by Cathy MacRae
They reined the horses to a halt and Ranald tied them next to the cottage in a grove of trees. He helped Riona dismount, placing a hand on the small of her back.
“Yer bower awaits ye, my love.” Something in the tone of his voice snagged her attention, and she tilted her head quizzically. What had he done?
Now anxious to see inside, Riona lifted the hem of her shift above the ground and strode down the path to the cottage, her borrowed cloak billowing wide. She opened the door, but Ranald put his arm before her, stopping her from entering.
She peered inside the room, taken aback at the changes wrought in the old seer’s home. Lit candles lined the mantle above the hearth, and more clustered around the room, bathing the air with their soft light. Fragrant flowers filled two huge crockery bowls, but the rest of the surfaces of the tables and workspace were clear and shiny with a recent scrubbing. A velvet coverlet graced the large bed in one corner of the room, and she didn’t need Ranald to point out it didn’t belong to the seer. Bridie was gone, her pen cleaned and refilled with fresh hay.
“I dinnae know Tavia liked ye so,” she teased.
Palming her shoulders, Ranald turned her to face him. “She doesnae like me overmuch, but she loves ye with all her heart.”
Riona flung her arms about his neck and he crushed her to him. A pulse leapt in his throat, and her heart beat an answering rhythm.
Ranald bent to scoop her up. “Duck yer head, love. I couldnae get her to raise the lintel.”
Riona giggled and pressed against him as he strode over the threshold with her in his arms. She stared at the bed, fully expecting him to dump her into the middle of it, but he lowered her feet slowly to the floor, letting her body traverse the length of his before he released her. Reaching behind him, he closed and latched the door.
He looked around, nodding his head appreciatively. “Verra nice.” His gaze came back to rest warmly on Riona. His eyes narrowed and a slow smile crossed his face. “Verra nice, indeed.”
Another frisson of apprehension slid through her and she strove to hide the sudden tremble of her lips. Ranald bent and gently cupped her face in his hands, bringing her mouth to his, covering her lips with warmth and intimacy as his tongue traced her curves. Familiarity with his hungry kisses flooded her and she relaxed against his chest with a sigh.
* * *
Ranald inhaled a breath of relief. The scent of heather and lavender teased his senses, and the supple warmth of Riona in his arms sent a surge of passion through him. He’d been afraid her bravado wouldn’t last the trip away from the safety of their guests and into the intimacy of the borrowed cottage. He didn’t know how the night would end, but whatever else, she’d not regret her vows.
He untied the laces at the neck of the cloak she wore and let it fall to the floor. The banked fire chased away the late summer’s evening chill and his own internal temperature rose as he surveyed his new wife.
The silken shift Riona wore barely concealed the shape of her body beneath it. Ranald stepped back to kick off his boots and saw the dark lines of her curves silhouetted by the glowing fire on the hearth behind her. His passion kicked up a notch and he had to tear his gaze away.
He knelt before her and slid her slippers from her feet. “Ye must tell me if ye want me to slow down, Ree,” he whispered as he stood and gathered her close. “I want ye to come to me full willing.”
“Aye.” Her voice, a whisper he barely heard, nonetheless sounded determined, and he kissed the top of her head.
Every move he made was measured against the value of her response. A touch of his hand to her shoulder brought a sigh as she moved closer. His fingers against the fullness of her breast tendered a faint gasp, but no retreat. He’d sworn to never bring it up to her again, but his blood boiled to think of the MacEwen’s brutal hands on her soft flesh.
“Are ye warm?” he rasped.
At Riona’s nod, he brushed his thumbs across her shoulders. “Ye’ll remove the shift, then, aye?”
Riona frowned, a faint blush staining her cheeks.
He chuckled. “’Tis all right for ye to be naked around me, Ree. Here, I’ll start.”
“Nae.” She thrust out a hand and Ranald halted, his trews halfway to his ankles.
Riona smiled, then laughed at the look on his face. “Nae. I was remembering the gift Eaden gave me this morning.”
“Eaden gave ye a gift?” Ranald felt dread overtake him.
“He said ’twas from his wife.” Riona glanced shyly at him. “She said ’twould make me feel like a bride tonight.”
