“Where did ye learn that?”
“What, the speed tae catch them?” he smiled. “There was a run near the village back home. My sister and I used tae go up there. Ye have tae sit very still, waiting for them to come close and then... bang!” he made a twisting, gripping motion with his fists.
“It’s funny, ye get one, and they all scatter, but ten minutes later they all come out as if nothing had happened, and ye can get another one just the same way.”
Anne laughed again, getting up and wrapping the cloak around herself, coming closer to the neat little fire he’d built for the cooking. Two sturdy tripods had been erected, one at either side, and the meat prepared for cooking was skewered across it. As she watched, he turned the skewer and carefully added a few more twigs to his fire. The second rabbit lay prepared, a fresh skewer on his cloak nearby.
He caught her looking at his cooking arrangements, and then it was his turn to smile and look away from her open, admiring gaze.
“Ye learn a thing or two as the son of a fishing family,” he admitted.
“I’m sure ye do!” she replied. “At least, it certainly seems so. Is it nearly ready?”
They were halfway through the first rabbit, and the second was beginning to sizzle above the flames, when Anne made a pleased sound, jumping up and going to get her pack. She rummaged within and found a glass bottle, sealed with a dusty cork.
“What’s that?” Thorvald asked.
“Red wine from the South of France,” she replied. “My uncle took a load from a ship early last year – I grabbed a few bottles for myself, but I’d forgotten all about it. This is the last one. It’s good!”
It was a sweet, heady liquor and very good indeed. They drank it from the bottle, passing it back and forth and laughing as they chewed the rich, burnt meat and licked the hot grease from their fingers. They ate some bread and cheese and dried apples, and by the time they had done, the second rabbit was cooked. It was a veritable feast!
The wine went quickly to Thorvald’s head. He was not used to drinking, and it was a strong vintage. He stood, swaying a little, his belly protesting at the rich food after days of gruel and bread.
“I’m going to the stream,” he said, and she smiled and nodded absently as he left her staring into the fire.
The water bubbled and chattered among the stones. Away from the heat of the fire, his head cleared a little in the cold air. He knelt, scooping up the fresh spring water and splashed it against his face and hands, gasping at the pleasant shock of the cold on his hot skin. He drank deeply, and then, desiring to wash his neck, stripped off the jerkin he had been wearing since the day of the raid.
As he washed, he heard the crunch of footsteps behind him, and Anne’s short intake of breath. He looked around and saw her staring at him, a look of fascination on her face. She walked toward him, as if in a dream, and he turned, facing her in the darkness.
Lifting one tentative hand, she placed it upon his broad chest. Her lips were parted, and her breath came quickly. Running a hand down his body, he felt a tingling pleasure at her touch, slipping down across his chest to his belly. When she came closer and put her other hand upon him, he drew her into a kiss.
Passion flooded Anne at his gentle, firm caress. The warm sensation of his strong, healthy body so close to her mouth made her want to taste his skin, and she followed her instinct, lifting her mouth from his and kissing the angle of his jaw, his neck, his shoulders. He gasped as her tongue touched his nipple, and down across his chest, her hands upon his strong shoulders, on his arms, touching his hands and waist. She kissed his belly, and lower, and then her hand slipped downward, to feel the bulging in his britches showing his ardour. When she gripped it, his hand wrapped in her short hair, and she heard him gasp with pleasure. She stopped, straightened, and looked into his eyes.
“I’d... like to see you, all of you, I think,” her voice was thick with desire.
“Let’s go back to the fire…”
They walked back, hand-in-hand, to where the fire had crackled and settled into a deep, hotbed of embers. His cloak was spread on the ground, and she looked longingly up at him. He found himself giving a small laugh, but answered her gaze with his hands reaching down to unlace his britches before letting them slip down to the ground.
When she saw the erect proof of his lust rise from the dark blond hair between his legs, she found herself flooded with a new sensation. It was like the feeling on a ship, she thought dreamily, when all the crew are in unison, and the sails catch the wind to send you speeding forward, faster than you ever thought possible, across the open waves. The exhilaration thrilled her, and she felt her own nipples stiff under her jerkin, and between her legs, the heat of an inner fire.
Without thought, she began to undo her leather jerkin. His eyes were fixed on her, and as she stripped the clothing from her lithe body, she felt a clear sense of the truth in what they were about to do. She had not thought it possible for him to grow larger, but she saw his ardour stiffen as she dropped piece after piece of clothing from her body, not hurrying, but exposing herself slowly to the delicious coolness of the night air.
When it was over, she moved to where he lay, propped on his elbows gazing at her. Looking into his eyes, she knew that he felt the same as she did.
“Oh, Thorvald,” she breathed. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Nor I, lassie,” he whispered and drew her down upon him.
She lay atop him, kissing him deeply, for a long time, and her hand eventually reached down and found his hardness, close to the hot, wet place between her own thighs. There was an instinctive longing, and she straddled him, gripping him firmly and allowing him to slip inside of her.
