The Warrior Bride

by Lois Greiman

  She found his nipple and laved it with her tongue. He jerked against her, then wrapped his fingers in her hair. Forcing her head backward, he growled a warning.

  “You were made for me, lass. None other.” She met his kiss with desperation.

  “Not some bloated marquis!” Lachlan growled and lifted her into his arms. She slipped her fingers behind his neck and kissed him with ravishing heat. “We shall travel to Dun Ard,” he gritted. “Wed within the month. Live-”

  But suddenly his words came through to her. She pressed against his chest with all her might and scrambled to the floor.

  ”What the devil are you about?” he rasped.

  “Wed!” The word sprung from her lips. “Are you daft? 1 cannot marry!”

  His brows lowered and he paced closer. She backed a step away.

  “You did not seem to dislike the idea a moment ago,” he said.

  “I said nothing of marriage.”

  “So you would bed me but not wed me?”

  She licked her lips. “This I tell you, champion. You’ll not own me. Not now, not ever. I go where I will.”

  “And you go to Turpin?”

  He looked enraged and indomitable. Ready for battle or sex or both. Just as she was.

  “Aye,” she growled. “I go to Turpin.” “Though you want me.”

  “I did not say as much.”

  “Nay,” he said and let his gaze fall across her body, her heaving breasts, her clenched fists. “For there was no need.”

  “Get out of me room, MacGowan.” “Nay,” he said and lunged for her.

  She sprinted away. Her toes tangled in her skirts and she almost fell, but once again he caught her. Bearing her to her feet, he turned her in his arms.

  Their lips were inches apart. She felt her knees go weak, and anger rose like a flood with that weakness. Clenching her teeth, she snarled at him, “Leave me be or I swear you shall rue this day.”

  He grinned. ”And what shall you do, lass? You’ve no weapon close to hand.”

  She turned her head, desperately searching for protection, and it was there-her dirk, almost within reach, but his grip was like iron about her waist.

  She turned back to him. Their gazes met and fused, anger and passion and frustration all melding at once, and then, like one in a trance, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of her knife. She leaned back, her heart thumping, her eyes never leaving his. Lachlan raised the dirk, and she tensed, but he only spun it into the air and caught it by the blade.

  “Here then,” he growled, and loosening his grip on her waist, offered her the weapon.

  She took it in her trembling hand and backed away. “Feel better now?” he asked, and advanced slowly. She hefted the dirk’s familiar weight and raised her chin. “Aye, champion. I do.”

  “‘Tis good,” he said and, reaching slowly forward, drew her back into his embrace. “For I suggest you use it if you wish to stop me.”

  He leaned toward her. His lips felt hot as fire upon hers. She trembled with desire, but she pressed the knife against his ribs.

  “MacGowan!” she growled.

  He drew back slightly, his teeth clenched. “Aye?”

  Against her breasts, his chest felt as hard as sin and upon her thighs, he throbbed with unrelieved desire…

  She breathed through her mouth, trying to find her wits, and in the silence, he leaned forward again.

  She pressed the blade deeper into his side, piercing his skin. He drew back. slowly, his face a solemn mask.

  “You’ve some request, lass?” His tone was deep, his eyes like amber fire.

  “Aye,” she growled. “Take me, MacGowan!”

  Chapter 17

  There was a moment’s delay, and then he swept her onto the mattress. The dirk was in the way now, so she tossed it aside and reached for him, tangling her fingers in his hair, pulling him atop her.

  He kissed her ferociously, and she did the same, lifting her knees as he pressed into her, arching up to meet him. Her skirts slipped up her thighs. His erection pressed against her bare skin. She moaned as she pulled him into her and he entered with a growl.

  A wave of painful pleasure hit her like high tide. She rocked back, gritting her teeth and pulling him deeper. He rode hard, grinding into her, pressing in time and again. Planting his hands beside her shoulders, he reared up and drove deeper still. Muscles corded in his arms. She grabbed his wrists, pulling him in, aching for more. Between her legs, his thighs bunched and bucked, but suddenly he was pushing away. She grappled for him, wrapping her legs about his, pulling him back, but his teeth were set. She felt him slip away, felt utopia slide past.

