“Oh, Beathan,” she said, one arm falling behind her, the other reached down to his head. She brushed his hair with her fingers, scratching her nails along his scalp in a delicious fashion that had him instantly hardening even more than before.
As Beathan continued petting her nether curls, he trailed his mouth down the slope of one breast and bit the fabric of her bodice with his teeth, trailing it down to expose the other sweet globe to him. He repeated his attentions on this breast, moving the hand between Kirsteen’s thighs lower, until his thumb found the sensitive button that was the true seat of her pleasure.
“Beathan, that’s...” she started, but her words were lost as soon as he began moving his thumb up and down, up and down, using her moisture to ease his movements.
They were silent, him with reverence, and her with pleasure, as he brought her close to her limit. He listened closely to the changes in her breath, the feel of her hot skin under him. When her breaths quickened and she began to clench, to tighten, that’s when he stopped, removing his mouth and hand from her body and sitting up.
“No!” she cried out, smashing her fists on the rock before leaning up onto her elbows and glaring at him.
“Why did you stop?” she asked, clearly frustrated.
“Because I dinnae want ye to come without me inside ye, lass,” Beathan said as he undid his sporran and lifted his kilt.
“When ye come, lass, I want to feel ye pulsin’ against me. I want to feel ye as ye come apart in me arms. Is that all right with ye?”
The look of dissatisfaction vanished from Kirsteen’s face, replaced by a look of sheer desire.
“Oh, yes,” she said, and Beathan could have cried out with joy at the way she wantonly spread her legs for him.
He situated himself in the gap between her thighs, placing soft kisses on her neck as he worked his way towards her ear.
“Tell me if it hurts, lass. I daenae want ye in pain. I only want ye feelin’ pleasure tonight.”
Kirsteen nodded, and with that, he slowly slid in, inch by sacred inch, until he was fully inside his love. And oh, what a delicious sensation it was.
13
Kirsteen knew that it would hurt, but she found that though there was an initial bite of pain, as Beathan settled into her, the pain lessened, until all she could feel was the pleasant sensation of being filled entirely by the man before her.
She had caught a glimpse of his member in the moonlight just before he had leaned into her, and Kirsteen had been shocked at its size and girth.
How will it ever fit? she wondered.
But she needn’t have to worry. Whatever magic and mystery allowed their two bodies to meet did its work, and as Beathan began to slowly rock back and forth inside her, Kirsteen found that not only was the feeling of Beathan’s member pleasant, but pleasurable.
And that pleasure grew more and more with every thrust of his hips, until Kirsteen found herself whispering, “Faster, please, Beathan,” her voice coming out high-pitched and pleading.
She did not care. She knew what she needed, and she knew how to ask for it. Kirsteen was surprised by how quickly her anxieties had fled away once she was in Beathan’s arms, but then, she supposed that was what happened when one was in love.
Love. She had thought the word would sound so strange on her lips when she uttered it to Beathan, but it had been the very opposite: no phrase had ever sounded so at home, so correct coming from her mouth. Whether their love was for the night or for eternity, she did not know.
All she knew was that she loved the man, and now, he was making love to her. Or rather, they were making love to each other, because while Beathan was thrusting into her, Kirsteen was kissing every inch of his skin she could reach, nipping at the corded muscles of his shoulders, his sculpted chest.
When she brushed her teeth over his nipples, Beathan let out a rough curse, twitching inside her. Kirsteen took this as a good sign, and did it again, before switching to his other nipple.
Then, when she had had her fun with them, she traced her hands down his belly and around to his back, feeling the muscles there, too. Everywhere he touched was strong and tight, and Kirsteen wondered whether he ever truly relaxed, ever truly released all the tension inside him.
The thought was lost a moment later as Beathan quickened his pace, reaching one hand down between her legs and playing with the sensitive part of her as he had run his thumb along earlier. Kirsteen arched her back, crying out as she felt heat spread through her, from her toes all the way to the roots of her hair.
As she let herself fall down, down into the whirlpool of sensation, Beathan’s thrusts became increasingly erratic, until he too broke apart with a sharp cry that had him releasing into her. All the tightness she had felt a moment ago released with him as he collapsed onto her, burying his face in the messy plait resting on her shoulder, strands of hair sticking out in all directions.
They laid like that on top of each other, listening to the sound of the waterfall just behind them. Beathan shifted them eventually, gently moving Kirsteen onto her side so he could hold her from behind. She felt safe in his arms as they curled around her, bringing her roughly against the part of him that was still stiff enough that she could feel it against her dress.
“I love ye, lass,” he whispered in her ear, and Kirsteen beamed at the words. She had uttered them in plays, sang them in songs, read about them in books, but never were they so sweet as now, coming from Beathan’s lips.
Kirsteen snuggled deeper into the pillow Beathan had created with his arm under her head, enjoying the utopia of this moment: alone, with the man she loved, in a beautiful place. She forgot all about the attack, about the fact that she was leaving in a few days. Instead, she focused on the moment.
But while Kirsteen was breathing slow and deep, likely half asleep on Beathan’s arm, the man connected to that arm was experiencing a veritable flood of thoughts suddenly entering his mind. The bliss created by what he and Kirsteen had shared had worn off, and now he was beginning to worry.
