The Highlander's Excellent Adventure (Survivors, #8)

by Galen, Shana

  Finally, he pressed his tongue upon her fully, licking her with a deep sweeping motion. He felt her orgasm shudder through her. Her entire body went rigid for what seemed long moments, then she cried out and her hips undulated violently. He kept his mouth on her, feeling the way her clitoris pulsed against his tongue as her hips drove her harder against his mouth.

  Duncan had never found so much pleasure in giving a woman release before. He enjoyed a woman’s pleasure, but then no woman reacted like Ines. No woman reacted to him as she did. She gave her whole self to him, opening to him, not holding anything back. He sincerely hoped Stratford hadn’t come directly to the cottage because her screams were loud enough to be heard outside.

  When she finally stilled, only moaning faintly in protest when he tongued her again, he lifted his head and looked at her. He could pleasure her again. She was the sort of woman who could come over and over. He hoped whoever she married realized that about her and gave her many nights full of pleasure. But it was hard to think of her with any other man. It was impossible to imagine another seeing her as she was now. Her lips were slightly swollen and red. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes half-lidded. Her hair was wild, a tangle of chocolate ribbon beneath her. Her dress had all but come off her arms, and her nipples were still hard and had gone dark. The burn of his beard brushing against her sensitive skin was still visible on the curve of her breasts. She looked thoroughly debauched, a woman well-pleasured. A woman no man could resist bedding.

  Except Duncan had to resist.

  He moved away from her, and she opened her eyes. “Come here,” she said, lifting her arms to him. He wanted to go into those arms. He wanted her to press against him, but if he did, she would never leave this cottage a virgin.

  “I need some air,” he said, rising to his knees. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

  She frowned, some of the pleasurable haze clearing from her vision. “Duncan?”

  “Just give me a moment, lass.” He stood on shaky legs and walked, unsteadily, out into the cold rain.

  He shivered in the cool night air, but he knew it would take more than this to cool his need for her. Duncan feared it might never be extinguished.

  Fifteen

  EMMELINE

  When Loftus returned without Stratford, Emmeline began to worry. She hadn’t worried when Mr. Murray and Stratford left without her. She hadn’t worried when Loftus whined to follow, and she was left alone. She hadn’t worried when the rain had started pouring down. She’d huddled under a tree with a blanket over her head and stayed, if not, dry, drier than she might have without the protection of the large tree limbs and the thick blanket.

  Emmeline was not cold. Her body shivered, but inside she was warm with happiness.

  How could she not be when Stratford had all but acknowledged he cared for her—not as a friend. Not as a cousin. Not as a sort of sister.

  As a lover?

  Emmeline wasn’t certain why she was so thrilled at this revelation. A month ago, she would have never once thought of kissing Stratford. He was her escort, someone who had to accompany her on the never-ending list of social engagements. She was miserable and only looking for escape.

  But then she had escaped, and Stratford had shown up, and something changed. He wasn’t just the man she’d known since they’d been children, not just an escort who endured the Season at her side. He was a Stratford she had never seen—probably, she could admit, because she had not looked at him in so long. Of course, she’d realized he was handsome and well-built. She was not blind. Of course, she knew he had been decorated for his service to his country during the war.

  But she hadn’t known how much she would like his intellect—how talking to him was refreshing and made her feel alive. She didn’t agree with all he said, but he made her think. He made her realize that running away from her mother was not the solution to her problems. She would have to face them head on.

  Emmeline hadn’t known how much she would admire his bravery and cunning and loyalty to his friend. And she even appreciated his cool head and rational way of thinking. Those qualities had saved them all more than once on this adventure.

  But she hadn’t thought that he felt the same about her. They had kissed, yes, and she’d known he enjoyed the kiss. But it had seemed he hadn’t wanted to enjoy it and hadn’t wanted to repeat it. And then they’d kissed again, and she’d said that idiot thing about marrying him. She hadn’t meant to say it, but at the time it seemed like such a good idea. If she married him, she would not have to endure any more Seasons. And she could keep kissing him.

