Broken Highlander's Blood Oath (3 page)

Donan blasted the dank air before him with a foul curse, hauling on Xavier’s reins to send the stallion crashing off into the woods on the right side of the rutted road. The curse did not cause him to feel better, however he knew Shancy would watch his back, making certain Armand and his mercenaries followed him and not Lady Analise. It was certainly the best in the downpour, because Lord Armand was sure to miss the fact that one of the men he was chasing had turned off.

Donan waded Xavier a quarter-league into the woods, and then he pulled the stallion to a halt, waiting to be certain Lord Armand’s forces would pass them by. The rain was lighter underneath the thick coppice of trees and he adjusted his great woolen traveling cloak more firmly around Lady Analise. He'd covered her golden head, but it did no good in keeping her dry in the raining down pour.

They were both soaked through and she was shivering against his chest. He thought she could be in a faint by the limpness of her arms around him, and it was for the best, because the ride thus far had been hellish, and it looked not to improve for a long while. So as not to disturb her, if she were in oblivion, he refrained from attempting to comfort her with words.

By the rood, what could he say? Do not fear because you are held safe by a crippled man, who may or may not be able to dismount from his horse. Donan nearly laughed harshly at the lunacy of it ... at the sanity of him. What compelled him? However, he knew—saints, did he know, because it was curved and pressed against him so shocking that even his cock rose a wee bit to the occasion of a woman’s softness he’d not felt in five years. Yet, what good did a hardening cock do a man without knees?

***

Analise understood she was a coward, she’d known it ever since God had chosen to give her and her sister Cheval a stepbrother by the name of Armand and a stepfather named Gaul. It was not that Gaul was truly bad; he simply had no use for daughters and less for two daughters who were not his own. It continued to amaze her, even after the last eight years of proof, that a man such as Gaul, with his obvious but normal faults, could have spawned a devil boy like Armand.

It could have been possible that she and Cheval, the older by two years, would have survived Armand if not for the untimely death of their parents one year before. She and her older sister had built defenses against Armand. Together they had forestalled the young man who would not go so far as to endanger his accession to the baronage that their mother brought to him. However then, her mother and stepfather had died in a freakish accident last Michaelmas and all had changed as anyone with only one good eye could have seen would happen. It was then she'd truly become a coward.

So cowardly she would rather linger in semi-consciousness than discover the true identity of her newest captor. He most certainly had to be one of Armand’s prospects that had been set to bid for her. A man so lowly he'd neither the price nor honor to pay Armand. Saints, she'd finally passed into insanity and become as batty as Heldregarth the ancient mage in Comtes village near her demesne, as to use the word honor and Armand in the same thought.

Nevertheless, whoever her newest tormentor was, he could not be as horrible as Armand and that realization lent Analise some comfort as she let her mind drift away ... gladly.

Donan knew he must get Analise out of the foul weather. She was as cold as a frugal corpse clinging to him. It had been hours since the gambol to split had worked. He was not being followed, of that he was sure, nor with the pelting rain would there be any hope of tracking them. Nay, it would be a wide search Lord Armand would have to engage in now and one encompassing every direction.

Donan nearly missed the cotter’s hut or more precisely what was left of a cotter’s hut. If it hadn’t been for Xavier shying away from a length of knotted railing that still standing from some type of pen, he would have missed the place entirely in the darkness and downpour.

Donan reined in Xavier and carefully reviewed his options, while experiencing a blatant bout of frustration over his lameness.
Jesu
, at least he’d had the foresight to strap the braces to his legs. The braces were contraptions he'd invented for each leg, to hold them stiff, so he could propel himself short distances with the accompanying crutches.

He just didn't know if he could carry Analise’s weight while unconscious over his shoulder at the same time as attempting to stay upright with his crutches. However, there was no use for it but to try and if he fell, well then he would simply crawl using his arms. It wasn’t as if he’d not done crawled before.

It was a good luck that Xavier was so well trained, because Donan was able to guide him nearly within what was left of the hut, with its one side wholly burned away. However, part of the thatched roofing was still intact and that appeared to be enough to keep the rain at bay.

Donan carefully unwrapped his great cloak from around Analise and found what he’d predicted, she was as soaking wet as he was beneath the cloak's heavy weight. Then he had no choice but to lay her across the saddle, so he was free to get down off Xavier’s back.

It was the most inept and ungraceful act in a lengthy line of them and Donan tried not to imagine how he would remount Xavier later. Still, he managed with Xavier’s stillness and bracing support to reach the ground upright with a crutch beneath each armpit. It was then he started the arduous struggle of taking Analise over his shoulder without falling flat on his nose. He managed it well enough, until it came time to deposit her somewhere—

With his luck holding he’d spied clumps of hay in the corner, there was no hope for it, so he merely twitched the lady off his shoulder. He held his breath as she landed on her back in the hay with a mumbled protest that as quickly fell silent.

It wasn’t much longer and Donan sat on the packed dirt floor of the croft with his braced legs stiffly out in front of him as he fed sticks into a struggling fire. His gaze, however, was more for the woman beside him than it was for the fire while he contemplated removing Analise’s clothing.

With certainty it had to be done, he thought, just as he acknowledged the anticipation pitching inside him. How many chances did a man get in his lifetime to
have
to undress a practically unconscious woman? Especially one with such bountiful endowments.

Donan added a bigger stick of wood to the fire, and then he used his arms to scoot closer to Analise, thinking as he did that he couldn’t remember the last time he'd seen a woman nude. It was wickedness for him to tempt his cravings like he was—those cravings that could never be satisfied.

He sighed heavily.
Jesu
, he was well use to longing for that which he couldn’t have in both mind and body. It was nearly second nature to him now to sit in his wheeled chair, uselessly, with a wee hardening pud-cock while pretty serving wenches displayed their charms to men who were able.

