“I came to see if you needed anything,” Conall said, and there it was again, that tone full of longing and affection. The voice that made her foolishly want things he wasn’t willing to give.
“You know what I need,” she replied calmly. “Are you ready to give it to me?”
“I shall take my leave, Mrs. Scott,” Munro said, carefully folding her blanket and laying it down on the cot. He held out his hand for his jacket. “Thank you.”
For some reason his desertion tonight was a sharp disappointment. Blinking back unexpected, inexplicable tears she bit off the thread and smoothed her hand over his jacket before handing it back. “Be more careful with it,” she said sharply. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose the buttons.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied respectfully, all humor and intimacy gone. He picked up his scabbard and sash and moved toward the tent opening without putting any of them on. “Good evening, Fletcher,” he said, and then he was gone.
Chapter Three
“I’m sorry,” Conall said, and was surprised to realize he meant it. “I didn’t mean to run him off.”
“You didn’t,” Avril said, busy tucking her sewing things back into a small box. “I did.”
Conall didn’t want to ask, he didn’t want to know, but some perverse creature in him made him do it anyway. “Did you ask him to be your man again?”
Avril sighed heavily as she rose from a little stool and carried the box over to a crude wooden shelf. “And how is it your business what I did or didn’t do?” she asked, showing some of her spirit despite her obvious weariness.
Conall walked over to her and gently turned her face up to him. She wore no bonnet, just a set of ragged fur muffs over her ears. Her blue eyes were bloodshot, as if she’d been crying. And the dark circles around them made him unaccountably angry.
“It’s my business because I care about you,” he told her curtly. “How much sleep are you getting at night?”
She jerked her chin out of his hand. “Enough.”
“I doubt that.” He looked around the tent, taking note of things he’d missed this afternoon. “It’s freezing in here. Why haven’t you a bigger stove?”
A bark of laughter was her immediate response. “And where am I to be getting a bigger stove?” she asked. “And with what money?”
“Don’t the men pay you?” he asked, vowing to have words with the men he knew came to her for things, just as Munro had.
“That money is for passage home,” she said. “Not for creature comforts.”
“There’ll be no home for you if you’re dead of the cold.” He swallowed and turned away as he was assaulted with memories of the men he’d seen at the hospital with frostbitten toes and feet literally breaking off in the doctors’ hands. “I’ll get you a good stove.”
“You haven’t the right.” She stood there proud and defiant before him. He knew what she wanted. What she thought she wanted.
“What would give me the right?” he asked, needing to hear her say it.
“If I was your woman, you could get me a stove. You’d share it then.” She didn’t flinch from saying it, didn’t act coy or play the seductress. Her Scottish practicality and stubborn pride stared right at him, daring him to refuse again.
“Fine,” he said. “I’ll make you my woman, and I’ll buy you a stove.” His heart was beating so fast it made his knees weak. He was crossing a bridge and burning it behind him. There’d be no going back. If he took her tonight, she’d be his and only his. The air felt thick with fate, as if this was a moment meant to be.
“It takes more than words,” she said, her voice weak and breathless as though she felt it too.
“I know,” he whispered, reaching for her. She came to him with no protest, wrapping her arms around him as he pulled her close and kissed her.
She tasted cold. It made him tug her closer, hold her tighter. Her lips began to warm under his, and then he tentatively slid his tongue along them, as she’d done earlier today. Immediately she opened her mouth and welcomed him in with a moan. He hadn’t known what he was about earlier, but it didn’t take a brilliant man to figure out this kissing. The more he did it, the easier it got. As her lips grew warm, her breath was hot against him, heating him from the inside out.
Avril slid her hands up his chest and cupped his jaw. She tugged on his beard, deepening the kiss, and it was Conall’s turn to moan. Her hands slid up into his hair, knocking his hat off, and suddenly he was desperate to feel her against him, beneath him. She wrapped her leg around his and he roughly cupped her bottom and lifted her up so he could press his cock against her. There were too many clothes between them. He needed her like he’d never thought possible, in ways he’d only imagined. He’d never known this kind of heat between a man and a woman could exist. He’d heard other men talk of it, but he’d dismissed it as foolish bragging. Oh, how he’d been wrong.