  But he’d seemed so appalled at the idea, and she’d been humiliated at having said it.

  But then tonight he had all but told her that he thought of her in much the same way. Had something changed or had he started to feel something more than friendship for her, as she had with him?

  That was when Loftus appeared. She hadn’t heard him coming, but with the rain pounding down, it was hard to hear anything. He emerged from the darkness and shook all over, trying to rid his coat of water. Emmeline laughed then looked about for Stratford.

  “Where is Stratford?” she asked Loftus, who did not reply, just came to sit with her under the blanket and licked her face. She went instantly cold, afraid the plan to rescue Ines had gone wrong. But what could she do? She had no idea where the crofter’s cottage might be, and she certainly couldn’t try to find it in the dark with rain pouring down. She was better off staying here and searching for her friends in the light of day.

  She knew it was the wisest decision, but it was not the easiest. As the minutes and then what seemed like hours passed, Emmeline began to wonder if Stratford might be hurt. What if he was lying in a field, bleeding? What if he was cold and wet and needed her?

  She could not sit here and wait. She had to find him.

  She lowered the blanket and rose, then looked at the dog. He peered up at her mournfully, eyes half-closed to keep the rain out. “Loftus, find Stratford.”

  The dog whined and put his head on his paws. It was clear he didn’t intend to go anywhere. “Loftus, find Stratford!” she repeated. Loftus just looked up at her from those squinted eyes.

  Well, what had she expected? That he would bound away and lead her straight to Stratford? That only happened in books. She would have to find him without the dog’s help. She knew which way the men had started out.

  Wrapping the blanket about her shoulders, she began to walk in that direction.

  “And where do you think you are going?” a voice asked.

  Emmeline froze. She knew that voice. “Stratford?”

  He moved out of the shadows, and she realized he’d been walking toward her, but she hadn’t seen him in the darkness and rain. Emmeline couldn’t stop herself. She ran toward him and threw her arms around him. He caught her, pulling her close and holding her for a long moment before he said, “Let’s find some cover.”

  She led him back to the tree she’d sheltered under, but he shook his head and moved toward the woods. She followed reluctantly, but once they had entered the darkness, she saw the wisdom of his actions. With more trees clumped close together, the rain was muted. Of course, she couldn’t take more than two steps without tripping, but Stratford gripped her hand and kept her on her feet. They settled by a log, and she sank down, her back against it. Stratford took the blanket, draped it over some low-hanging branches, making a sort of shelter, feeble though it might be.

  Then he sat beside her, his warmth most welcome as she’d begun shivering now. Loftus came to sit on her other side, and she was a few degrees above freezing.

  “Ines?” she asked.

  “Safe,” he answered. “Unharmed, too, I think. She’s with Duncan at the cottage. When the rain slackens, we will go there too.”

  “How far?” she asked.

  “About fifteen minutes. I got turned around, which is why it took me so much longer to make my way back here. Loftus went on ahead. I thought he would comfort you.”
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br />   She shook her head, her wet hair sticking to her cheeks.

  Stratford touched her cheek, brushing the hair away. “You were worried?”

  She nodded. He put an arm about her and pulled her close. She buried her face in his shoulder and tried to hold back tears. “I thought—” she began, but her voice faltered.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

  She sniffed and wiped her eyes. “You are safe. That’s what’s important.”

  He looked down at her. “I wish this rain would stop, so we could go to the cottage. I hate that we have to sit out in the cold and wet half the night.”

  “I don’t mind,” she said. It was the truth. She didn’t mind as long as he was with her. “Though I have to say thus far I do not enjoy Scotland.”

  He chuckled. “We can always go back.”

  She drew back and hit him lightly on the arm. “Not a chance.”

  He laughed harder then pulled her close. “Having the time of your life, are you?”

  “I’m miserable,” she said.

  “Well, no one I would rather be miserable with than you.” He gave her a quick kiss on the mouth.

