“Are you certain no one can see us?” he asked.
“Aye, nor can they hear ye.”
They watched two guards meet and gesture toward the sea not an arm’s length away.
When they left, his fingers continued to explore. “You’re the one who moans loud enough to wake the dead.”
“Nay!” She glanced up, and blinked.
“Hell’s fire! And I thought the ocean view was beautiful.”
Her cheeks blazed with the heat of her embarrassment. She wanted to turn her head away, but could not. She meant to pleasure him the way a man enjoys, or so her husband had admitted. Fia had asked her if the act was proper, and Skye recalled she had told her friend she believed anything that pleased another was perfectly proper.
I doona’ feel verra’ proper now.
With trembling fingers, she brushed his hands away, and raised the front of his kilted plaid. His massive erection bobbed free, as if the sea breeze had penetrated their private sanctuary. With one hand, she grabbed her quarry. He moaned, and she leaned forward and licked away a tiny pearl of moisture from the tip.
When his hands tightened in her hair, and pulled her closer, she gathered her courage and opened her mouth. He was much bigger than her late husband in both girth and length. He was a virile male, but the sounds emanating from him were more beastly in nature. Each grunt and growl spurred her on. When he gyrated forward and back, and she took most of him in her mouth, she wanted to cry with happiness.
But, when he pulled away, forcing her to release him, she said, “Did I do something wrong?”
Locking his gaze on her, he kneeled in front of her. He was still taller, but he cupped her chin, and kissed her. When he shoved his tongue inside, her womb clenched.
“You were perfect, love, but I don’t want to come yet.”
Tingles raced through her, and she hardly noticed that he slowly lowered her to her back, using the discarded cloak as their bed. Settling on her uninjured side, his hand swept over her rib cage and mound. Sensations pouring through her stole her breath.
“Raise your skirts,” he demanded.
She complied. When he inserted a finger inside her channel, pleasure sped through her, from the top of her head to her chilly toes. Skye whimpered, then a high-pitched keening filled their bubble of secrecy.
“Like I said, you’re loud. You are also incredibly tight, but I know I didn’t take your virginity.”
“ ‘Tis important to men of yer time?” She rolled her hips, but he didn’t let go.
“No, but I had worried I might ruin you, if that’s the term women of your time use.”
“Aye, Jake, ruin me again.”
He laughed, but she suspected he knew she spoke in jest. Would he ask who was her first? When he slipped a second finger inside her, and circled her pleasure nub with his thumb, she shook away the intrusive memory of her dead husband.
“You are so wet, and responsive. I’m so hard, I don’t think this will take long.”
Should she tell him she had no idea how long the spell would keep them hidden? She released a pent-up breath and said, “Love me, Jake.”
Her words apparently snapped what little restraint he harbored. His fingers disappeared, and she barely felt the weight of him as he mounted her. Cocooned beneath him, his scent filled her. With the taste of him on her tongue, she opened her thighs to receive him. The thick tip of his manhood nudged against her opening, still wet from her mouth and tongue.
Jake plunged inside, and she gasped. She had never felt so full. The sensations tingling in her core were familiar, from their earlier encounter, but this was different. Could she allow him to keep the upper hand in their relationship? The question faded the moment he pulled out, then thrust again.
Her body opened for him, wept for him, and invited him deeper. One of his hands wrapped around her braid, and slapped the stone ground, supporting him. The other gripped her uninjured hip. Even lost in lust, he was protective of her injured body. She softened at the thought, and he slipped inside, farther still.
His pace gained in speed until the only sound, beside low moans, was flesh slapping against flesh. Tiny tremors whirled through her womb, spreading along her spine, and exploding in her heart.
I love him.
This was not sex. He was making love to her, with his movements, and moans. She wanted a life with him. Shoving aside those thoughts—thoughts with no future—the sensations grew in intensity until she broke into millions of satisfied little pieces.
When Jake slammed into her three more times, his grunt of release made her pray his seed did not take root.
She would most likely not survive the week.
