunuch."

Monroe chuckled as did Remi, then alas they were shrouded in silence.

* * *

A soothing sense of pure bliss eased through her. Only Heaven would feel this good, this warm, this peaceful.

Viviana nuzzled closer, reveling in the warmth of the body wrapped around her. She might have thought she'd died, but doubted the afterlife would be laced with such a strong masculine scent—a musky, heady, arousing scent that belonged to her husband.

He didn't leave her behind.

A smile lifted her lips as she fought her way through the last remnants of slumber and pressed her nose against the muscular contours of Taveon's chest—his bare chest. Her hand slid around his waist to his taut backside.

He was naked!

She was naked!

If that shock didn't rip her out of her muddled state then the other hot body flanked against her back did. Her eyelids flew open. A sharp pain stuck in her temple. She ignored it and wiggled, rubbing her bum against the sinewy backside of... Remi? Monroe, mayhap?

Whoever it was, they shimmied back, pressing her impossibly closer to her husband. Her pulse throbbed beside her left eye. Oh,
cazzo
! What had they done?

She poked Taveon in the chest with an aggression she thought suited the situation.

He kissed the top of her head and drew her leg up over his hip as if the fact she lie naked between two men was a normal occurrence. Mayhap it was in his world, but not in hers.

She poked him, again. "Wake up, m'laird."

"Nay. Go back to sleep." He caressed the underside of her thigh and pulled on the back of her knee, forcing her womanhood against his growing member.

The tickle of that intimacy shot up her core. She inhaled sharply then ground her teeth together. "Are you aware there is a naked man attached to my backside?"

"'Tis Monroe."

"Are you in the habit of sharing your women with your kinsmen?"

"Ye are not my woman, ye are my wife." He sounded appalled by her accusation. "And I did not
share
ye with Monroe in the manner ye accuse. Ye nigh froze to death, and Monroe merely assisted me in warming ye."

While his words might very well be true, she was nonetheless perturbed by his nonchalance. "I'm warm now. Make him leave."

Monroe rolled slightly, squeezing her between them. "Christalmighty, lassie. Think ye can sleep just a wee bit longer? 'Tis colder than a witch's tit out there."

"Monroe, get out," Taveon commanded. "Wake Remi and ready the horses."

A groan prefaced the sharp burst of frigid air that blew into their heated cocoon. Viviana sucked in a breath and dug her fingers into Taveon's back. "Where are we?"

"Inside the mountain."

"What do you mean, inside?"

"We are nested
inside
a fur,
inside
a cavern,
inside
the mountain. Now, lest ye want to wake me like a proper wife, ye will shush while I prepare my thoughts for the day."

A proper wife?
"Pish!" Viviana frowned and went to cross her arms in defiance, but suddenly found herself flat on her back. The flutter in her stomach felt like a thousand winged insects fighting to get out.

"Pish, aye?" He worked his way into the crook of her neck and suckled her earlobe. "I grow weary of waking next to my naked wife unsatisfied." He pressed the hard length of his erection into her mound. As if his words needed emphasis.

She swallowed and bit the corner of her lip. Her breasts slid over the spattering of hair on his chest as he slipped down her body between her trembling legs. Excitement and unease battled inside her. What was he doing? His kinsmen could be just outside their bedding.

Just as she might have voiced her concerns, he took one of her soft nipples into his hot mouth. He played with it, drew on it and teased it, until a hard bud formed for him to bite.

The dull ache in her head waned, as sensations swirled behind her breast. A moan slipped out of her mouth.

Oh, it felt good—gentle, yet laced with the promise of wickedness.

Fisting her fingers through his hair, she yanked, half pulling him off, half pushing him on.

"Ah... sweet Venus." He squeezed her backside with long, thick fingers and moved to her other breast, the nipple already taut and waiting for the same sweet torment. Not even beneath the scorching rays of an Italian summer had she ever been so hot. Perspiration coated her neck and gathered between her breasts. She clamped her thighs around his hips, but secretly wanted to open up to him.

"Ye have by far the best tasting tits I have ever had the pleasure of dining on." He flicked his tongue over her nipple.

The heat inside her froze. A fierce scowl tightened her face. She did pull his hair this time and none too gently, ripping him off her breast with a loud sucking sound. "Your words are vulgar."

"'Twas a compliment."

"It was a comparison and one I do not much care for."

"Ye are a hypocrite." He tweaked her sensitive nipple.

"Uffa!"
She grabbed hold of his tiny nubbins and twisted them.

"Ouish, ye hizzie!" He seized her hands. "Ye have compared my every action to your dead husbands since the moment we met. Am I so much like them? Have I forced myself on ye like a rutting swine? Have I raised a hand to ye or treated ye poorly in any way?"

Confused by his temper, she could do little more than lay in the darkness and bare the wrath of his mood.

"Would Radolfo have come back for ye? Would Luciano have saved ye from freezing to death?"

She shook her head, unable to find her voice. He knew neither of her husbands cared enough about her to have saved her.

"Would they?" He released her hands with a force that jarred her physically.

"They are dead. I see no point to your questions. Why are you so angry?"

"Because ye almost died, and I dinnae much care for the way it made me feel." Taveon slipped out of their blankets leaving her cold, alone, and completely perplexed.

She rubbed her temple, now remembering the bastard who'd struck her. She pushed the incident from her mind and stared at the pitch in her head for long moments before she came to understand Taveon's words.

He cared. Laird Taveon Kraig cared about her.

Before she could revel in the awe of that moment, the blankets rose and a bundle of cold garments were shoved against her skin.

