A Gypsy's Thief

by Titania Ladley

  John whispered Catriona’s name over and over, his left arm sliding between the female stomachs as he pulled Catriona to him, his right hand exploring all four breasts in succession. Arms tightened, cocks rammed harder, deeper. Pussies and mouths thirsted, reaching for more, for all.

  “Mmm…” Now beyond coyness, propriety long forgotten, Catriona devoured Salena’s mouth, welcoming the first vague waves of climax. She glanced right, then left, saw that John and Falcon reached for one another. Their large hands clasped one another’s forearms making an enclosed circle around her and Salena. Her own arms slid around Salena to hold her close and continue the kiss.

  Glancing up and around, she saw that Falcon threw his head back and reared his pelvis forward so that he could pummel his wife with profound penetration. She knew John mimicked the same act by the sudden jolt that nearly had her teeth gnashing into Salena’s. Her pussy spasmed in a teasing prelude of what would soon come. A collective male groan echoed against the cave walls. Firelight from the torches danced upon varying shades of flesh. Steam seemed to increase its density, swirling up almost magically around the foursome.

  That was when Catriona felt it, like a never-ending zap of lightning. Ecstasy such as she had never before experienced catapulted from John’s cock, through her cunt and up into her tongue. Salena screamed into Catriona’s mouth and increased the kiss with a frantic clutch of her shoulders. Her fingers tangled in Catriona’s hair forcing her to deepen the kiss. It seemed Salena tore the very air from Catriona’s lungs. Catriona fought back, now in a frenzy for more. A spark of energy raced back and forth. It traveled from Falcon’s cock, through Salena and Catriona’s sealed mouths. It continued down the length of her body to John’s penis where he relentlessly pounded into Catriona’s pussy.

  “Oh, yes! Holy son of a…” John growled it out, his taut body quivering behind Catriona’s. She could hear his ragged breathing as he spilled shot after shot of semen into her vagina. Still clasping arms, John and Falcon’s knuckles whitened. Catriona watched in awe as the light passed between them, again and again.

  “Lorcan alive, I cannot take the ecstasy much longer!” Falcon’s voice boomed in the lovers’ lair. His breath came out in a mixed cry of pain and pleasure.

  Caught in her own endless web of euphoria, Catriona was loath to break the kiss, for she now knew these wizard lovers required this connection in order to extract their immortal powers. She thought she would go mad with the endless orgasms, her own whimpers muffled into a duet with Salena’s. The hot, pumping lust burned through every cell of her body wrenching sighs and gasps from deep in her lungs.

  Just when she thought she could take the rapture no longer, the cycles tapered away. John and Falcon let out a final sigh and released each other’s limbs. Catriona slowly withdrew her mouth from Salena’s. Eyes fluttered in disbelief. Breathing slowed into long, deep inhalations. John withdrew and guided her down so her feet touched the stone bottom. Falcon did the same to Salena. Almost as if instinct drove her, Catriona spun so that she faced John. She listened to the swish of water as Salena also turned to her man.

  “John…” Catriona held his cheek, the stubble tickling the palm of her hand. “I do not ken exactly what has just happened, but I am honored to have been a part of it.”

  He gathered her close, his still-hard cock pressed alongside her abdomen. His eyes glowed like twin cerulean flames in the firelit space. She noted how his skin seemed to shine with a new glow of energy, as if his soul had been ignited and overflowed from his core. Lowering his head, he kissed her with tenderness, his mouth warm, wet and tasting of ale. It made her heart still to see that look of impassioned emotion in his eyes.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice choked. “Your gift, along with Salena’s collaboration, has given me and my soul-brother the most phenomenal store of immortal energy ever in our existence. I do not know why we never once thought to include a fourth person for added power. Perhaps,” he rasped, his fingers combing through her damp locks, “it was because we waited for you.”

  The implications of his words made her knees go weak. She wound her arms around his thick neck and leapt up in the water so that she could straddle him. God, she could not get close enough to this man! What an addictive temptation he had proven to be.

