Adela opened her lips, allowing his tongue to dance with hers in lingering exploration. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and her head swam with his taste and nearness while she absorbed the sensual energy of his masculine essence into her very core. He moaned deep in his throat and Adela arched her body closer to his, her hands caressing the back of his head.
She pulled slightly away, forcing air into her burning lungs. “I...” She glanced down at his damp tunic where it touched her wet gown. “I have wet your tunic."
Shrugging, he hovered above her mouth and murmured, “Then we best take off our soiled clothes before we catch the death."
Adela nodded slowly, mesmerized by his intense sky-blue eyes and the pressure of his lean body against hers.
"May I have the honor of undressing you?” he asked, his voice a deep rumble.
"Aye.” Her stomach churned with nervous anticipation.
His fingers deftly untied the laces from neck to waist, exposing skin with a scarlet flush of arousal. Gently, he peeled the wet fabric away from her sensitive, pink-tipped breasts.
The warm breath of his lust-filled sigh swept over her breasts and Adela clenched her fists, unsure of what to do with her hands when the rest of her body thrummed with such intense sexual energy. Her chest rose and fell with each laborious breath as she yearned for him to touch her. He kissed two fingers and then circled them around the outside of her aching breasts. As a cat would antagonize a mouse, his eyes were alight with a devious glow.
Adela arched her back, eager for her taunted nipples to be caressed. Why did he not fully touch her breasts? Was he driving her insane for a reason?
Staring into his eyes, she bit her lip with wanting, silently pleading for him to end her torture.
"Do you want me to touch them?” he asked, his voice low with desire.
"Please,” she whispered.
Finally, he cupped both of them, warming them to his touch. A gasp escaped Adela's lips, a surge of pleasure filled her womanhood.
His eyes widened with surprise at her passionate reaction. “Is this your first time, lass?"
"Aye."
"Are you sure you want to continue?” His tender hands kneaded and stroked her breasts.
She wanted to scream, "By Jupiter, soldier! Of course I do. Your hands are driving me to the brink of madness." But instead she answered, “Aye, I want it more than anything."
"As you wish,” he said and lowered his lips to suckle a nipple.
Lifting her head, Adela watched his tongue swirl around her protruding, velvet tip. She squeezed her thighs together, the ache between her legs increasing with every flick of his tongue.
Lowering his other hand, he gathered the folds of her skirt and ran his fingertips up her legs, the pressure firm and possessive against her skin.
When the gown reached her waist, he pulled away from her breasts to find she wore no undergarments. His gaze caught on the thatch of dark brown, curly hair nestled between her thighs. The primitive gleam of a warrior entered his eyes, and she matched the hard intent of his stare with one of her own.
Rising her arms, she allowed him to lift her gown over her head, his movements becoming urgent. Adela rested back on the grass and watched his torso muscles tighten when he hastily pulled the woolen tunic over his head. Blond hair blew with the breeze while he twisted to throw the garment with careless abandonment.
His magnificent body belonged in heaven, not here on earth with mere mortals. She could not believe he found her attractive, although, the look in his smoldering eyes said he did. Adela had never felt so beautiful, so worshiped.
Lying beside her, he reclaimed her mouth, his kiss fierce and passionate. The back of his fingertips ran down the side of her abdomen, tracing a heated trail upon her skin.
"Spread your legs further apart,” he whispered against her lips.
She obeyed without hesitation, the craving unbearable within her slick, warm flesh. Adela knew she should be shy and modest, yet being naked in front of this man felt so right.
So natural.
He eased his fingers between her moist folds and rubbed her sensitive core with the pad of his thumb. She moaned against his lips and his tongue plowed into her mouth, smothering her gasps of rising pleasure.
Her body tensed and she entwined her fingers through his hair, holding his head fast to their savage kiss. Tremors of rapture spread through her body and spirit as she bucked beneath the onslaught of his expert fingers.