  “Damn you, MacGowan!” she rasped. “Come back.” He shook his head. For a moment he couldn’t seem to speak, then, “‘Tis not right,” he growled.

  “Right?” She tightened her legs around him, desperate to quiet the ache. “Aye, ‘tis ‘Tis quite right.”

  “And what of later?”

  She was panting as she wrapped an arm about his back. Power flexed beneath her fingers and she moaned at the feel, then set her free hand to his chest.

  Muscles jumped at her touch. Fascinated, she skimmed her palm over his nipple and down.

  “Rhona!” he gritted, but held very still as if he were paralyzed by the touch of her fingers. “Stop. ‘Tis time to think.”.

  “Think?” She may have laughed, though it was difficult to say for certain. “‘Tis time to do many things,” she said, and kissed his chest. Merciful saints, it was a bonny chest, sculpted with power and rippling with life. “But ‘tis certainly far past the time for thought.” She arched her spine into the mattress, reaching for him again, but he planted his hands on her arms, as if he were holding the devil himself at bay.

  “Nay, lass. I’ll not have you hating me all the more for what I’ve-”

  “Hate you!” She skimmed her hand down his rippled abdomen and felt their shivers merge into a fine dance of desire. She touched his erection, sweeping her fingers up its length. “I do not hate you. In truth…” She wrapped her hand around him, guiding him toward her core. “Just now I believe I rather like you, MacGowan.”

  He jerked away, all but jumping from the bed. “MacGowan!” he growled.

  She stared at him.

  “MacGowan!” He was circling her like a ravenous beast, glaring at her, his erection pulled tight to his rippled belly. “You do not even call me by me Christian name. Do you not know me Christian name?”

  ” Lachlan.” The name flew from her lips. “‘Tis Lachlan. Now come hither, damn you.”

  She watched him tighten his fists, saw the muscles bunch in his thighs as though he were just about to step forward. But he did not. She gritted her teeth.

  “And what if you become with child? What then?

  There are no bonds of marriage. No-”

  She laughed, relief washing through her. “Is that your concern?” she asked, and sat up abruptly. “There will be no babe. You can rest assured.”

  He scowled. “How do you know?”

  “Listen, Mac-Lachlan, there is none who knows her body better than I who has lived as a man for most of me days. I have to know lest I spill me secret with me blood. There will be no babe from this coupling that I promise you.”

  Again she thought he would come to her, but again he refused.

  “‘Tis still not right.”

  “Not right!” She yanked her skirt past her knees and glared at him. “You have been teasing me since the first moment we met, flaunting your body, flexing your glorious…” She skimmed each dancing muscle with her gaze, but managed not to voice any more of her weak-kneed opinions. “You have been teasing me,” she repeated, “making me all but daft with your bonny words, your tender touch, your damned mesmerizing eyes!”

  His brows had risen toward his hairline, but she stormed on.

  “You have been teasing me for days,” she said and, swinging her legs off the mattress, reached for her dirk and rose to her feet.
“‘Tis a bit late to stop me now.”

  She raised the blade, but his gaze never dropped to it.

  “I have not been teasing you, lass. I have been doing me best to keep meself to meself.”

  “You lying bastard,” she said, and took a step toward him. “Do not act the innocent lad with me now when I know you are a master seducer.”

  “Master- ”

  “Get your arse back on that bed.”

  His lips moved, but not as violently as other parts.

  She lowered her gaze to watch his erection buck against the hard expanse of his belly, then drew a deep breath. “I am not one of your tarts to tease until they swoon for wanting you.”

  “Tarts?”

  “Me,” she said, and raised the dirk, “you will satisfy.” His erection danced a little fling. “Very well then,” he said, and loosened his fist. “But ‘twill be by me own rules.”

  She pulled her gaze from his penis and gritted her teeth against her own impatience. “You have rules?”

