Castles, Kilts and Caresses

by Carmen Caine

  His arm came behind her knees as he carried her through the rain and into her hut, his mouth never leaving hers. As soon as her feet touched the ground beside the fire, he seized her tunic and kirtle, pulling them over her head. His eyes explored her bare flesh, and she blushed in response as she tried to shield herself from his gaze with her hands.

  A slow smile curved one side of his mouth as he moved to stand close to her. His hands gently stroked her shoulders.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are?” he whispered.

  His fingers threaded through her hair as he dipped his head. She felt the tip of his tongue run lightly along the ridges of her mouth, cresting smoothly over her top lip and sweeping down slowly like a whispered caress along the bottom where he lingered.

  Instinctively, she opened her mouth in response. His hold on her body tightened as he pressed her closer. She heard herself groan as she wrapped her arms around his neck, returning his kiss with an uncontrollable urgency. A sensation erupted in her core and spread like a breaking wave throughout her body.

  But then the unexpected and unwanted happened. A flash of white light crossed her mind’s eye, making way for a vision.

  She stood in the sand, wearing only her shift. Waves were breaking, drawing close to her feet and pulling away again like a shy child seeking affection. Ahead, Ronan walked toward distant cliffs. She called to him, but he did not stop. She yelled louder, screaming with all her might, but still he did not glance back. In moments, breathes, he was faraway, only a shadow on the horizon. Bending her head in despair, she knew in her heart he was gone forever. At her feet were scattered shards of a broken mirror, but she did not see her reflection in the pieces. The glass held images of her and Ronan together. Collapsing to her knees, she franticly gathered the fragments to safeguard her memories, but suddenly they mirrored only her tear-stained face. She sobbed in anguish, clutching the jagged remains until her palms gushed with blood. She watched as the incoming tide carried the redness away, taking with it love’s promise.

  The vision faded, but the pain remained, overwhelming Shoney’s senses and smothering the flames of Ronan’s kiss.

  She struggled against his embrace, “Ronan, stop.”

  He continued to kiss and stroke her skin. “Ronan, I can’t. We can’t,” she cried.

  “Ronan,” she shouted, her tone forcing him to meet her gaze, “you will hurt me. I have seen it.”

  He released her and stepped back, dropping his arms at his sides. He panted, his eyes heavy with passion, but when he spoke his voice was gentle.

  “Shoney,” he said, “you must know I could never hurt you.” Grasping her hands, he pressed them flat against his chest where his heart beat. The swiftness of its drumming and the smooth hardness of his skin, hot beneath her fingers, almost made her forget her protest. “I know your gift is strong,” he said. “You rightly place faith in your visions, but you must also learn to put faith in others, in me.”

  Her mind raced. Never had she felt as alive as she did when she was with him, and not just when he held her, touched her, but every time he was near. He brought laughter back to her life. He brought hope and the promise of better days. But the agony she felt in her vision seized her heart with the knowledge of a pain worse than death, the foretelling of a long life spent in solitude having known love’s promise. Her visions never failed her, but was he right? Could she trust him despite the council of her own instincts?

  She cupped his face in her hands as she searched his eyes, and she saw nothing but goodness and truth in their amber depths. Desire overshadowed reason. Exhaling slowly, she stood on the tips of her toes as her hand came behind his neck. Then she pulled his lips down to meet hers, sealing her fate with a kiss.

  His hands wrapped around her waist as her feet left the ground. He kissed her with slow, relishing motions, drawing groans of pleasure from places deep within she never knew existed. The warmth and strength of his body surrounded her, engulfed her, but it was not enough. She wanted to be closer. She wanted more.

  Her hand reached down to his waist as she fumbled with his belt. He grinned at her, “You are my own Saucy Mary.”

  She blushed knowing he thought her bold, but then she smiled wickedly, deciding he should know now she would never be obedient and demure. Despite what he believed, she was descended of women warriors. She would be brazen when it suited her and prudent when

  she decided it was required—now not being the time for prudence.

  She felt his belt give way. Then she slid the extra folds of plaid off his shoulder.

  “Put me down,” she said as his plaid fell to the ground.

