The Highlander's Destiny (Highland Rogues #2) - Mary Wine Page 0,9

A pattern of light speckles was cast on the floor and up the wall. It was meager light. But her eyes had adjusted well. She tried to be still, but her body shook.

“Who are ye lass?” he asked.

“Cora…Mac…Kenzie….”

He reached in and placed his hand against her neck. The contrast was jarring. He was so warm; it was like being scalded.

“Are ye Buchanan’s sister then?” Faolan asked as he sat down next to the bed.

Cora wanted to answer, but her strength was bleeding away, leaving her far weaker than she’d ever felt in her life. It frightened her to face the reality of her circumstances. Even in the bed, she might still die.

But the bedding moved as Faolan slipped in beside her. He’d pulled his boots off and left his kilt on the stool he had perched on while she’d drifted into her thoughts.

“Ye…Ye….” Cora stammered, but at least she bit back the ridiculous question of ‘what are ye doing’. It was clear, even to her muddled brain, what he was about. The only way to warm her was with his own body. So, she pressed her teeth together.

“At least ye are practical enough, Mistress Cora,” Faolan remarked as he came up behind her.

He turned her onto her side and flattened himself against her back. She sucked in her breath. The difference between the temperatures of their bodies was dramatic.

“Ye’ve made it this far…” he rasped against her ear, “it would be a shame to have to bury ye come morning.”

“I will do me best to no’ trouble ye to dig a grave.”

But she pushed back harder against him. For certain, there would be scandalous expressions on half the staff in her brother’s stronghold, but it wouldn’t be the first time she hadn’t allowed the way others thought about her to linger in her mind.

Now? Well, now it was a matter of survival. In the part of her brain that still functioned, she wondered if perhaps the reason she didn’t care so much for the way things were meant to be was that Fate had always known she was heading for this moment.

Perhaps she was simply grasping at straws in order to survive.

None of it mattered, really. Weakness was winning the battle now. Faolan was hard and warm against her back. Every breath drew his scent into her head, unleashing an awareness of him that she had no idea how to deal with. Never had she thought to be so very close to another person. Understanding she might marry someday and have a husband hadn’t ever given a spark to the idea of being so very aware of a man.

The realization illuminated how alone she’d truly been.

It was a sobering thought. She wanted to contemplate it, explore why she felt like they weren’t close enough. Why she liked the feeling of him against her so very much. The need to fight for survival was waning, leaving her at the mercy of exhaustion. She wanted to stay awake. Certainly, there was some reason why she should remain awake. But her mind was overpowered. She’d survived by demanding every bit of strength she possessed, and now that her goal was accomplished, her flesh would have its due.

*

Faolan stroked Cora’s arm.

He enjoyed the way she felt against his body. He didn’t bother to think about who might disapprove of his choices. He’d been a disappointment to the world since he was born out of wedlock and had the nerve to grow up strong.

People and their expectations could go straight to hell as far as he was concerned.

Cora was strong. He found her tenacity her greatest appeal. Even if the daylight showed him a female of beauty, he doubted he’d ever find her more attractive than he had when she was shaking her fist at the storm clouds while soaked to the skin and covered with dead leaves.

He was coarse, at best.

Uncivilized at worst.

And at his core? Well, he liked his life uncomplicated by social niceties.

Such a temperament served him well. Cora shifted, turning toward him. He rolled onto his back and eased her head onto his chest. Her nose was like ice, and he knew exactly where each of her fingertips was because they burned him with their chill.

He grinned. Enjoying the opportunity to allow his lips to curl and expose his teeth. The good wives might scold him for crawling into bed with an unmarried girl, but he’d never regret doing it.

Life was a precious thing. It was fleeting as well. What he