  At least it started out quick, but then his mouth lingered instead of withdrew. His lips seemed to be questioning hers, asking if she wanted what he wanted.

  Emmeline answered by moving her own lips against his in a light whisper of a kiss. His arms tightened on hers, pulling her hard against him as his mouth pressed firmly against hers. When he held her like this, touched her like this, she couldn’t think of anything but the way his lips felt against hers. She forgot the rain and the cold and nothing but the heady press of his mouth, the gentle probing of his tongue, and the hardness of his chest under her palms mattered.

  He kissed her for what seemed hours. They would pause, come up for air, and then their mouths would be drawn inexorably closer until they began all over again. He lowered her to the soft pine needles on the ground, his body covering hers and giving her warmth. With a sniff, Loftus moved off to the side and put his head down between his paws. As Stratford kissed her, the heat in her belly caused the rest of her to tingle and ache. She pressed against him, wanting the feel of him in that spot between her legs and against her tender nipples.

  He pulled back, lowering his face to her shoulder and catching his breath. No, no, no, was all she could manage in the way of forming a thought. She needed his mouth; she needed his body, so hard and heavy, against hers.

  “We should go,” he said.

  “What?” Moving away from this place, from his heat, was the last thing on her mind. But gradually, when he didn’t kiss her again, she noticed it wasn’t just his body keeping the rain from falling on her. The rain had slackened and now there was only a drizzle. Emmeline began to wonder if there was ever a time in Scotland when it didn’t drizzle.

  “We should walk to the cottage,” he said. “Before the rain starts again.”

  “It’s never stopped,” she said, irritably. She did not want to walk to the cottage. She wanted to stay right here, and she wanted him to kiss her again.

  “Then before it starts to rain buckets again,” he said.

  Emmeline wanted to pull him back when he moved away from her. She immediately missed the warmth of his body and his touch. She almost wished it was still pouring rain. But without the feel of him close to her, she was cold and damp and wishing for a fire and somewhere soft to lie down. She almost wished she were home again, except then she remembered how her mother slapped her hand when she reached for a biscuit and how she had to share a bed with Marjorie, who made a show of crying herself to sleep because Emmeline would not be reasonable and marry some oaf so Marjorie could marry her one true love.

  Emmeline would take Scottish rain and pine needles in her hair over that any day. And she would take Stratford’s kisses over pretty much anything else. The warmth of him still infused her, and she could almost forget that she was wet and cold.

  He was already gathering his things, and she resigned herself to doing the same. Without speaking, she bundled her few belongings and followed Stratford and Loftus to the cottage. Loftus seemed to know the way and frequently trotted ahead or lingered behind, sniffing something only he could smell before racing to catch up with them. For her part, Emmeline stumbled over her skirts for most of the way and was relieved to see the light in the darkness and smell the smoke of a fire. Her senses detected these signs of civilization long before they reached the cottage. She couldn’t tell the condition of the place, but the promise of a fire drew her closer, and gave her strength to stumble along. The first chance she had she would tie up these skirts. The hem had come loose, and she wouldn’t be able to stop tripping over them until she found a needle and thread.

  When they finally neared the cottage, the door opened, and Duncan Murray stood in the frame. “I’d begun tae wonder if it would ever stop,” he said. Giving Emmeline a concerned look, he moved aside. “Come warm yerself by the fire, lass.”

  She moved inside the cottage, her eyes stinging at the smoke lingering near the ceiling—what there was of it—and her nose wrinkling at the dirt and general ruin of the place. But it was mostly dry and warm, and she could appreciate that. She went to the fire, where Ines was curled up under Murray’s coat. The woman was sleeping, her face resting on one cheek. She looked peaceful and unhurt, and Emmeline sat next to her and put a hand on her back. Behind them, the men spoke in low tones, something about horses and lace. Emmeline would normally have wanted to be involved in the conversation, but she was too tired. Her eyelids were too heavy.