  She stepped back. Her eyes roamed over his large frame. He was everything masculine with hard, defined lines and ridged muscles. His skin was bronzed and smooth, stretched taut over sinew and sprinkled with golden hair. Her eyes were drawn to the puckered skin of his scars. She kissed each one. Two were but inches from being death wounds, and she closed her eyes, thanking the Mother of all for protecting him.

  He spread his plaid by the fire like a blanket before he grabbed her fiercely, pulling her beneath him. His body covered hers, but he supported his weight on an elbow.

  “Lie on me,” she implored as her arms encircled his neck. “I want to feel all of you.”

  “No, Shoney, I would crush you,” he whispered.

  Then his lips began to blaze a trail of fire down her throat and along her shoulders. He kissed and stroked her, igniting her body with hot desire, causing her back to arch as she cried out. Her hands moved over him with an urgency that was pure feeling. Her mind gave over to the intense ache, which permeated every inch of her flesh. Something within her was building, a sweet agony demanding relief.

  His weight shifted, and slowly he entered her. She held her breath and everything stood still as she took more and more of him. At first, a flash of hot pain coursed through her, but it subsided as quickly as it came, and soon their bodies moved in unison. Her nails raked his back as she tried to press him closer. Need surged through her as wild abandon took hold, guiding her actions. It was carnal and timeless and as powerful and natural as the sea. Throbbing heat ignited her core, pulsing and craving release. The ache intensified as blissful terror flooded her senses and her body erupted. She cried out, trembling and quaking, swept away on rapturous waves. Through a euphoric haze she heard his cry and felt him shudder around her. She clung to him, burying her face in his neck, thinking she would be lost forever.

  ***

  Try as he might, Ronan could not catch his breath. He had known the sweet pleasure of women before, but even in his wildest dreams, he never imagined the feral abandon of Shoney. She showed no restraint, holding nothing back, and he had lost himself to the tremendous hunger she stirred, making him feel crazed with desire. He gazed in awe at the small but powerful woman trying to catch her breath in his embrace.

  “Are you alright?” he whispered.

  She threw her arms around his neck, which he decided was answer enough. Finding her skin damp from their exertions, he dragged his fingers over the length of her creamy legs and curved hips. Although she was small, her body was not overly lean. It was soft in all the right places. His hand caressed the curve of her stomach and the gentle flare of her hips. Her thighs were strong but also supple to the touch. His hands suddenly became furtive as he stroked her, his desire renewed. He needed her again. He groaned as he felt her teeth bite into his shoulder.

  “Ronan,” he heard her whisper, “make it happen again.”

  He stretched over her, pressing into her heat, but then he froze. Something or someone was outside. He glanced down; confusion clouded her eyes. She started to speak, but he covered her mouth with his hand and motioned for her to be silent. Her confusion quickly turned to fear as he stood and took hold of his sword. He slowly edged toward the door, glancing back to offer reassurance, but she was not the shivering mass hiding under his plaid he expected. She stood in all her naked glory with her sword raised at the
ready. He scowled and motioned for her to get down, but she rolled her eyes and emphatically pointed toward the door, clearly chastising him for turning away from possible danger.

  He jerked around as the door slammed open and a man bounded inside, hollering and wildly swinging his sword. Ronan jumped back in time to escape the slicing force of the blade and straightaway recognized the madman.

  “Aidan?” he said.

  Aidan stood in the center of the hut still bellowing and stabbing at the air, but he did not attack nor did he seem to notice no one attacked him. He was lost to panic.

  “Aidan,” Ronan called again, but still his friend did not hear.

  He moved behind him, ducking the swing of his blade. Seizing a hold of Aidan’s hand, he kept the sword aloft and spun him around.

  “Aidan,” Ronan said. “’Tis me. ‘Tis Ronan.”

  Aidan panted, and his eyes darted everywhere, but he did not appear to see anything. Ronan grabbed a mug of ale from the table and tossed the contents, hitting Aidan square in the face. He sputtered and wiped his eyes. When they opened Ronan could see they were lucid but still afraid.