He loved Kirsteen with all his heart, and he did not want to lose her. However, he knew that she was looking for her true love. He wanted to hope that he might be that, since she had shared herself so freely with him this evening. He knew she had been saving her virtue for her future husband. Did this mean she hoped it would be him?
Should I ask her to marry me now? he wondered. There was no more romantic spot to pledge his troth to the lass, but perhaps it was too soon. After all, he ought to ask Fred and Blanche’s permission. And speak to the lass about it. She might not even want to marry him! She might still want to leave even after all this.
Maybe she does not even love me. Maybe all she wanted was the love making, he worried. What they shared had seemed so real only moments ago, but now, Beathan was starting to doubt himself.
Until the lass turned around in his arms, pressing her nose against his and whispering, “Thank you, Beathan, for the best night of my love. I could not imagine a more perfect way to show you how much I love you.”
With that, all worries fell away, and Beathan was once again ensnared in the lass’s web, unable to think of anything but her.
They made love one more time under the stars, slower this time, less hurried, but no less pleasurable. If anything, Kirsteen grew in confidence this time, touching and kissing him more than she had before. Beathan loved it, loved the feel of her hands on his body.
I’ll never tire of this, he knew. For the rest of my life, all I want is Kirsteen.
The bliss from his second climax allowed him to evade contemplating the implications of such a thought, and after a short respite, he and the lass packed up the basket and began to wend their way back toward the castle grounds.
They were walking hand in hand, whispering to each other about how Kirsteen would sneak back into her tent, when Beathan heard it: the crack of a twig, like someone had stepped on it.
He held an arm out to the lass, stopping her from taking another step. He heard another crack,
and tackled her to the ground just in time for an arrow to sail past his ear and land somewhere in the distance, the sound of it dropping onto the leaves suddenly so loud Beathan could hardly hear anything else.
“What was that? What just happened? Was it another arrow?” Kirsteen asked, her words all running together as she looked worriedly about them. She had half-sat up, but Beathan pushed her back down and quickly put on his kilt and boots.
“Stay here, lass,” he said, running toward where he heard the arrow fall. It took him a few minutes of squinting in the leaves to see the fletching sticking out of a small tree stump.
Beathan grabbed the arrow in one hand and ran back to the lass. He was just coming to a stop in front of her when he heard it: hoof beats.
“Stay where ye are!” he whispered to Kirsteen as he started running toward where he heard the horse thundering away.
“But Beathan! Please, don’t leave me alone!” Kirsteen yelled in a hoarse whisper, Beathan could hear the fear in her voice, but he could not go back for her.
Whatever was harming them was on that horse, not in the forest. Of that, he was sure. He called as much out to the lass, though how much of it she actually heard, he was not sure. Beathan sprinted after the horse, following it up the hill toward the castle. The moon was now partially shrouded by clouds, making it hard to navigate the dips in the earth. More than once, he stumbled, but righted himself almost immediately before continuing on.
He was closing in on the paddocks where the livestock were kept when the rider took a sudden turn, disappearing behind the barn. Beathan followed, but by the time he had reached the back of the building, he could neither see, nor hear the attacker any more.
Shite, he muttered, stopping to catch his breath. He was doubled over, his hands resting on his knees, when he noticed the arrow still in his hand.
In his haste to catch the attacker, he had nearly forgotten about it, but there it was, still gripped tightly in his left palm. It gave him an idea, one that he hoped would be far more effective in catching the attempted killer.
But first, he needed to go back to Kirsteen and bring her back to the troupe, to safety.
14
Kirsteen hugged her knees close to her chest and rested her back against a tree, doing her best to slow down her breathing. When Beathan had tackled her to the ground, she had felt as though her heart stopped for a moment with fear.
Not again, had been the first words to run through her head. She had just had the single best evening of her life, and she didn’t want it ruined by another arrow attack. But an arrow attack it had been, and this time, the attacker had been near enough that Beathan thought he could catch him.
Kirsteen would have been lying to herself if she said that she was happy for him to go. In truth, she was terrified of being left alone in the forest. It was dark, well past midnight by now, and she couldn’t help but feel that every whisper of wind rustling through the trees, every hoot of an owl, spelled her doom.
Worrying that the man Beathan was attacking was someone else entirely, and whoever had shot that arrow was still hiding between the trees, biding his time, made her feel uncomfortable. Perhaps the moment she got at ease, he would strike. She put on her clothes quickly and pulled herself near a tree.
And so she was keeping her eyes and ears alert, frequently looking to her left and right, trying to make out shapes in the darkness that seemed to grow thicker with every passing minute. Now that the moon was covered in clouds, she could barely see, and this only heightened her anxiety.
She could feel the fear making the hairs at the back of her neck bristle, and she was suddenly so cold she was practically shivering. Warmth and light is what I need, she thought, and then she remembered the basket. Beathan had been carrying it back when he had tackled her, throwing it to the side.
Looking forward, then left and right, Kirsteen crawled on her hands and knees and started pawing the ground, feeling for the square shape, the rough feel of the woven reeds. Eventually, she found it, and had to hold back a cry of relief.
