Wild Conquest. Hannah HowellЧитать онлайн книгу.
thoughts were disrupted by a growing warmth spreading from his hands throughout her body. It felt good—warm, soothing, yet enticing—to have those strong, calloused hands moving slowly over her skin. He pulled from her feelings she had thought herself incapable of having, feelings so strong and tempting she knew they would be hard to fight. Even now, although she felt soiled by the mauling of the soldiers, she had to fight the urge to turn toward him, to throw herself into his arms.
“The ache is gone. The salve has done its work,” she said.
Tearlach blinked, her hoarse, clipped words drawing him back as if from a dream. Reluctantly he withdrew his hands and watched her hastily do up her bodice as he wiped his hands on his handkerchief. Another moment and he knew he would have been trying to touch far more than her slim, silken back. When she had spoken up, he had been staring at the nape of her slender neck, thinking how it would feel beneath his lips.
“Ye may find ye need more on the morrow.”
Curling up at the very edge of their rough bed, she murmured, “I may. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He set down the pot of salve and slipped beneath the blanket “Any other aches I might doctor?”
She was glad of the dark, for the answer that popped into her head was so wanton it made her blush furiously. “None that salve can heal. No amount of doctoring can rid me of the feel of their filthy, grabbing hands.”
Turning onto his side, he gently smoothed his hand over her hair, enjoying the feel of it. “Ye said they didnae accomplish what they had intended.”
Although she did not wish to discuss what she had endured at the outpost, she hoped talk would keep her from thinking of his disturbing nearness, of how stirred she was by the simple touch of his hand on her hair. “Nay, and that is what I must try to remember.”
“Aye. Ye must remember that, despite all, ye werenae raped.”
“Yet I feel as if I have been.” She tensed slightly when he slipped his arm around her waist and tucked her up against him. Her errant desire immediately stirred to life, and she dreaded that he would discover that she still wanted him.
“I dinnae intend to hurt ye, Pleasance. Merely comfort ye. The distaste of an unwanted touch can fade; the brutal invasion of your body would never have left your thoughts. ’Tis hard for a mon to say the words needed at such a time.
“Have you heard what happened to my mother?”
“Aye, Letitia told me.”
“I had no words to ease my mother’s horror, and eleven years of living since then hasnae given them to me. Ye were mauled, your body insulted by their rough, unwanted touch. Just now it seems the worst of all crimes, but, believe me, if they had gained what they sought, ye would have wounds that might never heal.”
That he could insult her so easily one moment and try so hard to comfort her the next puzzled her. “I do understand that. It but takes a while for such knowledge to be set firm in mind and heart.”
“Mayhaps if my mother had lived longer she too would have healed, at least in some ways. She couldnae fully bear even my affectionate embrace after she was raped.”
“But you had naught to do with it.” She sensed that he found it hard to speak of the crime done to his mother, and she was moved that he did so in an attempt to help her overcome her own horror.
“I was a mon. Seventeen only, but still considered a mon. She hurt herself as much as I was hurt when she flinched at my touch, but her tortured mind made her see all men as a threat, made her tense warily at even the gentlest of caresses. She wanted death, though she denied it. Though she was nearly past childbearing age, Moira’s birth didnae harm her that much. She simply refused to fight for her life when she got a fever. And that fever was brought on because she wouldnae eat, wouldnae do anything to regain her strength. Those are the scars, the hurts, that rape inflicts upon a woman.” He sighed. “I cannae begin to understand how ye feel.”
“Dirty, soiled, violated.”
“Can ye not feel anger and outrage instead?”
“What?”
“They had no right, no right at all. Only fools think otherwise and try to blame the woman for their own crimes. Only animals have a blind need to rut. A mon should be beyond that no matter what the provocation.”
“I gave them no provocation. I was asleep when they sprang.” She discovered that she did feel anger, even outrage, at what had occurred. “I barely even glanced their way since arriving at that outpost.”
Hearing the anger in her voice, he smiled faintly. “That is the truth. It was their crime only. Their fault. Not yours. That is where the healing will come from. Now, best to get some sleep. We leave at daybreak.”
After a moment of silence, she whispered, “Thank you for telling me of your mother. It helps.”
“Ye had become too quiet. I feared ye had slipped into a darkness of the mind. Now I can see ye werenae afflicted as I had thought. Ye dinnae flinch from my touch.” He moved his hand in a small circular motion over her stomach.
For a moment the feel of that subtle caress held her still. Heat flared in her abdomen and spread quickly throughout her body. The man was truly dangerous, she thought with a touch of exasperation. She grasped his hand and moved it aside, noting idly that he made no effort to resist her abrupt rebuff.
“Since you know that I can abide your touch already, there is no need to further test me.”
Chuckling softly, he sprawled on his back, crossing his arms beneath his head. He had felt the softest of ripples beneath his hand, had heard the hint of huskiness in her voice. She was not averse to his touch. The fact that he could draw a response from her despite her recent ordeal suggested to him that she still felt as strongly drawn to him as he did to her. He did not intend to wait long to test out his theory.
“Just making sure.”
“Fine. Now that you are sure, you may keep your hands to yourself.”
“I may, may I?”
“Aye, you may. In fact, you had better.”
“Mayhaps.”
“Master O’Duine, I am an indentured servant, not a leman.”
“As ye wish. Leman, eh? There is a fine old word.”
“Oh, hush. I need my sleep.”
She heard him laugh softly again and almost struck him. He knew what she felt when he touched her. She was sure of it. Worse, she had the distinct impression that he meant to take advantage of her weakness. She did not feel confident she could fight the feelings he stirred if he intended to tug at them constantly.
Mentally cursing him, Letitia, and everything that had led to her being there, Pleasance closed her eyes and tried to go to sleep. She would need all the rest she could get.
Pleasance cautiously sat down before the fire Tearlach had built. She did not think her backside would ever stop hurting. After six long days on the hard wagon seat she suspected she had bruises that would never heal.
“We will reach my cabin by day’s end tomorrow,” Tearlach said as he handed over her share of their food. “Soon we will be able to eat something besides pemmican.”
“And sit on something besides that cursed wagon seat,” Pleasance muttered as she chewed the strip of dried meat and washed away its taste with cider.
“Sore, are ye? I have a salve for that.” He laughed at the disgusted look she gave him.
The moment she had finished her meager meal, Pleasance decided to go to sleep. Using a little of their water, she rinsed out her cup and then lightly washed up. She stepped over to the bedding Tearlach had spread out near the wagon and silently cursed. One bed, one blanket—again. The man was incorrigible, she grumbled to herself as she laid down.