But he was talking again, now explaining how the hares objected to being chased by Englishmen...
“For even though they were hares and not men,” he explained, “the hares were Scottish, and very aware of loyalties.”
She slanted him a look. “You are making this up.”
“I am no’.” He spread the whole of his hand over her, squeezing rhythmically. “But it is a legend – keep that in mind.”
She began rocking her hips against his hand, unable to help herself.
“I told you I am wicked,” she said, gasping when he started circling the edge of his thumb over that special, oh-so-sensitive spot.
“You are perfect, so just enjoy,” he said. “The legend, and my hand between your legs.”
She shivered, his blunt words exciting her.
“So what of the upset Scottish hares?” She looked at him, hoping that if she held his gaze, she wouldn’t whirl away to that glittering edge of pleasure he sent her to so often.
She did want to know how the inn came by its name.
“Well…” He took his thumb from that special place and just stroked her lightly again. “It happened that one of the hares had exceptional eyesight. He was also very intelligent. And so he discovered that if he held a foot above his eyes, he could spot the English soldiers much faster, and at a greater distance.
“This advantage was a tremendous help to the hares,” he explained. “Unlike rabbits, hares live aboveground, without burrows. It was crucial that they knew of an enemy’s approach. Only so, did they have time to find hiding places.”
He looked at her. “So this hare took it upon himself to roam the countryside, watching for the English.”
“And he was successful?”
“He was.”
Melissa smiled, liking the story now.
“Each time he raised the alarm, the hares would scatter. And so the foraging English left emptyhanded. Eventually they stopped coming this way altogether.”
“And the inn name?”
“Given in the hare’s honor, of course.” Lucian kissed her brow, then the top swell of her breast. “At a distance, his trick with his raised foot let folk believe he had only one eye.”
“Did he?”
“No one really knows,” he said. “What matters is that the ‘one-eyed hare’ singlehandedly rid the area of English warriors, thus saving many homes and also the inn.”
Melissa’s throat thickened. “What a wonderful legend.”
“So it is.” He smiled. “And your eyes are glistening again, so I’d best not tell you that the medieval innkeeper and every family for miles around declared that no hare hereabouts would ever again land in a cookpot.”
He kissed her brow. “That has remained so all these years.”
“Oh, my,” she said, a tear leaking from her eye. “That’s why there are so many hares everywhere.”
“I imagine so,” he agreed.
“I knew I’d love Scotland.” She melted against him, her gaze on the ceiling. “A place where inns are named after hero hares and guest room ceilings are painted with stars.”
“It is special, I’ll no’ deny.” He rolled on top of her, bracing himself on his arms. “But no’ so fine as you.”
“You are a gallant,” she said, opening her knees. “You also want to tup again, don’t you?”
“I want you again, aye.”
