The Princess and the Marquess Read online

  His upper body done, she covered him with a quilt, and after a short struggle to get his breeches off because they were wet with blood, snow and mud, she muttered and slit them with a knife.

  She cleaned his scratches and checked for broken bones. His arm had been fractured and she splinted it. His legs seemed to be fine aside from the scores and abrasions. She rolled him over and checked his back, and backside. Other than the three deep gashes that went across his ribs and onto his back, he was clean from any major wounds.

  Sure there were no more wounds that needed to be tended, she covered him with thick quilts to keep him warm then saw to herself. She changed into a dry pair of buckskins. She hung his clothes over a chair by the fire then made herself something to eat, but she still checked on her patient every once in a while.

  She made some willow bark tea and dribbled it into his mouth, knowing if a fever did hit him, it wouldn’t be good. He seemed to be in a peaceful slumber as she headed for her own bed, the door left open so she could hear him in the night.

  “No! Get off me. Damn it, I don’t want to die here.” In a voice that almost broke her heart, he asked the elusive person in his dream, “Why couldn’t you just love me? Why did you hate me so?” Even filled with so much tormented pain, his voice was deep and smooth.

  Ciara jumped out of bed at the masculine voice that resonated through her cabin. She flew out to the bed where her stranger lay and noticed that he was thrashing around, covered in sweat. He had a fever.

  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 qu
estion 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.

  Chapter Five

  Ciara was fazed. It took every bit of her inner strength to keep all emotion off her face. She had no idea he would look like this. His rod jutted out from a thick nest of black hair. It quivered as if it had a life all its own. There was a tiny drop of dewiness at the very top. She wanted to touch it, to see if it was as soft as she imagined. She finished as fast as possible without circumventing any of his wounds. She stood as she flicked the quilts back over him with a dismissive glance.

  “Would you like to eat? I have some stew that you should be able to handle.”

  “Have you no shame or are you so used to looking at men in that state?”

  She ground her jaw and took a deep breath to remain calm.

  “I have no time for modesty. I have been taking care of you for the past two weeks, since I was merely concerned with keeping you alive. I did not mean to embarrass you. If you think you can handle me looking upon you, I will help you to dress in your pants.”

  “No, I am sorry. Have I really been here for two weeks?” He readjusted the quilt over his lower body. “My name is Lucien St. Martin, Marquess of Heartstone. You can call me Saint. What is your name? And yes, I would like at least my pants.”

  Men. Always trying to impress a woman. “Ciara.” She pronounced it kee-ar-ra with a slight rolling of the ‘r’. She turned her back on him and went to the stove to get him a bowl of soup. He needed to stay in bed for a bit yet and keeping his clothes from him seemed to be the best way.

  “That’s it? Nothing else to your name?”

  She settled herself back on the chair by his pallet and offered him the bowl. “Ciara Malika McKay. What about you, anything else to your name? Can you eat on your own or would you like some help? Eat first, clothes second.”

  Regardless of the fact that he shook with exhaustion, he snapped, “Lucien Brenden Remington St. Martin. I can feed myself.” He took the bowl and set it on his lap, but the first spoonful he spilled most of on his chest. His face flamed with anger or embarrassment, maybe both.

  Ciara said not one word, just rose and got a cloth to wipe his chest clean. She took the bowl and fed him little by little.

  Once he’d eaten and drunk everything, she set it to the side. “Do you need to relieve yourself?”

  “Help me up. I will go outside.”

  “I don’t think so.” She rose and got a pot. It was placed on his lap and she said to him, “I will be back in a few minutes.” Ciara swung on her cloak, and flipped the hood up as she and her canine disappeared into the swirling snow.

  Upon her return, she noticed how he almost knocked the pot over when he got back into bed, dressed in woolen pants her father had worn.

  Not saying anything, she came and removed the pot and took it outside. She was gone for about fifteen minutes. When she returned, she carried more wood along with the pot, cleaned out.

  Ciara set down the wood and hung her cloak. As she stoked the fire she turned to look at her ‘guest’, watching him fight exhaustion as he struggled to pull the heavy quilts up over him. When her hands were warm she walked over there, lifted the blankets and made sure he was tucked in.

  When he would have said something she interrupted, “Stop fighting it. The more you rest, the sooner you will recover. Remember you were attacked by a bear. You will be up in no time. Rest now.”

  “Will you stay and talk with me?”

  “Aye. If you wish it. I will return.” She left to her room.

  She had changed into dry buckskin breeches and fuzzy moccasin slippers. She sat in the large rocking chair by the fire as she absently stroked the head of her massive pet.