  He delayed a moment, then, “Of course.” “What are they?”

  “You’ll remove your clothing.”

  It took a moment for his words to sink in, but once they did, she immediately began ripping at the gown, her fingers frenetically trying to work around her dirk, but he stopped her.

  “Lass.” He took her fingers in his own, brought them slowly to his lips and kissed them. “I may be a master swordsman, but I am not a master seducer.”

  She laughed. It sounded strange, perhaps because she was salivating.

  “Here,” he said, and releasing her hands, turned her about. “‘Tis no reason to hurry,” he said and, sweeping her hair aside, kissed her neck.

  She didn’t tell him he was entirely wrong, that there was every reason to hurry. That she was burning up, that she ached, that the damn world might end at any moment and ruin everything. Instead, she gritted her teeth and let her eyes fall closed. Her gown crept slowly open and with every inch of skin that was bared, she received a kiss. Down her neck, across her shoulder, along the length of her arm. She trembled with impatient longing as the garment sighed away, stepped out of the ring of fabric and shivered as his hands slid over her buttocks.

  “MacGowan!”

  “Shh,” he said, and set his hands to the ties of her stays.

  They too eased open with horrid slowness until they slipped onto her hips. Her breasts spill out. He kissed her shoulders, then skimmed his fingers after the garment, slipping down her waist with mind-numbing gentleness, before turning her in his arms and pressing the thing to the floor.

  “Rhona.” He said her name like a prayer. “You are the most splendid thing I have ever set me eyes upon. Like sunlight against me skin.”

  “Nay, I- ”

  “Shh,” he said again, and kissed her lips with tantalizing tenderness.

  She pressed into the kiss but he was already drawing back.

  “Aye, you are handsome,” he said, and kissed the corner of her mouth. “And bright.” His lips touched her throat. She moaned and let her head fall back, exposing herself to him. “And strong.” Lightning scorched her breast. She gasped at the searing feelings and twisted the fingers of her free hand into his hair. The other still grasped the knife. He touched her with his tongue, lapping her nipple and she jerked against him.

  “MacGowan!”

  ” Lachlan,” he corrected and, setting his hands to her waist, dropped to his knees.

  “MacGow- ” she began, trying to pull him up, but he licked her navel and she hissed between her teeth. The sound ended on a moan.

  “And desirable,” he whispered and, cupping her buttocks, pulled her closer still.

  He kissed her belly, spreading his caresses across her skin like magic, then working lower. She squirmed, but finally his mouth reached her hair.

  She stilled in his hands, and he tilted his head to kiss her. She gritted her teeth and bucked against him, feeling his tongue against her ache for just a moment before he rose languidly to his feet.

  “You are certain you wish to do this?” His voice was as quiet as the night.

  “You jest.” Her own rather resembled a croak. The dirk wobbled in her hand.

  “Shall I take that as a yes?”

  She nodded. “Was that a yes?”

  Perhaps she had forgotten to nod. She did so now and he reached down, cupping her bottom in both hands and lifting her up against him.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him. He moaned into her mouth, then strode forward and pressed her back against the wall. Their lips joined again, and in a moment he was inside her. He caught her groan in his mouth as she arched hard against him.

  Muscles exploded beneath her hands, but she could think of naught except the ache now. He pumped into her. She pumped back. Her legs slipped. She dug her heels into his bunched buttocks and ground into him.

  Tension mounted, winding like a clock inside her. She squeaked something unintelligible and dug her fingers into his back, desperate to stay astride, and he answered her frenetic energy with a power so deep it seemed to drive to her very core.

  She gasped his name. He groaned, and then she exploded, pleasure and desire and fulfillment all bursting within her. She sagged against him, and would have fallen had he not held her aloft and carried her to the bed. Once there he lowered her to the mattress. She sank onto it, breathing hard, every limb loose, every fiber exhausted as she fought for air.

  As for Lachlan, he dropped down beside her. His chest rose like a bellows, his sculpted arms lay unmoving at his sides.

  “MacGowan.” Her voice was as weak as her body.