Before her breathing could settle, the soldier swiftly rose, leaving her feeling bereft of his sensual energies. Her gaze followed his every move. He twisted out of his kilt and discarded it, leaving his swollen shaft thrusting outward, masculine and potent.
Adela had spied on the village men when bathing; their soft members intrigued her maiden curiosity; however she had never seen one rigid or quite so impressive before. She tensed, wondering if he would fit inside her.
Sensing her discomfort, he lay down on his back, beside her, and lifted his arms behind his head. “My sweet lass, you may have full control. Pleasure yourself upon me and I pledge to you, I will make no demands you are not willing to give."
Adela's eyes widened. “Do you speak false words?” Hungrily, her gaze roamed every inch of his muscular form, only to rest again on his straining erection.
"Nae. You are welcome to test me."
Swallowing hard, Adela sat upright and tentatively touched his warm chest. The light sprinkling of hair was soft beneath her hand. A sweet light scent of perspiration and leather filled her senses, arousing her again.
Her hand ran over every ripple of muscle leading toward the coarse hair surrounding his manhood. Unsure of herself, she glanced at his handsome face, his lust-filled gaze encouraging her to touch his sleek hardness.
Biting her lip, she entwined both hands around the base of his shaft and lightly ran them up to the satin tip and back down again. Her chest tightened with excitement and she shyly peeked at the soldier to see if he, too, felt the tension. His eyes were closed, his head back on his hands. A groan sounded from his lips and she continued the motion with rhythmic pressure.
"Do you like this?” she asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to hear his rich, timbered voice.
"Aye, you are doing well, lass. Keep it steady,” he answered, the veins on his neck standing out.
He groaned again, and jerked his head to the side in wild response. Adela smiled with wicked satisfaction that she could tease as well as the handsome soldier. All of a sudden he gripped her hand tightly, stopping the movement.
A sheen of sweat broke upon his forehead. “If you wish not for me to spill my seed in your lovely hands, you'd best stop now."
Smiling seductively, she threw her leg over his waist, straddling the throbbing flesh beneath her. “I would not waste your seed so carelessly."
"Vixen.” Taking a deep, fortifying breath, he continued. “Take me at your leisure. For you, I will slay any who dare intrude on our paradise."
Nodding, her eyes bore into his and she gradually lowered herself onto his staff. Bit by bit, she tenderly pushed him further into her wet sheath until her maidenhead was broken.
Adela's eyes squinted with uneasiness, her insides burning, stretched to their limits.
Without pulling out, he sat up and cupped her face. “Give yourself time to adjust to my size. I pledge the pain will ease.” He kissed her on the lips, tender and slow.
Adela rolled her hips from side to side, and instead of feeling pain, she felt stirrings of pleasure. “You were right, soldier. This does feel good."
He groaned with suppressed frustration, his head fell back to the grass. Another smile of triumph crossed her face and she continued to wiggle upon his erection. She fell over his body, her brown hair caressing either side of his face. Adela kissed him again and rocked back and forth, tipping her hips.
He strained beneath her, and Adela rode him with wild abandonment, eager to consume more ecstasy, feeding off his groans of pass
ion. She never wanted this euphoric sensation to end. Her hips thrust faster and faster while her heavy breathing mingled with his. She arched backward and screamed her release as he did the same, spilling his hot life force into her with an explosive shudder.
She stared at him in amazement and they both laughed with the incredible impact of their lovemaking. She fell beside him on the grass, his arm cushioning her head. His fingers affectionately caressed the side of her shoulder. The simple caress gave Adela a warm feeling in her stomach. So this was what intimacy felt like. She liked it.
Her hand lightly brushed across his chest, and she casually threw her leg over his leg. She should ask his name, but in a way did not want to know.
It was best if the name of my baby's father was unknown.
That way he would remain a fantasy in her mind forever. Not real, yet human enough to sire a child. She almost wished there could be a future for them, but once he found out she was a witch, he would be repulsed like all the other men before him.
"What are you thinking?” His eyes searched hers.
