Page 49 of Leila’s Legacy

He wanted to take her hands in his, to caress the smoothness of her skin as they talked, to reassure her. Her claim, however, stayed his affections. How could any woman trust a man she anticipated would cause her harm?

“How often have ye had visions of me?” he asked.

“Since I was a child.” She played with a loose thread on the edge of her sleeve, focusing on that instead of turning her gaze to him. “I have always had visions and dreams of you killing me. It was not until I was older that I realized I would also be your lover.”

Lover.

That word conjured carnal images of their bodies splayed on his bed, glistening with sweat and panting with exhaustion. He ground his teeth. “How do ye know ’tis a vision when ye have it?” His demand came out with a steadfast denial even he was able to detect.

“I feel it.” She closed her eyes and her face went serene with apparent concentration. “It tingles warmth through the back of my neck and spreads everywhere with a sense of calm. I see it all around me as though I were existing in another place and time, rather than where I presently stand. I can feel the ground beneath me, the wind blow and I can smell whatever scent the air carries. I am there, even though I am not.”

“How?” he asked.

She opened her eyes. “I know not. It has always been a part of me, and I’ve always loathed it. I am helpless to control what I see, what I experience.” She shuddered.

This time, he did lift her hand. The connection between them was instant, alive with a pleasant tingle.

“How?” he said again. “How do ye anticipate I will kill ye?”

She stared into his face with more tenderness than he would ever use to gaze upon his own killer. “Are you certain you wish to know?”

“Aye.” If he knew, he could prevent himself from doing it. No matter the cost. He would die rather than take her life.

“Drowning.”

Drowning? The death of a witch.

Niall shook his head vehemently. “Nay. Ye canna be correct.” He pulled on her hand to bring her closer to him again and folded his arms around her, as though he could protect her from everything. Including himself.

He reveled in her petite body that he knew possessed the strength of a warrior, in the cool smoothness of her hair that somehow always smelled clean and wonderful, in the determination of her spirit that he found even more beautiful than her external loveliness. “I love ye,” he whispered vehemently. “I would give my life rather than take yers.”

She lifted her face up and placed her hand on his jaw. Her gaze slid to his mouth and the familiar stirring of lust rose within him. She eased upward on her toes even as he lowered his head. They met somewhere in the middle, their lips connecting in a gentle kiss.

“I love you, Niall,” she said against his mouth.

“I’ll never hurt ye,” he vowed again.

She swept the tip of her tongue against his and any idea of speaking burned away with the flame of desire. Their declarations of love came in the slant of their mouths against one another’s, in the panting of their shared breath, in the arch of their bodies as they moved together with desperation.

Leila’s hands molded over his body, over his arms, his chest, down the rigid lines of his stomach. He groaned at her exploration, proud of the body she found so appealing.

He cupped her bottom with one hand, drawing her pelvis to his. She moaned into his mouth and rubbed herself against him in the most maddening, wonderful, enticing way. He kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear and along the length of her graceful neck as his fingers worked at the neckline of the kirtle. The gown was too big and gave easily under his touch, springing free her pink-tipped breasts.

Leila gasped and pushed her chest toward him, as though in offering. One he would gladly accept. He cradled the silky warmth of one in his palm and teased at the bud with his thumb. With the other, he closed his mouth over the pert nipple and flicked his tongue against the nub until it went hard.

Her hands clutched his head to her. He loved her pleasure, her breathless whimpers, the way her eyes grew heavy-lidded and sensual, the brilliance of her own passion for him. His fingers shifted from her bottom to the hem of her kirtle and then up to the shapely calf beneath it. The cries of her climax had echoed in his mind since the first time he pleasured her. He wanted to hear them again, to think of them later as he stroked himself.

Higher and higher, his hand crept up her long, lean legs. Quicker and quicker her breath came, in obvious anticipation. He ran his thumb against the side of her inner thigh, a breath away from her sex. Her leg quivered beneath his touch. He did the same on her other leg, teasing.

She gave a whimper of frustration and parted her legs wider for him. This time, he ran his fingers along her damp slit. She sucked in a sharp breath and her hips bucked.

“Is this what ye want?” He slid his touch over her, pausing at the top to gently swirl a circle over the little bud.

She gave a long, eager moan even as she shook her head.

Niall removed his hand from beneath her kirtle and cast her a questioning look. “Did I hurt y—”

Her finger came to his lips, silencing him. Wordless still, she reached toward him and slipped free the first button of his doublet. His heart slammed hard in his chest and thundered in his ears.

“Leila, I—”

She paused from her task of slowly, painstakingly working down the line of buttons of his doublet. “I don’t simply want release this time, Niall.” She undid the last button and pushed his doublet from his shoulders. Her smile curved up, edged with a wickedness that went straight to his cock. “I want you.”