Page 35 of Dorchad

“Och, my lord.” He opened his eyes and feigned alarm as he glanced around him. “What happened? How did I come to the bed here?”

“You swooned in my arms.” Fifer looked down at him, still holding his palm against his brow. He then reached for a mug and brought it to his lips. “Drink. ’Tis broth to settle your stomach.”

Had he boaked? He couldn’t detect the stink of it on the air.

After taking a sip Kiamh grimaced. “Forgive me, I cannae drink now.”

The laird sighed. “You’re little more than bones and skin now, lad. Why do you starve yourself?”

“Sadness plagues me since last we spoke, my lord. ’Tis spoiling my appetite, I fear.” He pushed himself up, remembering to use his good arm, and gingerly touched his swollen bottom lip. “At present my accident caused a wound here. I must ask your cook to make soft foods for me until my mouth heals.”

The laird caught hold of his chin. “Show me.”

Kiamh took hold of his hand and brought his fingers to his face, using them to tug down his lip to expose the bite mark. “When I fell my teeth cut into my flesh. I’m glad, too, for I might have done thus to my tongue.” He drew back, using his teeth and lip to caress Fifer’s fingertips before releasing his hand. “I wish I could do something to repay you for all your kindness to me.”

The laird went very still, and just for a moment Kiamh was sure he would kiss him on the mouth.

“’Tisnae needed, lad,” Fifer said, rising from the side of the bed. “I wish you only to regain your health and find a new home. ’Tis a baker in the village that needs an apprentice, and shall provide room and board in return for his labors. In time he may turn over his shop to them. ’Twould provide you with a trade and a home.”

He’d rather send him to waste his life making barley trenchers and oat loaves than give into his own desires, Kiamh thought, bitterness filling him.

“If ’tis your command, then aye, I shall go.” He lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes, allowing two tears of frustration to slide down his cheeks.

The laird loomed over him without speaking, and then kissed first one cheek and then the other. Kiamh didn’t dare move as Fifer’s mouth drifted to the corner of his for a fleeting moment before he spoke.

“Your affection doesnae escape me, lad,” the laird said, his breath kissing his lips now. “I wish I deserved such, but I’m no’ what you think. I cannae take you as my leannan fireann.”

“So I reckoned, my lord.” He let his shoulders slump as if dejected. “You’re a powerful man, and I’m but an outcast with no kin.”

“’Tisnae about our stations.” The laird pulled him closer, holding him tucked against his chest. “I darenae indulge myself with you, for you’re wounded and lost, and wanting much more than I may give.”

“Ever shall I accept that which you wish to give, my lord.” He knew this was the moment that with any other man he could reach for his cock and stroke him until he spilled. Instead, he looked up into Fifer’s eyes, and let his own brim with tears. “You’re my every dream now, no matter what comes.”

For a long time the laird gazed at him, and then nodded and eased him back onto the bed. “We shall speak of such another time. I shall bid Cook to coddle some eggs for you. Rest now.”

Fifer left the guest chamber slowly, almost dragging his steps as he gazed back at him several times. Once he left, Kiamh reached for his own cock, which had grown so stiff only two strokes made him spill.

His desire for the laird provided a necessary proof of his affection, a pretense he would have to carry on until he completed his scheme. The MacAlen and MacRune seemed evenly matched, but when their clan war finally began Kiamh intended to secretly help Fifer and his men so they would prevail. Then he could finally have what he’d wanted for so long.

As he rose to change his trews, he smiled. Very soon Fifer would be his, too.

Chapter Nine

Rebecca woke in the darkness, her tired, damp body draped like a too-small blanket over Dorchad’s muscular perfection. How many times had they made love? She couldn’t remember, for the night had blurred into one long luxurious fusion of both sides of their pleasure. The chieftain had taken complete control of her, and commanded her to do things she’d never even considered with a lover. He made everything seem perfectly natural, as if they’d been created solely to make each other happy.

As she’d obeyed him he’d rewarded her so generously she’d almost drowned in satisfaction. Already she adored him, heart and soul.

He can’t love me back, but that’s fine. I can give him what he wants, and he completes me. That little pang of sadness was also something she accepted. Nothing could ever be perfect, especially for someone like her with needs that went beyond the ordinary.

Opening her eyes, Rebecca sighed and lifted her head to discover her lover was watching her with his drowsy dark eyes. For a moment all the grimness seemed to have vanished from his handsome face, making him seem much younger.

“Did I wake you?” she murmured.

“I dinnae sleep much.” One of his big hands caressed her nape, and then followed her spine down to her buttocks. “In slumber you make sounds like a wee kitten.”

She tapped his chest. “And you, sir, talk in your sleep.” His brows furrowed. “But I can barely hear you. Also, I squeak instead of snoring.” Her grandparents had thought that endearing, but they didn’t know why she did. “It was part of the injuries I had from the accident. Something hit me in the face and broke my nose.” She rubbed her fingers over the little bump in the center of her bridge. “That’s why it’s a little crooked, too.”

“I like your nose.” His fingers skimmed over the surgical scars on her lower back. “You suffered so much, and yet come to me so willing for more.”