Unwilling to spoil the moment with her thoughts, Adela's gaze caught on the wicked scar along the side of his cheek. “How did you get that?” she asked and trailed her finger along the smooth indent.
"If I tell you, you will believe I am daft."
"Think you I do not already?” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
Phillip's deep chuckle vibrated through Adela, deliciously prickling her skin.
He brought her palm to his lips and kissed it. After a long pause, he finally answered, “I took a blade to my face and marked my skin."
Adela gasped. “Why? Why destroy something so beautiful?"
Somber, Phillip leaned back and placed his free hand behind his head. “We live in a world where brutality and strength is all that matters to a man. So, a boy with an angelic face, I was taunted mercilessly. And not only by the other lads, but by my father who was disappointed that his son favored his mother's fair looks."
Adela's eyes softened and her voice lowered, “And you thought they would respect you more if you had a scar?"
"Aye."
"Did it?"
"Nae. My father gave me a thrashing. Said if anyone was to be scarring me it would be him.” Phillip rolled over and propped up on his elbow, facing Adela. “I think he felt remorse for his role in my foolish plan and did not know how to apologize."
"From that day forward, he did not taunt me about my looks or allow the others to do so in his presence. But I did have to prove I was not a weakling to everyone and to myself.” He picked up a strand of her hair and smelled it with appreciation, then continued. “I practiced relentlessly with a claymore and became more determined in training than most boys. When it came time for challenging battles, it was soon apparent my fair looks did not interfere with the skill of my sword."
"For which clan do you soldier?” Adela asked absently, her gaze resting on his captivating lips. How could any maiden resist such a man? And he was all hers for this moment in time.
"Roberts's clan, however, I am not one of the—"
Unable to wait any longer, she kissed the exceptionally beautiful warrior. Savoring the taste of his mouth, she deepened the kiss with her tongue. Adela knew she should be listening to what he was saying, but his lips were mesmerizing and she craved to reclaim his mouth. God's wounds, his sculptured torso felt so good against her breasts.
A piercing caw echoed overhead and Adela jerked in his embrace. “Did you hear that?” she asked, terror lacing her words.
"What?"
"Over there.” She pointed to the sky. “'Tis a raven!” she whispered, her body tensing.
Fear, stark and vivid, sliced through her.
"Why dread the black bird? ‘Tis harmless,” he said, his brows furrowing with concern.
The raven flew over them again, his sharp call vibrating though her soul, sending shivers of foreboding down her body. “Evil is watching us.” She firmly grasped his arm, her nails digging into his flesh.
"Phillip!” several male voices called from a distance. “Phillip, where are you?"
Another male yelled, “Come hither. There be his horse."
Phillip turned to the girl in his arms. “My men are searching for me.” Releasing her, he rose and stood at the edge of the pond, his nakedness covered by the tall grass. “I am over here, but do not enter. We will come out."
Phillip turned around to find that Adela had vanished. “Lass, all is well. You will not be harmed,” he called across the pond, but she did not emerge from hiding.
His bare feet splashed through the edge of the pond as he rushed over to the other side and searched for her in the grass. He could not find her in the thick overgrowth.
"Don't you think this is an inappropriate time to bathe?” Dougal said. The heavily built War Trainer stifled a chuckle as the rest of his men gawked at Phillip bent over in the brush, his naked buttocks exposed.
Phillip straightened, unconcerned with his men's whispered jests. “There was a woman..."
Dougal nodded, rubbing his red beard. “Right, lad. I think you have had too much sun. Best you get back to camp and take a nap."
"Do not patronize me. There really was a...” At the disbelief in his men's eyes, he finished, “never mind. She would be impossible to catch now. Let us away."
Shrugging into his clothes, he passed Dougal and playfully pushed the hefty man's shoulder. “You big oafs scared her off."
"Sure we did,” Dougal retorted.
Mounting his horse, Phillip surveyed the area once more for any sign of the enchanting creature with which he'd had the honor of passing the afternoon.
"Come on Phillip,” Dougal said. “The men grow restless and wish to find their ale and a bed."
