by Lynsay Sands
Dwyn would have been eager, Geordie had no doubt. There was no subterfuge with this woman. She’d admitted she’d liked his kisses, and had responded honestly to his every caress, shuddering, sighing and moaning in his arms, her nails digging into his shoulders and urging him on, unintentionally stirring his own desires to a fever pitch.
Aye, Geordie thought, Dwyn would have opened eagerly to him, spreading her legs and taking his hard shaft into her body, welcoming it and openly enjoying the passion he could show her. He had no doubt he could make her beg with her need and then scream when he gave her the satisfaction her body cried for. It was the after, when her need was slaked and her passion cooled, that the problems would begin. She would be full of regret and shame then, he was sure, and he hadn’t been able to do that to her. But she would never know how close he came to taking her anyway. It had required determination and grit to set her back on her branch and cover those lovely breasts. And then when she’d climbed down the tree . . .
Geordie opened his eyes and peered up the tree again, recalling the view he’d had of her legs all the way to her knees before the shadows had hidden the rest of her naked legs and the spot where they met under her gown. He’d only grabbed her ankle to help direct her on her climb down, but once he’d touched her, he hadn’t been able to make himself let go. He’d let his hand glide up that smooth, pale skin as she’d descended, and had even stepped under her skirts, his head lifting, eyes trying to pierce the darkness and his mouth filling with saliva as he contemplated kissing her inner knees, and then her thighs, and then tasting her . . .
Dwyn’s shaky “m’laird” had startled him out of his dark fantasies, and he’d released her with a groan, and then had caught her by the waist and lifted her down to end his torment. Geordie hadn’t been able to resist kissing her then though, but had allowed himself only a brief hard kiss before setting her away, knowing that if she’d responded even the least little bit, he’d have her on the ground with her skirts over her head in no time.
Geordie turned away from the tree, his hand rising to run over his face where her hair had flown up and caught in the stubble when she’d turned away. It had been strands of gold silk against his skin, and he’d instinctively caught it, briefly contemplating pulling her back to him, before his good sense had made him release the golden tresses.
His uncle’s words returned to him. “With those breasts against his chest and that glorious hair wrapped around him, a man would be in heaven.” As much as he resented the man even thinking about that when it came to Dwyn, his uncle was right. He couldn’t imagine anything more heavenly than having a naked Dwyn astride him, her long golden hair hanging around them like a curtain and feathering across his skin as she rode him, her hot, tight body squeezing his cock and her generous breasts hanging above his mouth for him to suckle and lathe as she moved against him. But he’d also like to have her on her hands and knees before him, so he could tangle his hands in that long hair and use the golden strands as reins as he plunged into her from behind.
A painful aching drew Geordie’s attention down to where an erection was pressing against the cloth of his plaid and he grimaced at how he was tormenting himself with his own thoughts. He briefly considered finding Katie or one of the other maids to ease his condition, but the idea held no appeal. He knew he’d close his eyes and want to pretend it was Dwyn he was thrusting into, and they’d talk and spoil the delusion. Of course, he could let them ease his discomfort with their mouth, Geordie thought. They couldn’t talk then, and he could close his eyes and imagine it was Dwyn on her knees before him, her long golden hair curling around her breasts and her beautiful blue eyes peering up at him as she took him into her mouth and sucked, and licked, and—
“I’m glad to see ye obviously did no’ use that on Dwyn, but ye might wish to find a more private spot for such sport.”
Geordie stiffened at those words, his head jerking around to see Aulay approaching through the dark. It took a moment though for his mind to process his words, and then he glanced down and tore his hand away from the erection he hadn’t realized he’d been pumping and let his plaid fall back into place. Christ, he’d been pleasuring himself like an untried lad as he’d enjoyed his imaginings. He hadn’t done that in years. A lot of years. There was little need when there were always so many willing lasses around to tend to it.
“I am right? Ye did no’ use that on Lady Innes, did ye?” Aulay asked now as he stopped before him.
“Nay, o’ course not,” Geordie growled with disgust. “She’s a lady, no’ a lightskirt.”
