Page 26 of The Scarred Lyon

Duncan pulled the sling off and tossed it aside. He encircled her waist and drew her close. “Not at all. Not at this moment. Hold me.”

She did, sliding her arms about his neck again. “I admit I was frightened. You handled it admirably,” she said.

Duncan was about to reply when Augusta did something unexpected: She kissed him. It wasn’t a casual peck on the cheek but a passionate kiss. He deepened the kiss, and a soft moan escaped her lips.

It had been so long since he had kissed a woman. So. Long.

Her hands tunneled through his long hair, grabbing fistfuls of it as she kissed him enthusiastically in return. He was the one moaning now, aroused beyond all comprehension.

Augusta ended the kiss and caressed his scarred cheek before stepping back. He immediately felt the loss of her soft warmth and eager passion. Duncan was grateful for the shroud of darkness that covered them, because tears beaded on his eyelashes. He blinked them away. After his injury and long recovery, he often indulged in self-pity, believing no woman would ever touch him again. The depth of emotion that filled him was overwhelming yet confusing, and hard to name.

“Good Lord,” she murmured huskily.

Good Lord, indeed.

“What should we do now?” she asked.

“Continue kissing?” Duncan replied hopefully.

Her throaty, dulcet laughter reminded him of the pleasing notes of a harp, sliding along its strings. “How very tempting, but we should try to sleep. What about the Hansens?”

“Sleep sounds reasonable. The Hansens are gone. They probably departed soon after we retired.”

Augusta gasped. “So we are alone here?”

“Is the prospect so terrible?” he teased.

“No. Not at all. I prefer it.”

“We’ll talk more in the morning. I’ll light the candles and get the bedding in order.” Duncan went about his duties, and they were soon tucked in, Augusta curled up in his arms.

She leaned in and kissed his unscarred cheek. “Go to sleep.”

To sleep: Perchance to dream.

And Duncan would have pleasant dreams, to be certain. For Augusta to show him such ready affection so soon into their marriage boded well. He would take such welcome developments. Now, all they had to do was survive being stranded in a dilapidated cabin in the middle of nowhere.

That will be a challenge.

Chapter Twelve

What Augusta noticed first upon awakening was that the wind had died down. It had been disconcerting to hear the roof boards rattling precariously with each intense gust all throughout the night. Then she realized Duncan was gone. Was it morning? It was hard to tell, as the attic room was still dark.

The memory of their kiss came back to her. What had possessed her to initiate such a passionate kiss? It had been passionate on both sides. Had she simply been relieved that he was unharmed? Or maybe she’d been glad he had returned and that she wouldn’t be alone? Or perhaps she wanted and needed to be close to someone. No, that was not fair. Close to him was more accurate. What a revelation.

Yawning, she carefully rolled over and, using her hands, braced herself to stand. She glanced down at her stocking-clad, wrapped foot. On the floor was Duncan’s arm sling, so she picked it up and looped it on her arm. The sprained ankle still looked swollen. Careful not to place much weight on it, she opened the door. “Duncan?”

He stepped into her sight. “I’m here. Wait, and I will assist you down the stairs.”

“Is it still storming?”

Duncan took her arm. “The worst of the high winds are over, I believe. Alas, it is still snowing, though not with last night’s ferocity. Take care with the bottom step. There.”

They stopped, and Augusta gasped at the transformation of the living space. A fire crackled in the hearth, filling the room with warmth. “Is that a tent?”

“Of a sort. I found a tarp. Here, come sit by the fire.” Duncan helped her into the chair, gently placing her sprained foot on the stool. “I came down about six. It’s nearly eight now.”

She had slept nearly eleven hours, at least. Good Lord.