He snorted in contempt. “Were it not for Tullia, I would not have been conceived. I feared her not alive, so if her spirit still lingers, I doubt she will do me harm.” He cast a glance over his shoulder and his gaze settled upon her. Deep in the pit of her stomach something warm and wanton turned over. “Come closer. You’re wet. Warm yourself by the fire and tell me where are Bjorn and Leah.”
She sighed and shook her head. Dread settled in her soul. “I know not,” she admitted, her eyes clouding over as she wondered where they were.
“Think you they were captured?”
Lifting a shoulder, she stared into the growing fire and her teeth began to chatter. “I pray not.”
The wind whistled through the open rafters, and she shivered.
“Take off your clothes.”
“What?” She couldn’t believe her ears. Now he wanted to lie with her?
“Dry your boots and leggings by the fire.” He unclasped his mantle, which was only slightly damp. “Wear this. ’Tis long enough for you to use as a wrap until your clothes dry.”
She thought of undressing in front of him, and the idea was not unappealing, but she shook her head. “Nay, I cannot …”
His fingers tightened into fists and he inched closer until his face was so near, his breath was warm and angry against her skin. A furious pulse jumped in the side of his neck. “You disobeyed me and tricked my guards so that you could leave the castle. Like a common thief, you stole my horses. I’ve spent the day looking for you, and two good men may have given up their lives in my quest, while another has an arrow lodged in his leg. Leah and Bjorn could be captured or killed—”
She shivered, biting her lip.
“—all because you were too stubborn to listen to me.” His words were fierce and seemed to ring through the forest, though he spoke in a rough whisper. “For once, you bloody savior of Prydd, you will do as you’re ordered, or by the gods, I’ll strip you myself!” He swept the mantle off his shoulders and held it out to her.
With shaking fingers she took the fine wool cloth and then turned her back, quickly working out of her boots and leggings and tunic. She used the large mantle as a shield, to hide her nakedness, but she could feel his eyes upon her back and she blushed deeply.
“That’s better,” he said, his voice low and silky when she was finished. A satisfied grin slashed white in the darkness and she felt wanton, like a common strumpet. Without saying a word, she placed her wet clothes in front of the fire, watching the steam rise from the damp fabric.
Hagan kicked off his boots and set them next to hers. The remains of the cottage walls seemed to close around them. She half expected soldiers or outlaws to be drawn like moths to the fire, but no one appeared.
“Come,” he said softly, “you need sleep.” He patted the ground next to him.
“I’ll stay awake.”
“ ’Tis foolish. Come over here.”
“Really, I—”
“Sorcha.” His voice was more harsh. “Come lie beside me. For warmth. I promise that I won’t harm you.” His eyes were dark but sincere.
She hesitated, knowing that being alone with him was dangerous enough, but pressing her body against his with only the mantle separating them …’twas madness. Her skin tingled as she remembered the other times she’d been with him, how her traitorous body had quivered for his touch, how his kisses had ignited secret dark fires deep within her, how she’d been so willing to give herself to him. ’Twould be better to freeze to death.
“Come here.” His expression had turned harsh, and she, arguing with herself, slid closer to him. He wrapped an arm around her, holding her body close to his. “Sleep. Morning will come soon enough.”
“I can’t—”
“For the love of God, close your eyes and quit arguing,” he growled, yanking her closer still. She realized then that he wasn’t going to kiss her, that he had no intention of trying to claim her body with his, and she felt a tiny shaft of disappointment pierce her heart.
She did as she was bid, snuggling closer to him, resting her head on his chest, and closing her eyes. The wool mantle scratched her skin when she moved, but along with the heat of Hagan’s body, provided warmth. The smell of him invaded her nostrils, leather and smoke, mud and rainwater. All male and so, so, hard. With a yawn she felt sleep overtake her and wondered why this crumbling haunted house located in the middle of a forest inhabited by outlaws felt so safe.
All his life, Hagan had kept his code of honor concerning women. He enjoyed women, dreamed of women, and had lain with more than he would like to remember. But he’d never taken a woman by force, nor had he tricked one into sleeping with him. When a lady said no, he didn’t argue and left. His need for sex had always been strong, but he’d never allowed himself to lose his emotions and had always kept his passion in check.
Losing one’s control, even while in the throes of lust, could be a death sentence. Never had he lost his heart and his self-control. No woman had touched him to his very soul.
Until now. The feelings he had for Sorcha, the savage desire that swept through his blood like a desert storm, was tenfold to the passion he’d ever felt before. Holding Sorcha so close, listening to the gentle rhythm of her breathing, sensing the steady knoc
king of her heart, having her pressed so intimately against him, caused fire to burn through his veins. The swelling in his groin was painful, and though he tried to ignore it and hoped that the hard ache would disappear, it didn’t. As the minutes dragged into hours, he tried to stay alert, to listen to the sounds of the night, to be at the ready should anyone stop by the tumbledown cottage. But as each second slowly passed, her warmth, the deep lilac scent of her hair, the gentle whisper of her breath across his chest, brought images to his mind that he couldn’t dislodge. He remembered the first night when he had nearly forced her into submission, when she’d bargained with her body, and times thereafter when her kisses, sweet and innocent, had turned lusty and wanton. How jealous he’d been of Bjorn … God’s eyes, she’d turned his thinking all around.
She moaned low in her throat and nestled against him, so that her black hair rubbed against his neck. His gut tightened, and the lust burning through his body turned to liquid heat. He gritted his teeth and tried to think of the coming day and how they would have to return to Erbyn for more soldiers before giving chase to the faceless enemy in the woods, but even as he concentrated, she moved again, her small hand touching the base of his throat. His wayward manhood stiffened tighter still.