Cheering voices filled the meadow. Colorful plaids atop tall wooden staffs blew in the gentle breeze, even as dark clouds hovered over the nearby sea. Happy children screeched, as they ran from vendor to vendor. Spiced cider and heather ale dripped from barrels waiting for tapping. Women had dressed in their finest gowns, and plaids in the Gunn, Keith, and Mackenzie family weave were draped over their shoulders.
Skye gave the women the briefest of glances, because Jake walked in her direction. His kilted plaid swayed side to side with each step. He wore leather gauntlets to protect his wrists, and a sheathed dirk at his hip. Her heart leaped.
“Do ye expect a battle during the festival?” she asked, keeping her voice even. Jake’s black shirt was skin-tight. He must have borrowed it from a smaller man. A wide leather belt hung low about his hips. He had tied his hair back with a strip of leather, and it added to his Highlander persona, a title he was reluctant to answer to.
The reason was a mystery, destined to remain unsolved. Even as their relationship had intensified, he still refused to open up. The castle servants told her how the men had gathered, and had planned a battle.
Her secret mission took precedence and, if all went as arranged, the sorcerer would die this day.
“Could happen. Skye, we need to talk.” Jake said, stopping beside her on a slight knoll above the festivities.
Was he referring to her spoken question, or had he read her thoughts? The aroma of musk, sweat, and smoke, the scents she had come to recognize as Jake, soothed her heart. She would miss him as much as she would miss Kirk, Haven, her nephew, and her people. Possibly more.
“Talk if ye wish, Highlander, but I am off to quench my thirst.” Without waiting for a response, she angled past him, and strode toward the ale vendor’s wagon. As she waited her turn, she glanced at the crowd gathering around Bull. The brawny man from the future had an eye for the women of this time. Jake ought to talk to him, before the big man found himself married.
‘Tis not my problem.
Soon, all problems would weigh on someone else’s shoulders. Until she met the sorcerer in their final battle, why not enjoy a tankard of ale with a friend?
“I hope you consider me more than a friend.”
Did I speak out loud?
Shuddering, Skye stood straight and waited as Jake procured two beverages with the remaining coins she had given him, in the stable. She had few funds remaining. Her husband’s empty coffers, and the pittance their tenant’s rents brought in, left her castle in dire straits. She had left her property in a steward’s keeping with the last of her dower funds.
Knowing that the sorcerer had taken over her home had sickened her. After she escaped into the sea, her first concern was for her people. Kirk swore all were safe, but in what condition? She prayed they were well, and she was thankful the women had sought refuge in the forest.
Her entire body shivered, and she rubbed her hands over her arms. Rapes were common, and the sorcerer and his guards could have easily taken advantage of her people, if someone had not warned them in time.
Skye thought of the future. She had left a note in her bedchamber. Everything she owned would go to Alec, which made the most sense. She had no children, no descendants of her own. No one would miss her, if she died while battling the sorcerer.
“Here you
go,” Jake said, handing her an overfilled wooden tankard. The foam dripped over her fingers, and she stifled the urge to lick them clean. Jake followed her with his eyes, licking his lips. An image of his massive manhood filling her mouth made her mimic his actions. Would he let her taste him so intimately again? She swallowed.
“Hungry?” he asked.
Skye stumbled.
CHAPTER 27
When cold ale sloshed on to Skye’s slippers, she stiffened. If Jake noted the surprise in her eyes, and clumsy demeanor, he said nothing.
“Bull is going to turn the caber. Want to watch?”
Skye nodded.
He marched toward the athletic field, and she followed. Her gaze latched on the swing of his hips, and the fluttering plaid exposing naked flesh above his knees. She knew what hid there.
Her cheeks heated, so she gazed out over the wide meadow. One end was clear of people and sheep. Murmuring voices made her glance to the opposite end. Dozens of villagers watched a young warrior, no more than sixteen summers. He hefted a bale of hay onto a pitchfork. His deep grunt preceded his swing of the fork. When he tossed the hay over a pole, clearing it easily, the silent crowd erupted.
Their cheers made her smile, but she turned away. The merriment melted away in moments.