He broke the kiss with a gasp and Avril began to press kisses to his cheeks and his neck. “How can we do this without having to undress you?” he asked, panting as though he’d run a far distance. “It’s too cold for you.”
“You warm me up,” she said with a thick burr. He grinned, loving that he brought the Scottish out in his lass.
He felt her tugging at his waist and stepped back a bit to see she was unbuckling his belt. “Take these off,” she said. “You can’t bed me wearing your sword.”
Before long, Conall’s uniform lay in a heap on the floor of the hut. The cold chilled him but it didn’t cool his ardor at all. When he wore only his shirt and kilt, Avril tugged him toward the bed. “Come,” she urged.
He stopped her before she could push him down on the cot. “These, off,” he said, pulling the muffs from her ears. She laughed. “And this,” he said as he began to unbutton her large coat. “I’ll keep you warm.” She bit her lip and nodded as she stared up at him from beneath long lashes highlighted by the fire’s glow. He slid the coat slowly off her shoulders. “And this,” he whispered, working on the buttons on the front of her woolen dress. “Can we take this off?”
“Please,” she whispered back, rubbing her hand against his chest. He could feel the heat of that caress through the clothing he still wore.
“I want to feel your hand against me,” Conall demanded. She obeyed, sliding both hands into his shirt to rub against his nipples, hard from the cold. The feel of her on his skin made him groan and he paused in stripping her long enough to kiss her roughly. She gave as good as she got, pinching one of his nipples as she bit his lower lip and sucked on it. Conall was wild for her. He grabbed her gown and yanked it off her shoulders, forcing her hands away from him, trapping her arms. He broke the kiss and stared at her. She was standing there, her arms back, her small breasts thrust out covered in only a sheer slip, her chest rising and falling with her fast, rough breathing.
“Touch me,” she begged. “Touch my breasts.”
Conall covered them immediately with his hands and Avril moaned. He could feel her nipples, so much larger than his, hard and pressing against his palms. He pinched one and she whimpered, but moved closer to him, silently asking for more. He pushed the straps of the slip over her shoulders with her dress, exposing her breasts to the frigid air, and she gasped.
“I want to put my mouth on them,” Conall told her. He’d heard talk, he knew that was what men did, and suddenly he wanted to do it more than he wanted to take his next breath.
“Oh, God, yes,” she moaned. “Get this dress off me, Conall. Please.”
He did as she asked, leaving her slip on for modesty and warmth. Then he wasted no time in taking one of her nipples into his mouth and sucking on it hard and fast. She cried out, cramming her hands into his hair and clutching fistfuls, tugging it. The pain only drove his desire to greater heights. Avril dragged his hand up and covered the other breast with it. He knew what she wanted and he pinched that nipple as he lightly bit the one in his mouth. Her hips jerked toward him.
When her hand slid under his ki
lt, Conall froze. She grabbed his cock and wrapped her warm fist around it and he said her name in a strangled voice.
“This, I need this,” she said breathlessly. “Lay me down and fuck me, Conall.” She practically sobbed his name. “I’ve waited so long.”
After he laid her down on the cot, he unwrapped his kilt from his waist. His cock was long and hard and for some reason he wanted her to see it. He wanted her to touch it and need it. She immediately reached for it, as if she knew. Her hand was rough, not the delicate softness of a lady’s hand, and he loved the way it felt. He lay down next to her and covered them both first with his kilt and then with her blanket. Between the woolen covers and the heat between them, they should be warm enough.
He leaned up on one arm so he could see her better. Then he grabbed her hand and wrapped it around his prick again. She smiled and tugged on his length, her hand sliding down to the head and then back up, and Conall thought he might pass out. He’d surely done it to himself a hundred times, but it had never felt so good. With her other hand she tugged up the skirt of her slip. The blankets covered most of her, so he couldn’t see much, but just the thought of her naked under there, the thought of putting his cock there, made his hips jerk. She grabbed his hand, which had been squeezing her breasts, and pulled it down between her legs.