  “Where did you get your dog?” As Lucien struggled to sit up she tensed, ready to jump up to assist if needed.

  “Faolan is no dog. He is a wolf. I saved him from a trap and he has decided to stay with me.”

  “Faolan, what does that mean? Why are you here? Why don’t you live in the town?”

  “My business is my business, Wolf. Please do not ask me to speak of such things for I will not do so.”

  “Wolf? Why do you call me that?”

  “It suits you, like Faolan. You should rest. Lie back.” She liked his voice but that could prove to be problematic, she didn’t need to get involved in anything with this man.

  “Why do you not come lie with me? You have before, for your scent was over the pillows.”

  Without so much as a smile, she stood. “Of course they smell like me. This is my place and those are my blankets. I am sorry if they offend.”

  “Are you saying that you were not sleeping with me?”

  “I have my own bed. Call me if you need anything. Goodnight, Wolf.” She nodded her head and walked out of the room.

  Ciara lay in her bed and trembled as she tried to get hold of herself. Having seen his aroused, naked body had shattered her composure and she was having a hard time getting it back. She thought of what he had said. ‘Skin the color of rich cream and hair like golden wheat.’

  That in itself was enough to square her resolve. She just had to make sure he survived because it appeared someone waited for him. For a single selfish moment she wondered what it would be like to have a man such as him waiting for her. She fell asleep with that thought.

  * * * *

  A low growl woke her a few nights later. Awake in an instant, she had a knife in her hand even before her feet had hit the floor. A tall figure lurched unsteadily in front of the fire. Faolan had woken her but he stayed by her. Taking a deep breath, she put the knife down and slipped on her moccasins.

  Ciara stood in the doorway and watched as he struggled to get strength back in his limbs. The fire cast a golden glow over his body that was healing fast. He would have scars, but he would survive. As she watched him in the firelight he pitched forward.

  He muffled a curse as he hit the floor. Within seconds there was a pair of surprisingly strong arms around him lifting, yes lifting him up, helping him back to the bed.

  Ciara laid him on the bed. “I have to make sure you didn’t open your wounds.” She did a quick and thorough exam before she covered him back up.

  Anger at himself for being here, being injured, being so weak, all rushed to the surface and he grabbed her arm and squeezed.

  “What? You aren’t going to tell me that I shouldn’t have been walking yet? I’m too weak? Why don’t you say something? Anything?”

  He was shouting by this time and Faolan had risen to stand next to his mistress. The wolf did not even hackle but Lucien couldn’t mistake the menace as it rolled off him in waves.

  Her calm, lilting voice broke through his fog. “If you value your life, remove your hand from my arm.” He realized it had been a huge mistake to touch her in anger with the wolf around.

  “You are brave with the wolf to hide behind,” he sneered. He did release her arm.

  “No harm done. What good would I do if I told you those things? Your body is weak, not your mind. I don’t need to tell you things like that. I couldn’t know what your body is capable of more than you could. You are a man. I figure you would like to be up and able to t
ake care of yourself soon. You didn’t hurt yourself so there was no harm done.”

  She didn’t even touch the fact that she had a wolf to defend her.

  When she put it that way, he could find nothing to argue with. At least she had noticed he was a man. She spoke a word to Faolan and he went to lie down on the rug by the fire. It was a word he didn’t understand.

  “What did you say to him?”

  “Not important. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No. Thank you.” He reached up to touch her face, and when he did, she stiffened but her eyes stayed on his, clear and guileless. She was beautiful. Achingly so. He wanted to kiss those full lips. He wanted to run his tongue over them and nibble on them.

  “I will see you in the morning, then.” She straightened and spoke one word to Faolan and he followed her into her room. She made no mention of his treatment to her and the fact that she was silent and not upset by his words or actions had a greater effect than if she had yelled at him for it.

  Come morning, he was a bit stronger as he ate the breakfast she set before him. She was dressed as before in buckskins. When the meal was done he looked at her.

  “How did I get here?” His memory was sketchy except for seeing the bear charge him.

  “I brought you here.”

  “How?”

  “I carried you.” She took the dishes and washed them with water that had been heating on the stove.

  Lucien snorted in disbelief. She was a female. “You mean you had someone help you carry me?”

  “No. I carried you. There is no one usually on this mountain. You are far from Paradise Cove. It is dangerous for you to be out without a guide. Why was there no one with you?”

  “I don’t need someone to babysit me. I am a marquess. If you must know, I was taking the stallion for a ride. Before that damn horse spooked because of the bear.” His temper rose with indignation and his voice was laden with scorn. He knew it was not fair to blame the horse for running but he had to blame someone or something and it sure wasn’t going to be himself.