Page 83 of Warrior’s Lady

Chapter Twenty-Five

The stench of rotting flesh had faded, replace by a minty, musky odor. Rhiannon opened her eyes. Where was she?

A sea of red surrounded her head. Golden light chased the darkness from the room, reminding her of spring — of life, of renewal, and of the glorious breezes that rippled across the fields of heather, carrying the scent of the sea. A tangy saltiness touched her tongue and she shifted her gaze to see Camden bending over her.

"Welcome back." He applied a damp cloth to her temples. She drew a deep breath, savoring the deliciousness of his scent, holding it in her memory for what remained of her days.

Or hours…

"Plague!" She bolted upright.

With a gentle hand he caught her shoulder, stroked her arm. "It's gone."

She stared at him, startled. "How long have I been in here with you?"

"Only a few short hours." His hands drifted down her arms to settle at her waist. "And you were quite talkative."

Rhiannon stared down at her chest, her arms. The red rash and the large purple and black spots were gone. "What did I tell you?" she asked, grateful she had been healed, but unsettled by her loose tongue. She could remember nothing.

"You told me about your mother. And you mentioned a few things about your father. But most important, you told me that you loved me."

Silence descended between them and she heard the crackle of flames in the grate and smelled the musky sweetness of burning peat. She was safe, and well. "Did I really say that?"

He nodded, and for the first time she saw a fragile vulnerability in the warmth of his eyes. "Was it a feverish imagining, or the truth?"

Rhiannon did not want to hide her thoughts or her emotions any longer. The plague outbreak had taught her one thing: life was short. And she was no longer afraid to reach for what she wanted.

"I have always told you the truth. I fell in love with you in the cottage that day."

His fingers stroked the curve of her cheek. "I love you. With my body if you will have it, my heart if you will trust it, my soul if you will take it into your safekeeping."

Rhiannon choked back tears at the touching words of the Celtic prayer. The scent of him, the feel of him, the taste of him combined to send her senses spinning, reeling out of control. His words echoed in her mind. He loved her.

Camden shifted to sit beside her. "I had feared I'd lost you." He put a hand behind her head and lowered her to the pillow, his mouth following her down, kissing her with tenderness and passion.

He pulled back to study her face a long moment later. "Why did you not leave when you saw the plague?"

"I loved you, Violet, and even your people too much to leave you without help."

His expression clouded. "My people were not always kind to you."

The love swelled in her heart and she could not resist stealing a tender kiss from his lips. "Nay, they were not. But you were, once you chose to accept me." She traced the cleft in his chin with her finger. Her hands rippled down his neck, to his chest, to his waist to release the yards of pleated tartan from around his waist before she grasped the ends of his shirt and tugged it over his head.

She sighed appreciatively as her hands slipped over the hardened planes of his chest. She scooted up and leaned forward, allowing her hair to brush across his skin, teasing his nipples to erectness.

Her mouth gently closed around the hard bud of his nipple and she sampled it with slow, swirling probes of her tongue. At his groan of pleasure she slid further down his body, allowing her lips to explore the flat surface of his belly, and to nip playfully at the rigid steel of his muscles.

"What a seductress you are." He pulled her back up along the ridges of his chest and twined his hands in the long strands of her hair, forcing her head to arch gently back. "Shall I seduce you as you have me?" His mouth came down to plunder the creamy flesh of her throat, the top of her breasts. She relished the feel of his hands upon her flesh, exploring her mysteries, revealing her need. She wanted his heat. She wanted his strength. She wanted to feel healthy and whole again.

Her lips boldly caressed his, her tongue greedily wanting to know the taste and feel of him.

He dragged her into his arms, pulling her tight against the hollow of his hips and she felt the hardness of his arousal against her. With urgent hands, he pushed her chemise off her shoulders and lowered his head to her exposed breasts. He taunted first one, then the other.

A hot shiver went through her. She arched her back again, thrusting her breasts forward. On a moan of pure pleasure, she coiled her hands in his hair, freeing it from the leather queue at his nape, curling her fingers around his neck, urging him on.

With a deep-throated groan, he pulled back and pushed her linen chemise down past the rounded softness of her hips. He followed the garment down, his hands on her thighs, his thumbs stroking the golden thatch of downy curls, parting her flesh, probing her intimately with his tongue.

She cried out as pleasure gripped her and pushed shamelessly, eagerly, as sensation after sensation burned through her. Her body felt weak, drugged as she looked down at his dark head.