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

by Galen, Shana

  Campbell had offered them all a meal and hot water to wash faces and hands, and even though he said his great-grandfather had a grievance with someone who was a relation to the Duke of Atholl, Duncan’s uncle, he would not hold that against Duncan.

  And Stratford had thought the English had long memories.

  When their bellies were full, Campbell took Duncan and Stratford to his barn, where he showed them his horses. He had a large farm and several horses. Stratford was as good a judge of horseflesh as any other man, and he nodded in agreement when Duncan picked the best three. The beasts were work horses, to be sure, and Stratford thought they would have little trouble making the journey to the Highlands.

  “And ye can do withoot them for a few weeks?” Duncan asked, though now that he spoke to one of his countrymen, his accent had deepened, and Stratford had to strain to understand him.

  “Och, the planting is done. I can spare them for a time, and the coin ye promised will buy my seeds for the fall planting.” He gave Duncan a rueful look. “Not tae mention, my girls fell in love with the lace yer lady showed them. They’ll cry for days if I deny them now.”

  “Then we should discuss particulars,” Duncan said. At least that’s what Stratford thought he said.

  “Aye.” The farmer looked at Stratford, and Duncan looked at him too. Clearly the two Scotsmen preferred to negotiate in private.

  “I’ll go for a walk,” Stratford said.

  “There’s a pond just a quarter mile west,” the farmer said. “It’s fed by a hot spring. It’s nae as good as a bath in a tub, but it will do tae wash the dust off yer feet.”

  “Thank you,” Stratford said and went off in search of the pond. He didn’t believe it would actually be warm—the Scots’ idea of warmth and the English’s were vastly different—but he’d risk a cold plunge to clean the dust and grime from his body. He could wash out his clothing as well. He’d have to wear them damp, but he’d done that often in the army.

  He found the pond easily enough and was a bit surprised at the steam rising from it. The farmer had not exaggerated the hot spring. Stratford wouldn’t have called it a proper pond, more like a watering hole about fifteen feet across. At the far end, a group of rocks were the perfect spot to swim to if the watering hole was as deep as it looked to be.

  He stripped off his clothing, quickly and efficiently, rinsed them in the warm water—God it would be like heaven when he went in—and laid them to dry on the rocks to the side. He waded into the water. It was deep. The rocks beneath his feet were slippery and dropped off quickly. Stratford went under, dunked his head, and enjoyed the feeling of warmth he hadn’t experienced for days. Well, except when he’d had Emmeline in his arms. Then he’d been warm enough. She seemed to possess a small furnace inside her that heated them both whenever their bodies came together.

  But he’d better not think of that now. It had been hard enough to lie beside her all night and mind his manners, harder still when she’d risen this morning and stretched, arching her back and thrusting those glorious breasts out. He’d wanted to touch her so badly, he could taste it. But he’d already done enough damage. He’d given into temptation and kissed her far too much. He’d managed to keep his hands to himself, but if he continued down this path, he wouldn’t be able to do that.

  Stratford began to swim for the rocks, reflecting that Emmeline had seemed to enjoy his kisses well enough. Considering she hadn’t really noticed him much before, that was definitely a change. But of course her thoughts went to marriage, as they probably should, and Stratford knew better than anyone that both their families would frown upon that match. There had been ample opportunity for either his parents or her mother to encourage a relationship between them, but no one ever had. In fact, he’d been tasked with escorting her to balls, where she would be thrown into the path of other men.

  Men who were not bastards masquerading as legitimate sons.

  He reached the rocks and put his hand on one then jumped back when he felt something soft and pliant. Something that couldn’t be a rock at all. “What the devil?”

  “Not the devil at all.” The pale hand soon gave way to a pale arm and then a head peeked around one of the rocks. It was Emmeline. Her hair slicked back, and her skin glistening with droplets of water. Her cheeks were pink from the heat of the spring. Treading water, Stratford stared at her.

  “Where did you come from?”

  “The other side,” she said, indicating the clothing laid out on the rocks and hanging from the branches of a tree. How had he not seen that before? “I was here before you. At least twenty minutes before,” she said.

  He would have seen her for certain if she’d been swimming. “Then you’ve been sitting behind this rock since—”

  “Since you appeared and removed your clothing?” She nodded. “Yes.”

  Good God. He was almost embarrassed, except he was too aroused to be embarrassed. She had watched him disrobe and said nothing?

  “You should have made your presence known.”

  “Yes, I should have.” She didn’t sound the least bit contrite. “But if I had, you would have left, and I wanted you to be able to enjoy the spring as well. I promise I closed my eyes.” She smiled. “Except for maybe one peek.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “You’ve changed since I last spied on you, swimming at Odham Abbey.”

  His cheeks felt hot.

  “Are you blushing?” she asked. “I promise it was only a very quick peek.”

  “Well, don’t peek again. I’ll get out and leave the pool to you.” He did not relish putting his wet clothes back on so quickly. He’d thought they’d have a few minutes to dry.

  Emmeline reached around the rock and grabbed his arm. His bare arm. “Oh, no! Don’t leave.”

