Once a Warrior (29 page)

Malcolm froze, unable to believe she really wanted this, unable to trust himself to his own reeling emotions. And then he moaned and ground his mouth against hers, tasting her deeply as his hands roamed hungrily over her shoulders, down her back, across her hips, pulling her close so she was pressed against the hard length of him, holding her safe within the shelter of his arms. This was all he needed to make his life whole once more, he realized as he kissed her. If God would only let him have Ariella, he could bear anything.

It was wrong, Ariella thought desperately as she felt him grasping at the soft wool of her gown, quickly easing it up her body and over her head, leaving her only in her chemise. It was a sin, she added as they moved toward the bed, her fumbling blindly with the brooch tacking his plaid to his shoulders. She unfastened his belt and yanked impatiently at the endless length of plaid swathed around his waist, causing it to fall in a ripple of green and black around his thickly muscled calves. His eyes held hers as he removed his shirt, their color the steely blue of a loch just before a storm. Finally he stood naked before her, his scarred, sun-bronzed body washed in the amber light of the fire. In that moment he was neither weak nor crippled. Instead his powerful presence filled the chamber, making her feel warm and safe. This man was not the next laird, and giving herself to him was not her destiny. But in this frozen, breathless moment she ceased to care, which told her she had either gone mad, or had simply broken beneath the relentless weight of duty to her clan. After all their struggle and pain, and for all the sacrifice and suffering yet to come, she and Malcolm deserved to have this moment.

Just this once.

Malcolm bent his head and took her lips in his, pulling her trembling form against him so she could be warmed by his heat. It had been well over four years since he had lain with a woman, and he felt as clumsy and nervous as a lad. Before his injuries there had been countless pretty girls willing to warm the bed of the great Black Wolf, thinking it an honor of sorts, or believing they would then forever be under his protection. He had enjoyed the attention, and had indulged in the soft company of more women than he could count. Once he was betrothed to Marrian, however, he elected not to shame her by lying with another, though no one would have thought less of him if he had. But the desire surging through him was unlike anything he had ever known. It made him feel strong and powerful and whole, it washed him clean of both his past and his future, so that there was only this moment, and Ariella, and the incredible, impossible realization that she wanted him. She seemed small and delicate as she clung to his shoulders, clad only in the thin fabric of her chemise, but he knew this frailness was illusory. The woman he lowered onto the mattress was stronger and more courageous than most men he had known. He had watched her smash her foot into a thief’s face when she thought she was about to die, because it was not Ariella’s way to succumb without a fight. He had seen her dress as a lad and train with men more than twice her size, always rising when she was knocked down, always striving to do better, because she believed that only through improving her own skills could she protect her people. She had swallowed her fury and sought out the Black Wolf because she had been told she must, and then she had hired him to help her people, even though she blamed him for their suffering. Ariella MacKendrick was a fighter, yes, but she was more than that, he realized as he swept his hands reverently over her.

Within Ariella’s small, slim body beat the heart of a warrior.

Ariella kissed Malcolm deeply as her fingers trailed over the warm steel of his massive shoulders, his muscled chest, the rippled plane of his back. She knew his body intimately, she was well acquainted with every jagged scar and pain-drenched muscle, yet she felt as if she were discovering him for the first time. Tonight he did not flinch with pain as she caressed him, but instead seemed to sigh into her hands, as if he hungered for her touch. He was solid and powerful beneath her palms, pulsing with heat and life and desire, and she wanted him with an intensity that was frightening. Each time her hands surged over the hard, sinewy curves, she longed to know him even more, to explore the areas of him that until now had been forbidden, to memorize every detail. She felt small as she lay against him, small yet wonderfully safe, as if nothing could possibly harm her while she was wrapped in Malcolm’s arms. But she was also restless with a need she did not understand, a hunger to be touched more, kissed more, to have his heat envelop her, until there was nothing except her and Malcolm and the wall of fire raging around them.

