Highland Barbarian Part 8

G.o.d in heaven. The man was practically naked. She was so stunned she started to push away before she realized what she was doing. At the movement his fingers closed around her waist, dragging her closer.

The hand holding the dagger was slick with sweat. She clutched it between herself and him, praying that she would not drop it in her nervousness.

Sparks shot from the fireplace, sending a tiny explosion of light into the room. Reflexively he moved, bringing himself even closer to her.

His face rested just beside hers, his lips brus.h.i.+ng a tangle of hair at her temple.

The nearness of the man was driving her to distraction. All her carefully laid plans were unraveling. With his lips pressed to her temple she was unable to think, to even move. Saliva pooled in her mouth and she forced herself to swallow. The sound seemed overloud in the quiet of the room.

He murmured something in his sleep and tightened his grip on her, drawing her firmly against him. Never in her life had she been this close to a man. Even one with all his clothes on.

With each breath his hair-roughened chest brushed against her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, creating a tingling sensation deep inside her. She was achingly aware of his hips touching hers, of the thigh that rested against hers. The hand at her waist was warm, so warm that she felt as if her flesh were on fire. The heat spread, radiating a warmth that threatened to engulf her.

Despite the thundering of her heartbeat she forced herself to listen carefully to the sound of his breathing.

Soft. Even.

It was time. Before she forgot who she was and why she was here.

Before she forgot that he was a monster who had killed Desmond MacKenzie and carried her off like a prize to be claimed. Before she allowed herself to be frightened by the presence of his dogs. It was time to buy her freedom even at the price of his life.

Her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger. Wet, slippery fingers. For one moment she allowed the knife to slip from her fingers while she wiped them on the bed linen beneath her. Then, picking up the dagger, she clutched it firmly and raised herself to her knees.

She lifted her arm and brought the dagger down with all her might. At the last second she closed her eyes. She could not bear to watch the blade pierce his heart.

Brice was dreaming. A beautiful woman dressed all in white was running toward him, her arms outstretched, her long dark hair streaming behind her on the breeze. He caught her and lifted her, pressing his lips to hers. Slowly, languidly, she slid down his body until her feet touched the ground. He could feel the press of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her hips, her thighs. His hands spanned her waist as he drew her closer. Suddenly she was pulling away from him. Her smile twisted into an evil leer.

Her hand snaked out. Instead of caressing him, she slapped him.

Hard.

Brice awoke, twisting away from the dark, angry vision.

Meredith felt the mattress s.h.i.+ft as Brice rolled aside. The dagger caught the edge of his shoulder, barely biting into flesh. Blood spurted and ran down his arm. She pulled the dagger free and lifted it again, intending to take better aim. But before she could once again plunge the blade her hand was caught and pinned in a grip of such strength she cried out.

He swore, loudly, viciously, as he crushed her small hand in his.

"You will drop the dirk or I swear I'll break every bone in your lovely body."

"Nay. I'll not submit to you." She was still on her knees, straddling his p.r.o.ne body, struggling for control of the dagger.

"Submit?" The word was a snarl as he rolled over, pinning her beneath him.

"You'll do more than submit, woman. You'll die unless you give up the weapon. Now."

He pressed a thumb to her wrist until the bones threatened to snap.

With a shriek of pain she let her fingers go slack until the knife dropped from them.

He picked up the knife and tucked it beneath the bed linens, then stared down at the figure pinned to the mattress beneath him.

"I thought it was a dream." His voice was low, dangerous.

"Had I not awakened in time, you would have killed me."

"Aye. You deserve to die for what you did." She felt the sting of tears and tried to blink them back.

Her hand was so numb she had no feeling in it. Had he broken it? She tried to move her fingers and felt searing, burning pain.

"What I did was avenge my honor." His hands continued to hold her roughly.

"Gareth MacKenzie has made false accusations against me, attributing crimes to me that he knows I could not have committed."

"What has that to do with me?"

"Nothing." His tone was abrupt, cutting off her protest. "My fight is not with you. You just happened to be a minor obstacle in the path of my justice."

"Justice. What you have done is far from just."

"Aye." He looked down at her and felt his anger continue to stir him, though it was already beginning to diminish.

"I had not intended to involve you in this, la.s.s. It just happened."

"Then you are honor bound to release me." She felt a moment of hope before his next words dashed it.

"The MacKenzies do not respect honor. They respect only strength. I have already told you. You will be the bait that lures Gareth MacKenzie to my lair."

Her heart plummeted. Was there no reasoning with this madman?

From the floor he lifted a s.h.i.+rt and tore a strip of fabric. With an economy of movement he wrapped the cloth about his wound and turned to her.

"Tie this.

"Twill stem the flow of blood."

She fumbled with the cloth and managed to secure the dressing. It was incongruous that moments ago she had been prepared to kill him. Now she was bandaging his wound.

A million hot needles pierced her hand as the feeling returned. He noted the way she tentatively wiggled her fingers.

"It's broken." Her voice was flat.

"You've broken it."

He stared down at her hand in silence.

Her tears started, and though she made a valiant struggle, they flowed freely.

She knew it was not only the hand that caused her to cry, but the knowledge that she had lost her chance to escape.

Moved by her tears he caught her hand in his and expertly ran his fingers over hers. His tone was gruff.

"Not broken. But probably badly bruised. If you lift a weapon against me again I will be even harder on you."