Forbidden by Sophia Johnson Page A

he
positioned her where he wanted her, he moved beneath her, rubbed
her cleft over his intimate areas, her thighs over him.
    Heat flirted with her again, for her woman’s
flesh felt every least bit of him. That thing was changing form
again, too. She bent her head and peered at it. Aye. It did not
look the same as earlier. Nor did if feel as hard as when he took
her. She held to his shoulders. Why was he doing this? He did not
seem inclined to kiss or touch her in any other way.
    Finally he stopped, for the wounds stopped
flowing. Bloodstains were on her thighs, her nether lips. Blood
smeared the sheets, too, as well as his rod and ballocks. She
nodded. Understood.
    “Aye. My sire will have the stained sheets he
demanded.”
    His voice was so very grim. He stood then
wrung cold water from the cloth in the basin and approached
her.
    “Open.”
    “What?”
    “I would cleanse ye as if ‘twas ye who had
bled. Just enough to show I aided ye.”
    “I can do it.”
    “Nay. Likely, ye would wash my hard-earned
labors away. Fall back,” he commanded.
    She did, pulling her pillow to cover her face
as he dabbed at her legs, her core. Though she had not been a
virgin, the cold cloth soothed skin that had been unused to such
activity. When he was done, she slapped the pillow down to cover
her private parts. Something rolled and tangled in her curls.
    “Ack! A varmint has nestled in my hair!”
    She bolted up, swatting at her head, sure
that some creature lodged there. Whatever it was, it bounced
against Ranald.
    “What the...?” He rolled it around in his
hand then scowled at her. “Yer intent was to play the virgin?”
    “Blessed Saints!” She craned her neck to see
the object. ‘Twas the forgotten vial Hannah had given her. It was
red. “When you arrived at the door, Hannah secreted it under my
pillow and told me to use it. I did not know what it was or when I
was supposed to do something with it. Please, forgive me.”
    She watched his fist tighten around the vial
until his knuckles gleamed white as a peeled onion. Did he think
she told an untruth? She hoped not, for she already had much for
him to forgive. To her surprise, he laughed. Was he daft?
    “I stabbed myself for naught. ‘Tis good the
blade was clean. I would hate to die from a festering wound of my
own making.”
    Catalin could not believe he was doing so
much to save her from scorn.
    “What will happen when a babe arrives afore
it should?”
    “When did Moridac come to yer bed?”
    “The night before he went hunting and was
gored.”
    “I will claim ‘tis mine. If he looks like
Moridac, he will look like me. If I say the child is mine, who can
say me nay?”
    “You would do this for Moridac’s child? For
me?”
    Ranald heaved a sigh filled with sadness.
    “Wife, I doubt ye have changed so verra much
over the years. My brother had a silver tongue. As young men, I
heard more than one lass talked into putting aside caution. I doubt
not he argued what did it matter when ye were to wed? ”
    “Two days afore the wedding. But I should not
have listened. The sin is still mine.”
    Though he held his anger in check, she saw he
seethed with it. His eyes blazed in a tight face, his jaw was
rock-hard, his stance stiff. She swallowed before she reminded
him.
    “‘Twas that sin I wanted to confess and ask
the monk, uh, you, in the garden for forgiveness and guidance.” Her
voice wobbled.
    “Ye should have confessed to me, the man,
afore we swived. We would still be wed. Though I am deeply angered,
it is not at ye. Do ye think me so cruel I would not protect ye?
Now come, we must sleep. ‘Twill be dawn before ye know it.”
    With sharp bursts of air, he darkened the
candles. He thumped his pillow and settled back on the bed. Of a
sudden, he loomed up again. He hovered over her, studied her,
before dropping back beside her. She had sniffled. The bed ropes
creaked, strained then quieted.
    “Sleep. I willna thrash ye.”
    A deep, drawn-in sigh exploded from