Kiss of a Traitor (27 page)

Heaviness in her limbs sapped all her strength and drew Willa downward, as though she were sinking straight through the bed to the floor. With the deadweight of Aidan’s considerable bulk still sprawled atop her, she plummeted into sleep.

“Up,” a voice said loudly in her ear. Willa pried open her eyes and shot a fulminating glare at the male face looking down at her. Was that any way to speak to your beloved? For by the languor in her limbs and the satisfied aching between her legs, Aidan must surely love her, although she was yet unsure of how she felt about him. Regardless, he would not have made such sweet love to her last night were it not the case. She understood men made love without actually
loving.
Lust was an overwhelming itch they were obliged to scratch every so often or they would go mad. Jwana had told her so. But Aidan had taken his time with her, introduced her to passion in a way that ensured her own pleasure. Men behaved in such a way only with women they loved. Jwana had also passed on that pearl of wisdom.

“Begone,” she snarled as she came over onto her side and up on an elbow. He turned his back, walked away, and fitted their possessions into the saddlebags. She smelled the rich tang of the coffee he had found in her saddlebags merging with the odor of wet earth and pine trees blowing in through the open door. Sunlight peeked at the edges of the hide-covered windows and poured through the door in a river of gold. The sharp calls of nuthatches and brown creepers, plying the woods for pine nuts, came from the trees outside.

Aidan pivoted at the waist and cast a look her way. He poured coffee into a tin cup, strolled over to the bed, and sank down on the edge.

“Feeling sore this morning, are we?” He sounded amused as his mouth curved in an infuriating smile. After dipping his head to deposit a kiss on her pouting lips, he handed her the cup.

She sipped the scalding brew and shuddered at its bitter taste.

His hand smoothed over her hair, his fingers teasing into the tangles and easing them out. “I have no desire to raise your ire, wildcat. But were you to rise and move about, the soreness would soon flee. We have a long ride today. I hoped to get an early start.”

“A long ride,” she repeated and scrunched her brows together. “Why go to all this bother? I have no doubt we could have reached Willowbend long before now.”

“Indeed? Well, you are mistaken,” he said, raising himself from the bed. He walked back to the hearth and settled on the bench to slice cornbread and cheese left over from the previous night. He’d been up for some time, it seemed. Fresh-picked blackberries overran another tin cup beside him.

She glanced around for her clothes, which he had removed during the night—not that she was in any frame of mind to protest at the time. Why did he insist on keeping up the pretense regarding the site of Marion’s camp? He had already told her he was a spy. Why go to such great lengths to drag her halfway across the state and now, she suspected by their path northward, into North Carolina? She snagged her shirt and trousers off the three-legged stool beside the bed. She understood he wished to keep the camp’s precise position a secret for her own safety. Still, she could not help but believe this forced march beyond ridiculous. Bewildered by men in general, she shrugged.

When she sat on the bed to pull on her trousers, Willa saw pale bloodstains on her inner thighs, as though Aidan had bathed her skin in the dark. His sticky seed had vanished from her belly, too. She rubbed a hand across the taut surface. At the thought of him performing such an intimate duty for her, fire flamed her face and burned her ears. She thrust the discomfiting image aside, jerked the pants up around her waist, and buttoned her shirt, tucking it into the trouser waistband.

Aidan sent her a sudden grin that warmed her heart. She padded over to the fireplace, retrieved her boots, and hauled them on over her socks. Then she stood and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” he called out before she reached the threshold.

“Worry not,” she said with a wry smile. “I have no plans to run from you, not now.”
After last night, we are bound together,
she thought but dared not voice aloud. “I must see to Cherokee.”

“If Cherokee is the paint’s name, I already fed him.”

She gaped at him. “Cherokee allows no one to tend to him other than me.”

“You forget I saw to his needs last night and while in Marion’s camp.” His smile was smug. “He showed his temper, but we managed to come to an understanding.”

Cold fingers slithered across her skin at what Aidan meant by “understanding.” “Nonetheless, I plan to check on him.” She spun around and stalked from the cabin.

“Suit yourself, wildcat.” His voice drifted out behind her.

Cherokee stood next to Aidan’s horse in the lean-to, muzzle buried in a bag of oats lying on the ground in front of him. The paint flicked a lazy ear at her when she squeezed between the two horses. “Traitor,” she muttered, running her hands and eyes over every inch of his body to look for whip marks or God knew what other signs of abuse. Cherokee lifted his head to butt her in the chest. She scratched behind his ears and puzzled over the conundrum that was Aidan.

The morning began under a cloud-covered sky but soon flowered into one of those rare winter days that brought to mind memories of the long, hot summer. Contrary to Aidan’s assertion of a “long ride” ahead, he set a leisurely pace. Willa silently thanked him for his consideration, should that be what it truly was. Her sore nether parts sent twinges into her thighs and lower belly whenever the horses broke into a trot. She squirmed around on her saddle to find a more comfortable position.

