“Do ye like that?” he asked, his voice a seductive demand.
She had no notion whether he was asking if she liked him calling her his beautiful wife or if she liked what he was doing to her, so she said, “Yes,” as he slid his fingers under the neckline of her gown and tugged it and her léine down to expose one of her breasts, which was instantly covered with gooseflesh from the cool night air. But within a breath, he leaned down and took her other breast in his hand to tease her nipple while the bared one was claimed by his hot, seeking mouth.
She jerked in shock, then arched toward him with the exquisite pleasure of it and the desperate need to ensure he did not stop. She could hear herself practically mewling like a kitten, but she didn’t care. She brought her hands to his shoulders, wanting to push his head nearer but embarrassed to show such boldness, such wantonness. Yet, when he began to pull her nipple harder into his mouth, whatever shyness she possessed disappeared. She curved her hands over the corded muscles of his shoulders, ran them up the back of his neck, and twined them into his thick hair, only to push his head closer to her.
He growled at the gesture, but she knew it was an appreciative growl as he pressed his body firmly to hers, the proof of his own desire hard like steel against her belly. Her heart jolted and her pulse pounded as he released her bud just enough that he could tease her with his tongue. He circled her straining bud until she screamed with pure pleasure, and when she opened her mouth to do so again, his lips covered hers in a frantic, demanding, and possessive kiss.
His hands worked quickly to relieve her of her gown, and she surprised herself when she began to tug his braies down. His hips were narrow, his thighs strong, and when her fingers brushed his staff, he jerked and she stilled immediately. She had no notion how they would fit together. Trepidation pricked her haze of desire, but when his hand covered hers and he molded her fingers around his hot manhood, curiosity overcame her fear. She slid her hand up his staff, pleased when he moaned and thrust against her.
“That feels good?” she asked.
“Aye. Too good. I want ye too much for ye to do that again, or ye’ll be in danger of me falling on ye like a rutting beast.”
She giggled at that, closing her fingers around his hard maleness. “And what makes you think I mind a rutting beast?” she teased.
“Ah, lass,” he said, capturing her mouth for a lusty kiss before breaking the contact. “For yer first time, ye need to be prepared so it will nae cause ye too much pain.”
“Too much pain?” she squeaked, the fear trying to return.
“Aye.” He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck as the other hand traced light swirls over her belly, making her quiver. She was suddenly incredibly aware that she stood naked as the day she was born in front of a man. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she refused to back away from what she’d started now.
“There is a little seal inside ye,” he said, roving his hand lower until his fingers came shockingly to rest between her legs. She caught her breath and tried to push his hand away, but his fingers outmaneuvered her and, to her even greater shock, slid through the hair there to part her.
“What are you doing?” she gasped as his fingers touched upon a spot that almost brought her to her knees. It throbbed to life, sucking all the air out of her lungs and all the thoughts out of her head. As he moved his fingers in tiny circles over the spot, her body felt as if it was a knot slowly being wound tighter and tighter. She tingled all over, and her blood rushed through her veins, causing a humming in her ears.
Her senses crackled like lightning, and when his fingers moved faster and exerted more pressure, the strength to hold herself up left her. But Grant was there. His hand slid to her back and held her as his other hand tortured her sweetly until she cried out as a downpour of fiery sensations exploded in her. Wave after wave of ecstasy throbbed through her, and she slumped into him, her cheek coming to the corded muscles of his chest. His heart thundered against her skin.
“Now,” he said in a silken tone that held the promise of a thousand wicked sins to come, “ye are ready for us to join.” Before she could reply, he swooped a hand under her legs, lifted her, and brought her gently to his plaid.
He moved between her thighs and hovered above her. “Eve,” he said, his voice holding an odd tension, “I vow to ye, I will always protect ye. My home is yer home. My family is yer family. And to answer yer earlier question, Linlithian is nae the only reason I would nae give ye up without a fight.”
Her heart fluttered wildly at his words. She opened her arms to him, beckoning him, welcoming him. “Come to me. Make me yours.”
