Chieftain's Rebel

by Frances Housden

  Beside her Rory gulped in a swift mouthful of air that made her ask, almost pleading, “Does that shock ye? Mayhap it would. Yer not a man whau has come frae naught like Nils did. His wealth lay in his ability to charm the lasses. I can see now that I was one whau came with an extra prize, being that my grandfather was the Jarl. There were times when I thought Nils hated me because of just that—for growing up with everything he wanted.”

  She stepped back, as if it was his nearness that had made her spill secrets nae one else knew. “Can ye understand why I’ve told ye a truth that belonged to me and me alone once Nils died? I need ye to know I wouldnae think less of ye if ye left us to the results of our own faults. My error was one of pride. I was too ashamed to tell anyone how he had used me, even after he died. Nils’ death didnae change aught, I still believed that harm would befall me if I dared speak out—dared tell the world what a cruel bastard I’d married. Even now I cannae believe that I’ve done what I’d told myself I’d ne’er do—confessed my sins. Ye must have seen for yer self how I once loved being a shield maiden. Finn and I used to practice together every free moment. Nils put a stop to that as soon as we married, but he wouldnae practice with me. Mayhap he was frightened I’d best him … or after a while, too scared to face me with a sword in my hand.”

  She laughed softly at the thought, all her ire floating away with the mist gathering o’er the river, encouraged by the way Rory was looking at her, the warmth in his eyes.

  If only she had met him afore Nils.

  If only Axel had the right to claim Rory as his true father.

  If only she could tell Rory the truth.

  If only he would kiss her.

  Her heart pounded as if she had spoken the thought aloud. She looked up, eyes wide, and saw the answering heat in his.

  But one step closer and it would be as she wanted, remembered. A fistful of reality thumped into her brain. How could she give into the desire that had haunted her frae the last solstice? Mayhap she fooled herself that another encounter would make him recall that night.

  Nae, Ainsel realised she couldnae take the chance and immediately turned her head, watching swift flow of the river that began as nae more than a trickle amongst the hills. “Come with me up the riverbank. There’s something there I’d like to show ye,” she said and moved away frae Rory and temptation, swallowing the disappointment that was of her own making.

  The sway of Ainsel’s hips did naught to cool the blood circling Rory’s brain and surging through his groin, and the caress of his worsted plaid against his hard prick was nae help whatsoever. He had wanted her and she hadnae been blind to his need. In a way he was glad she had been the one to break the tension, mayhap easier for her than for him.

  God’s teeth! How had she borne it, and how blind had her family been not to notice what she was suffering at her husband’s hands—nae fists? She said she had felt shame, yet to him it showed strength, for there was nae getting away frae the truth that Olaf was auld. Nae so much weak as fragile after a lifetime of standing up to yon enemies whau coveted the Jarldom of Caithness.

  Aye, he might have wanted her under him while he pounded into her, but though the look in her eyes said welcome, the lass had been brutalised by the man supposed to love her. After what she had just told him, a sexually motivated approach would show a lack of thought—a lack of care for tender feelings—a truth it surprised him to admit while his need for her still raged in his mind. He caught up with her as she walked through a tunnel of dark green overhanging pine branches to ask, “Tell me, what is so secret it needs to be hidden away frae the settlement?”

  Her lips curved in a warm smile that made it difficult to keep his resolve not to touch her as its effect was like a punch to the heart. He felt in a quandary. He had come roaring up to Caithness like a stag in rut driven by the memory of one lass and within two days he was lusting after another, and all it took to make him forget was a smile.

  “You’ll see in a moment,” she said, “we’re almost there.”

  Ainsel didnae lie, the next pine branch she brushed aside revealed a fiercesome looking dragonhead richly decorated in bright colours that made him glance at her, puzzled. “Why is it hidden away frae the rest? What makes it special?”

  Ainsel appeared to be enjoying his confusion. “I’ll show you.” She climbed higher up the bank, pulling herself up by grasping at branches until they stood above the dragon boat and could look into its depths at the bulky cargo covered frae top to bottom by a red sail. Here the river had carved out a small bay where the water eddied, less swift than the river. Frae that viewpoint he recognised that the wooden boat, though beautifully made and decorated with intricate carvings was a smaller version of the ones floating in the bay.