She gasped at the sudden wash of pleasure that immersed her. He filled her, and she pushed back, suddenly wanting him to fill her, wanting every inch he had to offer. Rearing up, she gave soft voice to her pleasure as he gripped her hips in his strong hands and began to move rhythmically inside her. Leaning over and gazing into his eyes, she began to thrust and grind powerfully against him, his low grunts of satisfaction driving her wild with desire. Their rhythm became deeper, fuller, and the image of the great ship under billowing sail filled her mind once more. She was the ship, she thought, and he was her ocean, and she would sail him to a new world.
She felt something change as he arched his back against her, gripping her hard and thrusting with renewed force and strength before she felt him overflow within her, the deep, surging pulses of his climax washing through her. She gasped and laughed in amazement, but he was ardent and passionate. He moved, but was no longer inside her, turning her around, kissing her. His manhood was softer now, but when she saw it glistening in the firelight, she was overcome with a sudden urge to taste it. Dropping onto all fours she reached out and took him straight into her mouth.
He gasped at first with surprise at her sudden boldness, then with unexpected pleasure at the sensation. She caressed him with her hand and ran her tongue over him, taking him in and out of her mouth, and tasting herself there. He was soon erect once more, and groaning he grasped her by the hips and turned her effortlessly around, using his own hand to guide himself inside her again. Her cheek lay on the plaid of his blanket, both hands holding his hips as he worked himself to a second climax. The pleasure carried her to a new height, until, like the roar of the ocean, she felt him surge within her for a second time, gripping her hips, hard, before pulling back
With incredible strength and confidence, he flipped her over onto her back, and she lay there gasping and laughing, looking up at his magnificent body, bronzed in the light of the woodfire. Without a word, he firmly pressed her legs apart with his strong hands, dropping his head between her thighs.
When she felt his mouth on her, she suddenly realised there was more pleasure to be had. She felt his hands on her, holding her hips steady, but his tongue and his lips found a particular spot and began to work it, rhythmically, gently, but steadily and relentless. If before she had been a ship
, sailing upon his ocean, now she was an eagle, soaring effortlessly, the wind rushing past her face, her eyes bright and clear, wings outstretched to take her anywhere she desired.
She soared, allowing herself to cry out in pleasure as he increased the pace of his tongue and when she thought she could not sail any higher…
A white light exploded behind her eyes, and the little dell echoed to the sound of her delighted cries. But he did not stop. For a moment, she felt that she would push him away, but then she stopped, riding the wave of pleasure. His hands were exploring her as well as his mouth, and she felt two of his fingers slip inside her, filling her, but also finding a spot, just parallel to where his tongue worked outside, a rough spot where his fingers pressed firmly, rocking back and forth.
This time the climax came as an explosion inside her body – thunder rolled through her, and she heard her own moans of pleasure - deep, guttural animal sounds. She became aware that her hand was gripping the back of his head, wrapped in the tangle of his blonde hair as she ground herself against his mouth and his hand as if she wanted him to consume her. His head was gripped between her thighs, and finally, she released him, his face dripping with his own sweat and her wetness.
A spasm shot through her, like an aftershock, and she made an involuntary noise, dropping back on the blanket and trying to speak, but not managing to.
“Oh...”
He came to her, wrapping her in his arms, her head nestled in the crook of his arm, as he whispering words into her hair, that she could not hear.
“Oh, Thorvald, I did not know such a thing was possible...”
The cold woke them, just before dawn. He had pulled his blanket over them, but it was not much to shield their nakedness from the chilly February morning air. The fire had burned low but had not gone out completely.
Thorvald rolled over and immediately added more sticks to the fire and blew. After a moment, the twigs blazed up afresh, and the heat was welcome. She sat naked on the blanket looking at him – she would have to get dressed in a moment, but just for now...
“What?” he asked, smiling, looking around at her from his task. She watched in fascination as the muscles in his back flexed as he turned his head. She smiled again.
“I love you, Thorvald Fishersson,” she said simply. He turned, slowly, regarding her with deep-set eyes. His manhood flopped between his legs, and, looking at it, she giggled.
“Get dressed,” she commanded, looking pointedly between his legs. “It’s getting smaller. I don’t think the cold agrees with it.
Thorvald glanced down and reddened, then laughed. He took two steps toward her and took her in his arms, kissing her firmly on the mouth.
“And I love you, Anne... God, but I don’t even know your surname. What is it?”
“Gow,” she answered shortly, and with that one little word all the fear of the night before came back to her.
“Get dressed, Thorvald. We should move.”
He nodded reluctantly and went to get his clothes, his eyes upward, looking at the sky and studying the weather. It was cloudy again and looked likely to rain.
They dressed and worked together in quiet companionship to clear all traces of their camp. Things were different between them, she felt and could see in his eyes that he thought it too. It was better, more relaxed – they had gone to a place neither would ever be able to forget. But it was more dangerous now, too. For a little time, she could not place exactly why that should be. More dangerous? Surely not more than the day before..?
