Her One Desire by Kimberly Killion

of a man’s hand upon her breast, but Edlynn had explained that a woman desires as much as a man. That she yearns in secrecy to be held and caressed and sometimes she wants to be trea-sured. Lizzy had no doubt this is what desire felt like. Footfalls whispered outside the door.
    Rolling to her side, she pulled the wool to her neck and positioned herself as close to the edge as she could without falling off.
    A click announced his entry. The fresh clean scent of juniper and mint flooded her senses, then came the rustle of garments. He groaned, and she thought of his wounds. His body needed rest more than hers. She should be sleeping on the floor. She looked down at the wooden slates dusted with dirt and bits of rushes and cursed her selfishness. Guilt would eat at her the entire night and neither of them would be of worth on the morrow. Mayhap she could bargain with him. He’d proven to be a man of his word. Her stomach churned with nerves as she stared at the small yellow flame flickering atop the candle stub. “M’lord, if you sleep on top of the coverlet, I see no reason we cannot both be well rested come the morrow.”
    Long moments filled with only his breathing followed her offer. She could hear the nettles inside his mind forming a barb.
    “Scotsmen are known to be lusty barbarians. ‘Tis an unwise offer ye make without further stipulations.” His voice towered above her.
    She should have feigned sleep and left him to the floor. If he insisted she actually give him terms, then she would oblige him. “Vow you will not steal my virtue, and I will allow you to share the bed.”
    “Think ye I would have to steal it, do ye?”
    She didn’t have to see his face to know his eyes were alight with mischief. “I see arrogance followed you back from the cistern.”
    He laughed, only once, but ‘twas a chuckle just the same.
    “I suspect ye want my word?”
    “Aye.”
    A moment of silence prefaced his inhale. “I vow I will not take your virtue without your permission.”
    She scowled at the wall. She may not be a titled noble with lands and a hefty dowry, but she had every intention of entering Fountains Abbey a virgin, and she would not need the chastity belt to achieve that goal.
    The mattress fell with his weight. He bounced a little.
    “Tis soft.”
    An air of tension filled the space between them. He sprawled out his limbs, and her heart thumped against her backbone. He moaned, then turned. Not five breaths later, he rolled again. His arm knocked her shoulder. She caught herself before she fell from the bed.
    “Sorry, lass. ‘Tis small. Not half the size of my bed back home.” He twisted again. She wrestled with her lack of patience and controlled the urge to humph. The man liked to chatter. Mayhap if she talked to him he would settle. She turned toward him on her side and tucked her hands beneath her ear. He lay on his back with his thick arms crossed over his bare chest. The small candle flame cast crescent-shaped shadows over his muscles in an artistic design much like the symbol on his arm. “Your brother had a similar mark. Does it mean something?” His head turned toward her on the bolster. ‘”Tis one of three words that holds significance in my clan. Neart, Grd, and Onoir. ‘Tis the old language—Gaelic. My grandmum was born in the Highlands of Scotland and ingrained my kin with these words. Aiden was marked with ‘neart,’ which means strength. My younger brother, Ian, bears the word ‘onoir’ which means honor.”
    She reached out and traced the letters with her finger.
    “And what does ‘gra’ mean?”
    He stared directly at her, took two full breaths, and said, “Love.”
    Her throat clenched. She didn’t know why, but the intensity with which he looked at her and said that word made breathing difficult.
    “My brethren live by these words, protecting their country and their home.”
    “Tell me of your home.”
    He turned back toward the ceiling and closed his eyes as if drawing