by Alisa Adams
“Argh,” she whimpered when his full length and girth slid all the way inside of her.
Brice started moving. There was none of the restraint he had shown her on the night by the loch at Diabaig. He was consumed with need for her. His attentions forced little cries out of her mouth as the pleasurable sensations of old came back with lascivious retaliation.
Skye’s mouth was agape, letting the moans run freely from deep inside of her. He lowered himself and covered her mouth with his. Within moments, he parted her lips with his tongue and licked the insides of her mouth. She gasped into the contact. A delightful strangeness descended over her.
Instinctively, she placed her hands on his broad shoulders and pulled him closer. A little whimper rippled up her throat when she touched his tongue with hers. This, in concert with their lovemaking, forced her to become more urgent with her caresses. She pressed the front of her body against him. It felt like she was rubbing against a stonewall, so hard was his physique.
“Ye really have no idea just how beautiful ye are.” Brice had stopped moving. He cupped her cheeks with both of his hands as he looked into her eyes. “I love ye.”
His intimate touch and words made Skye shudder with pleasure. “And I love ye.” The exchange was brief. All she could think about was kissing and touching him again. Her dreams of the clansman assaulted her brain. She felt, smelt and tasted him. His entire being was stuck to her skin, imprinted on her soul. This was the man she had always wanted, and they were to be married. They had found one another after fearful thoughts of death. Skye felt that as of that night they would forever be together.
“I want nothing more than for ye to be my wife, Skye.”
As if controlled by another being, Skye lurched forward and pressed her lips against his. All she cared about was possessing this man and making him her own. Reveling in the brief and sweet pain of her lips against his teeth, she plundered his mouth as if it were for the last time.
For a moment, the force of her kiss took Brice aback. He growled into her mouth and began to lick her tongue as if another force claimed him. His hands became more urgent as he ran them over her taut body that shuddered with his very touch. Their breaths intermingled and became as one when the frenzy of dammed up love was finally released.
Skye mewed with delight when he lifted her slightly by the buttocks. Her flesh shook and quivered under the empathetic and demanding skill of his hands. As if he was in a trance, he ran his hands over her body, cupping each breast tenderly. Brice moved his hands up until he felt the tip of each pointy nipple. They hardened some more the moment his fingers brushed against them. Again, he pressed his mouth to hers.
Skye gasped with pleasure as her skin felt like the waves on the sea. His caresses became more urgent with his every flick of his tongue. One hand tweaked her nipple while the other roamed over her backside, kneading and massaging.
“I love you.” The words scudded out of her mouth, disintegrating into little puffs of air. She could never tell him that enough. She wanted to scream the words.
Brice leaned back. “I love ye too.” Not once did he remove his hands from her breast and backside.
She planted a kiss on her man’s lips when he groaned. She loved the way his hips flexed with every stroke of her body. Skye moved back. She needed to see this demigod of a man as she pleasured him. She watched the color of his irises flare up when she became more demanding with her movements. They seemed to adopt the shade of the sea before the squall.
“Stop!”
She giggled, caught up by the heady pleasure. “Getting too much for ye, am I?” she said, pressing down onto him.
Brice chuckled. “Aye – ye are driving me mad with wanting.” He soon began to move again, faster and faster until they were lost in the physical contact once again.
“Argh, Brice.” Skye was overcome by the sweet spasms rippling through her. They seemed to lift her up into the air. The feel of his flesh moving about inside of her induced an agreeable mixture of pleasure and pain.
“Argh… God,” she cried again.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, pulling back.
“Don’t stop – keep moving,” she hissed out.
As much as Skye loved the sound of it, his voice was at that moment a vile intruder on her bliss. She placed her hands on his hard buttocks and pulled him closer until his entire length and girth filled her.
“Oh, yes… like that.” She managed a smile when she heard him panting above her. That and the sensation of them being as one drove her wild with passion. She countered his every thrust with a downward motion of her pelvis. Every time he slapped against her, Skye let off a series of whimpers that made him more assertive.
