His dark hair was long enough to frame his broad shoulders, and she let her eyes wander from there to his muscular, sun-bronzed chest. ’Twas lightly furred with ruddy-brown hair that formed a triangle whose point curled downward toward—
Her breath escaped in a ragged gasp as her gaze took him in, fully erect and frighteningly beautiful in the dancing firelight.
A sudden flash of heat surged from her core through belly and breasts, flushing her cheeks with warmth. Her nipples burned against the silk of her night rail.
She tore her eyes away and met Iain’s steady gaze. In it she read desire, hunger—a barely leashed, feral energy that caused her heart to skip a beat.
“Are ye afraid?”
“Nay,” she lied. He took a step toward her and she tensed. Her reaction registered in his eyes. “Well, maybe a little.”
The edges of his mouth curled in a smile. “Dinna worry. ’Twill be all right.” He grazed a finger along her cheek, then trailed it down her neck and across her shoulder to the edge of her shift. She shivered in anticipation.
He slid the silken fabric off her shoulder, revealing the swell of her breast, then trailed his finger across her collarbone to the other side. Her heart pounded, her breathing grew rapid as he paused, his eyes drinking her in.
He flicked the embroidered edge of the gown and it slid to the floor, sparking a thousand tiny nerves as it silked across her skin. A soft cry escaped her throat, and he responded with a low growl.
His eyes roamed her nude body, then finally lit on hers. She searched their depths for some sign of approval. “Truly,” he whispered, “I dinna deserve such a woman.”
Without reservation she stepped into his arms. He kissed her long and tenderly, his hands exploring, stroking, teasing. Her skin ignited under his feather-light touch and she could not control the soft moans that escaped her throat. Growing more and more bold, she ran her hands across the heated expanse of his tightly muscled back and buttocks.
He groaned and swept her off her feet, bearing her back onto the bed. ’Twas covered with animal hides and she reveled in the feel of the soft, cool fur against her heated skin. He stretched out next to her and continued the gentle stroking, his hand moving slowly over her breasts.
Her nipples burned as he teased them with his fingertips to tight, hard peaks. She fisted a handful of his hair as he leaned down to suckle each in turn.
“Oh, sweet heaven.”
He kissed her softly on the mouth, then raised his head to look at her. His hand trailed lower, coming to rest in the triangle of golden curls that shielded her sex, the soft woman’s place that now throbbed with a need she’d never before known. She held his gaze as his fingers delved deeper. The sensation was something she was completely unprepared for. She gasped and arched against his hand.
“’Tis hot,” he breathed, his eyes burning into her.
With a shock, she felt his velvet hardness pulse against her thigh. What had she expected? She didn’t really know, and no longer did she care. She closed her eyes, sinking deeper into the furs. His fingers teased her, and she thought she might go mad with the pleasure of it. When his mouth closed over her nipple, she abandoned herself completely to his loving.
As his strokes grew faster, his suckling harder, the room seemed to close in on her. She dug her nails into his shoulders, her strangled moans rising up into a soft, high keening.
“That’s it, love,” he whispered against her breast.
She felt a growing tightness, a deep welling inside her, a converging of raw emotion and acute sensation akin to nothing she’d ever experienced.
He abruptly took his hand away and her eyes flew open, her need screaming in on her. She hovered on the edge of something wondrous, but she knew not what it was or how to reach it—only that he would take her there.
“Nay, do not stop.”
He smiled, then spread her legs, positioned himself between them. “I dinna intend to stop.”
To her astonishment he lowered his head, eyes riveted to hers, and slipped his tongue inside her. She bucked in his arms from the unexpected bliss.
His warm breath silked across her thighs and over the sensitive petals of her flesh, cooling her skin. She sank deeper into the furs and closed her eyes, letting him take her where he would.
He teased the white-hot center of her, stirring in her a pleasure, a madness, she’d not thought possible. The tightness surged again, the deep centering of all perception, all emotion, and swept her toward some unknown pinnacle.
