Free Lois Greiman by Bewitching the Highlander Page A

the bedsheet in a white-knuckled hand, and yanking himself upright. Every inch of him gasped in protest. His head bobbled back in silent agony, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and held on to consciousness with a fierce grip.
    “Are you all right?” she murmured. There was worry in her tender tone. Worry that he was loath to cause, but fook it all, he wasn’t all right. He was going to pass out. Again.
    “Angel?”
    “I’m foine,” he lied. “Just give me…” Heconcentrated on breathing, on living. He was damned good at living, had proved that if nothing else a thousand times over. “A moment.”
    She touched her hand to his brow. “I am so sorry, luv. Where does it hurt?”
    Keelan stared at her through pain-narrowed eyes, but despite his good sense he could not hold back the dreams. Erotic memories rolled in like darkling clouds—sweet unfettered Charity, kissing his brow, his chest, his…He jerked his gaze past her to Chetfield, who stood watching with unbending attention.
    “Nowhere,” he rasped.
    “But surely—”
    “I be well. Completely healed.” His tone was scratchy. “’Tis a bleeding miracle.”
    She looked at him as if he were daft. Which might very well have been the case. He was daft and starving and very possibly naked. He’d always hoped he’d die naked, but there had been other stipulations. Such as not sharing the room with a ghoulish lord who wanted to tear the very life from his chest.
    “Drink this,” Charity said, and put the goblet to his lips. Keelan didn’t try to resist. Instead he sucked in the watered wine, then sputtered, gasping and choking.
    She drew the glass away. “You must take itslow.”
    He nodded, still seeing her as she’d been in his dreams. Taking a deep breath, he chanced another long sip.
    She watched him, lips slightly parted, then: “I long to take you inside of me,” she said.

Chapter 8
    W ine sputtered down Keelan’s windpipe.
    He coughed, hacked, and yanked his streaming gaze to the ghoul. But Chetfield’s mismatched features remained calm.
    Charity waited, looking worried until the sputtering subsided. “Are you well now?”
    Keelan tried to clear his throat, coughed again, glanced at the soft-lipped ghoul, then back at the girl. “What say ye?” he croaked.
    “I but asked if you were well—”
    “Afore that.”
    She blinked, thinking, then: “I said, I long to get some food inside of you.”
    He dropped his head back against the pillows, feeling old even beyond his irrational years. Old and beaten and hopeless.
    “Mr. Angel?”
    He rolled his eyes toward her. Still fully dressed. “Aye?”
    “You must eat if you are ever to get me on my back.”
    He snapped his head toward her. “What?” he croaked.
    She jerked away a half an inch. “You have to eat,” she said, “to get your strength back.”
    Keelan speared Chetfield with a frantic gaze. The other’s eyes gleamed like a wary wolf’s. Did he know? Did he realize what Keelan was thinking, dreaming? Or was it more diabolical than that? Perhaps the two of them were in league. Perhaps sweet Charity truly was spouting the lewd propositions he imagined and they were but watching his reactions and chortling at him behind his back. Or…perhaps he was going mad.
    He nodded dismally at the thought.
    “You can eat?” she asked.
    He turned his gaze to the girl’s. Good God, he was tired, exhausted really. He felt himself drift into oblivion.
    “I need you,” she whispered.
    He jerked awake. But Chetfield still wasn’t trying to kill him. Which probably meant he was hallucinating again. Father God, he couldn’t takemuch more of this. He dropped his head back, hoping to find the dreams again.
    “Mr. MacLeod.” Chetfield’s voice was smooth, almost soothing. “I fear the maid is correct. You must eat soon or you will be of no use to me.”
    Keelan opened his eyes, caught the baron’s gaze. They seemed to be alone in this broken span of time.
    Chetfield smiled. “Might