Dragging it back to her tree, she rustled around and found the candle and a match with which to light it. Her breathing eased the minute the flame burst into life, offering her a better view of her surroundings.
Suddenly, the trees stopped looking like looming monsters crawling toward her. Instead, they were just normal oak trees, bare of their leaves. Their branches were not arms reaching out to trap her; instead, they were spindly little bits of wood waving in the wind. Totally innocuous.
Holding the candle up and looking to her left, Kirsteen saw that they had stopped roughly twenty feet out from the entrance to the forest. She crawled forward slightly, holding the candle up, and could just see a glimpse between the trees of the castle ahead. Ducking her head down, she was able to then spot the flicker of flames in the lanterns posted on the castle’s front wall.
They looked like small golden dots in the distance, but knowing that the castle was close did much to calm her. She knew her way out of the forest and toward the castle. It would be harder to navigate in the dark, with the dewy grass and lack of light making the journey more hazardous than it would be in daylight, but she could do it, if need be. If Beathan didn’t return, she would be able to navigate her way back. She wouldn’t like it, but she would be able to do it.
I’ll wait ten minutes more, and then I’ll go, she thought, readjusting her seating position so her back was not resting directly on the knobbly bit of the tree bark.
Her thoughts turned to Beathan, to whether he had apprehended the man who had been trying to take one of their lives for the past few days. Kirsteen couldn’t help worrying once again that it was she who was the target, particularly after what she and Beathan had shared at the waterfall.
It had seemed almost too good to be true at the time; a man like Beathan, heir to a lairdship and loved by all, confessing his feelings for her and proceeding to make the sweetest of love to her. She had taken it for the blessing it was, but she should have known that her luck could not last.
Someone clearly didn’t think she was the right woman to be taking a place next to Beathan at the front table in the hall, and they were willing to incur the wrath of the laird and his son in their quest to remove her from the equation. It made Kirsteen question everything that had come before. Should she really have told Beathan she loved him?
They hadn’t discussed their future, and she hadn’t wanted to, but now she wondered whether that wasn’t a truly foolish decision. She had gone against everything she believed in because she truly cared for Beathan, had given him the most valuable thing in her possession, and for what? For a night of lovemaking, followed by another attempt on her life?
I never should have made love to him in the first place, she realized now. I should have accepted his kisses and then pushed him away, reminded him that I am leaving in but a few days. What we have cannot last, and this attack has proven that.
Fred and Blanche would have a fit once they found out what had happened, and she would have to tell them. She could already feel a bruise beginning to develop on the shoulder and hip she had fallen on. It would affect her dancing, and they would notice, and once they found out the cause of her injuries, they would no doubt forbid her to see Beathan. And they would be right to.
I must finish with him, Kirsteen realized. Tonight. Before either one of us gets hurt, or worse, killed.
She would bear the pain that the separation would cause, consoling herself with the fact that she only had to be in his company for a few more days, and then she and the troupe could disappear to their next performance, where she could grieve and tend to her broken heart.
Lost in these thoughts, it took her a moment to register the sound of a foot stepping on wet leaves somewhere in her vicinity. Hurriedly sticking her candle in the air in a misplaced hope that it would warn off intruders, she was surprised to find the shape of Beathan making his way toward her.
“Kirsteen,” he called, his voice sounding ho
arse and tired.
“Beathan,” she breathed, feeling traitorous for how quickly his name on her lips had her heart skipping beats and dancing mad jigs of love and longing.
“I’m sorry for leavin’ ye as I did,” he said as he came to a stop in front of her and crouched down. “I had to get him, or try, at least.”
“And did you? Get him?” she asked, searching his face for clues but finding none.
Beathan shook his head, falling roughly onto his backside on the leaves with a grunt. “Nay, lass. I dinnae,” he said, running his hand through his hair and swiping it down his face.
His expression was drawn and worried; lines of fatigue creased his forehead and his mouth was set in a frown.
Kirsteen couldn’t help but reach out and touch his cheek, turning him toward her.
“It’s all right,” she whispered, wanting, needing to reassure him. “We’re safe. That’s enough for now.”
I can’t do it, she realized as she stroked her thumb across his cheek, feeling the rough stubble of a beard against her skin. She couldn’t bring herself to shatter both their dreams when Beathan was looking so dejected. Call her a coward, but she would not end the night like this. It already had too much drama. What they both needed now was a night of rest, to collect their thoughts.
And so, she dropped her hand and took Beathan’s.
“Walk me to the tents?” she asked, and smiled when he accepted willingly.
They walked hand in hand all the way through the forest and down the slope that led to the troupe’s camp, only breaking apart when they had reached her own tent.
“Thank you for this evening,” she said, placing a soft kiss on Beathan’s cheek.
“I’m sorry it ended the way it did, lass, but I daenae want ye thinkin’ this changes anythin’ between us,” he said, placing the basket on the ground and drawing her to him.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean that I still love ye, and want ye. That hasnae changed, me bonnie. If anythin’, this has made me more sure that I want to spend the rest of me days protectin’ ye.”
Highlander's Untamed Bride Page 9
