“Thank you.”
Seonaid and Everett slipped into the dining room together. It was still quiet, and they found a seat near the back, illuminated by the glow from the big hearth behind them. Seonaid felt her bones start to thaw and began to shiver. She hadn’t realized just how cold it had been, until now when she was warm again!
“It’s…good we’re…inside.”
“Aye.” Everett was frowning with concern. “Lass? Ye are well?”
“N…no,” she whispered. “I mean…mayhap.”
Everett pushed back his chair, clearly intending to go and call someone. She gestured to him, wishing she didn’t feel so worn out.
“No. Please…stay?”
“Lass…you’re not well. Ye need a doctor.”
“Nonsense.” She did her best to draw herself up to her full height, and gave him a firm look. “I need a plate of fish soup and a warm rug around me. Then I need to get into a warm bed and sleep.”
Everett’s brow shot up. He had fine eyebrows, she noticed – a shade paler than his hair. He was a surprisingly handsome man, for all that he seemed to be a brigand, and was currently covered in bruises. She let her eye travel over his body and realized she liked what she saw very well indeed. Her stomach tightened.
“You’re right, lass. Um, madam?” he hailed the innkeeper’s wife as she passed him in the taproom. “Please? Two bowls of stew. And lots of bread.”
“Two bowls of stew! And bread!” she imitated his accent, which made his stomach curdle, but she went off to do his bidding. He turned back to Seonaid, who made a face, in sympathy.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
He simply shrugged. “Ye get that sort of person,” he said.
She nodded. “You do.”
When the stew came, she realized she was surprisingly hungry. She reached for the bread, the delicious aroma of the stew wafting up to her nose. It was a concoction of shellfish and bits of fish, floating in a rich pale broth flavored with herbs. She ate the bread, feeling the juices run down her chin, and looked up to find Everett watching her.
“What?” she challenged.
“Nothing.” He smiled. “Just that you have soup on your chin.”
She shot him a look, then couldn’t help laughing as she started to dab the soup off with her handkerchief. He reached over and tenderly wiped her face.
She swallowed hard. His touch – even through the napkin – was gentle and warm, and tingled all the way down into her toes. She met his eye and felt like that brown and watchful gaze was touching her too, only even more intimately.
“We should finish our supper,” she whispered.
“Aye.”
He lifted his spoon and resumed eating. Seonaid felt strength returning to her body and she shivered less. She studied his face as he ate. He was a handsome man.
He leaned back and pushed his bowl away, sighing contentedly. “That was good.”
“Aye,” Seonaid murmured, “It was.”
“Sleepy?” he asked.
“Aye.”
He grinned at her, a curl of hair flopping into the middle of his forehead. He brushed it away. “We should go and rest.”
“Aye.”
She stood, pushing back her chair. She was so weary, after the rain and the concussion. She wove her way uncertainly to the staircase and started to ascend, leaning against the wall for support. As she reached the top, the world suddenly went blank.
When she was next conscious, she was lying on her back, something soft underneath her. She stretched and shifted, and noticed the flicker of firelight against her eyelids. Something warm was around her and she could feel a weight on the coverlet beside her.
“Easy, lass.”
She realized she was lying on a bed, and that there was a presence beside her on the mattress. She felt impossibly weary, and yet, for all that, the feeling of an arm around her waist, a head beside hers, was impossibly sweet. She felt her lips lift and tried to conceal her smile.
“Everett?”
“Aye, lass. You fell.” His voice was low and blurred with weariness, yet it sang through every part of her. She rolled over. His lips were very close to her face. She felt hers touch his, as they had that evening in the alley, and her body melted into his.
She reached for his face, cupping it with her palm as his body pressed to hers. Their lips pressed and clung. She had no idea why this felt so impossibly wonderful. All she knew was that her body was on fire and the more she pressed it against him, the greater intensity the feeling acquired.
“Easy, lass,” he whispered. His voice sounded strained.
She opened her eyes and found herself staring into his gaze. He looked like a man desperate for something. She knew how it felt – her body was crying out for something she didn’t understand. All she knew was that she needed to hold onto him with desperate intensity.
His body was pressing against hers, seemingly of its own accord. She could feel him start to push his hips and she moved too, letting her body rub against him. He was gasping and she gasped, too, her longing for more of the feeling almost unbearable.
“Lass,” he whispered urgently. “We mustn’t.”
Seonaid rolled onto her back, cheeks coloring. She guessed that this had something to do with the thing that men and women did – the one that was only permissible, or rather, only sanctioned, after wedlock. She sat up.
“I didn’t know.” She said. She felt foolish, suddenly, and went to the window, leaning on the sill. He came and joined her. She could feel his presence as if her skin had become thin suddenly, her awareness of him heightened like his body and hers could speak more eloquently to each other than all the poets in Scotland.
“Lass,” he whispered tightly. “It’s…I don’t want to sully your name. You know what I mean, don’t ye? It’s not that I don’t want…”
She felt her cheeks lift in a smile. “I want it too,” she whispered.