“Aye. I’m glad ye did no’ forget that,” Aulay said. “But I gather ye’re finding yerself more interested in her than ye realized?”
Geordie merely turned to walk deeper into the trees, contemplating his question. Oh, aye, he was interested, all right, and his aching cock was proof of that. In truth, Geordie had never met a woman who could set him to aching like she did . . . and he had no idea why she affected him so. Dwyn wasn’t especially pretty. She wasn’t plain though, as she seemed to think. But she was no raving beauty. And while she had large breasts, they weren’t the first large breasts he’d encountered. He’d held and fondled many a set of fine bosoms, but had never been as enthralled by them as he was with Dwyn’s. In truth, her breasts not only made him want to lick and suckle her there, they made him want to explore every inch of her with his mouth and tongue. He wanted to kiss and taste the backs of her knees, the inside of her thighs, and he wanted to lick her—
“Well?” Aulay asked, interrupting another round of his tormenting himself. “Are ye interested in her or no’? Because if ye are, ye’d best do something about it ere Uncle Acair beats ye to it.”
“She’s no’ interested in Uncle Acair,” he said with certainty, knowing she couldn’t shiver and moan in his arms if her interest were elsewhere. Quite sure he was right about that, Geordie dropped to sit on the ground in the spot where he’d slept the night before and spread out to lie on his side, hoping Aulay would take the hint and go away.
Instead, his brother crossed his arms, eyed him from above and pointed out, “It does no’ matter what her interests are if Uncle Acair goes to her father and negotiates a marriage contract. She’ll marry who her father says as every lass must.”
Geordie sat up abruptly at that, alarm coursing through him. “Did Uncle Acair say he planned to talk to her father?”
Aulay hesitated but then grudgingly said, “No’ yet. But that is the next step if he’s truly interested in wedding the lass and gaining a keep.”
Geordie scowled with irritation at that. “Dwyn is a fine woman. She deserves more from a husband than an old man whose only interest is in her father’s keep.”
“Uncle Acair would hardly tell her that,” Aulay pointed out dryly. “He’s a good man. He’ll treat her kindly and keep her busy with bairns. She’d be . . . content.”
Geordie snorted at that. Content. How could a woman as passionate as Dwyn be content with an old man interested only in her keep? She was a smart lass. She’d sense that right quick if she hadn’t already. But, he acknowledged, Dwyn wouldn’t have a choice if his uncle negotiated a contract with her father. She’d have to marry him, and then Geordie was quite sure she’d make the best of things and become one of those pleasant, meek women who fade into their husbands’ shadow, always doing their duty, never complaining and never really smiling or even frowning, just moving through life untouched by any real emotion.
It was where she was already headed, Geordie realized now. She hid away in trees or his room, reading. At least, that was what she’d done today. Uncle Acair had asked where she was when they’d returned from swimming at the loch, and Jetta had said Dwyn had asked to borrow one of the books from Aulay’s study and had slipped away to her room to read.
Aye. Left to her own devices, Dwyn would fade away to a shadow, and the very thought made him angry. That would be a crying shame. The lass was a bundle of passion, ready to explode under the right to
uch, and he was quite sure his uncle wasn’t the proper man to bring that about. She needed a younger man, someone with a matching passion. Someone like him.
But did he want to be the one to do it? In truth, Geordie did, and if Dwyn weren’t a lady, he already would have. But she was a lady. Now he had to sort out if he wanted her enough to marry her. His aching cock was saying aye, but his mind was not so sure. He barely knew the lass. Besides, he really had looked forward to going out drinking and wenching with Alick when he came home. Neither of which seemed very interesting to him next to tumbling Dwyn just at the moment, he realized, and shook his head at the vagaries of his own mind.
Irritated with his own confusion, he dropped back to lie down again and said, “I’m tired, brother. I got little sleep last night and need to rest before thinking on things like this. Go away.”
“As ye wish, brother,” Aulay said solemnly, and then added, “Although I would suggest ye might like to visit the garderobe ere ye do. The great hall is so full o’ bodies at night right now ye’ll never get across to use it later should ye wake up with a need.”
