Free Warrior and the Wanderer by Elizabeth Holcombe

allow her gaze to fall down the long length of his body and discovered her task was not complete.
    She bent down, and scooped up the rest of the plaid dangling from his waist and tossed it over his shoulder. He remained silent, a blessing, as she tucked the end of the plaid under the rope belt. Task done, Bess surveyed Ian, and her knees suddenly weakened.
    Dear God, she thought, he’s the Highlander of my dreams, of my heart. He is the one who could make love possible, if he wasnae so arrogant and odd, and I wasnae so bound to my clan. If ’twas another time….
    She boldly snuck a glance at his face that was twisted in his fight against the pain he received from her. No matter how hard she tried, she could not shove aside the guilt for her rash behavior of that morning. She looked at him. Beneath his devilishly becoming exterior, he wore his arrogance and wit as a tortoise wears its shell for protection, but from what?
    She looked into his eyes. What was it about him? He was too different. She took a step forward and faltered a little. In a blink, he enveloped her in his arms, pressing her against his firm chest, not wincing from the pain this surely must cause him.
    “Steady there,” he said softly, a tone she had not heard from him before. One she liked very much.
    She stood in his arms, felt the beat of his heart against her cheek. Stepping away from him now seemed so very wrong. She remained where she was. Common sense be damned.
    “I feel as if I’m standing between a nightmare and a dream,” he whispered. “Did you really sit by my bed praying I’d recover?”
    “Father d’Auguste’s tongue is fair loosened beyond the sanctity of the confessional,” she said. “Yet, should I reply with truth, I fear ye would use it to tease me without mercy.”
    Ian held her tighter. “No, Blaze, I won’t.”
    “Then ’tis aye,” she found herself confessing. “I sat in worry beside your bed. Ye’re no use to me dead.”
    “Thank you,” he said softly, tilting his head down, his breath brushing her face in soft waves. “For this first time since I met you I feel like playing along.”
    He cupped her face with large strong hands. Brushed them back, threading his fingers through her hair. He pressed her body closer. Bess rested her head back into the cradle of his fingers, her mind screaming at her to fight the urge that tore over her heart. The voice that reminded her of her title and her duty was mercifully mute for this one sweet moment.
    He pressed his lips hard, urgently against hers. She tried to pull away at the same time wondering if one wee indulgence of her heart would make her a traitor to her duty. Her curiosity was a greater power than the revenge that had consumed her body and spirit ever since that fateful day when she had met Ian MacLean in the most turbulent of circumstances a few days ago.
    She knew of passionate kisses only from her dreams and imagination. She knew of this mysterious thing, and had not been made privy to the secret by her own husband, had thought but a moment ago that such a kiss was far beyond her reach…this, her first true kiss.
    The bristles on Ian’s face scratched her chin as he sought deeper purchase with her mouth. In turn, she followed his lead with a hunger of her own. Her hands greedily found the back of his head. Her fingers dug into the thick locks of his hair, and she pressed him closer.
    Her need was one that no duty to her clan could fill. Would they deny her this one forbidden pleasure?
    Without considering what the answer might be, she mingled her tongue with his, tapped into the sweet taste, kissed him harder than he kissed her. Not to be outdone, so typical of his clan, he kissed her harder still. Her body vibrated with every beat of his pounding heart. He carried her further and further from her resolve.
    She closed her eyes so tight. Her heart beat so fast, Bess feared she might faint. As if he read her mind, Ian laid her down on the bed. He pressed his