“Och, lass.” She saw a look of almost pain cross his face, and felt some of that pain twist in her own body, along with a twist of compliment. She was pleased he wanted her, as much as she did him!
“What do you think we should do?” she whispered.
“Well, there is one solution.” He grinned.
She stared at him.
“You mean it?”
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I do. Do you?”
She felt a wild grin spread over her features. “You mean…you think we should wed?”
“It makes sense.”
She laughed. He was smiling at her hesitantly, his eyes dancing with merriment. It was a world away from the strained courtship and offhand manner of Westford. Even had it not been, his audacity and sweetness would have won her.
“Yes.”
“Yes?” he stared in amazement.
“Yes, I want that,” she repeated. He started laughing and she laughed too. They collapsed onto the bed together.
“Lass,” he whispered in her ear. “Shall we find a priest tomorrow?”
She sat up and looked down at him. “Yes.”
“In which case,” he added, stroking her hair from where he half-lay beside her. “Should I sleep in the other room tonight?”
She scowled at him, then chuckled. “I reckon.”
He stood and, kissing her again, tiptoed across the hallway into the room on the other side of it. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight. Until tomorrow.”
A PROMISE
Seonaid looked down at the gown she wore, feeling nervous. It was her white linen day gown. A pretty enough thing for itself, but not really fit for a ceremony. She wished she had something better, but the whole idea was so exciting it rather made up for it.
Across the patch of grass outside the abbey, she saw Everett. He was dressed as he had been, but with a woven cloth looped about one shoulder like a plaid. He looked surprisingly elegant. His eye was still ringed in bruises, but he was undeniably handsome.
“Are ye ready?”
S
he swallowed hard and nodded. Feeling impossibly nervous, she stepped up to his side and, together, they walked into the chapel.
“This is your entire party?” the abbot welcomed them. A tall sparse man, he was dressed in a long white robe, his white hair brushed to shining. “No witnesses to bring?”
“No, sir,” Everett said gruffly. “Just us.”
The abbot shrugged. “Well, then. We will find some among our number to attest to the ceremony’s performance. Now, come and join me at the altar.”
Seonaid felt her heart start to thump and she looked up at Everett, who smiled reassuringly at her.
She stood by his side and, together, they followed the abbot to the small stone altar, where candles were burning.
The ceremony was in Latin. Seonaid frowned, listening to the sound of the words, feeling nervous. Would she know what to say? She noticed the abbot was looking at her expectantly, and swallowed hard.
“Volo.”
It was Latin, and it meant, “I do.”
It must have been the right response – she had heard that from a friend who was married to one of her father’s seafaring friends – for the abbot beamed and then repeated the same words, more or less, to Everett, who nodded.
“Volo.”
More Latin, and then the priest was smiling expectantly at them both. Seonaid felt her heart thump impossibly as Everett leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers. It was a chaste kiss, but it made her body ache for the kisses she wanted later.
At the inn, they settled down for dinner. Seonaid was ravenous. She was pleased when Everett made sure they had an extra loaf to go with the stew.
“My lass,” he whispered.
She felt her heart soar. She smiled at him and wet her lips with the ale. She felt nervous and her hand shook, but it was a delicious feeling.
After dinner, she was surprised to feel his arms wrap around her at the top of the stairs.
“Whist,” she whispered, pushing him back from her. “They think we’re cousins.”
He grinned. “Well, then. Shall we use your chamber, or mine?”
She chuckled. “Shall we start in mine?”
“Alright, lass.”
She felt a throbbing ache inside her as he opened the door, led her in and then, leaning with his back on the door, wrapped her in his arms. His hands smoothed down her back and stroked her hair and she felt her body heat up with longing.
“You’re my lass.”
“And you’re my lad.”
She cupped his cheek with her hand, looking into his eyes. He was a remarkable man – handsome, strong, kindly. She felt him bend and pressed her body against him as he pushed his tongue between her lips.
Laughing, she moved her body against his, in that way she’d longed for the previous night. He repeated the motion, then, to her surprise, lifted her and deposited her on the bed.
“Lass. I want you.”
She felt her cheeks flare up and then gave a gasp as he lay down beside her, his body on hers, his lips pressing hers fiercely as his body pushed against her. She felt her own desire grow.
His hands were at her back, stroking down her spine, searching for the buttons that fastened her gown. She sighed as he found the top one, starting to undress her.
His fingers fumbled and she grinned at him. “Shall I?”
He pulled a face, but nodded. “Mayhap we should stand up? It might be faster, that way.”
“Aye,” she whispered. “I fancy the idea of speed.”
He went red and they stood up together. His hands were faster now, and he undid all ten buttons, then let the dress slide down her body, pooling at her feet. Under it, she wore a shift and then nothing. He put his hands on her shoulders.
“Lass?” he whispered. His eyes roamed down her body and she glowed. She loved the feeling of his admiration.
She raised a brow. “And you?”
He chuckled. “Aye. Clothes are an impediment.”
She nodded and watched, surprising herself by her boldness, as he stripped off his own clothing. He was broad-shouldered, his body strong and chest broad. He had a surprisingly narrow waist for all that bulk, and big thighs. She found herself staring with amazement.