Ranald’s breath left him in a whoosh, pooling heat between his legs the likes of which he’d never known before. “Then, ’tis a good thing the lasses sent a bag of yer clothing here earlier today. Do ye want to see if it’s there?”
Please let her say aye.
She chewed her lip and looked everywhere except at him. At last, she brought her gaze back to his. “Aye.”
With a crooked grin to hide his relief, Ranald stepped out of his trews, his leine hanging to his knees, and turned to the corner of the room where their belongings were stacked. He picked up the larger bag and showed it to her. She nodded her head, accepting it was hers, and held out her hand.
He slowly teased the bag’s drawstring open, his grin widening as she arched a brow at him. He peered inside, making a face of exaggerated surprise as he did.
“Ranald. Give me the bag.” She fussed, her voice breaking on a laugh.
“Could it be this?” He pulled forth a silk-wrapped package.
“Ranald!” she protested. He gave her the gift and she untied the ribbon binding the silk around the package. Rosy spots of heat appeared on each of her cheeks and he silently reminded himself to send Mary his thanks.
He chuckled. “Let me turn around so ’twill be a surprise, aye?”
Riona clutched the package to her chest and nodded. With a last look at his wife, he pivoted on his heel and prepared to wait.
After a few moments of enduring the rustling sounds behind him, he heard her voice. “Ye can look.”
He suited his action to her request, and sucked in a startled breath.
His much-loved sister by marriagae was trying to kill him.
The fit of the nearly-sheer gown couldn’t have been better had Riona sewn it herself. Wide bands of delicate lace alternated diagonally across the bodice with the nearly sheer, pale pink cloth, nipping in her waist and making his hands itch to touch her. The neckline rode dangerously low, framing the pendant resting above the deep valley of her breasts. The rest of the gown flowed down her body and pooled on the floor, perhaps too long, but otherwise perfect.
“Beautiful,” he breathed.
“I dinnae know how she knew.” Her voice trailed off as she spread the diaphanous fabric wide.
“I’ll take ye to meet her one day,” he told her, impatient to inspect the gown for himself. And get rid of it just as quickly. He opened his arms and Riona walked to him.
His hands stroked the sensual textures of cobweb-fine lace, fragile linen, and Riona. With a moan, he trailed kisses down the side of her face, pulling her tight against him. Her heart raced beneath his touch, and he heard her swift intake of breath, but she remained relaxed in his arms.
“Dearling, as much as I like Mary’s gift, I think I’d like ye better out of it.”
Riona’s eyes glowed as she untied the ribbon at the low neckline. Ranald raised her necklace over her head, untangling it from her hair, and laid it on a nearby table. With an effort to keep from startling her, he slowly brushed the edges of the gown over her shoulders.
The slender, silver line of a scar glowed on her skin above her collarbone and he traced its length, roughly as long as his finger. “What is this, Ree?”
“Ye dinnae remember?”
Ranald shook his head. He was too focused on the here and now, the urge to take Riona in his arms as his wife. Memory was hazy at best.
“I was spying on ye and Eaden and Kinnon on the b
each.”
“I found ye, and wasnae pleased,” he replied, recalling the day he’d had enough of the eleven-year-old tagalong.
“Ye shouted at me and I shouted back. Ye pushed me and stormed off. I lost my footing and fell over the edge of the cliff and knocked myself out. When I came to, I was covered in blood.” She fingered the long-healed gash. “It hurt dreadfully when Tavia cleaned me up and stitched it closed, and I resolved to hate ye. Ye and Eaden left the next day, and I doubt ye knew what happened, or even missed me.”
Aghast at his juvenile behavior, he stared at her. “I’m sorry, Ree. I dinnae know.” He lowered his head and kissed the silvered skin. Riona sighed as his lips slid over the puckered ridge to the incredibly soft skin of her breasts. With an impatient stroke of his hands, he sent her gown floating to the floor.
His breath caught at the sight before him and Riona jerked.
“Nae, love, dinnae pull away. Ye are perfect and I am humbled. I know I said I wouldnae mention it again, but . . . how could he have intentionally harmed ye?” His voice broke, somewhere between anger and despair, and he struggled to hold himself steady.
