Tamed By Your Desire Part 33

"No... I dinna think I am."

Fayth's gaze tangled with his and she couldn't look away. Her hand rested on his shoulder after touching his face, but she didn't move it, even though her arm ached with the effort of holding it there.

His arm slid more fully around her, drawing her near, supporting her weight so she didn't have to. His head lowered. He was going to kiss her. Why? Was it the fever? Had it affected his mind?

"Do you remember... before, when you kissed me?" he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.

Her breath caught and she gave a jerky nod.

"So do I. I canna stop thinking about it."

His voice, his words, disarmed her and she went limp. His whiskers brushed against her skin as he pressed a kiss against her closed eyelid. The kiss was as unexpected as his words and her breath hitched. He murmured something she could not understand. His hand slid up her neck, his thumb tilting her chin upward. He looked at her, she knew, though she could not look back.

His lips brushed against hers and the last of her strength was sapped away. His mouth was as hot as the rest of him, but she welcomed it, her own body always cold since her fever fled. Her mouth opened beneath his, pulling him deeper into the kiss. He dragged her against his chest, mindful of her arm. His tongue traced her lips and teeth before dipping inside. The wanting grew with each wild beat of her heart as he kissed her deeper still, sucking and probing her tongue and lips. No, the other kiss had not been a dream and nor had the fever been what had burned her to ashes-it had been Alex.

His hand, hot as coals, slid under her tunic, over the coa.r.s.e homespun of her s.h.i.+rt, until he cupped her breast. It seared her like a brand through her s.h.i.+rt, startling her so she drew back in surprise.

He pulled his hand away, but held her close, pressing his forehead to hers, his hand cupping her head. "G.o.d help me, but I can do little more than kiss ye right now."

Her vision was fuzzy and she felt as though she floated. "Why?" Her voice surprised her, rough, breathy. She wanted his hand back, only under her s.h.i.+rt this time, burning her skin.

"I fear I might faint from the effort." But he kissed her again, his tongue swirling against hers, drawing her into him. She wanted to stay that way, her weakened body pulsing with his strength, his warmth.

He broke away. Her head fell forward against his shoulder, quivering with desire. She tried to burrow closer, her face against his neck. He smelled of the forest and of the herbal poultice and wine Davie used to cleanse his wound.

"You don't hate me," he said. She could hear the smile in his voice.

She stilled, wis.h.i.+ng he would stop reminding her of Jack. His hands rubbed over her back and lower, skimming the curve of her bottom. Jack had never kissed her senseless-and she'd never returned his kisses with such enthusiasm. Shame filled her at the thought of Jack-that she would want to forget him, that she would compare him to Alex. He deserved better than this. She hadn't done her duty to him. As a Graham she was expected to avenge his death and here she was, l.u.s.ting after Red Alex.

What if Alex didn't do it? Her heart faltered. He didn't seem the type to murder indiscriminately.

"Did you kill Jack?" Once she whispered the words, she wished them back, but they hung there in the silence.

His hands stilled. He said nothing for a long while and a fear filled her, fear that he didn't remember, that he'd killed so many prisoners he couldn't put a face to them all.

"I'm responsible for his death."

She stiffened, drawing away from him. "Responsible? Did you order him killed? Or did you kill him with your own hand?" She was aware that her voice rose in anger and agitation, and something else, despair. She'd wanted him to say no.

He sighed, trying to pull her close again. "Fayth..."

"Let me go."

He dropped his arms, putting s.p.a.ce between them. She stared straight ahead, into the trees, aware that his gaze still rested on her.

"Aye, I killed him."

She was such a fool. She was disgusted by what she'd done, with how she still longed for him. "Get away from me."

"Fayth-"

"And don't ever touch me that way again!"

"Fine." He stood abruptly and paced away.

Fayth frowned hard, knowing that if she concentrated hard enough, she could turn the twisting ache in her chest into something else, something useful.