She swam up to the surface of consciousness before diving down again. Her eyelids fluttered. Responsiveness entered her body – a flex of her abdomen in rhythm with his every movement, her head thrown back to offer up her throat, making her man drive into her deeper still.
With almost religious awe, Brice watched the woman he loved writhe underneath him. He held her waist as he drove into her, relishing in the response he got from his every lunge. She moved under him as a sleeping woman might when visited by a nightmare. He could literally see the naughty thoughts ravaging her mind as her body replayed what her brain told her.
“Brice!” His name was hurled at him with a deep growl that became a seemingly infinite hiss, ending with a screamed “Ooh.” Every nook and cranny of her mind was filled with radiant flashes and intoxicating images of the love she felt. Her physique responded in kind as wave after wave of exhilarating pleasure sourced through her like a rampant river after heavy rainfall. Her insides seemed to collapse into folds of burning flesh. Skye dissolved into the soft bed when the tidal wave of climax hit her with the full force of a herd of bulls running on a savannah.
She screamed, “Brice, Brice…” in an incantation of lust and love.
Moving on top of her at an increasing and unstoppable pace, Brice pushed himself harder. He watched her whining with pleasure underneath him. The sight of her beautiful body, the consternated expression on her face that exuded both pleasure and amazement was too much. The knot in his body dissolved in fire, melting and burning as he the heat shot up and beyond. Brice shouted along with Skye. Their cries became as one until they collapsed into a sweating heap with his body rolling off her.
Breathing heavily, Skye starred up at the intricately embellished ceiling in their room. Despite having experienced such pleasure, she was amazed at the way her body felt. Even though fading, the heat still gushed inside of her, burnishing her skin into an attractive pink hue.
“That was incredible, Brice.” She shifted her head to look at him. She saw that Brice was just as amazed by what had happened.
“You are magnificent, Skye… and thank goodness yer da was nowhere near this time.”
After they had laughed, they didn’t say any more. Neither of them had any clue for how long they remained like that, in silence, but they were close to one another, and that was all that mattered.
At last, Brice shifted his weight, turning to face her. He flashed her a smile when she looked back at him. She looked incredible with her disheveled golden blonde hair and deeply flushed cheeks that revealed themselves impudently in the firelight. They just stared at the other for a while.
“It was different – what we just did,” she said at last. “Like we spoke the words of love with our bodies.”
Brice chuckled. “Aye, it was. So, ye liked it then?”
Skye tittered. “Oh, very much so… I did show ye before. Or do ye need me to spell it out for ye?”
Brice smiled. “Aye, yer body did give me the signs. There is nothing more truthful than a lass in the throes of passion.”
“I could do that with ye all night.”
“And we will,” responded Brice, pulling her toward him. “I have been starved of ye and the one time is surely not enough,” he growled out into her mouth.
“Show me how
much ye missed me, my love.”
“Aye, lass… that I will.”
16
The Voyage Home
* * *
Northern England, February, 1347
* * *
The road back to Scotland was a happy one. Mary never let Alastair out of her sight. She behaved as if soldiers might turn up at any moment behind them to inform them that King Edward had changed his mind and they would be forced to turn back. Fortunately, this never occurred – the roads to the south remained empty of English soldiers.
They spent most nights in the inns that Mary, Elizabeth, Skye and Sir Percival had frequented on the way south, except for the one at Bedford. Mary had insisted that one was a little too frowzy for her taste. Also, she believed the rebarbative landlord to be an avaricious scoundrel and his serving wench an impolite sort. Instead, they had passed Bedford by, and with good fortune, had discovered a lovely little tavern in a village not too far away.
