Whatever troubles awaited them seemed far outside this enclosure of love. Here and now was all that existed, was fitting and true. He had pledged his heart to her long ago—long before Beltane, he knew.
Feathering his lips along her cheek and her ear, he pulled at her shirt, and she at his. Both tugged in a kind of frenzy, kissing and caressing, so that the final casting aside of the wet clothing and boots was sheer relief. When she stood naked and warm and willing in his arms, and he in hers, his body surged against her with kindled, ready desire.
She was still damp from the rain, her hair curling in tendrils beneath his hands as he framed her face to kiss her, and slid his hands along the length of her, down to her hips and up again, her skin a creamy luxury under his palms. Her kisses were gentle but fervent over his mouth and along his neck, and he sighed out, long and low, gathering her into his embrace. Her hands slid down from his shoulders and braced against his lower back, and he swelled for her, pressed hard against her. She gasped and leaned against him until he thought he might lose breath, reason, control.
Passion raced through him, made him quiver as his fingers covered her breast, the bud firming against his palm. Dipping his mouth to her throat, his fingers teased her nipple, then his lips replaced them to suck gently. She moaned, soft and eager, and her fingers found a whorl along his ear so sensitive that his body spun inside, and his muscles surged, clenched.
He caught her up into his arms then, and she rode lightly as he carried her across the room to his own bed, where she had been sleeping alone for so long. Sliding with her between the closed curtains, he lowered her to the heather-filled mattress and went down on his knees.
The fragrance released in the bed was wild and intoxicating. Years had passed since he had lain here, and now he was with her. Now, at last, he was truly home in body and soul.
She lay back, stretching and seductive, so beautifully curved, warm to the touch, so enticing that he hardened further, felt himself grow firm and hot just looking at her in the shadows. The ruby firelight filtered through the curtain weave, setting her afire like a deep jewel. He leaned forward to kiss her, tracing a pathway along her throat and the valley between her breasts, shifting his mouth upon one nipple, then the other, until she gasped and drew him closer.
Stretching out beside her, letting his hand follow the taut length of her thigh, he kissed her where her heart drummed hardest, at throat and breast. She arched like a bow in his arms as he slipped his fingers over her abdomen, then touched the soft nesting tucked between her legs. She took in a deep breath and moved against him.
He delved within, where she was honey-slick and hot, to touch the rosebud nubbin, drawing from her a cry, a quickening of breath. Rocking, pleading with her body, she rode in his arms, and he knew the instant the flame caught within her. He felt it swirl like wildfire in himself, but he held back, savoring her with lips, hands, fingertips, until she cried out again and pulled him hard against her.
Her hands roamed over his back, his hips, his abdomen, and her fingers found and caressed his hardened length, and lightning shivered through him. He rocked away, too ready, too willing, his body tightening insistently. Instead, he took his time with her, his touch relentless but gentle. He eased her along until she moved like a wave beneath him, her cry as soft as the rain that swept over the roof.
He would have coaxed her again, but the honey and fire that replaced his blood rushed him onward. Her hands found him again, closed over him, hot as embers, himself like iron in them. Warm and lush against him, the softness of her body inflamed him further. When she tucked him into the clefted pulse of her, he gasped at the heat and the richness there, so delicious that he could scarcely think, could hardly restrain himself any longer.
Upon his next breath, he felt himself slip upward inside of her, and he penetrated the thin barrier so quickly that it was done before he realized it, before he could pull back and prepare her with a whisper, with care. She made a little groan of discomfort that was transformed into a sigh of pleasure. Searing inner heat surrounded him, and a subtle, sensual flexing of her hips pulled him deeper into her.
She shuddered beneath him, her body melding with his, her undulating movements creating a power that drew him deeper into the magic with her. Where he ended and she began he did not know. Kissing her mouth, her tongue, he felt the power build in him like flame, rolling through him until he exploded with it, able to control it no longer. Love poured through him, rinsing away years of holding back his feelings for her. All he had ever wanted, all he wanted now, was Eva.