“Damn,” Geordie growled, and sat up again, then lunged to his feet. When he saw that Aulay had started away, he said, “Wait and I shall walk back with ye.”
“As ye wish, brother,” Aulay said mildly, pausing to wait for him.
“There ye are! I should have known this is where ye snuck off to when ye left the table.”
Dwyn lowered the book she’d just picked up, and merely smiled at her sisters, not daring to tell them the truth and that she’d only just returned to the room to read.
“Ye’re never going to get a husband this way,” Aileen said, approaching the bed to sit next to her.
Dwyn shrugged at that. “It seems to me no’ a single Buchanan was at the table when I left. Did they return after I slipped away?”
“Nay. Well, aye, Laird Buchanan and his uncle did, but Geordie stayed away, so I suppose ’twas better ye stayed away too,” Aileen said.
“Aye,” Una agreed grimly, and then announced, “Da does no’ want ye encouraging the uncle. He says he wants one o’ the younger men as laird at Innes. He’ll no’ give up being clan chief for someone his own age, so do no’ even think about it.”
“I was no’ thinking about it,” Dwyn said defensively. “Besides, I think Geordie’s uncle was just being kind. I highly doubt he’s interested in me for a wife.”
“Oh, he’s interested,” Una said dryly. “The man could no’ take his eyes off yer bosom the whole time he sat beside ye.”
Dwyn frowned at this news, but then waved the subject away. “Aye. Well, I shall try to avoid him in future,” she assured them, and then raised her eyebrows in question. “Are ye ready to sleep, then? Shall I put me book away?”
“There seems little else to do,” Aileen said with a shrug, and then announced, “Lady Jetta mentioned that she received word today that Rory and Alick will be back the day after tomorrow so ye should rest up as much as ye can so ye look yer best when they get here.”
“Oh,” Dwyn murmured as her sister stood and began to undo her lacings, but she was wondering what the other two men would be like. Geordie was the older of the three—she knew that—so in her mind she imagined two younger versions of him, but she had no idea what they would be like in personality. She hadn’t really discussed Geordie’s brothers with him beyond how Rory became interested in healing. She would have to ask him about them tomorrow, Dwyn decided.
“Oh!” Aileen said suddenly, turning back to face her. “Lady Jetta is making arrangements for a feast the night after they arrive.”
“To celebrate the men’s return?” she asked.
“Aye, and there will be minstrels and dancing and everything.”
Una added, “She was going to hold the feast the night they arrive, but Laird Buchanan pointed out the lads might be tired from their travels and it would be better to hold it the next night. But that is better anyway—it gives us the next two whole days to sort out what ye should wear to the feast . . . and how to fix yer hair,” she added, eyeing Dwyn’s long tresses. “Perhaps we could ask for a bath for ye the night before, wash yer hair and then separate segments and wrap them around bits of cloth so that ye have curls once it dried.”
“Where would we get the bits o’ cloth?” Dwyn asked with a frown.
Una shrugged. “I suppose we’d have to rip up one o’ yer shifts.”
“Or we could braid it after washing it,” Aileen suggested. “That always looks nice when ye take it out after it’s dried.”
“Aye, it does,” Una agreed thoughtfully.
“Oh! And we could gather some flowers the afternoon before, and weave them in her hair somehow. Perhaps in small braids at her temple that we then pull around back. It could be like a fairy crown,” she added excitedly.
“Or I could put it back in its bun and do without all this fuss,” Dwyn suggested with exasperation.
“Nay,” they both said at once, and then began to chatter to each other about what they could do to “fix Dwyn up and make her pretty.”