Why am I suddenly sad?
Was it because she feared her life might soon end? Was the hope of another chance to make love with Jake the reason she dragged her feet about finishing her mission? A bigger question was why the Mackenzie and Keith clan was holding a festival, when an evil sorcerer was on the loose.
“Explain to me, Jake, how putting my family in danger will help capture Andreas Borthwick?”
“If you had remained inside the castle, like your brother requested, the danger would be less.”
“Aye, my brother enjoys ordering me about, but the sorcerer recently attempted to take me in the bailey. He already kidnapped me from a garden inside the Gunn Tower’s walls. I would rather he attacks me, than Alec.”
Under his breath, Jake mumbled something akin to a curse. She ignored his growls, but it was difficult to disregard his blazing eyes. The beast inside Jake was destined to show itself, eventually.
In a far off meadow, several kilted men stood naked to the waist. Others wrestled in pairs. Dozens of young women cheered for their favorites, while older men hawked tankards of ale among the male spectators.
“So, you keep putting yourself in danger? Not smart.”
“Ye drink yer ale, and let me worry about the sorcerer.”
Jake dumped his half-finished ale on the grass, slammed the tankard on top of a barrel, and strode away in a huff.
“Ye doona’ want to watch yer friend compete?” Skye pointed to the large grassy field where the majority of the audience stood, anticipation on their faces.
“Nope. He’ll win. He always does.” Jake said, flipping his hand in the air. He disappeared into the crowd.
Skye sipped her drink, then set it beside Jake’s tankard. Thinking about the sorcerer, and their next meeting, turned her stomach. There was nothing she could do about Andreas Borthwick, until he showed his hand once more.
Padding across the damp grass, toward the gaggle of females ogling Bull, her toes squished inside her shoes, she cared little for discomfort. She had hated to remove the dark blue gown she had worn when Jake made love with her on the balustrade, but her homespun frock was inches shorter, so it barely brushed the wet grass.
Out of nowhere, a stiff breeze blew her braid off her shoulder. The sky darkened, its ominous warnings a blight upon the day. Was the changing weather natural? She rubbed her arms, and waited with the other spectators. Most talked about wanting to see Bull’s turn at the caber.
Skye wore an apron with deep enough pockets to conceal potions. She had tied several magic herbs inside oak leaves. Earlier, when she had braided her hair, she used the long plait to conceal two of Jake’s iron hair picks from the set Iona had given her, before marrying Cameron. Other small weapons hid beneath her chemise, waiting. She prayed she would have better luck hitting her target next time. Time was fleeting, so she had dressed for battle.
“Aye, the time for desperate measures approaches.”
Skye turned and gazed down at Dorcas Swann. She could not help the smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth. On one hand, she felt strong and protected whenever the old woman was near. On the other, her presence might keep the sorcerer away.
“Are ye so desperate for blood?”
Skye should have known the wise woman would find out her deepest secrets. “Will I live?”
Dorcas closed her eyes, tilting her head toward the sun. Everything in the valley smelled fresh and clean, beneath the familiar smells of cooked food and distant sheep. A black and white dog yipped, and cut the herd to the sheep herder’s whistle. Highland cows grazed in the north corner, chewing grass with no idea of the danger that could fall upon the meadow at any moment.
“ ‘Tis constantly changing, the future is, but if ye attempt to do this deed alone, failure is imminent.”
“Alone? ‘Tis the only way to get close enough to kill the bastard.”
Dorcas shook her head, a simple chastisement that caused Skye a moment of uncertainty. No, her mission was to kill the sorcerer and save her clan. No one could help, because in order to do the deed, she needed to get close to Andreas Borthwick. Getting close meant striking alone.
Once she did, she would use her magic. Should the magic fail, she had her weapons. She patted her thigh, then rubbed her chest. The hidden dagger and small but lethal sgian dubh were close.
However, had she not failed before?
Dorcas’ eyes were still closed. The small amount of remaining sun swept over the old woman’s gray hair. It shone as bright as silver, as dazzling as the linked chain looped around the old woman’s neck. Dorcas fingered the amber stone in a silver setting, then dropped it back in the hollow between her breasts.