  “Waited for me, ye say?” She kissed his neck tasting the saltiness of flesh there where his pulse continued to beat erratically. “Such a patient mon to wait for all those centuries for one bonny, Scottish lass such as meself. One, nae less, reputed to be a witch in pursuit by a king’s determined army.”

  “Witch, aye,” he grinned, kneading her ass cheeks and making the sparse hair on her arms stand on end. “I suspect those very ‘witch’ abilities—those you possess to speak to the dead—added the perfect ingredient Falcon and I required yet were unaware of needing all this time.”

  “I was glad to be of service, kind sir,” she mocked, grinding her pussy across the front of his waning erection.

  “Was?” Falcon chimed in. “By Jove, if I have anything a’tall to say about the matter, ‘twill not be merely in the past but an ongoing, forever event.”

  Salena wrapped herself around Falcon as she fed on his wide shoulders and taut nipples. “More, I need more.”

  Falcon hissed, “Woman, you are incorrigible!”

  Salena giggled, not letting up on her pursuit, but Falcon’s words of forever did not become lost in the play. Catriona’s abdomen twisted into tight knots of regret when his meaning sank in. Aye, this had been an amazing interlude, one she wished she could repeat until her dying days. But the fact of the matter was, Catriona Graham, a Gypsy condemned as a witch by the king of Scotland, could stay no longer. To remain here would put all of John’s loyal staff, and any of Falcon’s Merry Men in the vicinity, in unnecessary danger. Falcon and John, she knew, would be able to fend for themselves, for their immortality and sorcerers’ powers alone protected them. But there were definitely others to consider…such as Salena.

  It was Catriona’s understanding that the wearing of the Centaurus pendant was the only thing—besides Falcon’s love and protection—that kept Salena safe from harm or death. And what if the magical amulet were stolen from Salena or destroyed by the king’s vindictive soldiers while in search of Catriona? Nay, Catriona refused to be responsible for Salena’s life and that of so many others. She would not put anyone in harm’s way for her own selfish desires. Oh, but the thought of departing from this heaven, of leaving behind this extraordinary man whom she feared she was falling in love with…it made her violently ill to look ahead to that grim future.

  “What is wrong, my love?” John whispered, tipping up her chin so that she was forced to look through the swirling hot vapor into his penetrating stare.

  “Ye ken ‘tis best…ye see, I cannot—”

  “Falcon! John!” The deep male voice echoed through the far rocky corridor. A tall graying man of about three score in years emerged. He wore the garb of a forest brigand, a feathered woodsman’s hat upon his head. But it was not the longbow slung across his wide back nor the sword belted to the waist of his braies that gave him away. It was the tone of respect and alarm for Falcon and John that revealed him to be one of Falcon’s cohorts.

  John’s gaze swung to the man. He removed Catriona’s naked body from his person and set her behind him in the water, blocking her from the man’s view. “Lance, what troubles you, man?”

  “Riders.” He planted a hand on the wall of the cave, bending to catch his breath. “It appears several wear the royal doublet of the Scots king. The others, they are each garbed in tartans of varying allegiances.”

  “How many in their party?”

  “A score and ten at least, milord. A thoroughly armed, well mounted and somewhat uniformed troupe,” he added, swallowing audibly.

  Catriona’s pulse lurched. “Nae, please, nae…” She backed away, splashing toward the opposite side of the pool.

  “Catriona,” John barked. “Return to my sid
e at once.”

  “Nae,” she repeated in a whisper, shaking her head. “They have found me. I-I must be gone from here before they do ye all harm for harborin’ a convicted witch. I must—”

  “Witch?” Lance blurted out.

  “You are safe here,” Salena offered, ignoring Lance’s surprise as she swam toward Catriona.

  “Get back!” Catriona held up a hand and made her way to the far ledge. She climbed from the water and, heedless of her naked state, briskly dried herself off with a towel from a nearby stack of linens. Sidling to where her clothing and boots lay, she gathered up the items and clutched them to her bare skin. “All of ye must not prevent me from fleein’.”

  “Lance, secure the drawbridge at once.” John started for the underwater stairs, his eyes never leaving Catriona as he pushed through the pool.

  “Aye, ‘tis already done. But, masters, you are aware we are few within the keep? Most of our band rides out on skirmishes for the coming night’s raids. And some, as you know, remain behind at Falcon’s Wyngate Hall.”