She gripped the bed furs as she reached its startling peak and was borne unto a place outside her body, yet grounded there. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. She was conscious of crying out, but the sound seemed far away and muffled by the roaring in her head.
Iain slid on top of her, covering her body with his own. His desperate need was revealed in the intensity of his expression and in the furious beat of his heart as he settled his weight upon her.
Instinctively she wrapped her legs and arms around him, clinging to his heated body, desperately needing to hold him, to be one with him, to be his. He kissed her tenderly, with a reserve that she knew came hard for him. His arm slipped ’round her waist and held her fast. They moved in unison, their bodies melding, until she felt his silken hardness nudge gently at the entrance to her body. Between fervent kisses he whispered words of love, and her heart soared.
“Hold me tight, love,” he breathed.
He kissed her fiercely, and she opened herself to him, wrapping her legs around his hips. His grip on her tightened and with one, quick thrust he sheathed himself within her.
Her passion dissembled into sharp, brilliant pain. She cried out, pushing against him with the whole of her body, but he held her fast, pinning her to him to still her struggle.
“Easy, love. That’s the worst of it.”
She trembled in his arms as he showered her face with small, delicate kisses and whispered sweet words of comfort and love. After a moment the throbbing within her subsided and she began to relax, reveling in the dark pleasure his assault wrought from her body.
He kissed her long and lovingly, and she read in his face, his eyes, his struggle to lie still, as if to let her body adjust to his invasion. Velvet lightning seared her insides as he shifted his weight to his forearms. She thrust her hips upward in an unconscious response. He moaned and surged against her, deepening his penetration, then withdrew.
“Am I hurting you?” His voice quivered.
“Nay,” she breathed, and thrust against him, sheathing him tight.
His eyes glassed with passion. Her hands moved over his back, his trembling arms and broad shoulders. He was hot—an inferno—and sheened with sweat. She knew he struggled to control himself, that he was intent on being gentle with her.
But her own passion surged, his slow thrusts renewing her need, and she arched harder and faster against him, urging him to abandon himself to their increasing rhythm.
“Oh, lass, dinna do that. I…I—”
“Aye,” she breathed, and thrust upward, hard against him. “More.”
He bucked in response, his thighs spreading her legs wider. Abruptly he grabbed her wrists and pinioned them, one-handed, above her head. “Ye dinna know what ye ask.” He began to thrust in earnest then, his eyes heavy-lidded and locked on hers.
His scent aroused her: strong, feral, male. She grazed her mouth along his neck and shoulders and tasted the slick saltiness of his skin.
She felt the tightening again, and her eyes grew wide with new discovery as his thrusts consumed her, controlled her, drove her toward that wondrous peak. Her breaths grew short, her heart slammed in her chest as she arched against him, desperate for release.
And when he drew her nipple into his mouth, gently biting and sucking, she matched him thrust for thrust, frantic, desperate, her nails digging into his back.
At long last, when she thought she could bear no more, he moved his hand between them and teased her into madness. She cried out, and
raked his back from nape to buttocks.
The fire burned low in the hearth, comfortable coals casting a dim, warm glow about the room. Alena lay awake, eyes closed, as Iain absently stroked her face and whispered sweet love words in her ear. His body still blazed with the heat of their lovemaking, and she drifted warm and fulfilled in his embrace.
“Where are ye goin’, love?” he said sleepily as she disentangled herself from his arms.
She slipped from the bed and padded across the cool floor to the pile of clothes Iain had discarded by the hearth. Rummaging in the folds of his plaid, her hand closed over the circlet, the gift she’d given him so many years ago. She bolted back to bed, suddenly chilled, and burrowed under the furs, nestling in Iain’s arms. She cradled the memento. They both looked at it and smiled.
“A lovers’ knot,” he said. “That’s what ye called it.”
“Aye.” She fingered the fine hair, auburn and burnished gold in the fire’s glow, and ran her fingers over the rough strip of plaid that bound it together. “You kept it all these years.” Her love for him filled her heart to aching. She turned in his arms and looked into his dark, sleepy eyes. “Why?”
