strangled.”
A pang hit him in the chest. A new urge to hold her assailed him, and he gave into
it, much against his will. She’d been no more than a wee lass when such tragedy occurred.
Little wonder she’d clutched onto him as if her life depended upon it.
“You will be safe here,” he whispered. “This I vow.”
“Thank you,” she whispered into his neck.
Drake continued to hold his captive, swallowing against an odd need to hold her. Kiss
her. Had he sampled that mouth once before? One simple taste would tell the truth.
“Averyl?” he called as the wind whispered around them.
She lifted her face to him, and the moon broke free from the imprisoning black clouds.
Silver light illuminated her pure ivory features, the bright hazel eyes. Drake felt
his loins tighten as he lowered his mouth and took hers.
She stiffened and froze. Drake softened his kiss, despite the surge of hunger gnawing
at him.
He tasted the sea’s salt on her lips, as well as a hint of wine and something uniquely
her. Something delectable.
Something familiar .
Though he had solved the mystery of his dream, Drake held fast, savoring her lips,
again sweeping his mouth over hers. To his surprise, her mouth turned pliant against
his own. If her kiss was a ploy, so be it. He would feel the pleasure before her machinations
came.
But such thoughts were dangerous. His mother had nearly killed his beloved sire with
her honey-laced cruelty. He must not forget that.
Drake tore his mouth away. “I did not dream of another kiss, did I?”
Even in the muted moonlight, he saw Averyl flush pink. She wiggled free from his embrace,
and he released her.
“I— In my search for your key, you reached for me…”
Was that so? In his dream, he had been the one to seek her mouth with his own, to
seek satisfaction in her body, true. If their mouths had truly mated before she fled
the cottage, had he been responsible, not her manipulation?
Drake swallowed his uncertainty. He was not an uncertain man, and though her reply
made sense, he did not like that answer, one that meant she haunted him in his sleep.
“You did not find my boat, I take it?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Nay, as you can well see.”
Her bitter tone incited that ill feeling in his gut again. Though ’twas not guilt,
he vowed. Still, he had taken her from her family and future. ’Twas up to him to ease
her plight.
“I recall long days in Murdoch’s dungeon,” he said softly. “Freedom was a fantasy.
But on many days a ray of sunlight would penetrate the cracks of the castle walls.
I would oft concentrate so hard on that light, on my remembrances of the outdoors,
I could imagine myself there.”
In the moonlight, her eyes grew wide with recognition. “Aye. When the clouds parted,
I could see land, could imagine it beneath my feet, yet not reach it for the sea.”
“The Mull of Kintyre is but four miles west.”
Averyl shivered, and Drake draped his arm about her again. She stiffened until he
drew her small icy feet in his grasp. Her sigh shivered its way down his back.
How could he feel anger, protectiveness, lust, and remorse within the span of minutes?
Had he gone mad, or did Averyl bewitch him?
“Where have you put my shoes?” she asked, allowing him to keep her feet in his grasp.
“I found them not in my satchel.”
“I hid them for just this reason.” He shrugged an apology.
Did he feel contrite? Nay, ’twas lack of sleep. Naught else. Certainly not her allure.
Or his conscience.
“’Tis time to return to the cottage, Averyl. I mean you no harm, but neither will
you escape.”
“So you merely mean to destroy my future and Abbotsford?”
Drake shoved aside the damned ill feeling her words engendered. “Murdoch will pay
for his sins. You are his currency. Accept that, else we will spend many more nights
here, playing this game you will not win.”
* * * * *
The thud of footsteps
A pang hit him in the chest. A new urge to hold her assailed him, and he gave into
it, much against his will. She’d been no more than a wee lass when such tragedy occurred.
Little wonder she’d clutched onto him as if her life depended upon it.
“You will be safe here,” he whispered. “This I vow.”
“Thank you,” she whispered into his neck.
Drake continued to hold his captive, swallowing against an odd need to hold her. Kiss
her. Had he sampled that mouth once before? One simple taste would tell the truth.
“Averyl?” he called as the wind whispered around them.
She lifted her face to him, and the moon broke free from the imprisoning black clouds.
Silver light illuminated her pure ivory features, the bright hazel eyes. Drake felt
his loins tighten as he lowered his mouth and took hers.
She stiffened and froze. Drake softened his kiss, despite the surge of hunger gnawing
at him.
He tasted the sea’s salt on her lips, as well as a hint of wine and something uniquely
her. Something delectable.
Something familiar .
Though he had solved the mystery of his dream, Drake held fast, savoring her lips,
again sweeping his mouth over hers. To his surprise, her mouth turned pliant against
his own. If her kiss was a ploy, so be it. He would feel the pleasure before her machinations
came.
But such thoughts were dangerous. His mother had nearly killed his beloved sire with
her honey-laced cruelty. He must not forget that.
Drake tore his mouth away. “I did not dream of another kiss, did I?”
Even in the muted moonlight, he saw Averyl flush pink. She wiggled free from his embrace,
and he released her.
“I— In my search for your key, you reached for me…”
Was that so? In his dream, he had been the one to seek her mouth with his own, to
seek satisfaction in her body, true. If their mouths had truly mated before she fled
the cottage, had he been responsible, not her manipulation?
Drake swallowed his uncertainty. He was not an uncertain man, and though her reply
made sense, he did not like that answer, one that meant she haunted him in his sleep.
“You did not find my boat, I take it?” he asked, changing the subject.
“Nay, as you can well see.”
Her bitter tone incited that ill feeling in his gut again. Though ’twas not guilt,
he vowed. Still, he had taken her from her family and future. ’Twas up to him to ease
her plight.
“I recall long days in Murdoch’s dungeon,” he said softly. “Freedom was a fantasy.
But on many days a ray of sunlight would penetrate the cracks of the castle walls.
I would oft concentrate so hard on that light, on my remembrances of the outdoors,
I could imagine myself there.”
In the moonlight, her eyes grew wide with recognition. “Aye. When the clouds parted,
I could see land, could imagine it beneath my feet, yet not reach it for the sea.”
“The Mull of Kintyre is but four miles west.”
Averyl shivered, and Drake draped his arm about her again. She stiffened until he
drew her small icy feet in his grasp. Her sigh shivered its way down his back.
How could he feel anger, protectiveness, lust, and remorse within the span of minutes?
Had he gone mad, or did Averyl bewitch him?
“Where have you put my shoes?” she asked, allowing him to keep her feet in his grasp.
“I found them not in my satchel.”
“I hid them for just this reason.” He shrugged an apology.
Did he feel contrite? Nay, ’twas lack of sleep. Naught else. Certainly not her allure.
Or his conscience.
“’Tis time to return to the cottage, Averyl. I mean you no harm, but neither will
you escape.”
“So you merely mean to destroy my future and Abbotsford?”
Drake shoved aside the damned ill feeling her words engendered. “Murdoch will pay
for his sins. You are his currency. Accept that, else we will spend many more nights
here, playing this game you will not win.”
* * * * *
The thud of footsteps
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