He delved his hands under her bottom and lifted her. “It will only hurt for a minute,” he said, and then he slid slowly into her, filling her and stretching her and then piercing her core. She bit down upon a scream. Yet as fast as the tide of fear rose, it fell as her body seemed to expand to fit his. It helped immensely that Grant held himself perfectly still.
“Are ye all right?” he asked, his voice as taut as a bow.
Was she? She looked up at her husband, seeing only a vague outline of his warrior’s body. “I think so,” she said, wiggling just a little to test it.
He groaned at her movements, and she smiled. Already the pain was subsiding and desire was returning. “You can move if you wish,” she offered.
“I dunnae think I’ve ever wished for anything more, lass,” he said. With exquisite care that she could feel by the rigid muscle of his thighs, she skidded her hand up his taut abdomen and equally stiff arms. In that moment she understood the amount of self-control it was taking for him to hold still within her. Tenderness for him gripped her, and as he began to move his hips, she met his movements step by step. Together, they found a rhythm and then not much later, perfect harmony. Her body melted against his as a new tide rose to take her. She gasped in sweet agony as Grant cried out his own release, and together they reached a place she’d never imagined.
When it was over, he collapsed beside her, then pulled her to his sweat-slicked body and slid his arm under her head. She turned into him, laying a hand on his chest and her cheek on his shoulder. Heavy breathing filled the silence, but soon it gave way to long, slow breaths that filled her with drowsiness and made it impossible to keep her eyes open.
Eve had no notion how long she’d been asleep when she woke, but she had a desperate need to relieve the wine she’d drunk. It was still very dark in the tent so she didn’t think she’d been asleep for too horribly long. Her arm was thrown over Grant’s body, and she could feel the deep rise and fall of her husband’s chest as he slept. She grinned into the darkness at how soundly Grant was sleeping. Kade and Ross had said that Grant slept very little and very lightly, but he was good and asleep now.
Thanks to her, she thought with a little giggle. She slapped a hand over her mouth and froze, sure he’d awaken, but he did not stir. Grant Fraser slept the sleep of the dead because she’d worn him out. She had to swallow more laughter, and then gingerly, she lifted her arm from his body and peeled herself away from the luxurious heat he provided. She dressed quickly in only her léine since she did not intend to venture where Kade or Ross might see her, if they were even awake, and she tiptoed past Grant.
As she exited the shelter, she was glad for the brightness of the moon. She glanced up, recalling a memory of talking to the moon with her sister. “Mary,” Eve whispered, “I’m going to find you. Please, please be alive.” Eve closed her eyes and wished with all her heart, and then she opened them and looked around the lush alcove of the forest where Grant had made their shelter. Just beyond the trees, the water of the stream she’d glimpsed earlier glimmered in the moonlight. It was not so far that she needed to go back for her slippers and risk waking Grant. Eagerness to wash had her hurrying her steps, despite the soreness she felt from the joining.
The soft wet grass tickled her feet as she walked, and the chill breeze cooled her skin. The stream was a bit farther than she’d first jud
ged, but it was not so far that she was concerned. She kneeled at the stream and pulled up her léine to wash herself. When she was done, she cupped some water in her hands, closed her eyes, and splashed it on her face. Behind her, a hand brushing her back made her jerk, but then she smiled. “I tried not to wake you,” she said.
But instead of Grant responding, a hand clamped over her mouth, sending a jolt of terror straight to her heart.
“Hello, Niece,” came a deep, distinctly English voice in her ear.
Niece?
She stilled, realizing that it had to be her uncle Frederick. And then another realization hit. If he was here, now, lurking about, coming at her from behind, then he was not good as she’d always hoped. And he was likely the reason her family had been destroyed. Panic welled within her, and she brought her hands up to claw at his face, but he caught her wrists with his free hand and pulled her arms down against her stomach.
“Lord?” a man whispered from the darkness. “What are your orders?”
“Kill them,” her uncle said in the coldest voice she’d ever heard. “And then return back to the castle.”