  She breathed in, trying to settle her heart, but when she turned on her side, she saw that he was as glorious as ever and as naked as the truth. Never in all her life had she seen anything so spectacular. “You are a liar,” she said and, managing to lift her dirk, ran the flat of the blade slowly up the dramatic slope of his chest.

  “Liar?” If he was offended it did not show in his tone.

  Indeed, the word was breathy and faint.

  “Aye,” she said, and slipped her blade over his nipple.

  It peaked immediately. “You said swordplay was your forte.”

  He turned his head to stare at her. A slight scowl marred his brow. She slipped her hand lower. “‘Tis,” he said, and she smiled.

  “Are you certain?”

  “Aye.”

  She moved closer so that her thighs brushed his and her breasts caressed his arm. “I believe you are wrong, MacGowan. But we’d best be sure.”

  “You want a battle?” he said, but even as he said it, she felt his attention rise against her thigh.

  “Aye,” she agreed, and swinging her leg over his, kissed him full on the mouth. “Choose your weapon, champion.”

  Chapter 18

  Lachlan awoke from a dream. Every muscle felt as limp as a steed’s forelock, every thought was as rosy as dawn.

  Master seducer? Him? Of course, there was some pain that accompanied the title. He moved his leg. The muscles in his thighs ached and when he rolled his shoulders, the scratches on his back burned.

  He smiled. Aye, she was a lioness, but he should have expected no less. Could have wanted no more, and if he were lucky, mayhap she was also insatiable. Turning, he reached for her.

  The other half of the mattress was empty. He sat up with a scowl. His balls bunched between his thighs. They were, he realized, the only part of his body that didn’t hurt.

  Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he rolled his shoulders forward and back and rose to his feet. Finding the hose he’d purchased was no great difficulty. Pulling his tunic over his head gave him a bit of pause, but in a moment he was striding down the hall.

  The house felt empty and quiet. Lachlan snagged a chunk of dark bread from the table as he passed and hurried outside, but once there he stopped short as he gazed toward the cobbled lane.

  There, seated behind a pair of matched bays, was Rhona, but s
he was not the woman he had loved the night before. Nay, this morn she was the warrior, solemn of face and dark of clothes as she glanced down at Shanks who stood beside the looming carriage.

  Lachlan swore in murderous silence as he strode down the steps and approached the heavy vehicle.

  “You should not go alone, me laird,” said Shanks. She replied, but Lachlan failed to hear her words. The old man’s fingers looked gnarled and white where they gripped the carriage seat. “But surely you will let me fetch your lad at least.”

  “Nay, Shanks. Fare thee well now. See to my Knight.” The ancient servant’s grip tightened even more upon the edge of the seat. “But how long will you be gone? Me master will not last much longer, and then the manor will fall to you. Surely you will wish-”

  “Where are you off to then?” Lachlan asked.

  Rhona tensed, but he received little pleasure from her surprise. Indeed, no pleasure would ever seem so great after last night’s.

  “‘Tis about bloody time,” Shanks muttered.

  Lachlan ignored him, keeping his attention on the girl. “Where are you off to so early?”

  She straightened slightly, though her hands remained steady on the lines. “I have but a few errands to run. ‘Tis naught to concern yourself with.”

  “Errands.” He glanced behind the wooden seat. “With your trunks in tow.”

  Her expression hardened. “Aye,” she said, and turned her attention back to the old man. ”Take care of yourself, Master Longshanks.”

  “But won’t you be taking your lad here with you?” asked the old man, and gave Lachlan a concealed jab in the ribs.

  “‘Tis not for you to concern yourself with,” she said, and her face softened a mite as she placed a gloved hand over the old man’s. “You’ve worries enough.”

  “I will miss you,” he murmured. “As will me laird.”

  “He is much blessed to have you.”

  “And you,” he said. Were there tears in the old bastard’s eyes? “He knows that now if he did not before.”

  For a moment Lachlan thought she might say more, but instead she lifted the reins and the steeds moved out.