  “You know it’s not proper for me to stay.”

  She stuck out her lip. “Then I will leave. I was here first. It seems only fair.” She released him and disappeared behind the rock.

  “No! You stay,” he said, his voice almost frantic.

  Her head appeared from behind the rock again. “Why?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re afraid you will peek?”

  “No.”

  “Yes. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “No.”

  “Well...” She seemed to consider something. “It does seem only fair.”

  His breath caught. “What seems only fair?” Why had he even asked? Why was he not swimming to the side and climbing out instead of prolonging this agony? Because even though she was behind a rock, and he was on the other side of it, his mind knew that she was naked. Completely naked. And that meant his body knew he was close to a naked woman—and not just any naked woman, Emmeline. He’d gone hard as the rock between them, and his cock was making it difficult for his head to think clearly.

  “That you get a peek at me. I saw you, after all.”

  “Emmeline, no.”

  But she continued as though she hadn’t heard him. “I admit I really only saw your behind. You had turned to place your clothing on the rocks, and I caught sight of your back and your, er, backside.”

  “Emmeline.”

  “It was a very nice backside. Not that I am much of a judge, but—"

  “I will swim to the other side and get out now,” he said.

  “If you must, but I am not about to allow the silly rules I ran away from to ruin this lovely day and a swim in this pool. I may never have this chance again.” And she swam away from the rock, passing close enough to him that he felt the push of water away from her feet. And he saw—oh, what he saw. He spotted a long streak of pale skin beneath the dark water. He couldn’t make out body parts, exactly, but he could imagine what was what.

  And because he was so busy imagining it, he did not move. He stayed exactly where he was as she swam behind him, not close, keeping her distance, and then back around to pause at the rock in front of him.

  Now she was close. He could feel the movement of water where her feet and hands pushed a
t it to keep her afloat. His gaze remained on a spot just above her head except for the one second, he lowered his gaze to catch a glimpse of her face.

  She was smiling at him, bemused. “You have more fortitude than I.”

  “Do I?” he asked.

  “I peeked and you haven’t.”

  “It’s a fight by the second,” he said.

  “Then why not give in?” she asked.

  His gaze met hers. “Do you want me to look?”

  Her blue eyes were clear. “Yes.”

  Well, how was he to resist now? The answer was that he could not. His gaze lowered to her nose, her lips, her chin, and then the column of her neck. And then the slow perusal ended because there, at the rim of the water were the orbs of her breasts. They were submerged for the most part, but there was no hiding their roundness and fullness. And just beneath the surface he could see the peach of her nipples.

  “Are we even now?” she asked, her voice husky. He forced his eyes back to her face, forced his hand to stay at his side as well. “Can we share the pool in peace?”

  “No,” he said. “We can share it, but not in peace. I’m afraid I’m not feeling very peaceful.” He moved toward her, small strokes of his hands and feet bringing him closer to her. She might have swum away, might have ducked under the water or swam off to one side or another, but she stayed where she was until his body slid against hers and those magnificent breasts rubbed against his bare chest.

  He groaned. “Emmeline.” His mouth came down on hers at the same time that she gripped his shoulders for balance. He gripped the rock behind her, pushing her gently against it and feeling her nipples, large and growing turgid now, press, impertinent, against him. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, and she opened for him, kissing him back with an abandonment that set alarm bells off in his head.

  Alarm bells he ignored because how could he think with her naked body against his? His cock pressed against the soft flesh of her belly, and her legs tangled with his until she finally found the ledge that rose beneath the rock and stood on it. That brought her breasts out of the water, and Stratford, no longer needing to keep her afloat, lowered one hand to cup her.

  Christ. They were perfect. His hand couldn’t even fit around the plump flesh, and when he pressed her nipple lightly between two fingers, her head fell back. He had to kiss her then, had to kiss those thick nipples that jutted upward and seemed to beg for his tongue. He ran it along them, took one in his mouth, letting his tongue lave it until she was all but panting and her arms were around his shoulders, her fingers digging into his back.

  He lifted his mouth, balanced by his toes on the rock ledge, and looked down at her. If he’d thought her cheeks were pink before, the flush had spread to her entire face, making her eyes even bluer. He filled his hands with her breasts again, kneading them gently. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to see you here, touch you here? God, since that first time I saw you and they’d seemed to grown out of nowhere.”

  “It didn’t seem that way to me,” she said. “They grew and grew and pretty soon they were so large I didn’t know what to do with them.”

  He kissed her lips. “They’re perfect, and I know what to do with them.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “You’re making me feel...”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Tingly,” she said. “You’re making me want your hands...everywhere.”

  “I want to put my hands everywhere.” He slid them down from her breasts, over her generous hips, and back up to the wonder of those pale orbs. “But do you know where I really want to put my hands?”

  “I don’t think I should say.”

  He grinned. “Yes, there.” He rubbed his thigh against the curls he felt between her legs. “But first, here.” His hands slid back to her hips and then down and over her bottom. God, he could have come just from touching it. It was so firm and round, and he wanted to see it, bite it, part it and slide his cock...