  “Ronan,” he gasped. “Thank the Lord you are alive.”

  He headed toward the door. “Why do you stand there, Ronan? Let us flee.”

  “Aidan, you need to calm down,” he said as he looked around for Shoney. He was relieved to see her peeking out from behind the far side of her table.

  “God rot calming down, Ronan,” he growled. “We are standing in the house of the Witch of Dervaig. I do not want to linger a moment longer. Come away,” he implored.

  “Aidan, you must listen to me.”

  “No, Ronan,” he shouted. “You listen to me. The hag has put some spell on you. You must come with me now before she comes back, and we are both lost to her witchcraft.”

  “Aidan, there is no witch,” Ronan said.

  “Damn it, Ronan, you are the stronger between us, but I feel I could best you right now. I am leaving, and by Christ’s blood, you are coming with me. Will you go, or need I beat the breath out of you?” he yelled.

  Terror was clearly reclaiming control over his friend. Without further hesitation, Ronan pulled back and hit Aidan square in the jaw. He crumbled unconscious to the ground.

  Chapter 12

  “Ronan,” Shoney exclaimed as she sprang from her hiding place. “Why did you hit him?”

  “Not even at the onset of battle have I witnessed such fear. He was not his rational self. I just saved him from doing something crazy like picking a fight with me.”

  Despite the thin line of blood trickling from the corner of Aidan’s mouth, he looked peaceful.

  “Aye, he needs a short rest to calm his nerves,” he said.

  “It was me, wasn’t it?” Shoney cried. “Mother of all, I never imagined I scared you all that much.”

  Ronan shrugged, “It has tested my courage more than once to come here, but I am no longer afraid. It will be the same for Aidan when he is able to listen.”

  “You mean when he is no longer rendered unconscious by the might of your fist,” she scoffed.

  “Precisely,” he grinned.

  “Well, the least I can do, since this is all my fault, is clean his wound and help the headache he is sure to have.”

  ***

  After quickly dressing, Shoney strode to her table and set a mixture of dried chamomile and nettle to brew.

  “This tea will lessen the pain,” she told Ronan before gathering water, a clean rag, and a salve made with ivy. Kneeling by the invalid, she gazed at him in wonder. So many moons had waned and grown full, and all the while she never had a man in her hut, and now it was overcrowded with the bulk of two large men.

  She brushed the black curls away from his face and gasped. He was no stranger, not really.

  “’Tis the man from my vision, Ronan,” she said.

  “His name is Aidan. He is my best and oldest friend, a valiant warrior, and you saved his life, Shoney.”

  She smiled at his praise then set to work cleaning Aidan’s face. Patting the cloth into his chin, she soaked up the blood trickling from a small cut inside his mouth where his teeth had bit into his lip. Then she smeared a dab of salve on the wound to ease the pain and keep the swelling down.

  She studied his face. He was beautiful.

  His lips were full and his jaw chiseled. His thick coal black lashes were long, fanning across his cheeks. She traced the smooth contours that defined his face as she stared mesmerized. His features were almost too fine for a man, more suited to a woman, but framed by his wild black curls and broad muscled shoulders and neck, his virility was impossible to ignore.

  “So you too are not immune to Aidan’s pretty face.”

  Her eyes snapped toward Ronan, and she blushed, realizing he had caught her admiring another man.

  “He is beautiful, Ronan, but too feminine for my tastes. I much prefer your rugged good looks.”

  “Given I am one of two men you have now seen up close, I will not let your compliment go to my head,” he grinned.

  Aidan’s sweeping lashes flickered, grabbing her attention.

  “He wakes, Ronan,” she whispered.

  Slowly Aidan’s eyes opened. She gently soothed his brow and murmured gentle assurances that nothing was going to harm him. Then a slight smile curved his lips.

  “Shoney,” he whispered, “’tis you.”

  She jerked back. “You know me?” she asked.

  “You were the angel who almost took me to heaven when I died on the moors,” he murmured and winced as his hand flew to his head. “But then Ronan showed up with his ugly mug and scared you away. Sweet Jesus, my head hurts.”

  “Ronan, the tea please,” she said.

