Page 73 of The Forest Bride
“We were young, lass. Now we are older. Wiser.”
She poked him in the chest with a finger. “I want your heart. Not your guilt.”
He huffed, nearly laughed. He wanted her so utterly, fully, in that moment that it nearly swamped him. Tilting her face slightly, he kissed her again, slowly this time, gently, then a deep savor. He felt her sink a little, make a soft moan. He slid a hand to her back to support her. Then he drew back a little.
“Does that,” he murmured, “feel like guilt to you?”
“Not guilt,” she breathed, her eyes closed. She angled her head back, inviting more. He delved, and she raised her arms to his shoulders, drawing him as close as could be. Dipping, he kissed her again, and as she curved against him, he stepped forward and she went back. Then she was pulling him with her, moving a few steps further under the sturdy buttress of the tall oak just behind her, her back pressed to the broad trunk. Tall enough that leafy branches brushed over his hair, he tipped his head, nudged her nose, and traced his lips over her cheek.
“Here among the trees is more private,” she whispered, angling her head as her lips met his.
What took him over then, kiss upon kiss, was a passion fed by an earthy, wild power he had never felt before—the luscious girl, her lips, her body; the oakwood, the wild scent of bluebells, and the green scent of leaves; her hands running along his shoulders, fingers sinking into his hair—all of it driving him onward, breathless and lost, seeking, kissing—his hands shaping her curves, fingers finding the lush swell of her breasts—her answering gasp, her next kiss welcoming more—
Mungo barking in the distance, woofing again.
This was madness. Drawing back, breath ragged, Duncan rested his brow on hers as he caught his breath and blinked, attempting to clear his thoughts. She moved her head to press her cheek to his. He realized she was up on her toes, arms looped around his neck; he held her firm in his hands, one on her hip, the other curved around her ribs, his thumb on her breast. He sucked in a breath.
“Jesu, lass.” He lowered his hands, but she kept her arms around his neck. “I did not intend to—”
“Duncan Dhu,” she whispered. “It is the forest. There is a sort of magic here.”
“Magic inyou.” He kissed her forehead and stepped back.
“Wait.” She still held him close, reaching up. “Now tell me what you want.”
“Just you,” he said.
“So I have a choice to make,” she whispered.
“You do.”
Sighing, she released him then, and he stepped back again, giving her room to come away from the sheltering oak. She looked up at the leafy green canopy, then stepped out from under the tree. Wading through bluebells and ferns, skirts trailing, she turned, framed by the green, white, silvery arch ofbirch trees behind her now. Winsome, faery-like, she gave him a whimsical smile.
“Well, I want that brooch,” she mused.
“Ah. Is that all?” Seeing Mungo nosing through the undergrowth, he patted his thigh lightly to attract the dog, who quickened his pace. “What else do you want?”
“The key to the door where Lilias is kept.”
“Fair enough. So do I. I rather thought that brooch was mine,” he teased softly.
“You promised to give it to me.”
“Did I?” He was distracted, heart thumping, thoughts whirling, body throbbing. He felt caught in a spell, almost a drunken state, and had to shake it off. “So you would let De Soulis court you for a brooch and a key?”
She gave a half-laugh. “I will let himthinkhe is courting me.”
“And you expect he will give you what you want?” He cocked a casual brow, though the question was weighted. He reached out as the hound came near and ruffled the gray head.
“Perhaps.” She rustled a tree branch. “We should find the rest of those arrows.”
“Forget the arrows, Margaret,” he said quietly. “And if you need a brooch for your cloak, you can have your pick of mine. I have several. Take the entire jewelry casket if you like.” He waved a hand.
She turned and he saw the hurt in her expression. “Duncan, what is it? Just moments ago, you—we—” She reached out in appeal.
He closed the few steps between them and took her hand. “It is just—you need never see De Soulis again, Margaret. You can have any brooch you want. And we will find Lilias without anything from him.”
“But I have to see him. I must have that very pin.”
