Page 43 of A Touch So Wicked

“It was…I never dreamed…sweet Mother! You’re an Englishman.”

Damian grinned. “I never presumed to be anything else. Deny it all you want, but I did give you pleasure. You’re too inexperienced to pretend.”

Elissa looked away. “Aye, to my everlasting shame, I did find pleasure in your arms.”

Damian went still. “You found that shameful? Is that how you’d describe what we did?” His expression hardened. “If I remember correctly, you came to me tonight. Is there a hidden reason behind your capitulation? An agenda I’m not aware of?”

Elissa’s heart fluttered. He mustn’t become suspicious. “Oh, nay, nay!” she denied. “I came to your chamber because I wanted you. I wanted to know pleasure, and I wanted you to give it to me.”

The reality behind her words gave her momentary pause. Was it true? Had she secretly wanted Damian to make love to her? No wonder she was consumed with guilt.

“Why don’t I believe you?” Damian murmured, nuzzling her neck. “You’re here, however, no matter what your motive, and the night is still young.”

Elissa’s eyes widened. “You mean…again? Is that possible?”

“Trust me.”

He rose and padded barefoot to the washstand. She watched warily as he poured water into a bowl, wet a cloth, and returned to bed.

“Relax, I’m not going to hurt you,” Damian said.

Gently spreading her legs, he wiped away all traces of blood and seed. Then he returned the soiled cloth to the washstand and joined her in bed. Elissa was too embarrassed to look at him.

“Look at me, sweeting.”

The plea in his voice was irresistible. Her chin notched upward as she stared into the glowing depths of his silver eyes. His blatant desire overwhelmed her. She started violently when he cupped her between the legs and pressed the heel of his palm lightly, insistently, against her core, his fingers stroking over silken inner folds.

“Soft,” Damian whispered, “so soft. I knew you’d be responsive. There’s a fire in you that pushes me over the edge. I burn for you, Elissa. Only you can quench the yearning within me.”

A voice inside Elissa cautioned against taking Damian’s pretty words to heart, for they meant nothing. They were enemies, and always would be. Then her thoughts scattered as Damian rolled with her in his arms and brought her over him.

“Take me inside you, Elissa,” he muttered thickly. Then he thrust upward, impaling her.

She felt dizzy, aching, as he brought her to the brink and held her suspended. Moments later she tumbled into paradise, her body pulsing with rapture. She felt him convulse violently, then go limp.

Elissa must have dozed, for when she awakened Damian was sleeping soundly, his breathing steady, his brow smooth and untroubled. A lock of dark hair clung to his damp forehead and she had the sudden urge to push it away, but she feared to, lest he awaken.

Easing herself from the warm bed, Elissa shivered, overcome by a chill that had nothing to do with the cool night air. She scrambled for her robe and pulled it on. Then she glanced out the window. The night was as dark as the inside of a tomb; a night designed for treachery. The moment of truth was at hand. Tavis had demanded that she kill Damian and signal him when the deed was done.

The knife! She had forgotten it in her chamber. With a start Elissa realized that killing Damian had never been her intention. She could still do as the Gordon chieftain directed and unlock the postern gate. But could she stand by and let Gordons kill Damian because she’d been too weak to do it herself? Who should she betray? Her clansmen or Damian? Could she live with herself if she didn’t align her loyalty with Tavis Gordon and his cause?

Indecision rode her mercilessly as she picked up the candlestick. She glanced at Damian. He was still sleeping. She took a step toward the window. So much depended on her. To betray Damian, all she had to do was show a light in the window and slip away to unlock the postern gate.

Bloodshed would ensue. Men would be slain in their sleep. Her own kinsmen could suffer. Was her honor worth the terrible loss of lives?

To whom did she owe her loyalty? To Highlanders who had been sadly abused by the English, or to the man who had just made love to her as if he truly cared for her? In her heart Elissa knew there was far more between her and Damian than simple attraction. She had succumbed to his seduction eagerly, had responded with a passion that had both appalled and thrilled her. She’d never known making love could be so rewarding for a woman, and she suspected she wouldn’t have enjoyed it had Tavis been the man loving her.

Nay, she wanted only Damian, her avowed enemy.

Her grip on the candlestick tightened. Her hand shook. Flayed by indecision, she couldn’t seem to take that final step to the window. The candlestick grew too burdensome to lift.

You’re a traitor to your people. The words reverberated in her brain. Only a whore would make love to a man, then heartlessly betray him.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, Elissa heard Tavis’s words reminding her of her father and brothers who had fallen at Culloden. Could Damian have wielded the blade that had slain them?

Her legs were leaden as she took another step toward the window.

Torn.