by Lynsay Sands
“Could we?” Dwyn asked with excited interest.
“Aye. ’Twas a full moon last night, so will be almost full tonight still and riding a horse should no’ be a problem,” Geordie thought aloud as he pleated his plaid. “We could go below now, before everyone retires, get some food from the kitchens, and a skin o’ wine, and then take them with us to eat by the waterfall,” he suggested.
“That sounds lovely,” she breathed, and then frowned. “But we are no more likely to be able to get back to our room once everyone has retired than we are to get to the kitchens.”
“Aye, but we could always nap in the orchard do we tire ere everyone else rises,” he suggested. “That way we would no’ be stuck up here without food or drink at least.”
“Aye,” she decided. “I’d like that, m’laird.”
Smiling, Geordie donned his plaid, and then moved to gather his sgian-dubh, one of his daggers, and his sword. After sliding each weapon through his belt, he turned to walk back to her. His footsteps slowed when he noted where her gaze had gone though, and he glanced down to see that while the erection he’d awakened with had deflated while they were out in the hall, it was back and poking at his plaid again.
“I’m looking forward to making love to ye in the waterfalls,” he confessed wryly, scooping her up. “And in the meadow where we picked the wildflowers, and under our tree in the orchard.”
“Under our tree in the orchard.” Dwyn sighed the words and nestled against his chest, but then lifted her head and asked, “Do ye think we could try in the tree?”
“No’ if ye want to survive,” Geordie said dryly, and then shook his head when she looked disappointed. Heading for the door though, he murmured thoughtfully, “Mayhap we could if I think o’ some way to tie us to the tree so that if we fall out, we do no’ fall far.”
When Dwyn smiled widely at him, and kissed his chin, Geordie shook his head with amusement. He liked making Dwyn smile. He’d figure out something. He rather liked the idea of loving her in the tree. The image of her body lying back over her branch, her breasts bared as she straddled him on his branch, was an image burned in his mind. He’d like to see her like that again, but with her skirts up around her waist and him inside her. Aye, he’d think of something. But first he wanted to take her to the loch and make love to her under the waterfall. Geordie suspected that as sensitive as Dwyn was to touch, she would go wild with him inside her and the water pouring down over their bodies. That was another image burned into his brain, though only an imagined one. Dwyn on the small ledge he’d mentioned, her head back against the wall keeping her face out of the water, her back arched, breasts thrust up and nipples erect as water rained down over them while he stood between her legs, his cock buried in her lovely heat. Aye. He definitely wanted to go to the waterfall first.
“I love this spot,” Dwyn breathed when Geordie reined in his mount in a small clearing next to the loch. Her gaze slid over the falls spilling over the cliff, the water silvered by the moonlight as it tumbled into this end of the loch, and she gave a little shiver of pleasure.
“I thought ye’d like it,” Geordie said, and the arm around her waist squeezed gently. “’Tis me favorite spot here at Buchanan.”
“Then ye may jest like Innes, m’laird. Some days the sea is as wild and powerful as those falls, and others as gentle as a lamb, but ’tis always beautiful.”
She felt him press a kiss to the side of her head, and then he lifted her off of his lap and turned, leaning down to set her on the ground.
“One foot,” he reminded, and Dwyn lifted her still-bound foot before her slippered foot touched the earth. Grunting in satisfaction, he suggested, “Hold on to me mount to keep yer balance until I can carry ye to the water’s edge.”
Dwyn shifted the bag of food and drink she held to her right hand and clasped his saddle with her left as he dismounted and moved to the front of his horse to tie the reins to a low branch of the tree he’d stopped under. Her gaze moved eagerly around this small clearing as she waited. Dwyn could not believe she was so lucky. On the journey to Buchanan she’d been positive the trip was a wasted effort, and that she’d never draw the attention of one of the Buchanan brothers. Yet here she was, married to Geordie, experiencing passion she’d never imagined, and having late-night adventures in the most beautiful spots.