The waves subsided and he came back to awareness, finding himself separate from her again. He sighed, gathered her close.
"Eva, my own," he whispered into the rich tumble of her hair. He kissed her, the quiet strength of their passion still simmering in his blood. She turned into the shelter of his arms.
"I am your own," she said. "And you are mine. It has always been that way, I think."
Chapter 24
Incessant rain sheeted over the thatch, and Eva added a pine log to the peat fire for brightness as well as warmth. She lit two thick tallow candles and set them on the table while Lachlann finished his meal of cheese and oatcakes. When he divided his last oatcake between the dogs, Eva laughed, standing beside him. Despite the dreary day, a luminous sense of joy filled her.
He drew her to him, and she bent to kiss him, feeling deep gratitude for their night of tender loving and the wonder of waking in his arms. The transformation of their old friendship into something altogether different felt like a kind of miracle. She closed her eyes as he rested his head on her breast, and her heart beat faster beneath her plain gown as his hands slid over her hips, hinting at pleasures yet to come.
Beyond the dreamy enclosure of her newfound joy, her thoughts still spun. Troubles remained that demanded resolution. Soon she would have to face them, though for most of her life she had dreaded the thought of an ultimate contest and a final confrontation. Now she must face Colin to claim not only her island but her self and her freedom.
Despite her training, she did not think of herself as a warrior woman, nor was she as extraordinary as Aeife of the legend. She was an ordinary girl, strong and capable, willful and sometimes bold; and now she knew she was deeply loved.
If she was ever to break free of Colin and reclaim Innisfarna, if she was ever to live a life of peace with Lachlann and her kin, she would need all that, and more. Somewhere within herself, she had to find and draw upon a well of courage.
* * *
"Too slow, and off balance." Alpin commented on her last strike as he circled Eva, eyeing her stance. He had corrected her more than usual while she swung an old steel sword at the wooden pell, a solid upright post that Alpin had set up in the alder grove on Innisfarna.
"I am doing the best I can," she countered irritably, and swung again. The dulled edge of the blade bit into the wood and stuck. She wrenched it free with an exasperated little yelp. The sword was cumbersome, and her back and shoulders ached with every movement. When she began practicing, she had discovered herself stiff and sore from the other night's frantic sword challenge. Lachlann's blows were heavier than she was used to taking, and her wrists and shoulders still felt the brunt of it.
A couple of evenings spent in lovemaking had soothed the aches deliciously while exercising other muscles, but now she felt the strain. And though she tried to stay intent on her movements, her mind remained in the smithy, and with the smith.
The day had dawned cloudy but free of rain, and when Alpin came over the water, Eva had left without telling Lachlann. Red light glinted in the smithy windows and the hammer clanged steadily, and she had not wanted to disturb him.
Distracted and tired, she lost her footing yet again. Her next few blows were awkward, the flat of the blade slamming into the pell and vibrating into her arm.
"Awful," Alpin said. "That is a sword, not an axe! What is wrong with you today, girl?"
She slid him a glance without r
eply. Although she rarely practiced openly during the day, the sky blew dark with rainclouds and the castle showed little activity. The soldiers, Alpin told her, were resting, as many of them had been out on patrol again until the small hours.
Eva remembered hearing the men ride into the stable yard just before dawn, while she lay in Lachlann's arms, glad of the sense of safety she felt there. But their nights of loving did not change the fact that her decision could bring danger to her kinsmen as well as to Lachlann. That continuing dread made her so anxious that even the headiness of newfound love could not balance her.
With the next overhead strike, she lost not only her footing but her grip on the sword as well, which went skittering across the ground. Alpin threw up his hands in exasperation.
"Ach, you are useless," he said bluntly.
"But I am working hard," she protested, flexing her aching shoulders, "and I feel it."
Alpin grunted. "Do that drill again, but think about your overhead blow. Imagine your opponent coming at you."
She huffed as she downstroked, jarring her sore wrist and arm, then repeated the movements despite discomfort and fatigue. Nothing she did seemed to go well, and Alpin continued to mutter at her.
