The light outsidethe window faded to muted gray as they tangled together in the bed. Leith felt half afraid that if he moved too quickly or spoke too loudly, it would break the spell. For it was a spell of magic that brought Rhian here to him.
When she undressed for him, he lost all his breath. He’d seen her with her bodice open, aye. Had buried his face between her breasts. This seemed different. She shed her garments while resting her gaze upon him, revealing skin of pale white, those rosy-tipped breasts, and long, long legs with a triangle of auburn curls between them. When she came down onto the bed and laid herself against him, he thought he would die.
He did not deserve such a woman as this. She made him humble and hard as iron. A bewildering, if delightful, condition.
“Allow me to undress ye, Leith.”
He was not wearing much. No sark, since he’d not wanted to wrestle that garment on over his bandages. His kilt only, and his smalls beneath.
She divested him of both, using those soft, competent hands. She, being a woman of some knowledge, could not possibly mistake his condition.
Wrapping his good arm around her, he drew her down to lie on top of him. Slim and supple, she might make half of him in size. Likely twice of him in strength.
“Rhian MacBeith.” He gazed into her eyes. “I ha’ ne’er known a woman to match ye.”
“Ye do no’ know me, yet.”
“That’s readily mended.”
“I ha’ never been wi’ any man.”
“Ha’ ye no’?”
She shook her head, her gaze not shying from his.
“I’ll do my best no’ to cause ye any pain.”
Her mouth drew upward in a curious smile. She dropped a kiss at one corner of his lips and then the other. “’Tis my understanding,” she said almost teasingly, “desire takes awa’ the sting. If that be true, I will feel naught o’ pain.”
Whether she did or she did not, he heard nary a whisper of it from her, nor a complaint. Sighs, a moan or two, sobs of pleasure. A word or two of demand. When they joined…
But Leith had no words for that either, no way to express what felt to him like a holy experience. He understood the act of lying with a woman. A man brought his partner as much enjoyment as he could, and took his own pleasure in the doing. He might laugh with her along the way, and glory in the rush of it all. Naught more.
This, though, caught his emotions and drew them hard into the act. Just as if that longing Rhian had somehow placed beneath his heart was connected to what she felt, each movement and each caress. Her desire became his, and his became hers.
And when he slid into her and they became one—he wanted naught so much as to stay buried to the hilt for the rest of his life.
Aye, and that had never happened to him before either. Usually, after bedding a woman, he was off and away as soon as the pleasure peaked. He’d ascertain his partner’s state of body and mind, don his clothing, and leave her with a smile.
This could not be more different. This stole all his breath and half his sense. Claimed his spirit. Unwilling still to ruin the spell, he remained there inside her after he spilled his seed, and she lay beneath him as quiet as he.
He opened his eyes and looked at her. Her face lay just beneath his own, transfixed with some emotion he could not name. He knew, because he had felt it, that he’d brought her pleasure, waves of it that had drawn him more deeply inside her. He wanted no more from life than this.
Was it the same for her?
Words appeared in his mind, those he’d never spoken to any woman he’d bedded.
I love ye. I love ye right well.
Her eyes opened, deep, deep blue the color of a night sky. Breath surged into him all at once, and he knew he would never in a lifetime plumb the depths of this woman.
She said, “And I love ye also, Leith MacLeod.”
They realized at the same instant what had happened, that once again they’d shared what had been no more than a thought in his mind.
“Och, lass,” he whispered. “How can this be?”
“I do no’ ken. I do no’ care.” She dropped the softest of kisses on his bottom lip. “’Tis a wonder. But for ye to love a MacBeith and me to love a MacLeod—”