She was wet. He knew that was right. A woman needed that to take a man. It also meant she wanted to fuck. Brodie had told him that. Brodie had fucked a fair share of girls in his time and had laughed at Conall, who was too shy to approach any woman for that. But with Avril, it just seemed so right. He ran his fingers along her sex, feeling the valleys and folds, the soft, delicate skin and rough, curly hair. It was as mysterious as it was arousing, feeling her like that, without sight to aid him.
“Slip your finger inside me,” she whispered.
He did as directed, and the wet, tight heat of her made his cock twitch and leak. She ran her thumb through the wetness on his tip and spread it around and he groaned as he drove his finger deeper into her. She spread her legs and thrust up against his hand, moaning.
“Put your cock there, Conall,” she begged. “Hurry.”
Conall climbed between her legs, and at the first touch of his cock to her sex he groaned and the arms holding him up trembled. It was Avril who took him in hand and guided him into her, Avril who thrust her hips high and drove him deeper. She cried out in pleasure and Conall could feel her tremble around him, and without conscious thought he thrust into her, drove past her tight walls to the very heart of her.
Avril sobbed and clutched his arms tighter and her hips pumped up against him. “Move,” she gasped. “Fuck me.”
“I don’t–“ Conall gasped, not even able to get all the words out.
“Like this,” Avril said, pushing his hips back and then pulling them forward. She’d bent her knees, spreading them wider, and he glided in and out of her.
“Christ,” he said, the word breaking as he sucked in air. It felt so good Conall was shivering with the pleasure. He thrust on his own, harder, and she sobbed again, clearly in pleasure and not in pain. For several minutes the only sound was the damp of their flesh meeting and their harsh breaths. Then Avril dug her nails into his arms.
“Conall, I’m coming again,” she cried out. She tightened on him once again, rhythmic pulses grasping him like a vise inside her. His own pleasure grew so intense he gasped with each breath. His cock was harder than it had ever been, and he knew he was going to come too.
“Avril,” he groaned as heat traveled from his balls to his cock head and burst into her. She moaned and rolled her head against the cot.
When it was over he couldn’t hold himself up and collapsed on her. She clutched him to her, kissing his neck and rubbing his back.
“You’re mine now,” he told her, his lids heavy, sleep stealing over him.
Beneath him Avril shoved his shoulder until he slid down to her side. “Aye,” she murmured, cuddling into him. “At last.”
He wrapped his kilt around them both, held her tight and slept.
Outside the hut in the freezing cold Graeme rubbed his hands together to stay warm. Despite his warm clothes, the cold had pierced his soul as he listened to Conall and Avril coupling. He glowered at anyone who dared to come too close. He was the only one who should hear them. Just him. In some small way, it made them his.
Chapter Four
Graeme lounged on the ground outside Avril’s hut. The sun was shining, though the cold still stung against Graeme’s cheeks. There were several officers there with him, including Conall, who sat about ten feet away, laughing at something Brodie had just said. He could watch Conall all day. He most likely wasn’t being very discreet. But Conall and Avril had been together for weeks now, and everyone acknowledged it. No one was worrying about the way Graeme looked at him. And with the sun turning his red hair to flame, and his strong legs stretched out in front of him, his kilt barely keeping his modesty intact, there was no way Graeme could look away.
Avril came out of the hut with a steaming kettle and filled Conall’s mug first, giving him and Brodie one of her rare smiles. Well, they used to be rare. Now that Conall was with her, she smiled more often. Softer smiles, happier smiles. She was warm and fed, and the soldiers left her alone. Conall was good for her. Now Graeme had to divide his stare between them. Her hair gleamed gold in the sunlight next to his flame. Prettiest hair he’d ever seen on both of them. She was wearing a new plaid shawl over her coat. He’d helped Conall find it for her. As he watched she tugged it one-handed up over her head.