  “This is Olaf’s dragon-boat. The one he will use to make his journey to Walhalla. He did all the work himself, even built the pyre beneath the sail ready to be lit as soon as he’s aboard.” She chuckled, “Finn says Grandfather wants to be remembered for the splendour of his departure rather than have the settlement watch all their work go up in flames. As if anyone would mind.”

  All Rory saw were the possibilities, but those he kept to himself as his mind raced frae one to the other. “How long has it been docked on the river?”

  “Longer than expected, Olaf was feeling a mite frail after a freezing winter when he ordered the hull built, but as ye saw for yerself he doesnae appear ready to leave. The carving and painting was done on the river, and Finn helped him with the pyre. The sail, as ye can imagine, is to keep the wood dry.” Ainsel glanced at him, a wry glint in her eyes. “Ye can see how swiftly the river flows into the Ness. It will take only a few wee nudges to send both Olaf and the boat out into the current where it should swoop into the Ness as if the dragonhead is alive and carrying him on its back to Walhalla and the halls of the gods. Once it reaches the middle of the Ness, Finn will shoot fire-arrows to set it alight.”

  Rory perused the visual story in his mind, but he would make nae mention of it to Ainsel. Olaf was the one he needed to approach first, and do it in a way that wouldnae cause any offence. Aye, the auld Jarl hoped he would come up with a plan, and he had. That didnae mean to say it was one Olaf would like. His brain was buzzing with notions, as if a midgie had flow into his ear, but given that, he felt more light-hearted than he had since he started his journey to Caithness. So much so they were both laughing as they scrambled back down the bank, he grasping hold of a prickly needle sharp branch to reach the top. The next step he landed on a mossy patch that almost took his feet out frae under him.

  He was still laughing as Ainsel stepped on the same patch as he and slid after him. With his fingers curled around the branch for balance he caught her, pulled close—pulled her into his heat and the words ‘I wouldnae like ye to go for a swim in the river…’ meant as a jest stuttered to a halt.

  She lifted her head to laugh with him and they both tumbled, though not literally until his fingers uncurled and they rolled back to the foot of the bank with her locked in his arms; but all laughter fled as they landed nae more than two arm-spans frae the water.

  The air under the trees was soft and green-scented. He couldnae resist ducking his head to sniff at her neck, drawn irresistible by her scent. It smelled familiar, though not quite the same as the one he had followed to Caithness. Mayhap it was something the lasses at the settlement use to wash their hair, but at that moment he didnae care. With a gentle hand, he smoothed the swath of bright gold away frae her cheek and looked deep into her eyes, as unusual a blue as the waves tumbling into the beach frae the Ness. They made his heart tumble in his chest with his breath locked up in there with it until he felt giddy, hardly able to breath.

  Was it a lack of air that made him dip his head until their lips touched and the gasp she released saved his life—became his breath. Her lips were so soft, full, a place his mouth wanted to land again and again. It took all his control to pull back, to look for an answer in her eyes again as he murmured, “I woul
dnae hurt ye, lass.”

  Ainsel’s whispered, “I ne’er believed ye would, Rory, ne’er in a lifetime.”

  He ached as he watched her lips quiver, making his hands shake in response as he cupped her face betwixt them. Then their lips touched again and he was lost, spinning into a place to which he’d ne’er thought to return.

  She would have had to be dead not to remember the feel of his weight pressing down on her body. He might be big, but not o’er-powering when it came to lovemaking. Aye, she still thought of this as lovemaking, for hadnae the last time they had come together rewarded her with the greatest love of her life, Axel?

  At last Rory kissed–not just a brush of the lips but a full-blooded taking of her mouth—and she nae longer felt the twinge of annoyance at her grandfather and his attempt to throw her into the arms of a Scots Chieftain’s son. She didnae need throwing, both she and her heart leapt as his tongue pursued hers, deep, wet and hot inside her mouth.