The only thing that could make it any better was if he loved her, but Dwyn was too sensible to fret much over that. Love was rare in a marriage, and she already had a great deal. Geordie seemed to like her well enough and enjoy her company . . . and he wanted her. She had no doubt of that. It was obvious in the way he couldn’t resist touching or kissing her when nearby, in his passion as he loved her and even in the way his eyes burned when he looked at her. Aye, he wanted her, and that was miraculous enough for now.
Dwyn did hope that eventually finer feelings would grow between them. She felt sure her own emotions were already headed that way. At times, just looking at Geordie could cause a small ache in her chest she felt sure was love. She didn’t expect he’d return the feelings in full, but hoped he’d come to care for her as more than a bed partner someday.
That being the case, now they just had Laird Brodie to deal with. Dwyn frowned and pushed the thought quickly away, not wanting to ruin a moment of the joy she’d found.
“I’m going to go lay out the plaid for us,” Geordie announced, coming around the front of the horse with the plaid they’d collected from the orchard. They’d left it there when he’d carried her into the keep after “tasting her” there the day before. Recalling that, he’d run back to collect it after setting her on his mount. “Are ye all right to stand here a few more minutes?”
“Aye,” she assured him. “I am fine, m’laird. I can wait.”
He nodded, and then bent to press what she felt sure he’d meant to be a quick kiss to her lips, but the moment his lips touched hers, she opened to him, and the quick kiss turned into a passionate embrace that left her breathless and panting when he reluctantly broke it and rested his forehead against hers.
“Damn,” he breathed suddenly, pulling back to look down at her. “I canno’ get enough o’ ye. Every time I touch ye, I just want to . . .”
His helpless expression made Dwyn smile and she admitted, “So do I, m’laird.” And then grinning, she added, “Mayhap ’tis an affliction and will pass.”
“Aye.” Geordie cupped her bottom through her skirts and lifted her off the ground to grind his hips into hers. “I’m thinking in forty or fifty years ’twill pass.”
Dwyn groaned as he pressed against her. “Pray, m’laird. Go spread out the plaid so we can do something about this need ye cause in me.”
“Just as I feared, married no’ even a day and already ye’re a nagging wife,” he accused in a teasing tone as he set her down.
“Demanding too,” she assured him, reaching out to find his hardness and squeeze.
“One minute,” Geordie promised, kissing the tip of her nose before he turned away and strode off.
Dwyn watched him make his way to the water’s edge. He was just laying out the plaid when she heard a sound behind her. Before she could turn to find the source of it, a hand had slapped over her mouth, and an arm was around her waist, dragging her backward into the dark woods.
Geordie flapped the folded plaid out to lie on the grass, and then took the time to move to each corner and give it a tug to straighten it out on the ground as he considered what to do first. He wanted to make love to Dwyn in the waterfall, and had planned to set her down here just long enough to strip off her clothes and bandages, as well as his own clothes, and then carry her into the water. But the kiss he’d just shared with her had heated his blood so quickly he feared they’d end up mating here on the plaid first.
“Well, so be it,” Geordie muttered to himself. With the appetite his wife had, and that he had for her, they could start here, move on to the waterfall after they’d rested and then maybe make their way over to the meadow where
the ladies had picked their flowers. He’d had some pretty hot imaginings of loving Dwyn there too, and they could end the night back at their tree, perhaps even in the tree if he came up with a way to keep them from falling, he thought wryly, and turned to walk back to Dwyn where he’d left her. Only she wasn’t there.
Geordie’s feet paused, and he blinked at the spot where he’d left her . . . by his horse, which also wasn’t there.
“What the hell?” he muttered with bewilderment. While Geordie knew that the noise of the falls would have prevented his hearing the horse leave, Dwyn wouldn’t have ridden away with the beast without him. Where the hell were they? he wondered, and then spotted something on the ground by where he’d left his horse. Hurrying forward, he squatted and picked up the item, his heart lurching when he turned it in his hand and realized it was Dwyn’s slipper.