Malcolm tore his mouth from Ariella’s lips to kiss her cheek, her chin, the ivory silk of her throat. He touched her through the thin fabric of her chemise as he inhaled the heather-sweet scent of her, driven mad by the barrier, which he knew he could rip open with one firm pull. Instead he laid his hand against her slim ankle and began to edge the garment up, heavily aroused by the softness of her calf, the smooth bend of her knee, the creamy length of her thigh. He nuzzled her chemise off her shoulder and trailed hungry kisses over her, peeling the fabric away as he tasted her, until finally the lush swell of her breast was rising and falling beneath his lips. He flicked his tongue over the coral tip, then took her in his mouth and gently sucked, causing her to inhale with startled pleasure. Her hands threaded into his hair, holding him there, offering herself, so he lingered over the velvety peak, bathing it with hot caresses, until finally he pulled away to give equal attention to her other breast. As he took her into his mouth again, his fingers moved up the soft passage of her inner thighs and gently entered the satin-slick heat of her. She gasped, and he moved up to kiss her mouth once more, tasting her deeply as his fingers caressed the sleek wet petals. She was gloriously hot, and he took his time with her, caressing her slowly, then faster, exploring her reverently, then hungrily, until finally she was raising herself to him and moaning against his mouth.

Ariella was on fire, and with every stroke and kiss the flames burned hotter. She clung to Malcolm with breathless desperation, her hands roaming frantically over the hard breadth of his back, wanting more of him, wanting to feel his heat meld with hers until they were one.
He is not the one,
she reminded herself hopelessly as he rained kisses against her throat, her breasts, the warm flat of her stomach, easing her chemise down until finally he stripped it off and cast it onto the floor. Then he was hovering over the downy softness between her thighs, his breath blowing warm against her. Suddenly uncertain, she tried to roll away, but he clamped his hands around her wrists and held her fast while his tongue flicked inside. She gasped in surprise, but he did not give her time to resist, for his tongue was inside her again, tasting her in quick, feathery strokes. Pleasure washed through her, like warm honey pouring through her veins, and she released the breath she was holding and sank deeper into the softness of the mattress, surrendering to his unbearably glorious caresses. His kiss grew more languid, he tasted every intricate fold of her, lightly, delicately, until a soft moan escaped her throat and she began to writhe against him. He released her wrists to ease one finger inside her, then two, and began to thrust them gently, in exquisite cadence with the stroke of his tongue. Her body became taut and restless, her fingers threaded into the dark fall of his hair, then immediately abandoned him to grip the sheets as her breath escaped her lips in shallow gasps. Just when she thought she couldn’t bear it a moment longer, that she would surely die from the sensations surging through her, Malcolm raised himself over her, covering her with his strength and heat.

A hollow, lonely ache had blossomed inside her, making her feel empty.
This is the man who might have been my husband,
she thought, feeling an agonizing sense of loss. She wrapped her arms around his neck and raised her hips until she felt the velvet tip of him pressing against her. The lines of his face were carved in deep grooves as he studied her, sharing her desolation. Then he was filling her, stretching her, banishing her emptiness. He withdrew and then entered her again, slowly, gently, giving her time to accept him. His blue eyes were smoldering as he stared down at her, desire mingled with a terrible sadness, a grief so intense she wanted to weep, for him, for her, for the intolerable cruelty of a life that had cheated them both of what might have been. He paused, his body half joined to hers, and raised his hand to caress her cheek with aching gentleness.

“Ariella,” he murmured, his voice rough. Then he lowered his lips to hers and finished in a ragged whisper, “My love.”

