Chapter Four

Chapter Four

For the next two and a half weeks, Ciara battled his fever as she watched her mountain become buried under more snow than she had seen in many years.

She stretched as she heated some stew on the range. Exhaustion had begun to own her. She looked over at the man lying prone on the bed. She fed herself and went to check on him.

He was cool to the touch. She had done it. His fever was gone. Ciara grinned in relief at a successful job. She rose to go get him more willow bark tea and after she dribbled most of the cup into his mouth, she offered up a prayer of thanks. She took the cup over to her table and set it down. She changed into her warm bedclothes. She wore an old shirt of her father’s. It was linen and hung down to mid-thigh on her.

Before she left to get some much needed and deserved sleep, she checked on her patient one more time. She brushed her hand over his face that now sported a beard, grateful to discover he was still cool. Briefly she closed her eyes, nodded her relief and withdrew her hand.

She found it clasped in a grip that was tight despite the weakness the man himself had.

“Don’t leave me. So soft, so sweet. Stay the night with me,” he mumbled, tugging her closer.

Ciara allowed him to pull her closer, ignoring the low growl that came from Faolan. Her stranger’s hand moved upward and tangled itself in her unbound hair. His mouth brushed over hers, which caused her heart to beat wildly. He moaned against her lips as he slid his tongue along them, then slipped it inside her waiting mouth.

“So soft, like silk. You are so beautiful, everything I could ever want in a woman. Beautiful skin, the color of rich cream, hair like golden wheat.”

Realization hit her like ice water. He was dreaming of someone. For some reason that hurt. She tried to pull back but he tugged her down so she was sprawled over him, not even wincing from the pain of her on his wounds. He edged over a little without relinquishing his hold on her.

She settled in beside him, for what did it matter where she slept as long as she finally got some sleep? Her last thought before she drifted into a much welcome oblivion was that she was warm and safe in this man’s arms.

* * * *

Lucien came awake a bit at a time and wished he hadn’t when the pain hit him. His whole body was sore. He tried to open his eyes, but it was just too much. His body was on fire. He tried to move but there was something on his arm. As he turned his head, he noticed a head on his shoulder. He breathed in a scent that was unlike one he had smelled before. It was clean, fresh and pure. The skin against his bare shoulder was soft like silk. It felt right, was what he thought before sleep claimed him again.

* * * *

Ciara woke to a chill in the air of the cabin. However, she was comfortable and warm. And she found out why, because she lay draped over this man like a common whore. Her nightshirt had ridden up and her legs straddled one of his. She was flush up against him and yet she was thankful he still slept.

She slid out of bed, covered him and went to dress. She came back into the room much more comfortable and she built up the fire. Ciara ruffled Faolan’s ears as she put on her cloak to go outside for a bit.

* * * *

His eyes opened. His head was pounding and his body was still in tons of pain. He couldn’t make sense of where he was. He remembered a bear, his stallion running off and the subtle smell of something that made him hard with desire. A woman. He couldn’t remember her face, only her scent. It was next to him, where she was supposed to be. Where is she? Where am I? Who is she?

He glanced to the door when it opened. A hooded figure came in followed by the biggest, blackest dog he had ever seen. The cold air that blew in with them made him suck in his breath even though he was under all those quilts. At his gasp, the figure turned toward him.

The person set down the wood it carried and made sure the door was shut tight against the howling winds. With a wordless gesture it sent the black canine to go lie down.

“Who are you?” His voice was raspy, dry. “Where am I?”

The figure took off the cloak and what he saw made his jaw drop. It was a woman. She had on pants that fit her like a second skin. Black hair that looked to be very short. She had full lips and a petite nose on a face graced with the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen set above high-placed cheekbones. Amber. Not just any amber, but one that reminded him of a rich whiskey. They were hauntingly beautiful. Potent.

Her bronze skin glowed from the cold and it was not long before he realized he had begun to stiffen under her direct gaze. She looked like no one he had seen before. The women he had known and loved from England to Egypt vanished from his thoughts. He groaned.

Right away, she moved to the stove and made him a cup of something. She didn’t move like most women he knew either. Hers was a natural grace and not one that had been trained to look that way in attempts to snare a rich husband. As his vision stopped beside the bed, she held the cup toward him.

“Would you like to sit up?” Her voice, low and melodious, made his member twitch.

“Yes.” He struggled to do so but, to his immense embarrassment, he couldn’t do it.

Without any comment, she set down the cup and lifted him as if he weighed nothing. She placed him up against some cushions and when he was settled, she handed him the cup. “Drink it all.”

He drank with small sips as his eyes followed her about the cabin. Another very small building. He rested on a pallet of some kind in an alcove. As the warmth sank into him, he looked around the cabin, noticing Celtic artifacts and some that appeared to be African as well. Lucien slanted a look at her as he wondered what her story was. His hand shook with exhaustion by the time he finished his drink.

After, he gazed down at his bare chest. He looked up at her heading over with some fresh bandages.

“I will check your wounds, then if you wish something to eat, let me know.”

She was so direct Lucien didn’t know how to respond. Still, he wanted to keep her talking. Had to find out information. “Where is my horse?”

Surprise flitted across her features. “What horse?”

“You didn’t see one? Maybe he made it back to the village.” He tried not to be affected by her nearness as he recognized her scent from the one that had been next to him in his dreams.

She sat on a chair beside him and proceeded to check his bare chest like it was something she did every day. “Paradise Cove? You are the man, the Englishman who was coming for Nyama and Cloud’s son.” It was not a question but a statement. “The bay stallion.”

He responded as he sat forward. “Yes. Damn it. Now I don’t know where he is. This whole trip will be for nothing. Who are Nuamama and Cloud?”

He stumbled over the pronunciation of the words. Lucien flopped back against the cushions while he panted for breath. As she applied more paste to his scars and put new bandages on him, her subtle scent flowed over his senses, making him respond in ways he should not have. Ways that he had no energy to even think about.

“Nyama and Cloud. They are the sire and dam of the bay you came for.” She stood, and before he could stop her, she flipped back the quilts covering his lower half, which had kept hidden his substantial erection he had as a result of her closeness to him. Lucien flushed with embarrassment, but as he tried to protest he noticed she didn’t even seem to be fazed by it. She only doctored his wounds and that was all.