Rage mingled with complete panic drove her to action. She bit down as hard as she could on her uncle’s hand, and he released her with a curse. She opened her mouth to scream, but then a fist hit her square in the face, and all she heard were the echoes of her own scream in her head as the world around her went completely black.
Chapter Thirteen
The corpses of the men Grant killed littered the ground. Kade and Ross, who were bloodied from their own battles, faced him. Early-morning sunlight shone down on him, making him squint and causing Kade to raise a hand to shield his eyes. Ross did not blink, nor did he attempt to shield his eyes. He stared unblinking at Grant. “Maybe Eve went willingly with her uncle.”
“Nay,” Grant responded, his body tensing.
“These are Decres’s knights, Grant!”
Grant glanced at the armor of the dead man nearest to him. It had a falcon and a sword emblazoned on it. “She betrayed ye.”
“She did nae betray me,” he said, working his jaw back and forth to loosen it.
“She did nae scream to alert us,” Ross pointed out.
Ross’s damn persistence that Eve had betrayed them irritated the devil out of him. “There are a hundred reasons Eve may nae have screamed,” Grant said, “and ye ken it as well as I do. Someone could have covered her mouth. Or hit her upon the head to put her to sleep.”
“Or killed her,” Kade offered.
Grant felt as if someone had just stabbed him in the chest. Was Eve dead? No. Why would they kill her and not leave her body? Unless…
A notion came into his head that made him want to bellow with rage. He shoved past both Ross and Kade and headed toward the stream. It was deep in places, and he’d not thought to look for a body.
Her body.
Why in God’s name had he not looked yet?
He strode into the water, ignoring the calls from Ross and Kade. He waded toward the deeper section of the stream, though it was not so deep that he could not touch bottom. He scanned the area for a floating body, for Eve’s body. Bile rose in his mouth as he skimmed the water again and again, seeing her image in his head just as he’d last seen her in reality—a peaceful look upon her face, eyes closed, and red hair fanned out around her like a fiery halo.
“Eve!” he roared, his voice echoing back to him into the dark chambers of his heart and the long, deep tunnels of his mind. “Eve!” But there was no response. She was not there. And if she was not there, where was she?
“Grant!” Ross said as he grabbed Grant by the arm and tugged at him. Grant hadn’t even noticed the man had entered the stream. “What the devil are ye doing?”
“Looking for my wife,” Grant said, shoving Ross away. His chest squeezed into a fist, and breath was hard to come by. “She’s not dead.” He said it more to assure himself than anything. “Her uncle must have her. He’d nae kill her. He’ll want her alive to use her.”
“Grant,” Ross said, “Ye must consider what I said. What if she betrayed ye? What if she left willingly?”
He shook his head. “She’d nae.”
Ross put a hand on his shoulder. “How do ye ken? Ye have nae kenned her long.”
Grant turned to fully face his friend, prepared to argue, but a niggle of doubt stopped him for a moment as he considered what Ross was saying. “It dunnae matter. She’s my wife. We made our marriage true last night, and even if we had nae, I would go after her to ensure she was nae harmed.”
Ross sighed. “There’s that troublesome honor again.”
“’Tis nae just honor that drives me to my wife,” Grant said, unable to say more because he could not properly communicate his feelings. All he knew for certain was that she was in his blood now, and he would ride straight into danger, straight toward death, to save her. “If luck is with us, we will reach them before they arrive at Linlithian.” Once her uncle had her within those walls, rescuing her would take an army and an all-out attack, and Grant feared what might happen to her in the meantime. Her uncle may not risk killing her, but he could hurt her in ways Grant did not wish to imagine.
Once they waded out of the water, they started toward Kade, who stood with the horses beside what was left of the shelter Grant had made for himself and Eve. As they neared Kade, Grant frowned. “What are ye holding?”
“Yer wife’s gown and slippers.” Kade met Grant’s gaze. “I dunnae think she left ye willingly. I dunnae ken many women who would depart in nothing more than their léines.”