  Ainsel hadnae forgotten what it felt like, hadnae forgotten the o’er-whelming response of all her senses to Rory. She had simply been frightened to pull them out of that secret place at the back of her mind, thinking she would ne’er experience the almost spiritual mingling of their tastes again.

  Their kisses deepened and she was panting, sucking down short quick breaths of air that instead of filling her lungs set her head spinning. Rory covered her face, cheeks, eyes and nose with small desperate kisses. Her head twisted under his palms, frantic for his mouth to return to her own. His hard erect male flesh thrummed against her belly, pressing close, wanting in. Betwixt her thighs her opening ran wet with need and when her hands slid around his waist searching for the buckle of the belt holding his plaid in place, the back of her knuckles brushed across the thick round head of his sex.

  Rory groaned in her ear, a long drawn out sound fill with need and longing. “Do that again lass and I might not last. It’s been a while since I lay betwixt a lassie’s thighs.”

  That was when she realised in her struggle to get closer her kirtle had ridden up and her heels were clamped against the softer skin behind his knees. “I want rid of yer plaid, want yer skin against mine and to do that I need to unfasten yer buckle.”

  “I’m in full agreement with that. What say ye I deal with my buckle and plaid while ye drag yer kirtle o’er yer head. I’ll spread my plaid for us to lie on but first ye must release my legs lass. That’s a grand grip ye have.”

  Her eyelids dipped, slightly embarrassed at her enthusiasm, and though she felt sure her face was already flushed she felt the blood rush to her cheeks, stinging where his bristle-roughed face had kissed her. As if he read her thoughts Rory told her, “Ye can tuck yer heels in behind my knees again later, I kind of like the feel of ye hanging on tight to me.”

  She found her smile again. “I can manage to do that, nae bother. In return ye must take off yer shirt. I like the feel of yer muscles jumping under my palms…” she let her voice trail off believing for a moment she had given the truth away, for the last time his muscles jerked as she caressed a sensitive nerve had been almost a year ago.

  Thankfully, Rory was o’er busy to pay heed to her mistake. When she set him free, he sat back on his heels and unfastened the big silver buckle on his leather belt. His plaid slid down across his thighs and she lay mesmerised as he roughly hauled his fine linen shirt off his back and tossed it aside as if the high quality of his garments didnae matter, a sign that he had nae need to worry where his next meal or shirt came frae, like she had during the dark years while she was married to Nils.

  Her grandfather was a canny man.

  Nae matter that this night wouldnae be happening if she wasnae aware how wonderful their coming together could be. Rory wasnae the stranger he had been when she came up behind him last year, wrapping her arms around his waist atop the buckle he had that moment dropped to the ground, sprawled atop his shirt. Last solstice was like another country, another life, when she dared to take hers in her hands in a moment of vengeance against her husband while he rutted with some other poor lassie whau had nae notion of the de’il that dwelt inside Nils.

  Tonight? Tonight was for her, she decided.

  Rory stood up and took her bonnie blue kirtle out of her hands. Now she was nae long covered, lying back on her elbow, naked, as she gazed up at him. He tossed her kirtle atop his shirt then stepped out of the roll of plaid around his feet. His eyes travelled o’er her naked skin frae head to toe, leaving a lick of fire in its wake. She fixed her view on his prick. Long and hard, it bobbed as if beckoning, waving her to come closer and get it, and each time it moved, his sack drew up tight betwixt his thighs, the balls nestling inside showing at their best.

  She discovered more to cogitate upon as he folded the long length of his plaid a few times then spread it out next to her. Obviously she would have to roll onto it from where she lay, and she wasnae right sure about giving him such an unfettered view of her behind, aware that childbirth and the lack of shield training o’er the last few years had increased the width of her hips. “Dinnae look at me when I roll across to the plaid, I’ve a notion it might not be a bonnie sight.”

  “I can take care of that,” he told her and knelt on one knee, slipping both arms beneath her while he lifted her o’er onto the plaid. “Take it frae me lass, I have nae problem looking at an arse that sways the way yours does when ye walk. I was hard frae the moment I began walking behind ye, and I’d be lying if I didnae say I enjoy something I can get a grip on.” A bit of information, which might have sounded a deal more complimentary if Rory hadnae happened to be chortling while he spoke.

