did not think Talorc would want Abigail, but she'd implied it well enough. And yet, isn't that what Abigail saw in his eyes right now?
"Do you want me?" she asked, once again showing her self-protection skills were at a very low ebb.
But she truly needed to know.
"Yes."
"But I'm English." Shut up, Abigail . She'd spoken more to her husband in the past day than she often did in a week. Surely she could stop talking. But words just kept popping out of her.
"I will not claim you now," he said, ignoring her last comment.
Then why did he wish to undress her? This question she managed to keep to herself. Barely.
He tugged at her belt and, of their own volition, her fingers released it. For surely she would not have done so on purpose. He pulled it away and began undoing the pleats of her plaid. Shock and a strange stirring in her belly held her immobile as he removed the blue, green and black fabric from her body.
When he finished, he knelt there, unmoving. Unsmiling. Silent, but his gaze spoke volumes could she interpret the messages there. Her blouse barely reached her thighs and her shift only a few inches beyond that, but at least she was not as naked as he. That was something. So, why did she feel as if he could see right through it?
Suddenly, she remembered that the furs they knelt on were for more than cushioning her body from the hard ground. They would afford protection from the incendiary heat of his gaze.
When she scooted to get under the furs, he stopped her with a hand on her naked calf. "Do the English sleep in their clothes, then?"
She shook her head mutely.
He began to tug at the hem of her blouse.
She grabbed it and held it in place. "You said I could undress under the furs."
He looked like he would argue, but after a few seconds he nodded. "Do it."
She clambered under the fur, forcefully keeping her eyes away from the stiff member between his legs. Flesh that had indeed grown to truly intimidating proportions.
Within seconds, he had joined her, showing her supposed reprieve to be a false hope.
She could even feel his naked leg touching her own under the soft furs.
She would have moved away, but he put that stone-hard arm that had kept her safely on his horse for so many hours around her waist and tugged her close to him. "Let's get rid of this now."
She was so lost in nerves she could barely read his lips as he spoke, much less make sense of the words.
His big hand grasping the hem of her blouse again explained to her senses what her brain refused to grasp. He didn't wait for her assent, just started tugging the blouse upward, and then it was gone, leaving her vulnerable in nothing but a too-thin shift.
Seconds later that was gone as well, leaving her completely naked outside the bath for the first time in her adult life.
Yet as much as she feared the unknown, she did not fear him . He had said he would not take her until they were on Sinclair land. She trusted him to keep his word.
Something deep inside her told her she could.
"You are mine," he said, a feral expression in his eyes.
She could do naught but nod.
He reached out and yanked the flap down on the tent, cutting off the light from the rapidly fading sky. There was barely enough light to see his form, much less read his lips.
She could tell he said something, but not what it was.
She reached out and placed her hand against his lips. "No talking."
She had no idea how he would receive the order, but nothing could have prepared her for the kiss that he gave her. His lips dominated hers, demanding entrance into her mouth, silently claiming his right to her.
She could do nothing but allow her lips to part. Inexplicably, she craved such intimacy. His tongue slipped between her parted lips, gliding past her teeth. He tasted like apples and the dry biscuit she had not eaten, but more than that. There was a wild, feral flavor to him that her woman's instincts told her was nothing but her husband.
And she who
"Do you want me?" she asked, once again showing her self-protection skills were at a very low ebb.
But she truly needed to know.
"Yes."
"But I'm English." Shut up, Abigail . She'd spoken more to her husband in the past day than she often did in a week. Surely she could stop talking. But words just kept popping out of her.
"I will not claim you now," he said, ignoring her last comment.
Then why did he wish to undress her? This question she managed to keep to herself. Barely.
He tugged at her belt and, of their own volition, her fingers released it. For surely she would not have done so on purpose. He pulled it away and began undoing the pleats of her plaid. Shock and a strange stirring in her belly held her immobile as he removed the blue, green and black fabric from her body.
When he finished, he knelt there, unmoving. Unsmiling. Silent, but his gaze spoke volumes could she interpret the messages there. Her blouse barely reached her thighs and her shift only a few inches beyond that, but at least she was not as naked as he. That was something. So, why did she feel as if he could see right through it?
Suddenly, she remembered that the furs they knelt on were for more than cushioning her body from the hard ground. They would afford protection from the incendiary heat of his gaze.
When she scooted to get under the furs, he stopped her with a hand on her naked calf. "Do the English sleep in their clothes, then?"
She shook her head mutely.
He began to tug at the hem of her blouse.
She grabbed it and held it in place. "You said I could undress under the furs."
He looked like he would argue, but after a few seconds he nodded. "Do it."
She clambered under the fur, forcefully keeping her eyes away from the stiff member between his legs. Flesh that had indeed grown to truly intimidating proportions.
Within seconds, he had joined her, showing her supposed reprieve to be a false hope.
She could even feel his naked leg touching her own under the soft furs.
She would have moved away, but he put that stone-hard arm that had kept her safely on his horse for so many hours around her waist and tugged her close to him. "Let's get rid of this now."
She was so lost in nerves she could barely read his lips as he spoke, much less make sense of the words.
His big hand grasping the hem of her blouse again explained to her senses what her brain refused to grasp. He didn't wait for her assent, just started tugging the blouse upward, and then it was gone, leaving her vulnerable in nothing but a too-thin shift.
Seconds later that was gone as well, leaving her completely naked outside the bath for the first time in her adult life.
Yet as much as she feared the unknown, she did not fear him . He had said he would not take her until they were on Sinclair land. She trusted him to keep his word.
Something deep inside her told her she could.
"You are mine," he said, a feral expression in his eyes.
She could do naught but nod.
He reached out and yanked the flap down on the tent, cutting off the light from the rapidly fading sky. There was barely enough light to see his form, much less read his lips.
She could tell he said something, but not what it was.
She reached out and placed her hand against his lips. "No talking."
She had no idea how he would receive the order, but nothing could have prepared her for the kiss that he gave her. His lips dominated hers, demanding entrance into her mouth, silently claiming his right to her.
She could do nothing but allow her lips to part. Inexplicably, she craved such intimacy. His tongue slipped between her parted lips, gliding past her teeth. He tasted like apples and the dry biscuit she had not eaten, but more than that. There was a wild, feral flavor to him that her woman's instincts told her was nothing but her husband.
And she who
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