He slid one hand up and tangled it in her wet hair, cupping the back of her head. She relaxed into his hold and he brought her even closer. Sorcha melted against him—his hand, his mouth, his body. And rather than fighting it, she gave him what he’d asked for. The breathy sigh she released turned into something deeper and more needful when his other hand slid up and covered her breast. Her body arched into his hand, aching and wanting more. When his thumb rubbed across the tip of it, she was lost in the unexpected and absolute pleasure from such a caress.
Sorcha covered his hand with hers, both urging him on and trying to stop such a thing. As heat gathered within her belly and lower, she knew this could not continue. She must stop him and stop him now. But, pulling away from his mouth and his touch were not within her power just then. He laughed against her lips as though sensing her struggle.
‘Easy, sweetling,’ he whispered, as he moved both hands into her hair and plundered her mouth, deeper and hotter than before.
Her own fingers clutched once more at his shoulders as she resisted the urge to slide them down over his bared skin again. Over and over, he slanted his lips over hers and plunged his tongue within her. Breathless and overwhelmed, Sorcha finally pulled back and stared into his now stormy eyes.
Did her own eyes reveal the astonishment she felt at the way her body responded to his kisses? Did her innocence and inexperience show in the way her chest struggled and shuddered to draw in breaths? Did he realise she’d never been kissed by anyone before? And especially in this intimate manner?
He searched her face for something, puzzlement clear now in his gaze, before lifting her off his legs and holding her steady. Neither spoke a word then—she knew not what to say and he did not seem inclined to speak. The shiver that raced through her then had little to do with the cold and more to do with the heat pouring off his body.
‘I should get you back to Clara’s, so you can get out of these wet garments and not catch a chill,’ he said, softly.
He did not move or release her from his hold for several long moments. She took a step back as he stood, bringing them into closer contact than they had been for that moment. Forced to look up at him, she was unprepared when he leaned down and kissed her once more. It was a quick touch of their lips and done before she could do anything. She mourned the loss of him as soon as he moved away from her, tugging his plaid loose from around her shoulders and tossing it over his.
‘The rain has eased,’ he said. Sorcha looked out and noticed it had faded in intensity, back to a thick mist from its recent deluge. She nodded.
‘Clara will worry,’ she said. Sorcha gathered her hair back and tried to braid it quickly. A married woman, even a widow, should have her hair covered, but her kerchief was long gone in her haste to get away. The braid would have to do for now. She wondered how long it would take for Clara to realise that something had happened between her and Alan. She let out a sigh and glanced at the road that led back to the village.
‘Aye, she will. She does.’
Alan picked up his own damp shirt and tugged it over his head. Then, he held out his hand to her and she took it, allowing his strong fingers to close around hers and give her support as she took those first few shaky steps. A tenseness and heat yet coursed through her blood, one that she feared would be hard to extinguish. At least as long as he was near and looked at her with that hunger in his gaze that she saw there now.
‘She sent me to follow you, Saraid.’ Alan watched as her eyes widened a tiny bit at that disclosure. ‘Come, let us return there and ease her fears.’
Still holding her hand, he tugged a bit and drew her next to him as they walked from under the shelter, across the edge of the field and back to the road. He tried not to notice her kiss-swollen lips and the way her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. He laboured to forget the feel of her nipple tightening under his thumb and the taste of innocence on her lips. But, mostly, he really needed his flesh to relent from its state of hard arousal so he could regain control over himself.
Innocence. Innocence? How could she taste as though untouched and new to kissing? Married and widowed, she surely had been kissed and tupped by her husband. If she had been his wife, he would have taken her to bed for days to bury himself deep within her body and show her every pleasure that could be between them. To claim her and mark her with his own scent and seed. If she were his...
He shook himself free of such a path, for she had not been his nor would she be. Her choice was in another direction completely. Alan glanced over and saw the troubled expression on her face and the way her brow tightened. Had she not welcomed his actions then? Was he guilty of trespassing in a grievous way?
So how could she retain the taste and manners of a woman untouched? Her artless kisses, no less arousing for their obvious inexperience, spoke of a woman unfamiliar with the action. But how could that be?
They walked in silence back towards the village. He glanced out the corner of his eye to make certain he was not walking too quickly for her much shorter stride. And to make certain she was well. And to watch how she touched her fingers to her lips when she thought him not looking.
Astonishment. Wonderment. Surprise. All words to describe the expression in her eyes as she’d lifted her mouth from his. Not what he would have expected from a married and widowed woman.
Even more surprising to him was that, when he questioned her about her grief, she’d never mentioned her husband’s passing. Only her mother’s.
Strange bits of insight into the enticing Saraid MacPherson that made him hunger for more. After taking the first steps across the barrier between them, Alan was determined to convince her that she had another choice in her life. That entering the convent was not her only path.
Alan kenned he should feel guilty about turning her intentions away from the service of the Almighty and to something much more human, but he did not. The only thing that would stop him would be the woman herself.
They soon reached Clara and Jamie’s cottage. Alan felt the loss of her touch when she slipped her hand from his as they followed the last curve of the road around and her cousin’s home was revealed. He could feel her warmth grow distant with each step and Alan knew he could not allow it. Not now. He took her hand once more and pulled her to stop and face him.
That was his first mistake, for the sight of her tousled, wet hair and swollen lips brought back his cockstand within moments. He would not have made his second error if she’d not stared at his mouth and touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip just then. Did she ken that he was at the limit of his control? Deciding that distance between them would lead to more measured actions, he stepped back a pace, yet still held her hand.
‘Part of me thinks I owe you an apology for my forwardness,’ he said softly. He lifted her hand to his mouth and turned it, placing several kisses along the sensitive skin there on her wrist. The whispered sigh made him smile. ‘But I cannot apologise for what I did. What we did, Saraid. And, if I have anything to do with it, those will not be the last kisses we share.’
Alan had never been a vain man and had never taken the affections of a woman for granted. And he’d certainly never considered himself a rogue who took advantage of a woman’s favours. But, when Saraid gifted him with a soft smile and slight nod to his declaration, he thought he had won the hardest-fought battle. Tempted to do more than simply kiss her, only Clara’s voice stopped him.
‘You found her!’ Clara said, rushing to them. She stopped as she reached them and stared at her cousin first before frowning at him. Clara touched Saraid’s shoulder and then gathered her in close. ‘You are soaked and cold, Saraid. Come with me.’ If she’d noticed their joined hands, she did not comment on it as she tugged Saraid along to the cottage.
Jamie watched from the door and Alan could read nothing from his stance or his stare. From the shuttered expression earlier, his friend knew something more than he was sharing about Clara’s cousin. The question was whether or not the man would reveal it to him if it meant taking sides across the divide of kith and kin. As Jamie opened the door wider to allow the women to enter, he shrugged and shook his head. Alan was on his own in his pursuit of Saraid.
It was neither a new thing for him nor one he feared. Indeed, his spirits rose as he considered his next move in his strategy to claim the Widow MacPherson. Should he discuss the matter with Brodie? If he did succeed, Alan had no doubt that his uncle would make his life miserable and seek to ruin any chance at happiness he had. Arabella’s husband had always promised Alan a place here or anywhere on his lands where Alan wished to live and now, it would seem, Alan might need exactly that.
* * *