  He took a shaky breath, fighting to find control, even as the decadence that was her body made him all but dizzy with desire.

  “Can I touch you?” she asked. And then without waiting for his permission, her hands went from his shoulders down and over his chest. “Where did all these muscles come from?” she asked.

  “Fighting, riding, carrying—Emmeline!” He grabbed her hand before it could drift any lower than his belly. “You’re playing with fire.”

  “Oh, good,” she said. “I always like to see what happens when I add kindling to a fire.” She wriggled her hand free and slid down further until her hand brushed over his jutting cock. Finding it, she closed over it, her grip tentative. “I didn’t expect it to be so hard,” she said.

  “That’s what happens when I’m naked with a goddess.”

  Her eyes met his, and he could see in her expression she thought he was mocking her.

  “You’re beautiful,” he said before she could try and push the compliment away. “Your body is beautiful.”

  He took her hand away from his cock, which was probably the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life and slid his hands back to her hips then down over her belly to the curls at the juncture of her thighs. “Have you ever touched yourself here?” he asked, his fingers delving into the curls until he found the soft flesh there.

  She gasped as he made a V with two fingers and stroked her outer lips between them.

  “Yes,” she said, not seeming at all embarrassed.

  “What about here?” His fingers parted her lips and delved inside, finding her channel and stroking its entrance.

  “Yes, but it didn’t feel like this.” The pink from her face had spread to her neck and the top of her chest. He kissed it, dipping his mouth to kiss the valley between her breasts as he moved his fingers slowly in search of her clitoris.

  “And what about here? Have you touched here?” he asked, rubbing it gently.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  “And did you come?” He bit the top of one of her breasts lightly then licked the spot with his tongue. Biting again until her nipple was in his mouth.

  “What do you—”

  “Did you climax?” he asked. “Did you find pleasure?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “It felt good.”

  “Then you didn’t come. You’d know if you’d come.”

  He moved his hand back to her opening and pressed one finger against it. He could feel her wetness, thicker and slicker than the water, against his finger. He pressed into her, just the tip of his finger, and she jerked her hips toward him.

  “I like that.”

  He made a sound of acknowledgement, stroked her again, and repeated the gesture. Then his thumb found the tight bud of her clitoris and circled it. He could feel it swell as he attended to it, felt her body opening to him, her hips angling toward his cock.

  “Can you make me come?” she asked.

  God, he hoped so. The pink had reached the tops of her breasts now, and he wanted it to spread over them, wanted to see her nipples turn dark with arousal.

  “Tell me what feels good,” he said. He circled her swelling nub, then flicked his thumb against it.

  “That,” she panted. “That feels good.”

  “And this?” He dipped his finger back into the heat of her sex, just the tip again, but he pressed his thumb on her clitoris as he did so.

  “Oh, yes. Oh, please. More.”

  “More of my finger?” he asked, pushing a little deeper.

  “Yes, and more...”

  His thumb made lazy circles on her clitoris, and he felt her inner muscles tighten against his finger. She was close, so close. Her muscles relaxed, and he pushed deeper. She moaned and thrust her body toward him, taking his finger all the way to the knuckle. She would come soon, and he would enjoy watching it. He would enjoy hearing the sounds she made as he pleasured her.

  And then she took his cock in her hand again, and he lost all semblance of the control he’d thought he had. “Emmeline,” he half-groa
ned.

  “I like how you feel in my hand,” she murmured, her eyes almost closed now.

  He liked how he felt in her hand too. He would have liked how he felt inside her, but there were limits to his depravity. It seemed pleasuring her in a pool in the middle of a Scottish farm was not the limit, but he would reevaluate his obviously lacking morals later. Right now she was stroking him and he was stroking her, and her breath was coming very fast. His own seemed to be coming equally fast.

  They were both racing toward a finish line, and he knew once he reached it, he’d be too lost to bring her along. He steeled himself to hold his own pleasure in check, but then she let out a small cry of wonder. Her hand tightened around him like a slick glove, and the pressure of it was perfect. He came just as he felt her inner muscles contracting around his finger.

  He pushed her against the rock, kissing her hard. Her legs wrapped around him, bringing their bodies into slick, satisfying contact. Christ, he could have started all over again with her. The feel of her body against his made him want her again. He could only think of all the evenings they’d spent together, not touching, not even speaking really. There were so many carriage rides, balls, walks in gardens. Why hadn’t he ever kissed her, touched her before?

  Because he’d known she thought of him like a brother, if she thought of him at all.

  And if she had thought of him, he would have discouraged the interest. He wasn’t worthy of her. Hadn’t his own mother told him he was nothing more than a mistake? And then Stratford himself discovered he was the son of the Marquess of Wight, who everyone assumed was mad. That meant Stratford had two strikes beside his name. He wasn’t good enough for Emmeline. He wasn’t good enough for anyone.

  He pulled back, and she tried to follow him. “Don’t stop.”

  “I have to stop.”

  Something in his voice must have gotten through her pleasure-muddied brain because her gaze sharpened. “Have I done something wrong?”

  “No,” he said pushing back from her. “I have. I shouldn’t have touched you like that. I had no right.”