Riona threw herself into his arms, her reply caught on a sob. Ranald rained kisses over her, murmuring endearments as his hands explored her silken curves. He expected her to pull back, but she moved only enough to tug his leine up around his waist, shoving her hands beneath the linen, over his stomach and across his chest. Her sudden passion ignited his, and he grabbed his shirt, ripping it over his head.
Small mewling sounds escaped her and, in some distant part of his brain, he tried to slow down. But Riona clung to him, kissing him with unexpected fervor, and he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Sweeping aside the velvet coverlet, he followed her down onto fresh, white sheets, matching her hunger with his own.
Lying on his side next to her, he slid a hand along her body, over her hip, to the soft mound between her legs. Riona gasped once and pushed against him. His fingers encountered warm moisture, proof of her response, and he resolved to let her set the pace.
Riona mimicked his movements, trailing her fingers over his side and across his flank. He sucked in his breath as they encountered then encircled his cock. Her kisses trailed off as her attention wandered and Ranald held himself still, letting her satisfy her curiosity.
But his control slipped and he groaned, “I cannae wait, Ree.” He nuzzled her neck, dampening the scar along her collarbone with his tongue. She moved beneath him, allowing him to settle between her thighs. He probed her warmth, slipping a hand between them to reassure himself she was ready. Her flesh was swollen and slick and he gently stroked the nub pushing against his finger. Riona cried out and trembled against him.
Dropping his head to her breast, he took a nipple in his mouth. Her breath quickened and she arched her back as he slid a fraction inside her. Heat surrounded him, shot through him, started fires where he didn’t know they could exist.
He eased back then buried himself to the hilt as Riona opened for him. As she moaned and shifted, he eagerly taught her to move with him in sweet response that took them both to a place neither had ever been before.
Chapter Twenty One
Ranald opened his eyes to dim morning light. The bed was empty beside him, and he scanned the room for Riona. Beside the hearth, stirring a metal pot, stood his bride, a plaide about her shoulders to ward off the seaside chill permeating the room. Pale pink fabric peeked from beneath the hem of her woolen shawl, and Ranald smiled, knowing she wore Mary’s special gift.
He stretched beneath the covers, feeling warm and lazy, and more than a little aroused. He’d coaxed her out of that gown once, he was certain he could do it again. A wolfish grin spread across his face. Verra certain.
The contents in the pot bubbled and popped, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since the banquet the day before. Too concerned about getting Riona alone, he’d let the prospect of food vanish from his list of priorities. Thank goodness his bride had a practical streak. Left to him, they’d have died hungry but happy. The odor of parritch reached his nostrils, and his stomach growled.
Riona faced him with a shy smile wreathing her face. “Are ye that hungry?”
Ranald chuckled. “Were ye still in this bed, I’d show ye hunger.”
Riona blushed prettily. “I thought perhaps ye’d need to build yer strength.”
He rose from the bed and crossed the room, completely unconcerned his wife eyed his naked form. He stooped and sniffed the gurgling pot. “Where did ye get the parritch?”
“I found the oats in a cabinet.” Riona arched a brow. “I can cook, ye know.”
“Verra little about ye surprises me anymore, Ree.” He nodded at the pot. “Can ye find a bowl or two? I’m beginning to feel faint with hunger.”
Riona laughed and swung a fist playfully at his shoulder. Ranald easily caught her wrist and exerted gentle pressure to pull her against him. The plaide slipped from Riona’s shoulders, baring the plunging neckline of her gown.
Ranald’s eyes crossed. Only yesterday he’d seen the same skin, the same shadowed valley between her breasts, teasing him from beneath delicate lace. But since then he’d explored every inch of the scented, sensual expanse with his fingers, his lips and tongue. Parritch could never be as satisfying.
His hands skimmed the gown from her shoulders and scooped her full breasts into his palms. He bent to kiss each nipple, pausing to plunge his tongue into the deep crevice between her breasts.