His eyes searched the dark woods as he straightened, and then he withdrew his sword and started forward. His pace was cautious, until he heard a male shout followed quickly by Dwyn screaming his name, then he burst into a run.
“Shut up, bitch!”
Dwyn grunted as she was hit in the face hard enough to send her crashing to the forest floor.
“And what the hell’s the matter with ye, Coll? Screaming like that. Ye’ll give us away. We’re supposed to be quiet, remember?”
“She grabbed me ballocks and twisted.”
Dwyn raised her face off the ground, and glanced around as she spat out the dirt that had got in her mouth as she’d fallen. The man who had dragged her into the woods must be the one presently bent over with both hands covering his groin, she decided. Which meant the man standing straight up was the one who had hit her and started yelling. And he was complaining about the other one not being quiet? She snorted at that, and then stilled, her eyes narrowing warily when the standing man turned on her.
“Ye’ll no’ be looking so pleased with yerself when we get ye back to our camp, little lady,” he growled, stomping toward her.
Dwyn tried to lunge to her feet and make her escape, but didn’t even get upright before he grabbed her by a handful of hair and yanked her around to face him. Dragging her so close she could smell his foul breath, he snarled, “There’s a good chance the men’ll all get a turn at plowin’ into ye once we have ye back at camp, lass, and I’m thinking Coll there’s gonna want to show ye about as much care as ye showed him now we ken what a nasty lass ye are. So, unless ye want me to behave just as badly, I suggest—”
He broke off abruptly, his head swiveling to the side.
It was only then Dwyn heard the sounds of someone crashing through the woods toward them. Geordie had heard her scream, she thought with relief, and then began to struggle as the man holding her by the hair tried to drag her in front of him. Desperate to get away, she tried to reach down and grab him as she had the other man, but this one was ready for that trick and grabbed her hand with his free one so she kneed him in the groin instead. When his grip eased, Dwyn threw herself to the side. She was already scrambling away before she hit the ground, desperate to put as much distance between them as she could to avoid being used against Geordie. But Dwyn hadn’t moved far when she heard the ring of swords clashing.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Geordie battling the man she’d just kneed. It took little more than three swings of his sword before he felled the man. It was only when Geordie started to turn toward her that she realized he didn’t know there was a second man. She and the villain he’d just felled must have been blocking the second one from view, she thought, and shouted a warning even as a sword suddenly exploded out of the front of his lower chest.
She watched with horror as Geordie lowered his head to peer in shock as the blade slid back the way it had come until it disappeared into his chest. Dwyn fully expected Geordie to drop to the ground then as the first villain had done when he’d struck him a similar blow, although it had been a little higher on him. But Geordie didn’t drop. Instead, he whirled on his feet with a roar, his sword coming up and swinging.
Judging by the man’s wide eyes and gaping mouth, he hadn’t expected that response from Geordie any more than she had, Dwyn thought grimly as she watched his head tumble from his neck and crash to the floor even as his body fell. Only then did Geordie go down, dropping first to his knees, and then falling forward on the forest floor.
Crying out, Dwyn crawled quickly to his side. Her gaze slid over his back, but while her eyes had adjusted quickly to the dark forest where the moonlight didn’t reach, all she could see were dark shapes. She could feel the blood soaking his plaid though when she placed a hand to it, and quickly grabbed up her skirt hem. She tried to tear it, but the material was too thick for that, and she had to feel around on Geordie for the dagger she’d seen him slide into his belt back in his room. Dragging it out, Dwyn used that to cut off a strip of her skirt. She then balled it up, and pressed it against the center of the spreading patch of blood, before slicing at her skirt again to get another swath of the material. Dwyn laid that over the ball of cloth she’d placed over the wound, then stuck each end under his arms before rolling him onto his back. She sliced away a third strip of her gown to ball up and press against the center of the blood patch on the front of his chest when she found it with her fingers. Dwyn then grabbed up both ends of the cloth she’d tucked under his arms and drew them together to tie them off over the cloth. She pulled both ends as tight as she could as she did it, putting her whole body behind the effort, relief sliding through her when she heard him grunt in pain.
