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“Is that a challenge?”
He stared at her for a moment. “A warning.”
Again she thought not of her actions and reached out to run her finger down his cheek. “I do not fear you.”
His hand grabbed hold of her finger and he brought it near his mouth. His warm breath whispered across the sensitive flesh. “Are you sure of that?” He kissed her finger and then gently suckled the tip.
Her eyes turned wide, her mouth dropped open, and though she searched for a response all she could do was moan—in pleasure, not in pain.
“Let me taste you,” he whispered and captured her lips with his.
She thought to move away, her body already in motion, but his arms were quick and strong, wrapping around her and pulling her toward him. Her hands pushed against his chest, preventing close contact, and the feel of the soft leather over his hard muscled chest tingled her fingers.
His tongue rushed around her mouth and slipped between her traitorous lips. In an instant she was lost in the taste of him. There was no thought, no choice, just response, and she responded without reason. But then it made no sense, how she felt, how she ached, how her body tingled in the strangest places.
There was only a need, and she surrendered to it more completely than she had ever thought possible.
He ended the kiss with a gentle brush of his lips over hers before resting his forehead against hers.
“Think on what we have just shared and then sketch me so that you may understand it all.”
She answered breathlessly. “Aye, I will do that.”
Heavy footsteps climbing the stone stairs drew them apart, and Thomas soon entered the room with haste.
“A messenger approaches the keep,” Thomas said.
Magnus stood. “When you sketch this room, make certain to record the views from each window. Leave the trunks, I will see to them.”
“As you wish,” she said and watched as Magnus and Thomas hurried out the door.
She returned the items to the trunk except for the quills and paper Magnus had told her to keep. She refused to allow her mind to linger on their kiss or on the prospect of sketching him, though both thrilled her. She had work to do, and yet not only did her mind drift but her glance drifted as well, to the unopened trunk. She itched to discover what secrets lay in wait.
She attempted to ignore it while she sketched the room, concentrating on the view from each window as Magnus had directed, but her eyes were repeatedly drawn back to the trunk.
After several agonizing moments of fighting with herself, she surrendered to her own curiosity, kneeled in front of the trunk, and opened it.
A small blue wool blanket lay on top, and she gently moved it aside to discover several leather-bound ledgers. She removed one and carefully opened it. The handwriting was neat and small, and the text was French—a familiar name within the lines.
I gave birth to a fine son today after much pain, and though I continue to ache and feel exhausted, I also feel wonderful. He nestles in my arms, his fists tightly clenched, and he snuggles to me for warmth. He has claimed my heart, this tiny son of mine, and I will protect him well. He deserves a fine name and so I have decided to name him after my grandfather, for he was a courageous and fair man. I will call my new son—Magnus.
Chapter 15
Reena stared at the map in front of her, quill in hand. She had retired to her room over an hour ago and had yet to lay quill to paper. Her mind overflowed with all that had transpired in a single day, and she was now trying to make sense of it.
Talk during the evening meal was of the mysterious messenger. Tongues wagged and gossip spread, but no one had an answer as to who could have sent him. But Reena’s mind continued to wander to the kiss she and Magnus had shared.
She could not rid her mind of the taste of him. He lingered there and on her lips, warm and pungent, tempting the senses, and she responded to the vivid memories.
Her skin grew warm, her flesh tingled, and she ran her tongue slowly over her lips, reclaiming the taste of him. She shivered, and gooseflesh rushed to prickle her skin.
She shook her head, a firm, hard shake to clear her thoughts. She was foolish to dwell on a kiss. She had work to do and she was wasting time on nonsense. Magnus was lord of Dunhurnal and she was in his service. She certainly was not the type of woman he would love. He would love and wed a woman who would give him many heirs, tend to him and their children and his keep. She, on the other hand, wished to map, and that would mean travel. She had no time for love, and she did not think she was suited to be a mother. Adventure, travel, mapping was what interested her, and they did not go well with being a wife.
Or were they mere excuses she made for the stark cold fact that the Legend simply would never love a woman such as her?
She turned her troublesome thoughts to the prospect of drawing Magnus. His defined features were made for drawing, and she intended to do as he suggested—draw him.
Would she then understand him better?