“You’re not afraid?”
She grinned. “I reckon not.”
He smiled. “Good. I want this night tae be as grand for ye as it is for me.”
He reached for her, holding her against him. She felt the strange bulge of his anatomy pressing against her with strange insistence. Oddly, she liked the feeling, and thrust her hips against him.
He chuckled and kissed her and, kissing her still, pushed her back onto the bed. She was still in her shift but he pulled it off her, then gasped.
“Lass. Ye’re truly bonny.”
She blushed.
His eyes lingered at her breasts, a slow smile on his face as they traveled down her body and up again. She felt a strange heat start to grow in her abdomen under his gaze. He bent down and stroked a hand along her chest, squeezing her nipple.
She gasped and he smiled and then, very gently, took it in his mouth. She closed her eyes, not quite believing how good it felt as he rubbed her breast with his one hand and kissed the other one, sucking it into his lips.
She groaned and reached for him, arms wrapping him close, body thrusting against his. He smiled and looked down at her, and she saw that desperate longing in his eyes.
“Lass,” he whispered. “I want you.”
She felt her hands rub down his back, amazed by the thick muscle that corded down his spine. He rolled over and stroked a hand down her body, reaching the confluence of her thighs. To her surprise, he put his hand between them. His touch on her folds made her gasp loudly.
“I didn’t scare ye?”
“No.” She laughed, breathlessly. His hand moved again and she sighed, closing her eyes and rubbing her body against his touch. He was gasping now, too, and his touch intensified, making a feeling that was so strange, so wonderful, build inside her, that she was sure she might have died. Nothing on the earth could feel this grand.
He started moving his fingers with earnest intensity, and she forgot all restraint and cried aloud as the strange fire inside her started to consume her whole. Then, the strangest thing happened – the fire in her belly intensified, then melted away in a wash of bliss so intense that she almost screamed.
When she opened her eyes, he was smiling.
“That good?”
She sighed wordlessly. He laughed.
“Good,” he said. “I want ye tae have as much joy of this as I do.”
He rolled over and she felt that strange hardness press against her leg. She didn’t know why, but she wanted to feel it in the place his hand had been.
He seemed to want that too, for he gave a throaty chuckle and reached with his hand between her thighs and gently, slowly, guided himself in.
She gasped. If his touch had been good, this was indescribably so. It felt as if her body had been broken, but now was whole and reconstituted. She had never felt this good, never imagined it was possible to feel this good. She felt him move, pulling out and pushing in.
She gasped as, the second time, the feeling grew even more intense. A flare of pain followed his thrust, but it was soon gone, and she almost forgot about it as he pulled out and pushed in again, making sounds deep in his throat.
He was moving faster now, and she felt that strange tugging wonder start to build in her belly again. He seemed to be feeling what she was, because he started crying out, moving with a desperate urgency that matched the feeling that was building in her.
She started to reach that place of wild urgency at the same time as he cried out unrestrained, plunging into her and gasping. She felt that bliss and then, suddenly, he collapsed on top of her.
“My lass,” he whispered.
“My love.”
They slept.
THE CITY OF KINGS
Everett felt warm, warmer than he had felt in an age. He
rolled over, realizing why. Beside him in the bed, her warm skin pressed against his body, lay Seonaid.
He watched her as she slept.
Her eyes were closed, breath slow and even. The bruise was still slightly visible on her forehead, but it was part of her to his eye, and all of her was beautiful. He felt a physical pain tug his heart as he watched her sleeping.
Bonny lass.
He wanted to kiss her, with every fiber of his being, he wanted it – yet he also knew she needed rest. He lay and watched her, smiling as her breath slowed. He bent down and gently stroked her head.
She sighed, her breath changing in rhythm. Her eyelids fluttered And her eyes opened.
The smile that twisted her lips was the sweetest thing he had ever seen. He reached out a hand and stroked her hair.
“Hello my dearest.”
She sighed and ran a hand down his hair. “Hello, my love.”
He felt his heart fill as if it was being suffused with light. He bent down and kissed her lips tenderly, marveling at how his whole world had changed. It was brighter, more beautiful, more filled with light. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
As her body pressed to him, Everett felt himself becoming steadily aroused. He clenched his teeth and tried to fight the longing, but it was starting to grow and spread through him. He looked down at her and saw the light in her eyes.
“Should we go to breakfast?”
She grinned. “Later.”
He laughed. “I thought the same thing.”
He kissed her again and this time his longing was irrepressible, and he didn’t try to suppress it. Rolling her onto her back, he pressed his lips to hers and kissed her tenderly. She reached for him and he gasped, his manhood pressing against her sweet folds.
As he pushed into her, she gasped and he held her close and they moved with the sweet rhythm that made his body and hers feel as if they were connected to one another, as if they were one body that, only now, had rediscovered its fullness.
She lay in his arms afterwards, her breath on his cheek.
“My lass,” he whispered into her ear.
The Highlander’s Passion (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 3) Page 9