Elizabeth and Sir Percival had become closer still and more at ease with their public affections as the days etched by. Finally, during a stopover close to York, at Elizabeth’s country home – that she’d inherited from her late husband –, Elizabeth had admitted that she and the man-at-arms were planning on getting married. Elizabeth’s former husband had been dead for many years, and Sir Percival had been a constant companion and great support to her ever since; in essence, and in secret, he had also been just that when her husband still lived. In time, mutual affection had developed into love. Happy though she was for her sister, Mary had, of course, expected this and voiced her opinions to her husband long before this confession.
With many tears shared between the two sisters, they had parted ways the following day. It was time for Alastair, Mary, Skye, and Brice to continue the voyage home. Sir Percival had allocated them an escort of his finest men to take them all the way to the Anglo-Scottish border. It was a necessary precaution. Even though Alastair carried a letter signed by King Edward, some overly ambitious soldier on patrol might think it a fake or stolen.
Mary and Elizabeth had promised to stay in touch this time. Visits to Diabaig were already planned with Sir Percival the most ardent supporter of the venture. It appeared the hunting on Alastair’s lands had been the very best he had ever experienced. And naturally, there was the impending wedding between Skye and Brice. It would take place sometime in the spring of that year.
The closer they got to Scotland, the colder it got, and the landscape gradually began to turn into something more ruggedly romantic. It would not be long until they crossed the border and the final leg of their journey could begin. Spirits were high because of this. Much banter and laughter were shared. Mary and Skye behaved like mother and daughter. Alastair was a little more reticent because he noticed his son’s brooding.
Brice was preoccupied. Ever since his happy reunion with Skye at Windsor, his mind had reverted to the one question that plagued him. In the days after the tournament and before the departure of both the Black Prince and Brice to their respective destinations, the two young men had spoken intensely. The prince would return to Calais with his father to finish the siege still taking place there. The entire town had been cordoned off by land and sea – nothing came in, and nothing went out.
Brice and the prince had become close. Facing one another in open combat often did that to men when they both survived the bout. It was as if men shared something that only they could understand, a sort of window to death narrowly avoided, and yet, at the same time, an unavoidable destiny for all men. Shared questions were asked after that; they would usually be philosophical in their nature, as young men invariably seek out answers as to why they are alive and what their purpose was. The answer to this was always man’s greatest epiphany for there is no greater knowledge than to know what one’s place was in the vastness of infinity – for most, this remained a mystery.
This conundrum soon had Brice asking his new friend the prince what he should do regarding the lordship in Northern England. He had also tried to discuss the matter with his father, and his advice had been sound, but ultimately, he had said that it was up to him for he did not wish to interfere as fervidly as Brice’s grandfather would have done were he still the laird. King Edward’s son had been most forthcoming and useful with his advice. However, this had made matters far more difficult for Brice; he felt stuck and at a crossroads – what was his place in the annals of human history?
This relationship between the prince and Brice did not go down well with Skye. Like most Highland women, she considered the English the enemy. One did not become close to one of their kind and especially not the Prince of Wales. Skye considered Mary the only exception for a Sassenach. However, everyone in the clan considered her Scottish anyway. If her accent was a giveaway, then it no longer bothered the people in the clan.
So far, Skye had done her best to keep her misgivings to herself because she had been so happy to be reunited with the man she loved and she did not want to ruin it. Yet, every time she had looked out of the window at Windsor Castle, her betrothed had been engaged in some deep conversation with the Black Prince. In Skye’s view that was exactly how he should be described. There was something in his face that frightened her – she feared that this man would one day threaten them at home. Skye was adamant that he was ruthless and determined in his nature whereas Brice was strong but just.
She had subtly asked Brice questions after these walks with the prince, but he had just stroked her cheek and said that it was nothing to be concerned about. He had claimed that they mainly discussed the war in France. Skye knew him so well – they had been inseparable since childhood. Instinctively, she knew that he was only telling her half of the truth. Knowing that her man was keeping something from her had been eating away at her ever since.
