My men are fearsome, and they won the day…
But I fell.
And I’d been here ever since.
Lillian was still watching me.
“My sisters. Are they…?”
When she trailed off, I frowned, not understanding, and she shuddered and spun about, limping toward her tray.
“Are they what?” I asked.
She busied herself spreading more of that obnoxious goo on another cloth, and I glanced down at the one she’d wrapped around my arm. The burning had faded, replaced with a dull sort of numbness. I couldn’t feel my fingers on my right hand, and I prayed it meant the concoction was working…not that she was slowly killing me.
Here I was, dangling from the wall in some human lord’s dungeon, my muscles cramping and my knees weak, worried about being tortured to death by the most intriguing little pain-bringer…and my fookingKteerstill rumbled deep in my chest. It should have been focused on keeping me alive, but instead it was focused on Lillian’s scent.
Fook me, I needed to get out of here.
Once I escaped, I could worry about this damned arousal, this inopportune stirring of my cock beneath my kilt. I was never one to enjoy pain with my pleasure, and Lillian washere today to cause me pain…which means I was getting the world’s most awkward hard-on right now.
Thank the gods Lillian hadn’t noticed. She turned back to me, that cloth held between her hands, and stepped close. She stood between my knees, close enough I could grab her, were my arms not shackled. I could pull her to me, crush my face against her breasts, taste her skin…
I swayed toward her, my tongue darting out to brush against my tusks, wondering how she would taste.
“My sisters…” Lillian began again, lifting that cloth so I could see it with my good eye. She took a deep breath. “Are they honored partners? Are they Mates, or merely pawns?”
Before I had a chance to answer, she pressed the cloth strip—and the mustard poultice—to my right eye socket, now in ruins. The burning was immediate and I jerked my head away from her, dropping back as much as I could, my mouth open to roar in pain?—
But she didn’t release me.
Lillian held the poultice against my eye, which meant my movement dragged her against my chest, and she slapped her free hand over my mouth.
The shock of that movement, thattouch, stifled my roar more than anything else could.
She draped against me, one small, strong hand pressed against my ruined eye…one palm against my lips.
I don’t think either of us breathed.
Slowly, slowly, the burn in my eye socket turned to blessed numbness. And still we hovered there in tableau.
Lillian wastouching me.
I told myself she’d only done so to keep me from yelling and alerting the guard. But myKteerdidn’t listen; it was too focused on the feel of her, her body aligned with mine, leaning against me like this, her big blue eyes so close to mine…she wastouching me.
Finally, I felt her inhale slowly, and I—unable to resist—brushed my tongue against her palm. She flinched but didn’t pull away. Did she think I would make some noise if she did?
Here and now, I would sooner lose an arm than do aught which would cause the guard to come investigate why the laird’s daughter was draped across his prize prisoner.
So this time, when my tongue touched her palm, I took my time. I stroked her skin softly, tasting her sweat and calluses, wondering what sort of life she must lead as a lady of the Tarbert Keep.
And the whole time, Lillian watched me, her breaths shallow.
“Kragorn…” she breathed.
And deep in my chest, myKteerhowled with glee.
Had it only been yesterday I’d thought myself dead?
