"Nay,
Obrian. Ye cannot do this. Ye are weak, and ye've been in bed
with a ragging fever. Ye might harm yerself."
His
laughter rose from the back of his throat. "The fever was desire
for ye. There is naught I can do to change your mind?"
Slowly
regaining her senses, she pushed away from him, her hands flat
on his chest, knowing if he kissed her, she would give in to her
passion and the desire that rose so swiftly with his touch.
She
had been taught right from wrong. They were not wed and in the
eyes of God, this could not happen.
Yet
he didn't heed her protest. He did not let her go. Instead, he
closed his eyes and held fast to her, his hands so very still
upon her.
"Obrian,
ye cannot do this. 'Tis not right and we would both regret the
deed." Her head roared and her heart thundered with rising passion,
but she pushed her need and her longing for this man aside to
do what was right, what she'd been taught.
"Ian,"
he said matter of fact. "'Tis my name. And I would not regret
making love with ye, lass. Ye are a very beautiful woman." His
fingers closed over her hand, dark against light, so very large
his hand swallowed hers.
Keely's
pulse gave an odd little skip at the sound of his name. She looked
upon him with wonder. "Ye remember yer name? What else? What else
do ye remember?" Despite the excitement this revelation brought,
she feared the answers as much as she dreaded his not knowing.
"Only
my name." His voice was solemn and she heard a hint of anger coupled
with frustration. He squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips,
kissing her knuckles one at a time. "It will have to do for now."