The Warrior (11 page)

C
onnor is the only hope for our clan,” Duncan said after taking her arm and starting
down the path. “Our enemies know this, and so should you.”

“My brother has been fortunate to always have your loyalty.” Moira failed to keep
the bitterness from her tone.

“He merits my loyalty—and yours as well,” Duncan said.

“Connor and I were never close as children,” she said.

“He kept his distance to avoid getting in trouble with your father,” Duncan said.
“One word of complaint from you, and Connor would be punished.”

Moira had always known, as children do, that her father favored her and her brother
Ragnall over Connor. But she never gave it much thought. It was just how her family
was, like her mother being dead.

“He must resent me,” she said.

“Connor never held it against you,” Duncan said.

As they walked, Duncan explained what dire straits the clan had been in when the four
of them returned from France. Though Moira had heard bits of this before, she had
been far away and absorbed by her own troubles. Duncan answered all the questions
she put to him about the dangers their clan still faced.

“Ye only had the one child?”

Duncan’s question startled her and brought back the old familiar ache.

“I conceived two other times, but lost the babes,” she said, fighting to keep her
voice even. “Sean even blamed me for that.”

“I’m sorry,” Duncan said.

It had been hard, very hard. Moira turned her face away and pretended to look up at
the hills until she could trust her voice again. Then, to change the subject, she
asked Duncan about their clansmen—who had married or died or had more children. Duncan’s
answers were exceedingly brief and uninformative.

“What of my former maid?” she tried again. “Rhona must be long since wed.”

“No.”

Ah well, Duncan was never one to engage in what he viewed as idle gossip.

Moira did not ask him why he left her, though it was on her mind. His question before
about Ragnall’s age had made her uneasy. She could not risk a discussion that delved
into their past and might lead him to discover her secret. Besides, she did not trust
Duncan to tell her the truth; nor did she want to hear his excuses.

And was there any answer he could give her that would make a damned bit of difference?
Was there anything he could say that would erase the suffering of the last seven years?
No, there was no point in upsetting herself. Her father had given Duncan the choice,
and he chose Connor and pursuing a warrior’s glory in France.

The past could not be undone.

When she and Duncan lapsed into a long silence, Moira did not mind. With Sean, every
conversation had been fraught with hazards. He had been so volatile that she had to
watch her every word, never knowing what might set him off. In truth, she found it
soothing to walk with Duncan and not talk at all.

Her body ached, and she was growing wearier with each step. She had been beaten, lost
at sea, swept down a cliff, and attacked by wolves. This time, when Duncan lifted
her off her feet, she did not object to being carried.

Before she knew it, he was setting her down in front of Caitlin’s cottage. Judging
from the way Niall’s eyes widened when she stepped through the doorway, Moira knew
she must look a fright.

“What ye need is a good long soak,” Caitlin said. “I expect ye don’t want to bathe
in front of Niall, even if he is your cousin—”

“Definitely not,” Duncan interrupted.

“Then you’re welcome to roll my washtub down to the other cottage.” Caitlin handed
Moira a small pot of a creamy substance that smelled of heather and honey. “After
you’ve bathed, have your husband help rub this salve on ye. It will soothe your aches
and pains from that fall.”

Moira swallowed. After she had already slept alone in the cottage with Duncan, she
supposed it was too late to confess that they were not married and ask Caitlin to
help her with the salve.

“’Tis a lovely salve,” Caitlin whispered in Moira’s ear while Duncan retrieved the
washtub from the far corner of the cottage. “I believe you’ll thank me in the morning.”

As she and Duncan went out the door, she heard Niall’s voice behind her, “But he’s
not her husband.”

“Hush,” Caitlin said.

Moira had a hundred scratches, and her gown stuck to her in all the places she had
bled.

“Ouch!” she said as Duncan peeled it off, leaving her in just her shift.

Before Moira could give him instructions, Duncan lifted her up and set her feet down
into the tub of warm water. She wiggled her toes and sighed. “Ach, it feels heavenly.”