Skye’s body tingled from the power emanating from the golden gem. Clasping the moonstone that hung from her own silver chain, Skye urged the pendant’s glowing stone to drench her with calm. “Alone is the only way.”
“Weapons might fail ye, child. Yer magic is less powerful than his.”
“How do ye know—”
“Because I know him. Once, we were verra’ close.” Dorcas sighed, opened her eyes, and frowned.
“What is it?” Skye asked, suddenly alarmed. The intensity in Dorcas Swann’s expression meant she sensed something.
Something evil?
“Nay, child. I see yer Highlander’s big friend.” Dorcas pointed toward the crowded end of the meadow. Bull stood in the middle of several hundred villagers and other competitors. He hoisted a thick, heavy tree trunk to his shoulder. Hunched over, he marched forward.
The crowd parted as if King James VI walked among his subjects. Bull carried the solid weight of the caber slowly forward. Bull had made a few friends in the castle after the fire, but he was still a stranger, not to be trusted. So, the throng roared with either encouragement, or jeers.
He groaned, and his grunts overpowered the din of the crowd. When he stopped, and straightened, his shoulder muscles bunched. His arms rose under the strain, and the massive caber sailed through the air.
Silence blanketed the crowd.
Skye’s breath caught in her throat, as the tree trunk landed with a thud. It stood upright for a moment, then fell away from Bull to land with an even louder thud on the grass. Bull’s arms rose in rapt satisfaction, and he punched the air with one massive fist.
The crowd erupted with screams, laughter, and, for a few betting on another athlete, cries of distress. Several competitors slapped Bull’s unburned shoulders, while others ran to carry the caber back to the beginning position. A young woman with large breasts, barely contained inside her gown, shoved a tankard of ale into his hand.
He smiled at the lass, warming Skye’s inside. Bull would make friends, enjoy lovers, and raise a family, i
f he decided to stay in the Highlands.
Would he want to stay?
“Dorcas, please promise me ye will aid Bull and Jake in returning to their time, should that be their wish? I might not—”
“Child, listen. Ye have friends and family, that will suffer if ye leave us. Promise me ye will think through yer decision to—”
“I will do whatever I must to bring Andreas Borthwick to justice.”
“Justice? What are you ladies discussing? Politics?”
Skye’s skin sizzled.
Jake approached them from behind, then stopped beside Dorcas.
“Highlander, ye be a sight fer tired eyes,” Dorcas said.
Jake chuckled, the low throaty laugh tempting Skye away from worrying about her looming battle with the sorcerer. Jake was in danger by standing near her.
She must push him away.
Inside, she wanted to keep him close. Touching her, naked in her bed. Such things could not come to pass. Vulnerability was a sin. Love made her vulnerable.
“ ‘Tis simple logic, as Haven said.”
“Logic? What be logic, lass?”
If Dorcas could read minds, Skye’s mission was in trouble. Dorcas would warn her brother, or Jake, and the sorcerer might get away.
“Logic is knowing what you are doing is wrong. Stupidity is when you keep doing it. Drink?” Jake said.
Jake’s explanation was hard to swallow. Did he know she planned to kill the man, for whom the warriors had laid a trap? She had heard they wished to bind his powers, bring him to justice, and imprison him. Death was the only outcome, in order to save her people.
“Aye, logic is one aspect I understand. Stupidity? Yer friend might be heading in that direction.” Skye nodded toward Bull. A large, blond competitor had shoved him away from the young woman who had served his drink. Bull knocked the warrior to the ground.
Shouts erupted, more angry than congratulatory.
“Hell’s fire!” Jake said, running toward his friend.
“Love causes pain.” Skye turned and walked away from Dorcas, from the melee, from the crowd. Her head pounded from frustration and confusion. Jake had smelled wonderful and her body nearly betrayed her feelings. If he had looked at her face, he might have caught the yearning in her eyes. If he had touched her, she might have ignited into flames.
Highland Games Through Time Page 78