“Give them to me,” Grant ordered, clutching the items that Ross handed him. He brought the gown to his nose, not caring that Ross and Kade were watching him, and inhaled Eve’s scent. He would get her back. He had to. And not just because she was his responsibility as Ross had suggested. Eve had opened a door within him that he’d intended to keep shut, and now that it was open, there wasn’t a hope to close it. He wasn’t even sure he would want to if he could.
Eve returned to consciousness with a start and a gasp. She scrambled off the bed she was in and ran to the door. She tried to open it, but it was locked. She beat on it, but no one answered. Shaken and confused, she moved back to the bed and sat, pulling her knees up to her chest and becoming aware of her half-dressed state. She shivered from the cold room…or was it from anger or fear?
She shoved at the fear within her. She could not allow it; yet the emotion did not care for her denial. It clawed at her insides, scratching and ripping the armor of bravery and hope she wanted to cloak herself in. Why was she so terrified? She’d faced many horrible things already in her life and lived through them. Yet, the black fright threatening to consume her felt greater than anything she could recall.
Realization came to her like a mountain of snow crashing upon her. Her uncle’s words roared to life once more, nearly bursting her eardrums with their intensity: Kill them. Her head rang with the noise of the words. Kill them, it came again. She pressed her hands to her ears and screamed until her throat burned with her effort, as if someone had lit a torch in her throat. Her screams turned to racking sobs that she could not quell. She sat huddled on the bed, chin pressed to her knees, and she cried as she had not cried since losing her mother, father, and sister. But now, now she had lost her family for good. Her uncle was evil. The last of her blood relations had been lost to her if Mary was gone, and if she could never find her. And what of Grant? He would have been her new start, her new family, and she had not understood how bad she wanted it, needed it, until this moment.
Grant. Grant. Grant. His image came to her, and she cried so hard that she could not catch her breath. Sadness pressed on every part of her, until she felt she would simply die from the weight of it. She rolled onto her back, squeezed her eyes shut, and cried until her nose was stuffy, her head aching, and her vision blurry. When there was simply nothing left to shed and the cover beneath her head was soaked with tears, she stopped and lay there sil
ently, recalling the night before and all the hope she’d found so unexpectedly.
It was that memory of that hope that got her to push herself to sitting and open her eyes. She could not simply crumble, even if Grant was dead, the mere thought of which left her gasping again for breath. She would not be a pawn in whatever plot her uncle had planned. Determination brought her to her feet, and she looked around the room, stilling when she realized she had been put in her old bedchamber.
She gasped with relief as she raced to the large wardrobe that concealed a door that led to her sister’s room—or once had led there. Eve tried to push it as she cast worried glances over her shoulder. When it became apparent that merely pushing it would not budge the wardrobe, she leaned her back against it, braced her feet against the floor, and shoved with all her might, grunting with the effort. The wardrobe creaked but did not move. Girding herself with resolve, she braced again and shoved, and this time, the wardrobe moved the slightest bit. But just as hope flooded her, the door to her bedchamber rattled.
Eve launched herself at her bed, pulling the coverlet over her bare legs just as the door opened and a guard appeared on the threshold with Clara by his side. Her friend had dark bruises under her eyes and a cut lip that made Eve cry out. The two women practically collided, hugging.
“Make her presentable quickly,” the guard said in a curt tone. “My lord wishes to get the wedding over with immediately.” And then he slammed the bedchamber door, and the distinct clink of it being locked filled the room.
God above! If her uncle intended to wed her, he was either certain Grant was dead or he simply did not know she was already wed to Grant. Eve looked at Clara’s pale, worried face. “Clara,” she said in a whisper, taking her hands, “I’m sorry I did not listen.”
Clara bit her lip and nodded. “Eve.” The woman’s voice broke on a sob, which was astonishing. In all the years Eve had known Clara, never had she seen the woman cry. Clara had been like iron—unbreakable. “You know how I do so love to be right,” she said, her eyes filling with more tears, “but in this instance, I would give my life to have been wrong about your uncle and spare you the pain.”
Highland Avenger Page 16
