AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Malcolm de Moray, Druid King of the Picts, was nothing like he’d imagined. Indeed, Sean had expected an older king, grey-bearded, poxed, and portly from too much ignoble excess.
The man swinging down from his horse couldn’t have yet seen five-and-thirty. He was tall and wide enough to merit such a giant steed, Sean could tell that even beneath the rider’s forest-green cloak and kilt.
“Christ,” he swore, hurrying over.
Sean couldn’t make the assessments he needed, nor could he remember the plots and lies he’d worked on. The king’s eyes were so mossy green and lovely in a face so raw with masculinity that the contrast rendered him speechless.
Locks of unruly russet hair fell over his braw forehead as he bent down to kneel beside Sean’s prone body.
“What happened to ye?” he demanded, ripping off his cloak and covering Sean with it.
So much for distracting the man with bare skin. He’d have to improvise.
The reasons Sean couldn’t answer him were two-fold.
First, because the cloak was fur-lined and sumptuous, retaining the warmth of his body and sliding across his cold, bare skin like a lover’s caress.
Second, because his shirt was unfastened to his torso, and Sean could see the swells of his chest and the dark shapes of his nipples hardened against the cold beneath the thin linen.
He was lean in the way that wolves were lean. Long limbs thickened with power and sinewed with grace, but also clinging to his braw frame in a spare, hungry way that made Sean wonder if he ate enough to support a man of his size.
Sean didn’t quite know what to do in the presence of such a male, let alone what to say, so he merely stared at him in an open-mouthed stupor.
“Are ye hurt?” The king made as though to put his hands on Sean, but then thought the better of it, studying him with shrewd, yet gentle eyes. “I doona see any blood. We’re ye attacked?”
“I—I don’t know,” he answered shakily. “I don’t remember anything. I just… appeared here.” Lies were more believable when peppered with the truth.
“Can ye move yer limbs? Yer fingers and toes?” The king queried, still squinting at Sean alertly from beneath a cruel brow.
“Aye,” he lifted his arm out of his cloak and wriggled a few digits.
“Were ye robbed?” he pressed.
“My head.” Sean touched a hand to his forehead. “’Tis pounding, but I feel no pain elsewhere, and I have nothing of value to steal.” Truer words…
“Perhaps someone came up behind ye,” the king murmured. “May I?”
At Sean’s nod, he reached out and threaded big, careful fingers in Sean’s hair, probing his scalp with the expertise of an experienced physician.
“Are you a healer?” Sean asked, turning his head so his lips brushed against the skin of the king’s arm.
“I have some experience with it,” the sovereign hedged, pulling his arm away. “I doona feel a lump, though that doesna mean one willna develop. Do ye think ye can stand? I’ll want ye away from here in case yer attackers return. There is much danger in these woods.”
“I’ll try,” he said weakly, allowing the king to help him upright. Immediately, Sean let his cloak fall to the earth, unveiling the pale expanse of his slender form.
Then he swooned.
Malcolm de Moray caught him easily, and tensed as their bodies met.
“Do ye live here in the forest with yer…woman?” he asked uncomfortably.
“I live alone,” Sean said against his chest. “I have naught but a cottage by the loch. Can I prevail upon you to take me there, sir? I don’t think I can walk all that way back just yet.”
Lifting Sean easily, he secured Sean on the back of his horse before bending to reclaim the wayward cloak. Swinging up behind, he wrapped them both in the fur, and pulled Sean back into the circle of his strong arms. “Lean against me, lad. Ye’re like ice.”
Sean leaned back, letting his head rest in between the grooves of a large chest. Pangs of guilt and conscience stabbed at his belly, but he brushed them away. Though he was handsome and gallant, Malcolm de Moray was still a man. Still weak and prone to temptation. He’d take what Sean offered, or maybe he wouldn’t even wait for Sean to offer.
Men took what they wanted.