His smile broadened. “To remember ye by.” He laughed. “No’ that I’d forget that dirty face and wild mane o’ hair.” His smile faded and his face grew somber. “And because I loved you.”
The look of pain in his eyes unsettled her. “What is it, Iain?” She stroked his face, and he closed his eyes and pulled her closer. “Tell me.”
“It’s just that…I loved you…and had promised to come back for ye.”
“Aye, you did promise.” She searched his face, almost wishing he’d make something up to ease the hurt that kindled still beneath her newfound joy.
“And I did. But blast if I could find ye.”
“You did?” She bolted upright, pushing the furs aside.
He looked at her as if she’d said something daft. “Of course I did. Lay back down. It’s cold as—”
“But when?” A thrill shot through her.
He pulled her back down into his arms and tucked the furs around them. “I dunno. Lots of times. But, I didna know who ye—”
“Lots of times?” She looked at him, incredulous. “Truly?”
“Aye, truly. Why would I—”
She didn’t let him finish. He was not prepared for the onslaught of small, violent kisses that raged from her lips. Her joy was immeasurable. He kissed her back, pleased, though she could tell he was confused by her behavior. And then the truth of things dawned in his eyes.
He held her at arm’s length and frowned. “Ye thought I didn’t. Come back for ye, I mean. Ye thought I just…”
She nodded.
“Oh, lass.” He pulled her into his arms again and held her tight. “If ye only knew…”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“Aye, it does.”
“You did come back.” Only he couldn’t find her. Of course he couldn’t! How could he have? He didn’t know who she was. What, did she think he would just stroll into Glenmore Castle and ask for her? Something in his eyes still troubled her. “You would have kept coming ’til you found me.”
“But that’s just it. D’ye no’ see?”
No, she didn’t see.
“I meant to come back. But when I found ye in the wood and brought ye home with me…well, everything changed.”
Now she was truly confused. “Everything changed?”
“Because I fell in love with ye.”
He cupped her chin and squeezed it gently. “I fell in love with you, Alena, but still I loved the girl and had made the vow.”
“But—”
“I didna know ye were both the same person. How could I know when ye did everything to keep it from me?” He cocked an accusing brow at her.
“Ah, now I see.” She smiled.
“Och, lass, ye dinna know the pain that wrenched my gut. I wanted ye so, but I had no right to love ye. I couldna drag ye into all this trouble with Grant. Christ, I could be dead on the morrow.”
But she was already a part of it, he just didn’t know it. She closed her eyes and held him tightly.
“And I had to return,” he whispered, stroking her face. “I’d made a promise.”
She met his gaze, deep as a summer midnight. “I used to go there, to our place.”
“For years Alistair would no’ let us leave Davidson land. I was furious, and young. When I was older I saw the wisdom in it. ’Twas no’ safe. Young as I was, I was The Mackintosh, and we were hated everywhere. But I did go back. Many times.”
Looking into his eyes, she was reminded of him as a boy, that chill morning he made the vow. He had that same faraway look.
“And I must go again. The time is right to move against Grant, and for me to claim what’s mine.” He hugged her tightly to him, grazing his lips across hers.
“But, Iain, you must not—”
“Aye, love. ’Tis already in motion and canna be stopped. Even now, what’s left of my clan, the few crofters and loyal kinsmen who live near Findhorn Castle, prepare to join us in war.” Her stomach tightened as he nodded. “Aye, I was there just ten days ago.”
“At Findhorn Castle? But—”
His mouth curved in a mischievous smirk. “’Twas when ye thought me ruttin’ at Inverness.”
She hit him playfully on the arm. “You…”
He laughed, but his expression darkened.
Fear touched her heart. “Iain, you are too few—Grant will cut you down. Trust me, I know this to be true. His army numbers hundreds, and with the aid of his cousin, George, near a thousand.”
He searched her face, brow furrowed. “And that which I left with ye to safeguard…D’ye have it still?”
She sat up in the bed. “The dagger—the one with the jeweled hilt?”
“Aye.” He gripped her arm.
