Drums of Autumn - Diana Gabaldon [209]
“Claire,” he said gently. “Ye canna move me. There’s nothing else to do.”
“There is,” I said, repressing a quaver in my voice. “I’ll stay with you. I’ll bring you blankets and food, but I’m not leaving you up here alone. I’ll bring wood, and we’ll make a fire.”
“There’s no need. I can manage,” he insisted.
“I can’t,” I said, between my teeth. I remembered all too well what it had been like in the cabin, during those empty, suffocating hours of waiting. Freezing my arse off in the snow for several days wasn’t at all an appealing prospect, but it was better than the alternative.
He saw I meant it, and smiled.
“Well, then. Ye might bring some whisky, too, if there’s any left.”
“There’s half a bottle,” I said, feeling happier. “I’ll bring it.”
He got an arm around me, and pulled me into the curve of his shoulder. In spite of the howling wind outside, it was actually reasonably cozy under the cloaks, snuggled tight against him. His skin smelled warm and slightly salty, and I couldn’t resist raising my head and putting my lips to the damp hollow of his throat.
“Aah,” he said, shivering. “Don’t do that!”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, I dinna like it! How could I? It makes my skin crawl!”
“Well, I like it,” I protested.
He looked at me in amazement.
“You do?”
“Oh, yes,” I assured him. “I dearly love to have you nibble on my neck.”
He narrowed one eye and squinted dubiously at me. Then he reached up, took me delicately by the ear, and drew my head down, turning my face to the side. He flicked his tongue gently at the base of my throat, then lifted his head and set his teeth very softly in the tender flesh at the side of my neck.
“Eeeee,” I said, and shivered uncontrollably.
He let go, looking at me in astonishment.
“I will be damned,” he said. “Ye do like it; ye’ve gone all gooseflesh and your nipples are hard as spring cherries.” He passed a hand lightly over my breast; I hadn’t bothered with my makeshift brassiere when I dressed for my impromptu expedition.
“Told you,” I said, blushing slightly. “I suppose one of my ancestresses was bitten by a vampire or something.”
“A what?” He looked quite blank.
There was time to kill, so I gave him a thumbnail sketch of the life and times of Count Dracula. He looked bemused and appalled, but his hand carried on with its machinations, having now moved under my buckskin shirt and found its way beneath the cutty sark as well. His fingers were chilly, but I didn’t mind.
“Some people find the notion terribly erotic,” I ended.
“That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard!”
“I don’t care,” I said, stretching out at full length beside him and putting my head back, throat invitingly exposed. “Do it some more.”
He muttered something under his breath in Gaelic, but managed to get onto one elbow and roll toward me.
His mouth was warm and soft, and whether he approved of what he was doing or not, he did it awfully well.
“Ooooh,” I said, and shuddered ecstatically as his teeth sank delicately into my earlobe.
“Oh, well, if it’s like that,” he said in resignation, and taking my hand, pressed it firmly between his thighs.
“Gracious,” I said. “And here I thought the cold …”
“It’ll be warm enough soon,” he assured me. “Get them off, aye?”
It was rather awkward, given the cramped quarters, the difficulty of staying covered in order not to suffer frostbite in any exposed portions, and the fact that Jamie was able to lend only the most basic assistance, but we managed quite satisfactorily nonetheless.
What with one thing and another, I was rather preoccupied, though, and it was only during a temporary lull in the activities that I became aware of an uneasy sensation, as though I was being watched. I lifted myself on my hands and glanced out through the screen of hemlock, but saw nothing beyond the grove and the snow-covered slope below.
Jamie gave a low groan.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured, eyes half closed. “What is it?”
“I thought I heard something,” I said, lowering myself onto his chest again.
At this, I did hear something; a laugh, low but distinct,