A flash of pain streaked through her as he joined her body to his, a melding of flesh and blood and soul. She gasped into his mouth, clinging tightly to him. He did not move, except to stroke her cheek as he whispered soft, soothing words into her ear. Tears welled in her eyes, not because of the pain, but because in that moment her heart tore in two, and she did not think she could bear it. Malcolm continued to whisper to her as he pressed kisses against her damp eyes, her cheeks, her throat, soothing her with his low, patient voice, revealing a gentle empathy she had not known he was capable of. She wished he was oblivious to her suffering, that he would simply satisfy himself and be done with it. Instead he continued to hold her, and kiss her, and comfort her, until she thought she would die from the agony of it. Tomorrow he would be gone, and she would be forced to marry another and lie in his arms and try not to remember this glorious, heartbreaking moment. She inhaled a deep, ragged breath, fighting for control, fighting to stop the tears that were leaking in hot streams down the sides of her face. Her distress caused him to grind his mouth against hers with savage possessiveness, and a ripple of heat coursed through her once again. He began to pulse gently within her, stirring the flames of passion. She ran her hands across his straining shoulders, the gentle slope of his spine, the firm curve of his hips, touching him everywhere as she kissed him with frantic, hopeless need, trying to eradicate all thought of the past, and the future, and anything beyond this fire-washed moment. A new sensation began to bloom within her, one of heat and hunger and longing; it mingled with her sadness and made her kiss him harder as she lifted herself to him, wanting more of him, wanting him to be a part of her, wanting to lose herself completely to the storm raging between them. His hand slipped down and he began to stroke her, until pleasure was flowing hot and fast through every fiber of her body, until she grew taut with a desire that obliterated everything except the hard warmth of Malcolm stretched over her, filling her, enveloping her, flooding her with need. She wrapped her arms around him and held fast, her breath a series of tiny, fragile whimpers as she rose higher and higher, thinking she could not bear it another moment yet still wanting more, feeling him become a part of her with every rapid thrust and stroke and kiss, until finally she no longer knew where her flesh ended and his began. And then, just when she thought she was about to die from the unbearable pleasure raging through her, she began to shatter, like a star bursting in the night sky, illuminating the world around her in silvery shards of light. She cried out his name, a cry of joy and wonder, and clung to him, feeling whole and safe, knowing nothing could harm her as long as she remained in Malcolm’s arms.

Her body gripped him with liquid velvet, stripping away the final fragments of his self-control. Malcolm crushed his mouth against hers as he drove himself deep inside her, feeling her cries echo in the back of his throat, drinking in the sweetness of her pleasure as he thrust into her again and again, losing himself completely to the incredible magnificence of her. Her ecstasy made him feel strong and alive; it washed away the dark years of bitterness and pain with a clear, cooling wave, unveiling the man he had once been. Deeper and deeper he buried himself, losing himself in Ariella’s strength, her courage, her resilience, feeling himself become a part of her, and wanting to stay like this forever. Finally he could bear no more. He wrenched his mouth from hers to call out her name, a husky plea and a solemn oath, because in that brilliant, wondrous moment as he filled her with heat and need, he knew with piercing clarity that he would never let her go.

The chamber fell silent except for the hoarse rasp of their breathing and the occasional snap of the fire. They lay twined together, still one, unwilling to speak for fear it would snap the silken bonds that held them together. Ariella clung to Malcolm with hopeless despair, feeling his heart beating firmly against her breast as she fought the tears welling in her eyes. She had never imagined it would be like this. Nothing in her life had prepared her for anything so glorious, or so painful. She no longer wanted to be Ariella MacKendrick, guardian of the MacKendrick sword. She wished she had been of ordinary birth, with the right to select whomever she liked as her husband. Maybe then she could have overlooked Malcolm’s failings and weaknesses. But she was a woman with a solemn duty to her people, and her feelings were of no consequence. She inhaled a ragged breath, feeling lost and empty, when but an instant ago she had been flooded with joy.

Malcolm raised his head from the fragrant silk of her hair to study her. He frowned at the tears leaking from her eyes, then lifted his hand to capture them with his fingers. She turned away, unable to bear his scrutiny.

“You think I am unfit to be laird of your people,” he murmured as he grasped her chin, forcing her to look at him. “But I swear to you, Ariella, I will not let harm come to them. Do you understand?”

His eyes were burning with intensity, his expression grave, and she did not doubt the solemnity of his vow. But she knew he lacked the ability to uphold it. It was that irrefutable fact, combined with the knowledge of his own clan’s slaughter, that caused her to close her eyes, unable to meet his gaze.

“You cannot stay, Malcolm,” she whispered painfully. “You are not the one.”