It was as she was hitching up her pack and watching him carefully bury the traces of their fire that it hit her why their love made it more dangerous. Now, they had so much more to lose.
Chapter Nineteen
It was Thorvald’s idea to climb up out of the gulley, rather than going back to the mouth where they had come in, and in the end, that probably saved their lives.
They clambered up a rough scree slope, the boulders and small stones rattling away where their feet and hands disturbed them. It was a steep climb, and Thorvald had one unpleasant moment when the whole slope seemed about to slide, taking him with it. It was not a short drop. However, they made it, and when they did so, they found themselves on a broad, flat heath covered in deep, ancient heather.
“This must be beautiful in summer,” said Anne quietly, and he had to agree. In summer, the bees would be busy, and the scent of the heather flowers would be intoxicating with the vast expanse of blue sea stretching away to the horizon. But now, dressed again in their damp clothing, and the rain threatening, it seemed a bleak place. The sea was grey and forbidding, and a low cloud was hanging over the broad expanse of empty water.
“It’s deep enough tae give us cover if we need it,” he commented, and she nodded, pointing away toward the sea.
“The road is that way.”
The night before, they had fled along the road. Now, they crept forward, finding that the heath gave onto a belt of woodland, then dropped away steeply to the road beyond. They had been walking along this edge in silence for less than half an hour when they came to a deep cutting in the heather, a sheer drop onto rocks that they could not hope to climb down. Anne cursed under her breath.
“Damn this country. We will have tae go down tae the road again.”
“Well, if we must, we must.” Thorvald looked doubtfully in the other direction. There was nothing but heather stretching away into the mist. Anne picked up on his thought and shook her head.
“I think there is a village near here, but I don’t know its name. If we are to get back to Orkney, that’s our only hope. I’m fairly certain it’s in this direction, but if we go that way again, off onto the moors, we might never find our way back. We don’t have many supplies.”
Thorvald nodded grimly.
“Very well, but let us be as careful as we can, eh?”
“Aye,” and she reached out to squeeze his hand.
They made their slow and careful way along the edge of the cutting to the belt of woodland that lined the road. Here, they were able to walk along with relative ease, but they both kept a wary eye on the road. Unfortunately, the cliff rose sheer on the landward side, as the land narrowed, and the way ran closer and closer to the edge of the cliff.
It had just started to drop down again when they heard voices behind them.
“Get down!” hissed Anne, and they threw themselves into a thick patch of undergrowth on the landward side of the road. Thorvald felt her hand find his, and they gripped each other tightly, trying to keep as still as possible.
Round the bend in the road, a man appeared, then another, then two more, until, the once empty road was filled with a whole troop of Neil Gow-Sinclair’s pirates. At the head of the group, marching with a face like thunder, was the captain himself.
As soon as Anne saw him, she knew that she would die if he caught her. Until then, there had been a little strand of doubt in her mind. Her uncle had raised her, had he not, taught her how to fight, and despite his belittlement of her in recent years, he had always seemed to take pride in her prowess and in the uniqueness of having a young woman who could fight better than most men in his crew. In the absence of genuine affection in her life, Anne had woven these sparse threads into an image of her uncle which allowed some space for warmth and family loyalty, for some capacity for forgiveness and human compassion. Finally, the last thread snapped, and she saw him for what he truly was: a callous, ruthless, brutal pirate chieftain, bitter, loveless, and cruel. If he caught her, he would kill her. He had taught her how to fight, and though he rarely drew blade against a foe these days, he was the only man in the world could beat her in a fair fight, blade to blade. Terror smote her.
That was when she saw the dogs.
There were two of them, big, muscular brutes with short dark coats that glistened wet with the rain. Their noses were down, and their ears back as they appeared around the corner, but as the group of men approached, they lifted their heads and began to bark wildly, thrashing
about on the chains which held them. The men were pulled forward as they began to yank and heave toward Anne and Thorvald’s hiding place. There was no escape. Neil had brought his whole crew, for even as she watched through the undergrowth, more and more men came around the corner, running now and shouting to each other, alerted by the barking of the enormous dogs.
Thorvald had seen the dogs too. There was no way they could remain hidden. Their only hope was to fight or to flee, and neither seemed a particularly hopeful option. As one, Anne and Thorvald drew their swords and stepped out into the road.
“Ah! There she is, the little bitch!” Neil roared, and his men drew their swords with a rattle and clatter and began to fan out, covering the road, and pressing forward to flank the fugitives.
“Why can’t ye just leave me alone, ye brute!” Anne screamed, but he ignored her, calling to his men.
“Keep those dogs under control! I want the man alive, and the woman too, if it can be done. She’s mine, and I’ll collect my payment for him before I see him killed, for all the bloody trouble he’s caused me!”
Fighting For A Highland Lass (Defenders 0f The Highlands Book 3) Page 13