0="12"12.

LAINE SEARCHED the Graham/Carlisle encampment for Eliot. The one-armed man was enjoying his captivity a bit too much. He constantly played cards and dice, gambling money on loan from Lord Ridley Graham. Lord Graham had even brought a wh.o.r.e into camp for them. Laine had declined, but Eliot was with her for several hours.

Eliot claimed his behavior was all a fiction, meant to lull Lord Graham and Lord Carlisle into believing he was their please man. He told Laine of the offer Lord Graham had made him and that if they played along, pretending to turn Judas, they'd be set free. Then they could join Alex at Gealach. Laine had been reluctant at first. It would mean being civil to his father, and therefore his father believing he'd won. But Laine's objective was freedom and so he eventually caved in.

As it turned out, he'd not had to worry about spending time in his father's smug presence. Lord Carlisle stayed away from him and Laine had been forced to suffer no more than his hard, disapproving stares from across camp.

The past few days had been spent listening to Wesley Graham lecture him on their mission: the rescue of Fayth Graham. The man was a rigid taskmaster, testing Laine repeatedly and never satisfied. Laine had been shocked to discover Hugh was not Red Alex's nephew, but Fayth Graham, his father's intended. Why had Red Alex not told them?

"Because he means to keep it all for himself," Eliot had said, his beard dripping with grease from the feast he'd recently consumed. It appeared Eliot was not being subjected to the same level of training as Laine, a fact that troubled the boy greatly.

"He tricked us into helping him kidnap her," Eliot continued, "then pretended he wasna successful."

Laine shook his head at this skewed logic. "But we found her at the Dragon's Lair, remember? She was at liberty then."

Eliot picked a piece of gristle from his teeth. "Skelley was there. Skelley's in on it. Red Alex is going to reward Skelley and no one else."

But Laine thought this stupid talk and said so. Eliot had gotten angry and called him foul names. But he'd come back later, full of apologies and requests for him to pretend to believe the story so Lord Graham would set them free.

And so far Eliot was right. Wesley had just informed Laine they were free to leave. Laine would waste no more time in this nest of deceit. He finally found Eliot at cards again with two Grahams and a Carlisle.

"It's time to go."

Eliot didn't look up from his cards. "It's a bit late to be starting out."

"I'm ready to go."

"We'll leave in the morn."

Laine'd had enough of Eliot's behavior. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the cards from Eliot's hand and threw them into the fire. "I'm going now. Without you if necessary."

Eliot stared at his burning cards. "I was winning."

The other men laughed and patted his shoulder as he stood. He faced Laine with an air of boredom. "Fine. Let's go, then."

Laine was relieved, as he didn't relish a confrontation with Eliot. Eliot could be particularly nasty. He'd been strangely friendly to Laine since their capture, and Laine didn't know what to make of it. They were in this together, however, and having no one else to rely on, Laine didn't question his civility.

Eliot joined him by the horses. Leather sacks were tied to their saddles, filled with provisions-courtesy of Lord Graham. Laine supposed Lord Graham's hospitality and kindness might have seduced him, had he not known his own father so well. Any man Lord Ashton Carlisle held in high regard was not to be trusted. Even Eliot, a man hostile to nearly everyone-and at feud with the Grahams, besides-had become docile under Ridley's touch.

Eliot mounted easily, waving his hand at Lord Graham and Lord Carlisle, who stood outside the tent, watching them. Lord Graham raised his hand in farewell, but Laine's father put his back to them, his lips curled in disgust.

Laine turned his face away, his throat tight with humiliation. He abandoned me, as if what happened were my fault. And suddenly it felt as though he were to blame, that he'd somehow allowed it to happen-encouraged it... Fiercely, Laine put all thoughts of Father Rae and the monastery from his mind. It was over, he would never go back. He must be thankful his half-sister, Diana, had cared enough for him to send Red Alex to his rescue.