“Iain, what does it mean? To whom does it belong?”
“You do have it.”
She nodded. “’Tis in a safe place. No one else knows of it.”
He pulled her back into his arms, and she pushed away the dark thoughts that raced through her mind.
“Ah, lass, the sun rises and sets with ye, my bonny, braw wife.”
His words cut her like a knife.
He rolled on top of her and kissed her thoroughly with a tenderness and love she felt in the depths of her soul. She clung to him and closed her eyes tight against the sting of tears. He thrust his hips against her and she opened her legs to him, losing herself in his gentle loving.
Iain burrowed deeper beneath the warm furs and allowed himself to float in that tranquil state between sleep and awareness. Their lovemaking had left him sated, replete, suspended in an incredible calm from which he had no desire to surface.
Alena had fallen asleep in his arms after their second, spirited coupling. He’d watched her for a long time afterward, marveling at the miracle of finding her, his incredible good fortune, before drifting off himself.
She’d been bold that second time. He grew hard again recalling how her lips had seared his skin, how she’d lovingly explored his body with her mouth. He’d never known such pleasure, had never felt such love.
She was his now, and all the armies in Scotland would not take her from him.
He cast an arm out, blindly, in search of her. His hand skimmed the spot where she had lain. ’Twas empty and cool. He groaned and slid across the bed. “Come here, love.”
Running his hand over the coarse linen sheet, he finally connected with something familiar. A smile broke across his face as his fist closed over the lovers’ knot, forgotten amidst their passion of a few hours ago.
He groaned again and stretched, his eyes drifting open. ’Twas dark yet, just before dawn. A dim, gray light outlined the window, which he never covered.
She was gone. He could feel it.
He sat up in bed and blinked the sleep from his eyes, quickly scanning the room for confirmation. Aye, she was gone. He f
elt at once a sharp longing for her, the need to touch her, hold her, prove to himself that last night was real, that her love was true.
He lifted the braided circlet to his mouth and brushed the fine hair over his upper lip. His fingers smelled of her—musky, arousing. He smiled again, recalling her passion, her sweet innocence.
Ah…he understood now. She had returned to her own chamber, fearful of the embarrassment of being found in his room. Her maidenly sensibilities charmed him, but she had naught to fear. She would be his wife and all his clan would honor her. For truth, they loved her already—as did he, with all his heart.
He threw off the furs and rose naked from the bed. He would go to her now, slip quietly into her bed and take her in his arms. He would love her again, pleasure her once more before the sunrise.
Reaching for his plaid, he noticed something amiss on the chest flanking the bed. The hearth fire had all but gone out. ’Twas so dark he could only make out the outlines of things in the room.
Where was the damned candle? He felt blindly along the edge of the chest—ah, there it was. He moved to the hearth, taper in hand, stirred up the ashes until he’d uncovered a glowing coal, then lit the wick. The room burst into soft light.
He turned toward the chest and froze, his heart skipping a beat. The finely carved box lay open, its contents scattered across the rough wooden top. “Bluidy hell.”
Bits of his mother’s jewelry, his father’s ring, a few odd rocks he’d collected when he was a boy. Nothing was missing except—
The contract.
The rolled parchment signed by the Macgillivray laird offering his daughter in marriage. Offering the alliance.
Iain stood there, stupefied, his eyes riveted to the disarray of objects. Who would take it? Why would someone take it? ’Twas of no value to anyone, save—
“Grant.” His voice was the barest whisper in the dead quiet.
He kicked his shirt aside, grabbed his plaid from the floor, and dressed.
Though Iain hadn’t signed it, the contract was proof the two clans meant to align. Grant would know Iain meant to raise the Chattan: Mackintosh, Davidson, Macgillivray. Only MacBain wavered in his support.
Grant would know Iain was coming—coming for what was his. But who among them, Mackintosh or Davidson, would steal the parchment, betray his plans to their enemy? He shook his head, bewildered. Nay, not one of his kinsmen would do such a thing.
The Mackintosh Bride Page 17
