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Authors: Hannah Howell
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her body in a caress just short of intimacy yet still creating a heady warmth.
For a few moments, Bethia simply took what he had to give, enjoying the heat flowing through her veins, the taste of him in her mouth, and the feel of his long, strong body pressed to hers. Beneath her growing passion lay a flicker of fear, but that only added to the excitement. Then he slid his hand up her rib cage and covered her breast. The sharp want that tore through her when he brushed his thumb over her already hardening nipple brought her to her senses concerning the danger she was courting. With a soft cry of alarm, she flung herself from his grasp and scrambled out of the bed.
The man’s health was certainly improved, she thought dazedly as she stood by the bed and stared at him. In the two days since the fever had broken, his recovery had been little less than amazing. Bethia realized it had been a mistake to keep sharing the bed, then soothed her guilt by reminding herself that there had been no other place to sleep. She took a deep breath to try to steady herself, fighting to still the faint tremor of want that still rippled through her body, and grabbed for her gown.
“’Tis warmer in the bed,” Eric murmured as he stretched out on his back and crossed his arms behind his head.
Too warm , Bethia thought as she felt an irritating tension replace the warmth his touch had left her with. As she laced up her gown, she looked at him. He was not as calm and relaxed as he wanted to appear. There was a tautness in his fine body, a heat glittering in his eyes. He wanted her. It was a heady knowledge—so heady that she was tempted to crawl back into bed with him. The fact that a man like Sir Eric would feelpassion for her, a skinny little wench with mismatched eyes, made the temptation he presented almost more than she could resist.
She grasped frantically at some sensibility and strength as she hurried to light the fire. She had not had any of her questions about him answered yet. Bethia knew she had allowed concern for his health let her be diverted from her determination to find out more about him. But, she thought as she heard him dress and slip outside, his health was restored. They would leave tomorrow and she did not know much more about him than she had when he had first ridden into view.
Once they had broken their fast and she had tended to James’s needs, she carried a stool over to the bed and sat down. Eric, sprawled on his back on the bed and looking far too fine for her peace of mind, turned his head and eyed her warily. He would talk to her now or she would do her best to see that he did not get any more chances to steal even the smallest of kisses.
Eric studied Bethia’s small face and inwardly grimaced. Several times since he had roused from his fever, she had gently tried to get him to talk about himself. It was clear that she would no longer be gentle. He felt the sharp bite of frustrated need in his body and sighed. It was something he supposed he ought to get used to, for after he answered her questions, she would probably be even harder to seduce than she was now.
“I think ye ken more about me than anyone outside of Dunnbea,” Bethia said, “yet I ken verra little about you, Sir Eric. Dinnae ye think that should change?”
“Mayhap I havenae said much because I am certain ye willnae like what ye hear,” he replied.
“Probably not, but I think I need to hear it. Why is it that ye dinnae seem to ken anything about your mother’s kin?”
“A good start,” Eric muttered. “My father thought I was a bastard got upon my mother by the Murray laird. I was still warm from my mother’s womb when he had me taken to a hillside and left to die.” He smiled grimly when Bethia gasped and paled. “Aye, the laird of Dubhlinn was a hard bastard. He was also a fool. If he had but taken a good look at me he would have seen that I was indeed his spawn. The mark on my back?”
“That wee heart?”
“Aye, ’tis
For a few moments, Bethia simply took what he had to give, enjoying the heat flowing through her veins, the taste of him in her mouth, and the feel of his long, strong body pressed to hers. Beneath her growing passion lay a flicker of fear, but that only added to the excitement. Then he slid his hand up her rib cage and covered her breast. The sharp want that tore through her when he brushed his thumb over her already hardening nipple brought her to her senses concerning the danger she was courting. With a soft cry of alarm, she flung herself from his grasp and scrambled out of the bed.
The man’s health was certainly improved, she thought dazedly as she stood by the bed and stared at him. In the two days since the fever had broken, his recovery had been little less than amazing. Bethia realized it had been a mistake to keep sharing the bed, then soothed her guilt by reminding herself that there had been no other place to sleep. She took a deep breath to try to steady herself, fighting to still the faint tremor of want that still rippled through her body, and grabbed for her gown.
“’Tis warmer in the bed,” Eric murmured as he stretched out on his back and crossed his arms behind his head.
Too warm , Bethia thought as she felt an irritating tension replace the warmth his touch had left her with. As she laced up her gown, she looked at him. He was not as calm and relaxed as he wanted to appear. There was a tautness in his fine body, a heat glittering in his eyes. He wanted her. It was a heady knowledge—so heady that she was tempted to crawl back into bed with him. The fact that a man like Sir Eric would feelpassion for her, a skinny little wench with mismatched eyes, made the temptation he presented almost more than she could resist.
She grasped frantically at some sensibility and strength as she hurried to light the fire. She had not had any of her questions about him answered yet. Bethia knew she had allowed concern for his health let her be diverted from her determination to find out more about him. But, she thought as she heard him dress and slip outside, his health was restored. They would leave tomorrow and she did not know much more about him than she had when he had first ridden into view.
Once they had broken their fast and she had tended to James’s needs, she carried a stool over to the bed and sat down. Eric, sprawled on his back on the bed and looking far too fine for her peace of mind, turned his head and eyed her warily. He would talk to her now or she would do her best to see that he did not get any more chances to steal even the smallest of kisses.
Eric studied Bethia’s small face and inwardly grimaced. Several times since he had roused from his fever, she had gently tried to get him to talk about himself. It was clear that she would no longer be gentle. He felt the sharp bite of frustrated need in his body and sighed. It was something he supposed he ought to get used to, for after he answered her questions, she would probably be even harder to seduce than she was now.
“I think ye ken more about me than anyone outside of Dunnbea,” Bethia said, “yet I ken verra little about you, Sir Eric. Dinnae ye think that should change?”
“Mayhap I havenae said much because I am certain ye willnae like what ye hear,” he replied.
“Probably not, but I think I need to hear it. Why is it that ye dinnae seem to ken anything about your mother’s kin?”
“A good start,” Eric muttered. “My father thought I was a bastard got upon my mother by the Murray laird. I was still warm from my mother’s womb when he had me taken to a hillside and left to die.” He smiled grimly when Bethia gasped and paled. “Aye, the laird of Dubhlinn was a hard bastard. He was also a fool. If he had but taken a good look at me he would have seen that I was indeed his spawn. The mark on my back?”
“That wee heart?”
“Aye, ’tis
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