  Ronan’s hand rested on her shoulder as he leaned over to hand Aidan the steaming mug.

  “And there he is now, so I know I’m not dead, because St. Peter would never let that blackguard past the gates.”

  “Hello, Aidan,” Ronan said.

  Aidan looked at her and then at Ronan and then back at her. “Who are you?” he said. “Where am I?”

  His gaze skimmed over her furnishings but settled on her door. She could tell the very instant he knew where he was by the fear flooding his eyes.

  “Aidan, I do not want to have to punch you again so do not panic,” Ronan said.

  “I am lying in the hut of the Witch of Dervaig, and you want me not to panic.” Then his voice lowered to a whisper. “Where is she?” he cringed.

  “There is no Witch of Dervaig, Aidan. There is only Shoney.”

  Aidan stared at her in disbelief. “You live here?”

  Shoney nodded, walking to the Witch’s cloak, which she pulled from its peg. She had to expose the Witch for what she really was, nothing more than a clever disguise. Sweeping the folds over her shoulders, she covered her head and assumed the position. Peering out from beneath the hood, she saw terror and revulsion pass over Aidan’s face.

  “’Tis only me, Aidan,” she said as she tugged the cloak off her shoulders. “’Tis I whom you have seen on the moors and in the forest, but I am no witch.”

  “If you are not a witch, then how do I know your face when we’ve not met until now?” he demanded. “How do I have your name on my lips?”

  “Calm down, Aidan. ‘Tis simple enough to explain. I have visions. I see things in my mind. Sometimes I see that which has already past or that which has yet to be. Our minds were bound together for an instant. I saw you bleeding on the moors, and you felt my comfort. It was my vision, in fact, which led Ronan to you.”

  “You have visions, and you can see ahead to a time that has not yet past, but you are not a witch?” he scoffed.

  “No,” she said. “I have no magic—‘tis a gift.”

  “A gift?” he said, his tone mocking.

  “Aye, a gift, and might I remind you ‘tis a gift that saved your life,” she snapped.

  Ronan stepped in front of her, shielding her from his friend. “She is
a good woman, Aidan. We have always trusted each other. I need you to trust me now.” She shivered as his voiced grew menacing. “And know this, Aidan. She is under my protection.”

  “How can you believe she is not the witch? Her story holds no weight. In appearance she is a lass of no more than eighteen years, but the Witch of Dervaig has been haunting our island for more than a century.”

  “All of the women of my descent have worn the cloak to protect ourselves from the likes of you,” she asserted from behind Ronan’s back.

  “And you believed this farcical tale, Ronan,” Aidan scoffed. “She is lying. Beautiful enticements meant to blind foolhardy men like you conceal her hideous face and crooked form. Perhaps, Ronan, we cannot see what she really is,” he implored.

  That was the final straw. She charged around Ronan. “And what am I?” she shouted. “Choose you words wisely, fiend, or you will feel the sharp end of my blade.”

  She moved to grab her weapon when Ronan shoved her behind him once more. “Enough of this woman warrior nonsense, Shoney. Can’t you see he is five of you?” Ronan snapped.

  “I don’t care,” she yelled. “He called me a liar.”

  “Did she really just challenge me to a battle of arms?” Aidan chuckled.

  Shoney shrieked with fury. How dare he laugh at her, and how dare Ronan scold her as though she were a child.

  “I have had enough Scotsmen for one evening.” She stomped to the door, and she threw it open. “Both of you get out, now.”

  “She is a little hot tempered,” Ronan explained to Aidan.

  “I reckon so,” Aidan replied.

  “Do you think if she were the Witch she would stomp around, demanding to fight you with steel?” Ronan asked.

  Shoney could not believe her ears. Ronan mocked her, and they were both ignoring her command to leave. She was going to tell them exactly where they could shove their disregard when she stopped short. Ronan and Aidan’s eyes were locked in silent combat. It was an intense exchange where she guessed Aidan was assessing the truth of Ronan’s words, and Ronan was judging his friend’s faith. Her heart drummed in her ears as their standoff continued, seeming to last for an eternity.