Rolling her eyes, Dwyn set her borrowed book on the table and glanced around for her slippers. Not spotting them right away, she made her way to the garderobe barefoot. She loved her sisters, but truly, they were causing her nothing but misery with their efforts to make her attractive. It just pointed out how unattractive they thought she was, which was oddly hurtful. Dwyn wouldn’t have thought it would be. She’d always prided herself on being a sensible young woman who saw herself clearly. But while Dwyn had always accepted that she was plain . . . well . . . she hadn’t felt plain in Geordie’s arms. She’d felt beautiful . . . and desirable, and even powerful. She’d felt like she imagined a goddess must feel, like she could bring men to their knees and conquer the world with her body.
“Which is just ridiculous,” Dwyn muttered to herself as she slid into the garderobe and closed the door. She hadn’t even conquered Geordie. He was the one who had ended both embraces she’d enjoyed with him. But until he had, she’d felt glorious, Dwyn admitted on a sigh.
Chapter 5
“It looks as though I have a bit o’ a wait,” Geordie said dryly as he and Aulay entered the great hall and he spied the people lined up by the garderobe doors.
“Aye. Everyone wants to use them ere they sleep,” Aulay commented, and then said, “I doubt there is a lineup fer the one above stairs though. Use that one.”
“Ye got it finished?” he asked with surprise. Jetta had been pestering Aulay to install a garderobe above stairs for weeks before Geordie had left to help Conran and Evina at MacLeod. And his brother had finally agreed just before he rode out. But it was a large undertaking. They’d had to wall off the end of the hall just past the last of the bedroom doors to make a large garderobe, then build the stone shafts that would carry the waste away to the moat below, which had been the more difficult part of the endeavor.
“Aye, we finished just in time fer the arrival o’ our guests,” Aulay said dryly. “Which, as it turns out, was why she wanted them.”
Geordie thought Jetta was clever to have thought of it. From what he’d seen last night when he’d arrived and first entered the keep, there were so many extra servants and soldiers presently here that everyone had been forced to sleep on their sides belly to back, and even then there had been little if any space between the sleepers. There certainly hadn’t been the customary path left to the stairs, and from there to the garderobes and kitchens. Nodding, he said, “I’ll use the upper one, then.”
“Do ye see me wife?” Aulay asked before he could move away.
Geordie glanced over the people in the hall. There was no one at the trestle tables. In fact, those had been taken down and the pieces were even now being carted over to lean against the wall.
“Nay,” he said finally. “But I do no’ see any o’ the would-be brides or their families here either. They must have all retired fer the night.”
“Aye,” Aulay said, and walked with
him to the stairs, adding, “A messenger arrived today. Yer brothers should be back the day after tomorrow.”
Geordie arched an eyebrow at that as they started up the steps. “Why bother sending a messenger if they would be practically on his heels?”
“I gather the man was sent several days ago, but ran into trouble on the way. He was fine,” Aulay added before Geordie could ask. “But his horse was killed and he had to walk quite a way ere meeting up with a slow-moving merchant who was kind enough to allow him to ride on his wagon with him. I loaned him a horse for the return journey.”
“Rory was attending the labor o’ Lady Ferguson, was he no’?” Geordie asked.
“Aye.”
“Well, then, I hope ye kissed yer horse fare-thee-well ere ye sent it off,” he said dryly. “Ye ken those bastards’ll just keep it.”
Aulay shook his head. “They’ll no’ start a war with us o’er a horse. He’ll return it.”
“Oh, aye. We have influence and eight armies at our back,” Geordie said with a shake of the head.
“Exactly,” Aulay said with a grin, and opened his mouth to say something else, but paused abruptly as a cry of pain reached them from the upper floor.
They were only a couple of steps from the landing, but both men hurried up them and looked along the hall to see what had caused that sound. Geordie’s eyes widened, his heart slamming into his chest, when he saw Dwyn on the floor near the garderobe. Even as he recognized the spray of golden hair around her, she planted her hands on the floor and pushed her upper body halfway up and then twisted her head to peer back toward her feet, her long hair falling to curtain her breasts as they bulged from her top.
“Dwyn.” Rushing forward, Geordie started to kneel next to her and then paused when he saw the broken glass littering the floor around her and noted the bloody cuts on her bare feet. Then he bent to scoop her up, asking, “Did ye drop a goblet, lass?”