Finally he beckoned her away from the pell to work with him. After donning a quilted jack for protection, she faced him. He lifted his steel sword, and she lunged, countering his strike, but her blade skidded off his. Gasping in frustration, she let temper fuel her effort as she lunged again, hitting his sword on the diagonal, shoving so hard that he fell back a step.
"Ah, there she is!" Alpin said approvingly. He led her through more sequences, blades chiming. Then he paused, lowering his blade as he looked past her. She turned.
Lachlann leaned against a tree, his arms folded, and Ninian peered out from behind him. "So this is where you practice," Lachlann said. "We could have been soldiers. Where is your caution?"
"Ach, I knew you were there, and I let you watch," Alpin said, though Eva was doubtful of that. Ninian ran forward to help as Alpin gathered the gear.
Eva wiped her brow, breathing hard, determined to cover how startled she had been. "No one has ever found us here before. Ninian makes sure of that. He led you here because he knew it was safe to show you. What are you doing on the island?"
Lachlann walked toward her. "A few of the soldiers rowed across to look after the horses, and said that Robson wanted to discuss some smithing commissions, so I came back with them. I hoped to find Alpin to ferry me back. I did not realize that you were with him, though it does not surprise me, after the other night," he added in a low tone.
"What happened the other night?" Alpin asked. Eva did not answer, and wrinkled her nose at Lachlann, knowing Alpin was not as deaf as he sometimes claimed to be.
"I found out that our girl has a bit of the warrior in her," Lachlann answered. Alpin grunted as if that was obvious.
Eva bent to pick up the leather scabbard for her sword, and Lachlann came toward her to take the sword before she could sheathe it. He fingered the nicks and scratches. "This is an old blade, and has seen a lot of use. Obviously you want to keep it blunt for practices. But these scars should be smoothed out, and the blade polished."
"That is not the sort of swordsmithing I want from you," she murmured.
He cocked a brow. "Still after me for weapons?"
"The rebels need them sorely now, if they think to resist further, or to take Innisfarna."
He frowned. "A few repairs are all the bladesmithing you will have of me."
She took the sword and jammed it into the scabbard. The movement twisted her wrist, and she winced, rubbing her forearm.
"Does it still hurt?" Lachlann asked. He took the scabbarded sword from her. "I thought it was better."
"I am fine," she said as Alpin approached them.
"What happened the other night?" Alpin asked, looking from one to the other. He pointed to her wrist. "You said nothing of being hurt, only that your muscles ached."
Eva sighed. "A few nights ago, Lachlann and two soldiers saw me out in the hills. They mistook me for a rebel, and we fought with swords."
Alpin looked pleased. "No doubt you bested them! Though sparring Lachlann would be a challenge—I trained him myself."
Eva nodded. "I twisted my arm when Lachlann—"
"She nearly took me down," Lachlann said. "Her skill amazed me. You must be very proud of your pupil."
"I am," Alpin said. "Girl, you should have said so. She will benefit from a hot soak for those muscles," he told Lachlann, who nodded. Ninian came toward them, balancing the wooden practice swords in his arms, while Alpin held the old steel blade he had been using. "You can help her prepare a tub."
"I can," Lachlann agreed, and lifted a brow, glancing down at Eva. She felt herself blush, and saw Alpin's piercing gaze take in both of them. She began to unlace her quilted tunic, and Lachlann helped her remove the heavy garment.
"Look at this old sword, too, smith," Alpin said, holding out his blade. "I would appreciate it if you could repair both weapons. I do not like to take my blades to that smith in Glen Brae. Take them back with you and clean them up, eh?"
"All they need is some grinding and polishing, and a touch of heat here and there," Lachlann said. "It is easy enough."
"Good." Alpin nodded. "Give that one back to Eva. She needs more practice with steel. The way she fought today, she could not have cut down a straw man."
"The edges were blunted," she said in her defense.