Pain was good, it meant he lived, Dwyn thought as she finished tying off the cloth and bent over his face. Patting his cheek lightly, she said, “Geordie? Are ye awake, husband?”
“Aye,” he groaned.
“Thank God,” she breathed, and then ordered, “Stay that way!”
“Well, I’m no’ likely to sleep with ye bellowing at me like that,” he said, his voice weak, but with a touch of humor to it.
“Good, because ye’re no’ getting out o’ marrying me good and proper in front o’ a priest, Geordie Buchanan. So do no’ even think o’ dying on me,” she growled, and then glanced around anxiously, trying to think what to do. She needed to get him back to the clearing and his horse. “Can ye get up, do ye think?” Dwyn turned back to him to ask.
He raised his head and shifted his hands to his sides to help push himself up, but then dropped back to the ground on a sigh. “I’m sorry, lass. I do no’ think—”
“’Tis okay,” Dwyn said at once. “Don’t waste yer strength talking.” She glanced through the trees, trying to judge how far she’d been dragged. Turning back to Geordie, she bent to press a quick kiss to his mouth, then pushed herself to her feet, muttering, “I’ll be right back. Do no’ die on me.”
“Wife, wait,” he gasped, but she ignored him and burst into a run. The clearing wasn’t far at all, perhaps twenty feet, but when she didn’t see Geordie’s horse, Dwyn at first thought she’d somehow got turned around and come out at the wrong spot. But then she saw the plaid spread out under the moonlight and cursed. This was the right place. Geordie’s horse was just gone.
Dwyn stood still for a second, her heart thumping and brain twisting itself up trying to sort out what to do. She had to get Geordie to help, and quickly, or she could lose him. His horse had been their best bet. She hadn’t thought ahead to figure out how to get him on the horse when he couldn’t even stand up, but she would have figured out something. Unfortunately, there was no horse to get him on.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” Dwyn breathed, turning in a circle. She could lose him. She couldn’t lose him. She loved him.
The thought made Dwyn freeze briefly. Love? Already? She wanted to scoff at the thought, but was very much afraid that she did already love Geordie Buchanan. The man was just . . . He made her feel alive. For years she’d felt like she was fading away, becoming just another piece of furniture at Innes. That had been happening for the last seven years actually, since the day that
she’d learned her betrothed had died. She’d never met the man who was to be her husband, so had not grieved his passing for the man he was. Instead, she’d felt only panic and fear.
When they received the message with the news of his death, Dwyn had turned to her father with dismay and asked what they would do now. His response had been “not to worry, everything would work out,” and she’d known then that he wasn’t likely to try to find her a replacement husband. Her father was too comfortable with the way things were. He was too happy having her to run his keep, and handle his people. And she’d known she would live out her days at Innes, alone, without the husband and children she’d dreamed about someday having.
Dwyn was positive that if it weren’t for Geordie she would have died a lonely old maid, running her father’s home and people. Or perhaps living out her end days on the charity offered to her by her sisters, depending on what had been done with Innes if her father died first.
By the time the first letter had arrived from Buchanan, she’d already been a shriveled-up old maid in her head. Almost. But that first letter had sparked hope in her heart. However, her father hadn’t shown much interest in it. In fact, he’d tossed the first away. It was Dwyn who had snatched it up from the floor where he’d tossed it after crumpling it up. And it was Dwyn who’d responded to the message in her father’s name. She’d continued to respond to each successive message from Jetta Buchanan, telling herself it was a nice little fantasy to pass her dreary days so that she wouldn’t get her hopes up, because she knew her father ultimately wouldn’t agree to anything that might prevent her taking care of him. But then the message with the Buchanan terms had arrived. Dwyn had begun to tremble when she’d read that if a brother chose her to wife, Laird Innes had to agree and put in the marriage contract that the Buchanan brother would become the heir to Innes, and next clan chief.