  John stopped briefly, angling in the water to acknowledge the man’s point. “Understood, Lance. Go now and man the gatehouse, and do not let anyone in or out. May your god go with you, loyal friend.”

  “Consider it done, sir.” Lance turned on his booted heels and disappeared up the passageway.

  “Falcon,” John said as he crossed to the edge of the pool where his garments remained in a heap upon the ledge. “We must see everyone to safety. The servants, our ladies…”

  “Aye, my brother, I am right here with you. Let us be on our way.” Falcon drew himself up out of the water followed by Salena. They stood naked and proud before one another as they dried off with linen towels supplied at intervals throughout the springhouse. He nipped Salena in the chin and kissed her in a swift yet thorough manner. “You know where to go, love. See that Catriona and all the staff are removed to the hidden chambers.”

  Salena drew on her gown and nodded. “As always and forever, you can count on me, husband.”

  “Catriona!” John shouted across the cave as he leapt from the spring and jammed on his braies. “Return to my side at once. My God, lady, do not drive an immortal to his grave. ‘Tis imperative that you come here now and follow Salena to safety. Please, do as you are bid!”

  It seemed as if a sharpened lance tore through her heart. Oh, how she longed to run to him, to stay in his arms until her dying day, to hole up for eternity with him in that safe lair Falcon spoke of. But it just was not to be. She could not change the fact that she was a criminal, a woman wanted for witchcraft offenses against the Scottish crown. No one, not even these immortal, seemingly invincible warlocks could change that.

  Nay, no amount of magic could save her, and the truth remained that other peoples’ lives depended on what decision she made at this very instant. Aye, she had been gifted with some sort of sixth sense since birth, one that allowed her to speak to the dead. But never did she wish in the future to be speaking to those who had passed on due to her current selfish choices.

  So when John hardened his expression and pierced her with his narrowed gaze, she swung around and charged naked into the black passageway at the far end of the cave. She heard his footsteps as he started after her, but it was too late. Catriona quickly became lost in the dark bowels of Sedgewick Castle.

  Chapter Six

  She clung to her garments with one hand and felt her way along the rock wall with the other. Water dribbled down her back making her nipples go hard and goose bumps prickle over her entire body. Catriona ignored all the discomforts, well used to harsh travels afoot. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and strained to see in the dim passageway. The channel seemed to twist and turn and shoot off in many different directions, but she pushed on, determined to put a safe distance between herself and John.

  Catriona plodded forward, her heart aching, threatening to burst from her chest. Love—or something very close to it—warmed her soul when the handsome vision of him swam before her. Tears stung her eyes for she sensed it was highly likely she might never know his touch again, might never lay eyes on that perfect specimen of a man.

  “Enough,” she whispered, and focused on putting as much distance as possible between her and the man she longed to run to more than anyone or anything else in her entire life.

  When she was sure she had lost him, she stopped and first drew on her braies and boots. Her feet were numb and damp, and she sighed inwardly when the wool lining cradled her feet. Shivering, she slid into the shirt and jerkin, and swirled the cloak around her trembling body, grateful Salena had suggested she bring the wrap when she had enticed her to the underground spring.

  Catriona moved deeper into nothingness, fumbling her way along the cool, clammy walls. She inhaled, suddenly sensing the aroma of fresh air over that of the musky scent that hung in the tunnels. Intuitively, she closed her eyes and inhaled, following the trail. The channel grew narrower, and at first, Catriona feared she had erred in her intuition. But then she felt the burst of cold air and pulled up the cape’s hood, trembling when the chilly gust swirled around her wet head. Her teeth chattered but she trudged onward, shoving aside the memory of a warm bed and even warmer hospitality from them all, of an emotion between her and John she could only call love. Again, she coaxed herself to focus on the mission at hand. A few more steps took her around a sharp bend where she could see a round opening of daylight far ahead. She sighed in relief, yet one last time, her heart ached and her feet longed to turn and retrace her steps back into the arms of her handsome thief and his fascinating triangle with Salena and Falcon.