"Get dressed," Taveon hissed.

His dour mood couldn't sway the giddiness now flitting through her insides.

"And make haste about it. Remi and Monroe are waiting for us outside."

He was an impatient man this morn, but an impatient man who cared about her. She wouldn't let him steal this moment. She wanted to laugh out loud. Instead, she swallowed the silent giggle bubbling up in her throat and sifted through the garments. Feeling the material until she determined which garments were which, she shimmied into an undertunic, then an overskirt, a wool gown, a mantle and then finally pulled on soft, ermine fur boots to her thighs. While the garments were warmer than her own, she was unfamiliar with their fastenings.

Taxed by the endeavor, she pushed the covers aside and inhaled. The air inside the mountain was crisp and painfully sharp. Her hand flew to her mouth to protect her burning throat as she stepped off the blankets. Ice broke beneath her feet and sounded in her ears like a crack of thunder. She swayed and clutched the side of her head.

"Where are ye going?"

She turned around, completely unaffected by his surly tone. "To find you."

"Ye are going the wrong way."

"I would have figured that out eventually." She stepped in the direction of his voice.

His fingers cradled her head as the pad of his thumb brushed the small bump at her temple. "He hurt ye."

She'd been hurt before, and every bruise Luciano inflicted on her person made her stronger. She cupped Taveon's hand, wanting to leave the whole episode behind them. "It does not hurt overmuch."

He remained silent with his hot breath swirling over her face. She suspected he was contemplating his words when all at once, his demeanor shifted back to surly. He readjusted her garments, flipping her this way and that.

"Ouish, woman! Ye are in desperate need of a maid." He re-laced her undertunic, re-fastened the clasps of her bodice, and re-tied her mantle, all while muttering in a language she did not speak. He spun her around by her shoulders and made quick work of braiding her tangled hair then smashed a roll cap over her head. His actions were chaotic, and she sensed his anxiety like a black aura oozing with hostility.

She turned and held his fist inside her hands. "Forgive me if I frightened you." She unfolded his long fingers and brought his calloused palm to her lips. "It was not my intention to die," she teased.

A swirl of warmth feathered over her cheeks. "Dinnae let it happen again."

Her brows rose. Was he serious? As if she could control her fate. She held tight to his hand as he pulled her through the cavern, his strides twice as long as hers.

Snowflakes clung to her eyelashes, and wind whipped against her cheeks with a bluster that matched her husband's temperament.

"Good den, m'lady," Remi greeted her from above. A horse nickered, then a cold nose nuzzled into her palm.

"It is a good day indeed, Remi." She bent and scratched Miocchi's warm ears beneath his fashionable coat, happy to find him fairing well.

Taveon pulled her upright. Without a word, he draped the chain around her neck and tucked the surprisingly warm amulet inside her bodice. He held her hand and waited. The black haze inside her head cleared quickly and a radiant light made her squint. She covered her eyes and waited for the vision to form.

Mountains. There were mountains as far as the eye could see; huge, intimidating, cold mountains with peaks hidden in the mist of dawn.

A purple dawn.

Viviana's breath caught in her throat. She studied the color, rapt by its beauty and its existence in her head. Then, too quickly, she was robbed of the vision and forced to look upon the treachery of this place. Taveon spared her no angle, as she assumed was his intent. Below them were steep cliffs, dripping with ice and snow. She'd never witnessed such grandeur. It was beautiful, yet terrifying. Her pulsed kicked up a notch.

"Ye will ride with me." His tone demanded her agreement.

Having no desire to argue, she nodded and held his wrists as he set her atop a black stallion then mounted behind her.

He cradled her in his lap, forcing her legs over his muscular thigh, then bundled her against his chest inside a heavy fur. "Dinnae make any sudden movements or kick the steed with your heels."

With these words, he spurred their mount down the icy terrain, but held tight to her hand, gifting her with his sight—a sight that had returned to the dull hues of gray. Had she imagined a purple sky? Was it the color of the amulet or had she actually been privy to nature's true paint? Mayhap the colors had something to do with Taveon's affections for her—affections that seemed to cause him a great deal of turmoil.

For hours they traveled in silence—a nerve-wracking silence that had her temples throbbing. Even when the threat of danger had passed, Taveon guarded his tongue. He did not hum this day or chatter with his men. Instead, he sulked like a boy who'd been punished for a deed he did not commit.

By late afternoon, Viviana decided it was time her husband left his dark mood on the mountain. Reminded of a similar conversation, she pushed back her hood and raised her face to him. "M'laird, do you know how long you intend to hold on to your temper?"

She hoped to gain a chuckle, but received a snort instead.

"Mayhap I will hold onto to it for two years. Is that not how long ye begrudged a maid for telling lies about your sister?" Laird Kraig looked at her, giving her a glimpse of the sour face she now wore.

It still goaded her that Elena had accused Fioretta of stealing a bauble from Sister De Rosa. The nun had been like a mother to both her and Fioretta. Viviana shook off the memory and focused on her task. "How many days before we are out of the mountains?"

"'Twill take three days to reach Montreux."

"Then that is the number of days I shall give you to cool your temper, Goliath." She smiled, but not on the outside.

Again, came a snort. "Have ye terms, m'lady?"

A multitude of possibilities presented themselves in her mind. Wicked ways she could torment her husband into admitting he cared for her. She was not so inexperienced. In truth, she could be rather creative. "Mayhap I will seduce you."

"Ha! Your threat is laughable."

"We shall see, m'laird. We shall see."