“I should move the pot away from the fire,” Riona murmured as she swayed toward him, her breath short and rapid. Ranald reached behind her and snatched up a piece of firewood. Hooking it behind the metal arm holding the pot above the flames, he pulled it away from the heat, splashing some of the contents onto the fire. The odor of burning oats filled the room.
Riona wrinkled her nose. She wanted to fuss at her hard work spilled on the hearth, even if it was just to pick fun at how easily she turned his attention back to the bed they had not left since the evening before. The stroke of his hands on her breasts sent the witty words right out of her brain as heat pooled low in her stomach. Her legs trembled and she swayed against the hearth, inadvertently planting her hand on the pot of parritch, scorching her palm.
She sucked in a startled breath, curling her hand protectively against her chest. Ranald pulled her against him, whispering soothing words against her hair. She dashed tears of pain from her eyes, scrubbing them away with the back of her other hand.
“I’m sorry, Ree. Let me see yer hand, love.”
His words eased her pain as much as his touch, and she reluctantly allowed him to open her hand. He stared a moment at the angry pink skin then placed a feather-light kiss on the tips of her fingers.
“I’ll get ye some fresh water to bathe it in.” He found a square of linen near the ewer stand and soaked it, pressing the cold, wet fabric against her palm. Riona hissed at the flash of pain, but settled as the sting eased. He rinsed the towel again in the cold water, replacing the compress on the burn.
“It feels much better, Ranald. Thank ye.” She gave him a faint smile. “I’m sure Tavia has some burn salve around here.”
“Tell me where to look and I’ll get it for ye.”
Riona nodded at a shelf at the back of the room. “There. Out of the light, ye’ll see several jars of ointments and such.” Ranald moved to the row of jars. “The one on the end.” She motioned with a forefinger. “No, the other end.”
Ranald held up the jar in question.
Riona shrugged. “Let me smell it.”
He obligingly removed the lid and held it for her approval. Riona’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Och, aye. That’s it.”
Ranald carefully dabbed the pungent salve on her skin, then ripped the towel into narrow strips, using them as a bandage. He tied the ends in a knot below her knuckles. “Is that too tight?”
Riona flexed her fingers and shook her head. “Nae.”
He lifted her hand to his lips
and kissed the bandaged palm. Numbness had already spread across the damaged area, thanks to the salve, and Riona felt no pain. His gaze hooked hers, and he placed kisses on her wrist, her forearm, and the crook of her elbow. She sucked in a breath as his lips tickled the sensitive skin in the bend of her arm. By the time his kisses reached the hollow of her neck, her burn was completely forgotten, her only heat coming from the fire raging low in her belly.
Within moments, other hungers ignited, and Riona wrapped her arms about Ranald’s neck, arching her body against his. She’d awakened to a stranger in her bed, an unfamiliar soreness to her muscles, and a wonder at the change in herself. Ranald’s touch melted her like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She thirsted for him, for the feel of his skin against hers, for the thickness of him filling her until she cried out with the pleasure of it.
Ranald stepped away enough to shove her gown past her hips. Thus freed, it slithered to the floor, baring her to his gaze. Her hands sought him, found him, hard and pulsing in her hand. She stroked the length of his cock, rubbing her thumb across the tip, spreading the moisture beaded there.
Ranald groaned and Riona framed a secret smile to draw such a reaction from him. She knelt before him and nuzzled the inside of his thighs, nipping lightly at the skin above his knees. Ranald’s hands clenched in her hair. Taking her time, she thoroughly investigated the soft, hidden skin at the juncture of his thighs, breathing his musky scent.
She looked up and took note of how his eyes remained tightly closed. Judging from his intent expression, Riona assumed she must be doing something right. Remembering the way he’d caressed her the night before, she thought to turn the tables and stroked his staff, marveling at the satiny texture of his skin. Following where her fingers led, she showered him with hot kisses.
Ranald gripped her shoulders and hauled her against him. Scooping her up, he lifted her until she wrapped her legs about his waist. He carried her back to the bed and lowered her to the mattress. Reaching between them, he seated himself against her opening, rubbing his finger across the sensitive nub swelling at his touch. Riona tightened her legs around him, pulling him within as she fell apart at his first thrust, and he followed quickly.
