‘Saraid,’ he said as he tugged more of his plaid free from his belt and threw it around her shoulders. Gathering her in close, he used his crumpled shirt to dry her face and sop up some of the water from her hair. ‘What happened, lass?’
She tried to speak, but the strong shivering stopped her efforts to do so. When her teeth began to chatter, Alan put his arms around her and rubbed briskly up and down on her back, trying to share his warmth and encourage her body to make some of its own. After a short time, he felt the tremors lessen but did not release her.
Saraid still not speak or explain what had happened. Thinking back on what he and Jamie had been talking about, the realisation struck him—every time he mentioned his uncle, she reacted in fear. What connection could there be between this widow and his uncle? Before he could ask another question, he felt her chilled fingers move across the bare skin of his chest and on to his stomach. The caress happened so quickly and was done that he questioned whether or not she had truly touched him.
‘I am lost,’ she whispered. ‘Lost.’
Did she refer to her inexplicable ability to get lost any place in the village? Her tone was one of desolation and sadness, so he thought not. This went deeper.
‘Do not worry then for I am good at finding things,’ he said, trying to ease her despair. ‘Or so I am told by my kith and kin.’ Alan could not resist holding her a wee bit tighter then. ‘I will find you.’
Whatever response he expected, the one that happened was not it. She slumped against him then and when he lifted her chin, he realised she’d fainted. Alan shifted his hold on her and eased her up on his lap so he could get a closer look at her. Or to be ready to carry her back to Jamie’s if need be. She was rousing even as he moved her.
‘Are you well, Saraid?’ he asked. She was a slight thing in his arms. ‘Or did I frighten you in some way? ’Tis not my usual manner in dealing with women.’
He felt the moment when she realised she was in his arms for she stiffened the tiniest amount before holding still. It was not a bad thing, holding her like this.
‘I...’ she began, but stopped several times without actually saying anything. He gently squeezed her and nodded. ‘I fear I have been dwelling much on the loss of my mother in the last days,’ she whispered. ‘I am alone now.’
‘She passed recently then?’ he asked.
‘Aye. Only a few months ago. The sadness just overwhelmed me and I could not breathe. I needed to get...away. Out.’
He understood that feeling, for it was one that happened to him often. When the newly risen rage within him began to push free, he did the same thing—he walked or rode or worked the iron with Jamie.
‘Well, you did not pick the best weather in which to leave,’ he said, softening his tone so she would ken he was jesting.
‘Nay, I did not.’
In that moment, they both seemed to become aware of how he held her. How she sat on his lap. In his arms wrapped in his plaid. Alan loathed giving up this closeness. He stared at her mouth, wanting to kiss her. His body responded to this sudden awareness of her closeness in its own way. He had to move his legs or she would feel his arousal, which only forced her to grab hold of his shoulders to balance.
Now her mouth was even closer. All he had to do was lean his head down a scant inch or so and he could claim her lips. When the tip of her tongue slipped out and moistened those enticing, pink lips, he did just that.
The best part came before he touched his mouth to hers, for she lifted her head and touched his lips first.
Chapter Thirteen
It was not what she had planned to do at all.
And certainly not with the one man who could discover her secrets. The one whose word had declared her dead. The worst man in the entire world for her and the secrets she held.
When she woke from her faint, on his legs, in his arms, Sorcha had planned to stand up and move away from him. To return to Clara’s and avoid him now that she knew his part in her charade. It was too dangerous to be around him.
That was what she would tell herself later. But now, when he shifted beneath her and she held on to his strong shoulders, she wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to forget the woman she’d been and be a different woman with him.
He wanted it, too. She could tell by the way he eased closer and bent his head down. He stared at her mouth as though hungry for a last meal. Though she’d never been this close to a man before, she kenned what she felt as he moved his legs underneath her. He wanted her in the way a man wants a woman.
Her breasts swelled and the tips became hard inside her gown. Whatever chill she’d felt from the cool, damp rain disappeared as that strange heat filled her. When Alan tilted his head a bit closer, she lifted hers and took the kiss she’d been wanting.
That momentary delay was the last bit of control she had over the situation, for that kiss quickly grew into something she had not planned and did not ken how to stop. Not that she wanted it to stop. Nay, she did not want to stop once she touched his lips with hers.
His hands moved down to encircle her waist and pull her closer even as his mouth took possession of hers. His tongue teased her lips and when she parted them, he swept inside, tasting her and allowing her a taste of him. Startled at this intimate caress, she opened her eyes and found him staring at her.
‘Open your mouth, lass,’ he whispered against her. ‘Let me in.’
A thrill rushed through her body, making places she’d not noticed ache and throb as she followed his instruction. When she relaxed her lips, he pressed closer and began to suckle her tongue. Drawing on it, he pulled it into his mouth and swirled his against hers until she did the same thing. Every pull of his mouth sent shivers of pleasure to those deep places until her whole body felt alive and awake. She heard a noise and did not realise she’d made it until he spoke against her mouth again.
‘Sigh for me, Saraid,’ he whispered before he dipped his tongue in and tasted her again.