Duncan held a towel up between them. “Do ye need me to help ye take your shift off
as well?”

She did not miss the hopeful note in his voice.

“No.” But her shoulder hurt so badly that she got stuck with the damned shift half
off and covering her head. “I do need a hand, but don’t look.”

One tug and the shift was over her head—and she was naked as the day she was born.
She winced as she dropped down to sit in the tub. The hot water made her scratches
sting for just a moment, then the heat began soaking through her sore muscles.

“Ahh, that feels good,” she said on an exhale as she leaned her head back and closed
her eyes. She heard Duncan pour in another bucket of water that he had heated over
the hearth.

“Shame I can’t tell everyone at Dunscaith how the captain of the guard waited on me
hand and foot better than any maid I ever had.” She smiled to herself. After a while,
she slit her eyes open to see what Duncan was up to. “Ye didn’t close your eyes!”

Duncan snorted. “Did ye expect me to?”

“Ye could at least pretend ye were,” she said and covered her breasts with her hands.

“Let me wash your hair for ye.” He picked up a long strand and twirled it between
his fingers. “Ye still have twigs in it.”

Her hair was so filthy that it itched unbearably. Keeping her arms crossed over her
chest, she sat up and leaned her head over. Duncan’s strong fingers massaged her scalp
as he washed her hair with the soap. It felt so good.

He gave her a folded cloth to cover her eyes before pouring the bucket over her head.
When he was finished rinsing her hair, Duncan eased her back and put the cloth behind
her head to cushion it against the rim of the tub. The gesture was so kind.

Tears slid down the sides of her face as Duncan rubbed her temples and then her shoulders
and neck. No one had taken care of her in such a long time.

“Shh,” he shushed her. “You’ve been a brave lass.”

Moira must have dozed, for she awoke with a start when Duncan said, “The water’s getting
cold. Let’s get ye out.”

She was too limp to fight him when he slipped his arm under her, lifted her to her
feet, and wrapped the towel around her. When she slumped against him, he scooped her
up and carried her to the bed.

“We’ve nothing clean for ye to put on.” Before she could gather herself to protest,
he removed the towel and slid her under the bedclothes naked. “Here’s a warming stone.”

“Mmmm,” she whimpered when he put the wrapped stone next to her swollen feet.

Moira fell asleep to the soft splashing of water. When she awoke, Duncan sat on the
edge of the bed wearing nothing except the towel wrapped around his waist. His wet
hair was slicked back from his handsome face, and the muscles in his arms and shoulders
were impressive.

Duncan eased one of her arms out from under the blankets and began rubbing Caitlin’s
salve over it. As he worked the salve in, warmth spread through the muscles of her
arm, and the fragrance of honey and heather filled the room.

Duncan glanced up and met her eyes. “Am I hurting ye?”

Moira shook her head a fraction. How did a man who looked every inch the powerful
warrior have such gentle hands?

She watched, mesmerized, as Duncan massaged each of her fingers and then her palm.
She stifled a sigh as he slowly worked his way up her arm, soothing every ache with
the magic in his hands.

Moira had never thought she would enjoy having a man touch her again. What was even
more surprising was that she longed to touch him. She imagined running her hands over
his broad chest and how the rough hair and hard muscles would feel beneath her palms.

She dropped her gaze to his hard-muscled belly. When she saw his shaft pushing up
against the towel, she did not feel the usual surge of panic and disgust. Far from
it. She wanted to remove the towel.

When Duncan tucked the arm he had been working on under the blankets and reached for
the other, Moira lifted it out for him. She held his gaze as he massaged her fingers,
one by one. Her breasts ached and her breathing grew shallow as he slowly worked his
way from her wrist to her shoulder. She wanted to drown in the longing in Duncan’s
eyes, to feel all the things he used to make her feel.

Before she could stop herself, she lifted her hand to his cheek. It was wrong to mislead
him, wrong to let him believe she was a whole woman who could give him all he wanted.
But she wanted badly to be whole again.