Never to him any longer—never once him anymore.

Perhaps, if just one of the lasses had shown a bit of interest in the crippled man that he’d become, he could have tried?
Nay.
He would not do that to himself or the lass, even for coins. He was too afraid it wouldn't work or perchance it wasn’t his nature to desire the flimsiness of such a lass. Before he'd been felled, he'd often dreamed of a wife that would someday be his.

His dreams, he thought, as he laid his hand to Analise’s fragile rib cage just beneath her bosom. Aye, his dreams had looked nearly like this woman. Fair with blond hair, long and curling on the ends like golden thread caught by the fires light. Deep blue eyes filled with romantic notions and outlined by dark lashes. Baby soft skin that proclaimed it had never been touched by a man’s hands and her bosom and belly, which could only be found in maidenly splendor. Her rounded hips that a man could fill his hands with while holding them strong to his possession and her legs, which were long and supple enough to clasp a man’s determination to her heart.

Aye, he would see all of the dreams bared to his sight, enough to prolong his fancy for a lifetime, and then he would always be able to put a face to those dreams of a wife, in the lonely years to come. Fair payment, Donan assured himself, for rescuing Analise, and then handing her over to his brother to wed to save her virtue.

“But I will be the first to behold you, golden nightingale,” he murmured deeply.

Donan freed the ties of Analise’s gown down each side, pulling the wet and clinging material away from her womanly body; a body that had to be every man’s dream.

To touch ... to touch
: Donan’s mind was relentless. She would never know—just one touch.

A breast?

“Christ blood,” Donan swore, as he hauled one of the furs up and over Analise’s nakedness, holding it with his fists, which pushed the fur into the ground on either side of her shoulders. He actually shook.

“My lord, is it really you?”

Donan’s eyelids opened at the softly spoken murmur, just as he felt tender and small fingertips touch his jaw. It was a caress of the finest measure with sleepy blue eyes behind it.

“Am I dreaming?” Sweet blush colored lips spoke with a wisp of warm breath stroking Donan’s cheek, he was that close.

So close Donan’s lips found Analise’s before reasonable thought could be entertained, and then it was too late because the mouth beneath his yielded with exquisite softness. She was new to the intimate touch of lips and he wasn’t surprised as he tasted her gently, withholding his lustful tongue.

Analise felt as if her body and her lips were dipping in golden nectar and she never wanted to be anywhere else but beneath Lord Donan’s firm mouth. Soft sounds escaped her throat while her hands traveled up over muscled shoulders and clasped behind his sturdy neck. Her breasts pressed into his solid muscle while his wide palms stroked her bare back and she tried to wiggle closer.

A male growling of possession and need erupted in Donan’s chest as the words “mine ... mine ... mine” scorched his blood. The sinew and tendons along his back drew and flexed, raising his upper arms to tight mounds while he fought the hungry desire to dominate Analise’s tender and receptive flesh. She was innocent in her surrender; a mixture of a finely aged sultry woman and fawning new charms.

Nonetheless, he would have won the battle—he would have retreated from the bastions of her clinging and eager lips before he strove over the wall a conquering warrior.  Except—

Analise had to taste the man who crushed her in strong arms, yet caused her no pain. He felt of strength and power, melting her beneath his will, showing her where she wished to be, not as the conqueror but as a determined guide. She had to taste his power; she had to follow it wherever it could lead. Her entire body sang with the need and so she boldly stroked her tongue forward, greedily tasting.

Donan suckled a dainty, yet emboldened tongue, while a groan of release growled deep in his chest. Back and forth he slid his lips and mouth with a primal rhythm that answered the pounding and throbbing beat of his body. Thoughts of erotic candor danced in his mind of sweaty mating’s, limbs entwined, and brazen poses that he could imagine placing a woman’s ripe body into.

But it was a kiss ...
just
a kiss, his consciousness hammered as he tried vainly to restore some balance to his inbred honor.

“Ah Christ, lass,” he rasped, breaking the contact of Analise succulent mouth with a tremor of his own. Analise clung to his chest with a whimpered plea that caught, and then died out in a tremble, as she held onto him breathing too deeply.

Chapter Four

Donan swallowed more air realizing that his hands were fisted around great lengths of Analise’s flaxen hair and he made the conscious effort to relax his grip. When he recovered his balance, he cradled Analise with one arm, leaning forward a bit, so she lay where he could gaze down on her face.

He moved aside curling wisps of blond hair with his blunt fingers, while gazing into the royal blue surety of lover's eyes. “Och, little girl, what have we done?” he whispered, in a voice husky with emotion.

Analise raised her hand, using one finger to trace the moisture her lips had left on his mouth and he closed his eyes with feeling. “Make me yours,” she whispered.

“Ah, lass, you dinna know what you’re saying,” he groaned, clenching the brawn of his body and drawing her closer. “You dinna remember who I am,” he finished with emotion attracting his brogue.

“I dinna,” she laughed, on the wisp of a sigh, parting her pouted lips. “I am yours,” she whispered.

“Nay,” Donan murmured with his hand spread over the column of her graceful throat: the entire gesture belaying his words with its sign of possession.

“Lord Donan, you have saved me. You cannot give me back.” Analise’s lips pouted more, begging him for a kiss. “I won’t let you.” Her eyes sparkled in impish challenge, trying to hide hues of uncertainty and need.

Donan was surprised Analise seemed to know so clearly who he was. Surely, she couldn't have forgotten his lameness? It was then he convinced himself that she must be feverish from being cold and wet as he stroked her cool brow. She lifted her lips upward, catching his palm with a kiss. He shook his head slowly in denial because she chose not to see who he truly was and she kissed his palm again.