“What’s on yer mind, lover?” asked Skye. She rode next to her betrothed close to the town of Newcastle upon Tyne. She had been gazing in his direction for the better part of one hour. Usually, he would notice her ogling immediately. Not this time. As usual since Windsor, he was lost in his little world of thought. A place Skye wanted to be a part of.
Brice turned to look at the woman he loved. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold. Her golden hair billowed in the light breeze that came from the direction of the North Sea. His heart ached with what he was about to tell her. He had been trying to for days, but he had never been able to find the right words. He ran a hand through his black hair and sighed.
“I want to visit my grandfather’s estate. If I am not mistaken, it’s somewhere hereabouts,” he said after a long moment of thought.
Skye pressed her lips together until they were a thin firm line. Simultaneously, her eyebrows moved closer to one another. Her otherwise light blue eyes darkened.
“Ye are not thinking about taking on the title, are ye?” she said, suspicion fortifying her voice.
“I had thought about it, but I cannae say quite just yet. I have to see the place first.” Brice had never seen her look fiercer. Skye was like a wild cat ready for the pounce.
“Ye are a clansman of the clan Macleod and not some English nobleman loyal to the King of England. What would yer father say, eh? I’ll tell ye what… nothing – because his heart would be broken.” Skye nearly fell out of her saddle as she spoke. The color on her face had darkened a deeper shade, and her eyes glinted angrily.
“What’s all the fuss?” shouted Alastair from further ahead. He swiveled his bulk in the saddle to see what was going on. Sir Percival’s escort rode to the left and right of him.
Brice waved. “Nothing, Da,” he hollered.
“Nothing, ye say? This is not bloody nothing,” hissed out Skye, at the same time trying not to shout. She moved closer to her betrothed. “Ye will not do this. Ye will return home with me where ye belong. I forbid ye cavorting with the Sassenachs as some false lord.” She hacked out a laugh that sounded like a cackle. “Yer bahookie’s out the windae – have ye become a victim of the drink since leaving Dia
baig?”
The expression on Brice’s face became hard. “I will do what my conscience dictates, woman,” he growled out. “And that is the end of the discussion.”
Skye was taken aback by his feral manner. Brice had never been like that to her. She had, of course, witnessed his temper when growing up, but she had never been at the short end of the stick – that having been reserved for the others.
For a few moments, she was speechless.
“So, ye want to go through with this?” she asked, at last finding her tongue. “Then do what yer conscience suggests, and I will do what mine suggests.”
Brice nodded solemnly. “It is my duty and responsibility to my family. What kind of a man would I be if I would not honor my heritage, eh?”
Skye said nothing in response; the emotions inside of her gurgled like boiling water in a pot.
“Ye see… even ye dinnae have an answer to that. I must do what is right and at least see the place. I have made no final decision yet. I just want to go.” The expression on his face softened. “Will ye come with me for a time?”
Skye had to control herself not to slap him in the face. It was her way. She was full of wild temperament. But the love she felt for this man was a constant resident inside of her.
She swallowed deeply. “Aye, where the blimen heck else would I go? My place is by my betrothed’s side.” Skye took the hand he held out for her and squeezed it. “Dinnae hurt me, Brice… Promise?” she said, the angry expression on her face softening.
He shook his head. “I would never do that.” He smiled warmly. “I cannae thank ye enough, my love. And ye dinnae have to worry; we will go home to Diabaig.” Brice leaned in and kissed her on the lips. “I promise,” he added.
Skye did not share his certainty, but she played along nonetheless. She had seen something in his eyes before – when he said that he wished to see his ancestral home. She could not quite ascertain what it was. Was it pride, obduracy, curiosity or just a plain sense of familial duty? Skye knew that was Brice’s way. He was a man that would never shirk his duty and, most of all, he would never do anything that was not entirely honorable in terms of his family. That notion worried her to bits. Could she ever live in England? A shiver slid down her spine just thinking about it.