She had built so many layers between herself and her body to survive the years with
Sean. Bedding Duncan MacDonald would be altogether different. He was the only man
who had ever given her pleasure, and she desperately wanted him to awaken her body
from its dead sleep.

But could she give herself to him without losing her heart again?

“I’ve watched ye mulling it over,” Duncan said in a rough voice that reverberated
somewhere low in her belly. “Which is it, Moira? Aye or nay?”

Duncan waited for her answer, wanting her so much his hands were shaking. But, God
help him, he would not plead with her.

“’Tis a simple question,” he said. “Either ye want me or ye don’t.”

“Will ye hold me?”

He groaned. Must she make it so difficult for him? She’d had a rough time, and if
she wanted comfort, he should give it to her. He drew in a deep breath, lay down on
top of the bedclothes, and enfolded her in his arms. When she leaned into him, all
her soft curves pressing against him, he buried his face into her neck and breathed
in her scent.

“Your skin smells just the same,” he murmured.

When Moira put her arms around his neck, he decided that served as an aye and kissed
her. He did it slowly and deeply, savoring the taste of her. Her breasts, soft and
full, pressed against his chest as their tongues moved together in a slow, tantalizing
rhythm. On top of the bedclothes, he ran his hand up over her hip, down the dip of
her waist, and up her side until he felt the swell of the side of her breast. He needed
more.

He eased the bedclothes out from between them and groaned with pleasure as he pulled
her against him. Skin to skin, at last. His shaft throbbed against her belly, and
she was making those erotic little sounds that had always driven him wild with lust.
Duncan reached between them, his fingers seeking her damp heat.

“No! I can’t do this.” Moira struggled to sit up, but Duncan held her fast in his
arms. She let her head fall back and said, “I’m sorry, I thought I could.”

“What do ye mean ye can’t?” Duncan asked, keeping his voice low and calm.

“I want to,” she said. “But I just can’t.”

Duncan brushed a strand of wet hair back from her face. “Tell me why.”

Moira squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Duncan waited, and finally she said,
“Sean ruined this for me. I…”

The bastard
. Duncan finally understood. He took her hand. “But ye do want to?”

“I don’t know,” she said, turning her face away from him. “I do, but…I’m afraid.”

Could he do this for her? Was he strong enough to give her this and then lose her
again? To show her the pleasure of being with a man only to have her go off and marry
someone else again?

Ha, who am I fooling?
If Moira gave him the chance to touch her, to be with her, he would take it no matter
what hell came after.

“We’ll take this slowly, bit by bit,” Duncan said as he ran a finger up her arm. “And
we’ll stop whenever ye say.”

He leaned down and brushed his lips against the sensitive spot just below her ear,
then he whispered, “Remember all the things we did that summer?”

Moira remembered. For weeks, they found ways to please each other before she finally
persuaded him to take her virginity.

“It wasn’t me wanting to stop that summer,” she said, attempting a smile.

The side of Duncan’s mouth quirked up. “Now you’re hurting my manly pride.”

“I have a confession to make. I put a potion in your ale that night.” Moira had been
desperate. Duncan’s sense of honor had held him back, despite all her efforts.

Instead of being angry, Duncan chuckled deep in his throat. “Ach, lass, I was done
with being virtuous. Ye didn’t need a potion. I couldn’t have made it another day.”

Moira’s skin prickled when he leaned down and breathed in her ear.

“Will ye trust me?” he asked.

That was the question. After she had given him everything before, Duncan had left
her. She could not—
she would not
—trust him with her heart and soul again.

But she believed she could trust him with her body. In bed, he had only ever given
her pleasure, and she longed to feel that again. After all the suffering he had caused
her, did he not owe her this? All he had ever had to give her was lust and passion,
and that was all she wanted from him now.

“I’ll try,” she said.

Duncan began with the tips of her fingers. She felt his breath on each one first,
then the softness of his lips brushing the top—a powerful, passionate man, touching
her as lightly as butterfly wings. He was telling her that she could trust him to
be gentle.