"And you were moving like an old woman," Alpin answered. "You still need practice with downstrokes and stances. I work the girl hard," Alpin told Lachlann. "And she is good, but she could be excellent with more training. The soldiers take up my time rowing them back and forth, and doing chores at the castle like a servant. I have not given her as much time as I wanted." He peered at Lachlann. "You were always a good student of the sword. Perhaps you can work with her yourself."
"I could help her with some moves," Lachlann said.
Eva felt a small thrill go through her. During their sword encounter on the hillside, he had guided her and taught her, and even in those few minutes she had learned and implemented. And his guidance later, in the depths of the heather bed, was natural, tender, and eloquent. Those lessons in particular she was eager to repeat. She felt a hot blush creep up her throat into her cheeks.
"Be sure to work on thrusting," Alpin said then.
Lachlann looked at her, his eyes sparkling, a smile quirking his lips. She pursed her mouth to keep from laughing. "We could do that," Lachlann replied easily.
"Good, good," Alpin said. "Eva, come back to the house with me. Ninian has something for you. Smith, you come, too, and I will take you both over to Balnagovan." He gathered the rest of the gear with Lachlann's help, and led them out of the alder grove, with Ninian trailing behind them.
They crossed the narrow end of the island and headed for Alpin's house, perched on a grassy slope above the loch. The rose garden was bare, the vines sticklike and cut back.
Dry leaves blew in small whirlwinds beneath darkening skies.
Inside the little house, Ninian went to a corner and lifted a cloth sack, which he handed silently to Eva. As she opened it, a wonderful fragrance wafted out.
"Rose petals!" she cried, and sifted her fingers through hundreds of variously hued petals. "Oh, how heavenly!" She inhaled in delight. "You gathered these, and dried them for me?" she asked. Ninian nodded happily.
"When autumn comes and the blooms drop away, I never know what to do with them. Ninian gathered them up and dried them, and said his grandmother used to do that. So did my own wife, as I remember," Alpin added, a smile creasing his cheeks.
"Ninian, thank you," Eva said, and reached out to hug the boy, who blushed furiously and covered his mouth with his hand. "This is a lovely and thoughtful gift. I can use these to freshen the mattresses and pillows, and to make rosewater. The house will smell lovely this winter." Her smile included Lachlann, who watched her wi
th a bemused expression.
She suddenly wondered where she would be that winter: at Innisfarna in her own home, or safe and happy at Balnagovan with the smith; or, God forbid, shut up at Strathlan like a prisoner.
"Take a hot bath with some of those roses, to ease your aches," Alpin said. "Get the smith to help you fill that great tub in his smithy." He grinned, and Eva blinked at him in surprise. "Ninian, you did well, boy. Carry the bag down to the boat for Eva, if you will, and wait for us there. Lachlann will take the swords. We will follow in a moment," he added. "I want a word with Eva about her practice."
"Of course," Lachlann said, and gathered the two scab-barded blades. He put a friendly hand on Ninian's shoulder as they walked away.
Alpin turned to Eva. "What happened the other night?" he asked bluntly.
"Ah, what do you mean?" she asked, and cleared her throat.
"I mean you have his heart, and he has yours. I am not a blind man." When Eva did not answer, he peered closely at her. "When the smith's lad was young, he adored you, girl, though you did not seem to know. It was plain enough to me and my wife."
"You both knew?" she asked in a hushed voice.
"Suspected it, though he is a man who keeps his thoughts private. Sometimes it was keen in his eyes, like a pain, when he looked at you. Likely he kept that hidden from you. And now I see his heart is still in your keeping. I watched you both, and I think something happened recently—beyond sword sparring."
She suddenly wanted to cry, not from sadness, but because Alpin, who was more like a father to her than her own father had been, had touched off some wellspring of emotion. "I do not know what you mean," she said, her chin quivering.
"Do you not? None of your kinsmen want you to stay with Campbell. I am sure Lachlann MacKerron agrees, for reasons of the heart." He leaned close. "Am I right?"
Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] Page 24
