“She was burned.”
“What?”
“No Christian burial for a witch. Her body was laid on a pyre and consumed by flames, for her soul would surely go to hell; at least that was my father’s thinking. I’ve tried long and hard to understand him, but failed. He died years ago, and I only know that he could be a kind man or he could be unreasonably cruel.” Hagan’s features turned hard and he threw an angry glance at the rubble of the old house. “Mayhap we should leave.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I had no intention of bringing you anywhere. I planned to ride alone. Come.” He started for his horse, but she touched him on the sleeve and he stopped short, his expression pensive.
“But you wanted me to see this place. There was a reason.”
“Because you vex me, Sorcha,” he said, his eyes the color of ale. “Some say you’re a witch, others claim you speak with God, still others expect you to be the savior of Prydd, as if Prydd needs a savior, and others …”
She waited, and when he didn’t continue, she twined her fingers into the folds of his tunic. “Others …” she prodded.
“Others claim that you are not the true daughter of Baron Eaton, that—”
She let go of his sleeve as if his tunic were on fire and she shrank from him. “I know what they say, Hagan, but ’tis a lie,” she hissed, the old fury burning bright in her breast. She’d heard the rumors herself, knew that some of the servants at Prydd whispered and laughed among themselves over the lie, but Sorcha would never believe the horrid tales. “My mother would never have lain with another man. She was true to my father until the day she gave up her life!”
“What of the rest of the stories?”
“I’m no witch, Lord Hagan; I’ve told you so myself,” she said as she lifted her chin at a defiant angle. Tossing her head, she turned away from him.
His insides turned dusky with want. In the dark woods with only the soft rush of a breeze stirring the branches of trees and the quiet lapping of the brook as it rippled over stones and the occasional snort from one of the horses, Hagan stared down at Sorcha and intended to haul her back to the castle. He took her arm and twirled her to face him, thinking he would push her toward her steed and they would be off.
She gasped, her hair fanned away from her face, and in the instant when her blue eyes met his, he lost all control. Instead of shoving her away, he pulled her closer still, until her breasts were crushed against his chest and her startled breath whispered over his face. She gulped, and the air was tight in his own lungs. Though he knew he was being a traitor to his very soul, he couldn’t stop himself and his lips settled eagerly over hers—warm and wet and wanting.
She didn’t push him away as he expected, but quivered at his touch, and when he pressed his tongue against her teeth, she sighed, slowly opening her mouth to him, like a bud opening to sunlight.
He held her fast, feeling the softness of her body and hearing his own thundering heartbeat. Lust flowed hot through his veins and pooled between his legs.
With featherlight strokes, his tongue dipped and touched, as if lapping sweet nectar, and a low moan escaped her throat. Fire flashed through his blood and he couldn’t stop. Pulsing desire swept through him and he ground his mouth over hers, wanting, taking, demanding more from her.
She responded with a reckless hunger. Her arms wound around his neck, and there was no ounce of struggle in her bones.
Soft, warm, pliant. His hands spanned her small waist and he slowly dragged them both to the ground. She didn’t make a sound of protest. When his tongue touched hers, she eagerly responded, that sweet, slick little beast touching and playing with his teeth and the roof of his mouth until he was blinded with desire. He snapped open the brooch at the base of her neck, and her black cape spread upon the forest floor like a blanket.
Kissing her was sweet ecstasy. He no longer fought with himself and gave in to the demons in his mind that told him she was his for the taking; all he had to do was strip her of her clothes and claim her body with his. Ah, ’twould be paradise to feel her hot warmth wrap around him. But he wanted more than her supple body, he wanted her mind as well.
She moaned into his open mouth when he unlaced her tunic and let his fingers trail against her skin. Beneath the soft layer of her chemise he felt her breast, warm and ripe, waiting for his touch. Her heart beat rapidly, her pulse jumping as he scraped a long finger against her throat.
“M’lord,” she whispered.
“Shhh…”
Sorcha closed her eyes as he touched her. She knew she was wading in dangerous waters, but she couldn’t stop herself. The magic of his touch made her feel weightless, and his rough fingers stoked fires of desire that grew hotter with each stroke of his hand.
As he kissed her, she felt her clothes being pulled away from her body, knew that parts of her skin were naked to the cool air and shadows of the forest, but she didn’t care. Her own fingers found the clasp of Hagan’s mantle and slid beneath his tunic. He sucked in his breath when she touched his skin.
His muscles were hard and strong against her fingers, and she felt the scars of battle on his flesh, the wound in his shoulder which she herself had inflicted. Though it was cold outside, his skin was dewy with sweat and his breath was shallow.
His eyes darkened seductively.
She felt him brush aside her chemise and growl deep in his throat as her breasts were bared to him. She had trouble breathing and her heartbeat thudded in her brain as he rubbed her nipple between his thumb and finger, watching the dusky bud grow tight, nearly painful with want. New sensations carried her away on wave after wave of pleasure, but she wanted more. He placed his lips around her nipple and gently tugged.
Her back arched off the ground and he caught her buttocks with his hands, pulling her against him, bending her like a bow, forcing her closer still so that she felt hardness swelling between his legs. The dark heat within her turned liquid with desire, and when he laid her gently back on the ground and parted her legs, she shivered with need and flushed with embarrassment.
He kissed her again and she became liquid inside. “I will not hurt you,” he vowed, and she believed him as he kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her throat, and moved lower to tease her breasts with his tongue and teeth until she writhed beneath him, wanting more, feeling empty and not really understanding the aching void that seemed to pulse with desire deep within her.