Not even if it meant he might have Rhian MacBeith in his life? Ah, well, that was a different matter.
Could he discipline himself to take up duties and responsibilities he loathed if it meant a treaty, an end to the slaughter, and the right mayhap to wed with Rhian? To live with her somewhere, either here or at MacLeod. Sleep with her in his arms every night. Feel the peace that came of being in her presence.
He could not fairly say what he would give in exchange for that. Quite possibly anything he had to.
She slipped into the chamber and swept him with one bright glance before dropping her gaze to the basket she carried. The swift look, though, betrayed much, as did the warm color in her face.
He could feel her desire. Rhian MacBeith, though, was not the woman to put herself forward or boldly express such desire.
Good thing he was bold enough for both of them. “Rhian—”
“How is that wound? Has it been bleeding?”
“Nay. The pain is less.” He did not want to talk about that. “Rhian—”
“Good. Let me change the bandages and get a fair look at it.”
He moved back onto the bed. It was where he wanted to be anyway, at least if she joined him.
She perched on the side of the bed and bent to him. He could smell her—the same scent that haunted this chamber and her pillow even when she was not here. Herbs and woman.
Her hands moved competently. “I will try no’ to hurt ye.”
He watched her work over him, the rise and fall of her lashes. The deep wisdom in her eyes. The luscious lips that betrayed the passion he’d tasted in her.
He waited till she smoothed the bandages before capturing her hand and bringing it to his chest. Och, and he could feel it, that almost magical sense of claiming and peace.
“Kiss me, Rhian.”
He thought she meant to refuse, make up some excuse, say she was there only to tend him. Instead she leaned to him, face bright. She pressed her mouth to his.
The taste of her defied words. Like ripe berries in summer, perhaps. A draught of cold water when he was dry. All the good things that had ever come to him.
He let her kiss him. For the space of twenty heartbeats he did, while he held on to his passion. She did it delicately and yet with heat. The combination fair turned him inside out.
Releasing her hand, he wound his arm around her and drew her down to lie atop him. They kissed and kissed, and kissed.
He wanted to memorize her. The taste and the heat of her mouth. The way her tongue flirted with his. Shy, and then unabashedly forthright. That was Rhian.
His Rhian.
He broke the kiss only to say raggedly, “Stay wi’ me tonight.”
She did not gainsay it. She did not play at being coy or pretend she did not feel what he felt. “I will.”
He threaded his fingers into her hair, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I do no’ mean just stay wi’ me. I mean, let me mak’ love to ye.”
“I will.”
No shadows filled her eyes now, no doubt. Only desire.
He’d already barred the door after she slipped in. The fire burned low and the gloaming crept in. Leith drew a breath, aware that his heartbeat shook his whole body. That he was being given a priceless gift.
“Lass. Beautiful, merciful angel.”
“Let us see,” she whispered, “just how merciful I can be.”
*