“So, what do you know about Mrs. Scott?” the young captain next to him asked quietly. He had only arrived in camp a week ago. Graeme looked over and frowned when he saw the lascivious way he was watching Avril. “Is she available? If Fletcher is off, I mean.”
“No, she’s not available,” Graeme bit off, offended on her behalf. “She’s with Fletcher because she cares for him. She’s not a whore.”
The captain shrugged, not taking his eyes off her. “In my experience, if they’ll spread their legs for one man for favors, they’ll do it for another.”
Graeme sat up and scowled at the little bastard. He had at least ten years and twenty stone on the little shit. “She doesn’t spread her legs for money, you damned idiot. And you’d best not be repeating such slander unless you want to find yourself beaten into a bloody pulp.”
“By whom?” the captain asked with a raised brow. “My father is intimately acquainted with the Duke of Argyll. I don’t think anyone would risk laying a hand on me.”
At that ridiculous assumption, Graeme laughed out loud. “Laddie, you don’t know me, and you don’t know the Fletcher brothers. We’d all dare and not give a shit. So you best be keeping your eyes, your hands and your big mouth to yourself when it comes to Mrs. Scott. Do you understand?”
“Are you threatening me?” he asked incredulously. “I can have you brought up on charges.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Graeme told him, standing. “But I’m a hero of the Thin Red Line at Balaclava, boy, and they’d have to see me sticking the knife in your ribs before they so much as slapped my wrist.” He stretched and looked around the camp. “There are all kinds of accidents that happen at war. I’d hate for you to be the victim of one.”
“And why should he be the victim of an accident?” Hamish Fletcher said menacingly from behind him. The young captain grew pale.
“These young, inexperienced officers,” Graeme said, staring at the young captain. “They don’t know how things work here yet. He’ll figure it out.”
“Let’s hope he does,” Hamish agreed. “Perhaps an extra duty or two would help.” He gestured with his head. “Go and see the quartermaster and tell him I sent you.”
The captain’s eyes had narrowed angrily. “Yes, sir,” he said as he stood up, insolence in his tone if not his words. “My father is going to buy me a promotion soon. Before long you won’t be my superior officer.”
“
I’ll always be your superior, boy,” Hamish said dismissively. “Chances are you won’t live to see the promotion anyway.” He waved him away as though he were a pesky fly and Graeme hid a smile.
“You shouldn’t watch them like that,” Hamish told him quietly a moment later. “Not when others are around.”
Graeme froze, his gaze locked on Conall and Avril. “What do you mean?” he asked calmly, taking a sip of the drink in his hand. Just then Avril looked his way and raised the kettle in inquiry. He shook his head with a smile that she returned before she went back into the hut.
Hamish sighed before answering. “I know. I know what you’re feeling.”
Graeme’s heart was pounding in fear. Would Hamish denounce him? Reveal his secret? “I don’t understand,” Graeme said, his voice rough.
“I know,” Hamish repeated fervently.
Graeme looked at him then and shock turned him immobile as he finally understood what Hamish was telling him. “How?” he asked, not really sure what he was asking or how to ask what he really wanted to know.
“The doctor at Scutari—Finn—he and I grew up together. His parents farmed my father’s land. My father helped send him to school in Edinburgh.” Hamish looked at the setting sun. “When I saw him in Scutari, all the years apart faded. There was a nurse there, working with Miss Nightingale, helping Finn. They married before I left.” He turned and met Graeme’s stare. “They’re mine now. Do you understand?”
Graeme could only nod. He’d never imagined that his wildest dreams were even possible. But here was a man living them.
Hamish shook his head and looked down at the ground. “I can’t tell you if Connie would even be receptive to that sort of thing,” he said, dashing Graeme’s newly born hopes. “Nor his Mrs. Scott. But I can tell you that most people don’t understand it and won’t tolerate it. Is that what you want for them?”
Conall: The 93rd Highlanders, Book Two Page 3