  However, she was left nae time to ponder, for as soon as he laid her down and spread her thighs so that he could get down on his knees betwixt them, staring down at her mons as if he liked what he saw, with a gaze that made her burn in response, his hands skimmed the tender skin of her inner thighs with a gentleness that made them tremble. “Ye look so bonnie I could just kiss ye, lass.” His fingers stroked her. “Is that something ye would find offensive?” he asked. Ainsel shook her head, meaning that she wouldnae mind, somewhat surprised to find that for all his need was obvious—his sex jutting hard frae his groin—he was keeping his word not to hurt her.

  How could she object to that most personal of kisses when he was the only man to share a touch of his lips down there, to give her a pleasure she hadnae known existed.

  That’s why she was surprised when he bent over her and gathered her into his arms and began kissing her lips as if nae pause in his effort had occurred and to tell the truth it didnae feel as if it had. As soon as his mouth covered hers she fell back in thrall with the heated taste of his lips and tongue as they played with hers. Needing to be closer, she coiled her arms around his strong neck and climbed higher, nearer, wrapping her legs around his waist to trap his hard length betwixt their bodies and still the kiss went on.

  She slanted her mouth across Rory’s, breathing in through her nose air that smelled of him, a mix of sweat and sea salt combined with a scent that was completely male—all Rory. As she sank into his kiss, every breath she took grew shorter, shallower. Suddenly Ainsel’s world turned dark. So dark she had to wrench her mouth away frae Rory’s lips, searching for space—for air.

  Shudders wracked her body and soon she was quivering in Rory’s arms, clinging to him, desperate for an easy breath, then he was smoothing the hair back frae her face, lifting brow away the long strands that stuck to her damp brow. “Lass, lass, slow down. We’ve all night.” He lowered her down until his hands disappeared and the tightly woven worsted grazed her skin.

  In all his years of experience, nae female had near fallen apart in his arms. Ainsel was special, she didnae shiver frae cauld but through an excess of emotion. As her back touched the protection of the plaid his mother had ordered woven for him, he slid his hands up until they brushed the sides of her breasts. Wearing the plaid had always brought comfort, thoughts of Dun Bhuird his family, safety if naught else.


  The next time he kilted it into pleats around his waist it would be Ainsel he thought of as she lay back, all smooth, fair skin against the dark-coloured squares—colours that his mother and her mother afore her had wrung out of the plants of the Cairngorms: home. And now he would be able to see Ainsel there laid out afore him like a feast. He began by plumping her breasts up give him better access to the pretty pink crowns of her breasts.

  Fool, he cursed himself as her breast milk began to flow, then he looked down and saw the light spread of hair on his chest was damp.

  She watched the direction of his glance and began to apologise. “I’m sorry—“

  “Nae, it’s for me to be sorry. It was thoughtless of me not to take Axel into account.”

  “Usually I wear a linen band around my breasts, but he’d been fed and I suppose my own vanity made me abandon it tonight,” she confessed, making him smile as he wondered if it was vanity that kept her hands at shoulder level where he had placed them with her breasts pouting at him waiting to be kissed, tempting.

  “Would it bother ye if I…?” he dipped his head toward her nipples and licked his lips.

  She hesitated, her eyes sending him as clear a message as her words. “It doesnae repulse ye?”

  His chest swelled with desire. How could he explain the emotions the thought of truly tasting her stirred in his chest and his loins. “Naught about ye repulses me, Ainsel. To my mind yer the perfect image of womanhood and I want to make love with ye so badly.”

  Smiles could say so much, and with Ainsel’s lips deep red and swollen frae the rough usage by his mouth, the curve of hers was pure temptation, and she soon confirmed that. “Then it would seem we both want the same thing.”

  There was nae need for a second bidding. He leaned closer, elbows bent, weight supported by his hands as he touched the tip of his tongue to her breast and tasted. Ainsel whimpered. Her nipples were dark and tight; Rory swooped in and sucked gently but his eyes werenae on the prize, it was Ainsel’s reaction he watched for, lifting his mouth when she bit her lip. “Am I hurting ye?”