Highland Barbarian Part 42

When the others finished their meal, Brice stood and leaned heavily on Meredith's arm.

"Would you like to continue to watch the men, my lord, or would you prefer the solitude of your chambers?"

"It was good to join my men once more. They have renewed my vigor."

He leaned closer and murmured,

"But I believe the silence of my room will not seem nearly as confining as it did earlier."

As they climbed the stairs Meredith was surprised at the strength in him. In no time he would be well enough to sit a horse and wield a sword.

She experienced a stab of momentary regret. For these long days and nights she had been given a special gift. She had been forced to watch him lie helpless, had gloried in his healing, and come to learn a great deal about the Highland Barbarian. He was a true warrior, who would not give up even when all were against him. He was a man of high moral principles, despite the legend and lies that had sprung up about him.

He was a man much loved by his people. And he was a man who had come to mean a great deal to her. When he was strong enough to return her to her people, she would miss him.

That thought shocked her.

She pushed open the door to his chambers and took his arm.

"I asked Mistress Snow to prepare your bed."

They crossed the sitting chamber, then entered the dimly lit sleeping chamber. A fire had been set in the fireplace. Candles had been lit in the sconces set along the wall. The snowy linens had been turned down in preparation for his return.

She eased him down until he was sitting on the edge of the bed.

"I will be in your sitting chamber, my lord. If you desire anything, you need only call to me."

"Do not leave me."

When a look of pain touched his features, she knelt before him, her brow furrowed with concern.

"You are unwell. Where does it hurt, my lord?"

"Here." He touched a hand to a spot on his chest.

"But you were not wounded there." As she reached up he caught her hand and pressed it to his heart.

"Can you feel it?" His voice was low, hushed.

"Feel what?"

"The way my heart thunders when you touch me."

"My lord..."

As she tried to pull away he caught her hand and held it, palm flat against his chest. Though he held her as tenderly as a fragile flower, she could feel the carefully controlled power in his grip.

His words were softly seductive.

"You said that if I desire anything, I need only call you."

"Aye, but..."

"I desire you, Meredith. You are the first thing I see when I awake, and the last I see before I close my eyes. Even in my dreams you are there, touching me, arousing me. All these long days and nights I have wanted you. And now that I am strong enough, I want to show you how I feel."

"You must not..."

"I cannot let you go, my lady."

"I believe I have something to say about that."

"Nay." His voice was gruff.

"You do not."

He pulled her firmly against him. She brought her hands to his chest as if to hold him at bay. But it was already too late. His mouth covered hers.

This was no tender kiss, no gentle brus.h.i.+ng of mouth to mouth. With an urgency that stunned them both, Brice poured out all the longing, all the needs, that had been building inside him for so long.

What was even more shocking, Meredith returned his kiss with a pa.s.sion that left them both reeling.

Where had it come from, this need, this hunger? How long had it been growing inside them?

When they should have pulled apart they continued clinging to each other, his mouth avid, seeking, her mouth hungry for more.

"I want you, Meredith. G.o.d in heaven, how I want you."

At his words she went very still. For days now, while she had hovered about his still form, praying that he would find the strength to recover from his wounds, she had known. No other man would ever mean as much to her as Brice. No other man could touch her with a single word, a single look.

But wanting someone was not enough. If she gave herself to the Highland Barbarian, she would be sullied in the eyes of every other man in Scotland.

And yet, her heart whispered, even that would no longer matter. There was no other man in all of Scotland who could ever own her heart.

There was only this man. Her love for him crowded out all other thought.

She continued to kneel, trapped between his knees, while he rained kisses on her upturned face. His lips skimmed the corner of her lips, her cheek, her temple.

The need for her was an ache far worse than anything he had experienced during his long recovery. The need for this woman clawed at his insides until he was nearly mad with the pain.

He had to have her. Or die trying.

Standing, he caught her hand and brought her to her feet. With his hands on either side of her face he studied her in the glow of the candles.

"I want you, Meredith. I love you, little firebrand." His love was the one thing she could not fight.

With a little moan she offered her lips to him.

"And I love you, Brice." She moaned.