  “Nae, Catriona,” she whispered to herself as she drew the wrap snug against the chill and trotted toward the light. “‘Tis best for all concerned if ye flee this place and leave not a trace of yerself behind.”

  The opening widened as she neared. Winter’s bite whooshed up her cloak and nipped at her still-damp skin. She groaned, recalling the soothing, penetrating heat of the luxurious spring bath not an hour ago. Though the sky shone pristine blue, the sun angling sharp from the west, a dark cloud hung ominous on the northern horizon. Yet here, the sun persevered and made a glaze of diamond-like crystals glitter across the surface of the freshly fallen snow. Despite the bright cast to the sky, the winter winds moaned stormy around her. Catriona secured the cape’s hood to protect her damp head and ran out into the deep snow.

  She glanced over her shoulder as she fled, her feet and legs sinking into the cold depths, and saw that the outer fortress walls loomed above her. Somehow, the underground passageway had wound its way down and under the stone wall and moat of the keep. She wondered briefly if John knew his otherwise impenetrable fortress appeared to be compromised in brief favor of his foes due to this tunnel’s access. But there was not time to ponder it any longer. Catriona veered off into the concealing safety of the forest.

  No sooner had she approached the edge of the woods than the hoofbeats thundered up behind her. She whirled toward the sound, taken aback by the sudden noise. Shading her eyes from the bright sunlight, she looked up at the ominous outline of a man upon a great steed. Blinded by the sun, the man’s face and silhouette blurred to her vision. But a sense of doom and vague familiarity ate at her gut when he pulled back on the reins forcing his mount to prance in place.

  “Who…who goes there?” Her voice came out in a squeak of fear. The moment of cowardice mortified her yet she could not rid herself of the dry knot in her throat, or soften the pounding of her heart. She could hear shouts in the distance, other riders. But it was just this one who had found her, who almost dared her to run in order to begin a cat-and-mouse chase.

  Seconds passed. The volatile winds stirred her cloak and further chilled her damp tresses. Her body began to shudder uncontrollably. She caught the scent of horse and distant wood smoke mixed with danger. Then he spoke.

  “Hello, wife.”

  Her heart leapt from her chest. Catriona gulped, the forest spinning around her. S
he stumbled back and leaned against a tree trunk just when he moved into the shade. Indeed, Duncan McNicol of the clan Nicol sat mounted before her on a stallion so fine, it could be from none other than the king’s stables. He leaned upon the high pommel of his saddle, his wrists crossed leisurely.

  “D-Duncan?” she croaked.

  He straightened and threw his head back, a deep rumble escaping his clamped teeth. “Surprised, dear Catriona?”

  “B-but…nae.” She pressed her spine into the bark of the tree to ground herself from the dizziness that whirled in her head. With a hunger for continued consciousness, she dragged blessed air into her scorching lungs. “I-I saw ye burn at the stake nearly a year past. I saw it with me verra own eyes.”

  Her pulse thundered with fear and renewed confusion when he urged the horse forward. He leaned down, his red and gold plaid flaring across his knee, and traced her cheek with his gloved finger. The gesture somehow made her stomach churn, made her long to take flight, if only he did not impede her retreat…

  “Me dear Catriona. Ye always were such a clueless, drivelin’ lass.”

  She gasped at the insult and tore her face from his touch. “How dare ye?”

  “How dare I?” He canted his head mocking her in a haughty demeanor she had never seen him exhibit before. “I merely speak the truth, ye whore.”

  She sucked in another shocked breath but he ignored her and went on. “Aye, I saw ye that day spreadin’ yer legs for the sorcerer, nearly ruttin’ upon the bloodied snow. ‘Tis me good fortune that one of me men kent of this mon who announced himself to be John Lawton, kent him to be from the thievin’ band of brigands terrorizin’ England. We journeyed here straightaway after locatin’ a fellow near the border who kent him to be residin’ here. It seems this wizard lover of yers is now due for an execution, as well…since I witnessed his witchcraft me verra self.”

  “Nae…”

  “Oh, aye, healin’ of fatal wounds and disappearances into thin air. Mmm, ‘tis more than enough to throw him before James and see that the chap is convicted and burned to death.”