Around midafternoon, when her soreness had developed into a plaguing ache, she stood up in her stirrups to prevent further damage to her delicate flesh. Aidan frowned as he twisted around in his saddle to look back. Reining his horse to the side, he waited for her to catch up and pointed at a low rise studded with trees. “I know ‘tis still early, but I recollect a pond beyond that hill. ‘Tis as good a spot as any to make camp, with fresh water and near the forest should we require shelter. And the pond lies beyond sight of the track.”

Willa voiced no dissent, more than willing to stop, stretch out on the ground, and die. They came upon the pond less than a half-mile distant, out of sight as he had said, and edged with a forest of pine, oak, and hickory. He lifted her from the saddle though she slapped at his hands and spouted she was perfectly capable of dismounting by herself. He paid no heed to her tirade, held her in his arms for a long moment, and kissed her, briefly distracting her from her pain.

While Aidan set up camp, Willa limped over to the pond. She gazed out over its glassy surface. How lovely the water would feel on her protesting flesh. Squatting down with a groan, she dipped in a hand. It felt warm from soaking up the hot sun.

With no more hesitation than the time it took to shuck her clothes, Willa dove into the pond.

Ford heard the splash and whirled around with a rabbit snare in one hand. He laid the snare on the ground and stripped off his shirt. Willa was too tempting as she sported in the water like an otter with afternoon sun gleaming on her shoulders. From the expression on her face earlier, he expected she still ached from their romp the night before. The juices rose high in him nonetheless.

He kicked off his boots as he made his way to the water’s edge, stopped to peel off his breeches and underclothes, and waded in to join her. When he swam toward the center, she flipped away and ducked beneath the water. He gave chase, following her under and catching her firmly, if not gracefully, around the waist. Once he brought them to the surface, he grasped a handful of dripping hair and tugged back her head to bury his lips in her wet neck. The taste of salt and skin and clean water went straight to his groin. His penis filled with blood, jutting out and upward. He towed her toward shallower water where he could plant his feet on the sandy bottom and pull Willa astride his waist. An erotic shiver buzzed across his skin at the feel of her wet curls tangled in his. He raised and lowered her, sliding her cleft against his belly and groin, slipped his hands downward over her backside, and squeezed and separated the globes. He sought out her heat, glided one hand beneath her buttocks to tease and caress the folds of her opening. A gasp tore from her throat at his fondling, and her eyes glazed over. He kissed her long and sweet, then with savage desire. The ache of his throbbing erection grew urgent.

Conscious of her newly deflowered state, he clasped her bottom in both hands, lifted her up, and lowered her gently onto his cock. As he rocked her up and down, a pulsing began almost immediately in her soft, sweet canal. Her arms clasped tightly around his neck, and her rapid exhalations warmed the side of his neck.

Her enthusiastic response burned a path to his groin, tightening his testicles. He was coming too fast, his penis swelling inside her. He had to withdraw but could not. Her grip was like heated steel. Easing one hand between them, he strummed her clitoris with his thumb. She gave a little leap and a hard clasp with her vaginal muscles that nearly unmanned him.

Pull out,
his brain shrieked, but his hips refused to listen. Willa screamed and clamped down on him as she flamed up like a wildfire. He let go and accepted the possible consequences of his action. His pulse escalated into a mad tempo, and fire spurted up from his loins as he poured his red-hot orgasm into her. He rammed himself in once more, right up to the hilt.

His knees went rubbery, but he managed to remain on his feet and stagger toward shore. Willa’s soft thighs still wrapped about his hips. She moaned, and mortification stabbed him in the heart. He tipped back her head to examine her face. What he saw assuaged his conscience … regarding one worry. Her eyes drooped half-closed with satiation; her mouth was slack with pleasure, not tightened in pain.

He blew out a sigh and let her slide down his body to her feet. His conscience, however, continued to prick him. Willa may have experienced no physical discomfort from their lovemaking, but he very well could have planted a babe in her womb. Should that be the case, he would be bound to marry her. Why did that prospect not seem so dire a fate? That he was genuinely contemplating marriage to the little wildcat left a sour taste in his mouth. He dropped a hasty kiss on her lips and let her go. Scooping up his clothes, he pulled them on and strode back to the snare, picked it up off the ground, and continued on into the woods. Behind him, he heard a splash as Willa surged back into the water. He refused to look back.

Willa watched Aidan leave without a word and enter the woods. A frown plucked at her lips. He was so passionate at one moment, making her loins burst once more with exquisite pleasure, then cold as the fish in the pond the next. She dismissed him with a toss of her head. His moodiness would not spoil the remainder of her day. She cupped water in her hand and washed his glistening seed from the insides of her thighs. This time there was no blood, and to her surprise, his impromptu lovemaking resulted in only a bit of discomfort. In fact her muscles were heated and saturated with a languid weakness. Her daylong soreness had nearly vanished. She fell backward into the water, let her body sink to the bottom, and pushed off. When she came to the surface in a burst of sparkling drops, she floated on her back and invited the last of the day’s sun to burn into her body.