  The next thing she knew, her back hurt. Her bed was hard and unyielding, and her body ached. She was warm, though, and something heavy was draped over her, keeping her from rolling to her side. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked into Stratford’s face. He was smiling at her, eyes already open.

  She started, and the arm he’d draped over her kept her from bolting to her feet.

  “Shh,” he said. “Miss Neves is still sleeping.”

  Emmeline looked on the other side of the room, where a small form under a heap of cloth must have been Ines. She looked back at Stratford. “Where is Mr. Murray?”

  “He went to surveil the surroundings,” he said, sounding very military-esque.

  “Why didn’t you go?” she whispered.

  “I stayed back to protect the women.”

  She raised a brow. “By lying here and staring at me.”

  “There have to be some benefits to staying behind.” He pushed a strand of her hair off her face, and Emmeline tried not to imagine how absolutely wild she must look—her hair unkempt and frizzy, her clothing rumpled, and her face probably smeared with mud or soot.

  “You looked too beautiful for me to look away,” Stratford said.

  Emmeline stared at him.

  “I know it’s wildly inappropriate for me to lie here with you, but you smell a great deal better than Duncan.”

  “I’m sure I smell rank and look just as bad,” she said, turning her head away from him. Her cheeks felt hot, and she wished he would move his arm so she could sit up and avoid his gaze. Except she didn’t want him to move away so much that she would actually ask him to do so or lift his arm.

  “You look a bit...”

  She glanced at him, and his brow was furrowed in thought.

  “Be careful of your words, Fortescue,” she said.

  He grinned, and it was such a boyish grin that she was taken back to those summers at Odham Abbey and all the many times she had wished he would invite her to play with him and the older children. “Mussed,” he finally said, and she nodded her approval.

  “Good choice.”

  “Thank you.”

  She looked down at his arm and regretfully motioned at it. “Could you?”

  Of course. He lifted it, and she wriggled away, giving her tight muscles some relief. She sat and stretched her back. “I do wish we could find an inn or a bucket of hot water somewhere.” She glanced at him
when he didn’t reply and found him staring at her. He blinked.

  “Pardon?”

  “Hot water, I said. I would kill for some.”

  “So would I, but we need horses even more desperately.”

  Emmeline thought that statement debatable.

  “I would like food,” said a small voice from the pile of clothing.

  Emmeline laughed. “So would I. Are you well?”

  Two brown eyes poked out. Emmeline sighed when she saw how pretty Ines still looked. The other woman might have bathed and brushed her hair the night before for all she looked neat enough. “I am very well.” She touched her throat, and Emmeline spotted the red triangle-shaped wound the reiver had made with his blade. It was not bleeding, but it looked angry and raw.

  Stratford rose to his feet. “Duncan said the men didn’t hurt you?”

  “They only wanted money,” Ines said. She sat slowly. “Where is Duncan?”

  Stratford indicated the window. “He went to scout the area. We’ll need to find someone with horses to loan.”

  “And a farmer’s wife who likes my lace,” Ines said.

  Stratford nodded. “It’s lucky you have it with you.”

  “How will lace help us?” Emmeline asked, and the two of them explained the plan to her. A half hour later, the three of them had brushed the dust from their clothes and hair and were pacing impatiently about the cottage. Emmeline was pleased to note the rain had stopped, though the day was gray and overcast. She looked up when Loftus let out a low warning bark and spotted Duncan through the window. He was returning, a smile on his face. He raised a hand to her, and she went to the door and opened it for him.

  “Good news, lads and lassies,” he said. “I’ve found a farmer we can negotiate with.”

  “He has a wife who might like my lace?” Ines asked.

  Duncan winked. “Even better. He has two daughters.”

  STRATFORD

  Stratford liked Malcolm Campbell right away. He was a short, plump man with an easy laugh and blue eyes that all but disappeared in his round face when he was amused. He also had two plump daughters, all of thirteen and fifteen, who were sweet and pretty enough to turn the local boys’ heads.