"Aye,” Phillip offered, and rode back through the trees, cursing his forgetfulness to ask the lass from where she hailed. MacAye, MacAye. He had never heard of the clan before.
* * * *
Within the dark forest, Adela calmly waited next to her horse, comforted by the shadows hiding her form. It was not as if she loathed sunlight, but was accustomed to walking through the woods under the soft moonlight, her solace undisturbed by curious people who wished to pry into her life.
The white horse nudged her shoulder and she leaned her cheek against his solid, warm neck. The musky scent of her friend filled her with companionship, nevertheless, she sighed with loneliness. “You know I need to let him go,” she murmured, her chest tightening.
The distant sound of a horse's neigh sounded through the towering pines. Adela's head lifted and she edged around a black tree trunk, her hand caressing its rough bark as she strained to see through the thick forest. The soldiers were finally leaving the meadow and returning through the woods, but Adela's gaze was trapped by only one of them. The most commanding in stature and desirable of them all.
She glanced down at her stomach and placed a loving hand over her abdomen. Returning her stare to his retreating back, she breathed wistfully, “Farewell, soldier known as Phillip ... and thank you for our babe."
* * * *
A silent raven perched above, hidden within the thick branches. Black, beady eyes glared with menace at the woman swinging onto a horse. A metallic scent filled the air, and the raven lifted his beak. He opened his wings for flight.
His mistress had beckoned him.
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Chapter 3
Seven moons later, Phillip dismounted from his warhorse and gave the reins to his squire. He swore beneath his breath and rubbed the aching muscles of his sword arm. The bloody feud lasting more than three years against his family had him in a foul disposition. He has had enough of this senseless war.
Careful not to slip in the sludge, Phillip strode down the hillside through the camp. He glanced at his soiled tunic and kilt. Again, he was covered in blood and dirt, his black boots perpetually scuffed with mud. Perhaps it was not the endless battle that had him vexed, but
the futile search for Adela that had him frustrated. It was as though the lass were a spirit of the nether world. Here one moment, vanished the next.
Three tired soldiers stumbled across Phillip's path and he stepped aside, allowing them to pass. On the morrow they, too, would be on the field once more, fighting the persistent Campbells.
Phillip sighed with relief when his tent came into view. He could not wait to wash off the blood and collapse on his bed.
"Sir Phillip, your grandfather requests your presence,” a man-at-arms announced behind him.
Suppressing a moan, Phillip glanced down at his stained hands. “I will clean up first,” he responded and turned his back.
"I beg for your pardon, but the laird cannot wait."
Phillip turned and nodded with resolution. “Lead on."
He entered the tent his grandfather occupied, scattered with sparse luxuries. In war, the Roberts Chieftain did not live in comfort when his men were dying on the fields.
Phillip walked over to his grandfather, who lay ill in bed, his ashen cheeks sunken and his gray eyes dull. Even at the age of sixty winters, the old chieftain remained handsome. An ancestral trait of the Roberts clan.
The old man's eyes brightened when Phillip entered.
"My boy, you are safe."
Phillip sat on the chair beside the makeshift bed. “Aye, Grandfather. The Campbells are hearty soldiers, but they have no passion in the fight."
"In sooth, I have no passion to be fighting them,” the old man croaked, “but one must stand against the devious Lady Torella. The merciless reiving of our lands, the killing of our people and livestock has to be stopped."
"Aye, I had hoped her father's death would alleviate her need for more land, but alas, her greed has not sated."
The old man coughed, his slender body wracked with spasms. He pushed himself upright in bed, his weakened lungs splattered blood on the coarse blankets.
Phillip twisted around to retrieve a jug from the table beside him, and poured water into a chalice.
"Grandfather, is there naught I can do for you?” he asked, handing him the goblet.
"Nae.” He drank heartily and winced as if the cool liquid scorched his raw throat. “Curse this feeble body that steals my strength."
The Last Celtic Witch [Celtic Series Book 1] Page 2
