Her tongue tangled with his, and she tugged at his shirt, pulling it from the belt around his waist. Once the linen came free, she ran her hands up his back, thrilling at the feel of bulging muscle under smooth, hot skin. Heat radiated between them, and her pulse soared.
He groaned into her mouth, cupped her bottom and pulled her against him. The hardened ridge of his erection incited her. She went for his belt, desperate to free him from the wool he wore wrapped around his sculpted body. Hunter grabbed her hands, raised them in the air and drew her chain mail and tunic off over her head in a single motion. He tossed them to the ground, his eyes riveted on her. The sudden intake of his breath arced along her nerves, and liquid heat pooled between her thighs.
Tracing a finger along the edge of her lacy pink bra, he let out an appreciative moan. “What is this?”
“Victoria’s Secret,” she said on a sigh.
“Hmm? Why would Victoria give you this as her secret?”
“No, it’s . . .” She went back to unfastening his belt. “I’ll explain later.”
His throaty chuckle struck a chord that resonated through to her soul. Somehow his clever fingers figured out how to unclasp the front of her bra, and his wonderful hands were on her. Finally.
His thumbs brushed across her nipples, hardening them into buds of tingling sensations that unfurled and fluttered all the way to her center. Aching with anticipation, she held her breath. He didn’t disappoint. Hunter leaned over and took one of them into his mouth. He suckled and ran his tongue around her sensitized nipple, while lightly pinching the other. She nearly lost her legs. “Off. I want this off.” She grasped his belt, too aroused to manage the buckle.
Her dad was going to be very disappointed with her, but she didn’t care. She was going to give it up for Hunter, and the consequences be damned. That thought caused a painful wrench, but then, Hunter undid his belt and she forgot how to think. His kilt fell away. She tugged his shirt off over his head and stared. Oh yeah. Glorious, aroused and hers . . .
“Now you, mo cridhe,” he said in a hoarse voice.
“Now me?” She couldn’t take her eyes off of him to save her life. She reached out and ran her palm over his broad chest, eliciting a sexy growl. Nice. Stepping closer, she placed both palms against his bare skin. “You’re like one of those Roman statues. Perfect.” She glanced up, and her breath caught. His eyes were half-closed, molten and fixed on her. So sexy.
He put his large hands on her waist and drew her against him. His kiss started out as a bone-melting tender caress, turning quickly to a heated demand. His tongue took hers, dominating her response. His hands were everywhere.
He managed to get her out of her boots and hose, and set her away from him. He looked his fill. His chest rose and fell, as if he’d just run a marathon. Hooking a finger under the edge of her pink, lacy panties, he tugged at the elastic. “Another of Victoria’s secrets?”
She throbbed with need at his touch. All she could manage was a nod and a gasp. His eyes flew to hers.
“You are so very lovely, Meghan.” His hands dropped. He stepped back. “I dinna—”
“Oh, no you don’t.” She felt like screaming, or crying. “Don’t do that retreat thing again. Do you have any idea what that does to me?”
He reached for the pile of wool at his feet. “Retreat thing?” Folding the kilt in half, he shook it out and laid it on a bed of pine needles. “None have ever accused me of retreating, lass.” He held out his hand to her.
“Oh.” Flustered, she stammered, “It’s just that, in the past . . .”
He arched a brow. “Aye?”
When she didn’t place her hand in his quickly enough, he strode toward her, scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed he’d made beneath the towering pines. “There will be no retreat this day, mo anam. I want you.”
“OK,” she whispered. “That’s good, because I want you too.” Oh man, did she want him. Every part of her ached and pulsed with wanting him. He laid her down, knelt beside her and skimmed his knuckles along her cheek, down the side of her neck and over a breast. Currents of heat sluiced through her at his touch.
“Are you certain, Beag Curaidh?” His gaze held passion—and vulnerability. “’Tis no’ too late to say me nay. Though I warn you, doing so may cause me to beg for the second time in less than a day.”
She held out her arms. “I’m sure.”
He came to her, held her with reverent tenderness and showered her with kisses. Stroking her with his callused hands, he set her on fire.
“You are so soft, so beautiful.” He drew back to look at her, tracing a finger from her chest to her navel. “Do you ken I’ve wanted you since first you stood victorious over me with my dirk in your hand?” His dimples appeared, and her breath seized. He tugged her panties off, and then he covered her mons with his large hand in a possessive gesture. “Och, lass, you’ve turned my life to chaos, one tumult after another.”
Taking her bottom lip between his teeth, he teased at it. His fingers dipped, finding the sensitive nub between her folds, discovering just how hot and slick she was for him—only for him.
Her insides fluttered. Tingling shock waves of pleasure brought her hips off the ground to arch into him. She ran her hands over his back and down his very fine backside. With a moan, she reached around to touch him. Hot. Hard. He sucked in a breath, and his member twitched against her palm. Running her hand over his length, she reveled in the way he reacted, pressing himself into her palm.
Hunter made a purring sound deep in his throat. He deepened his kiss and stroked her until she cried out in helpless abandon. He covered her, bearing most of his weight on his forearms. His tongue mimicked the act of lovemaking as he nudged her knees apart. Moving to kiss her throat, he murmured something in Gaelic. She had no clue what he said, but the words were erotic to her ears. She wrapped her legs around his hips and urged him closer.
Reaching between their sweaty bodies, Hunter guided himself to her opening and teased her clit with the tip of his member. She was going to die if he didn’t fill her soon. A spool of sensual tension wound tighter and tighter within her. She arched her hips up. He eased his way inside, the foreign fullness making her mindless. When he came up against the thin barrier, he pulled back. His heavy breathing filled her ears. “Och, Meghan. I—”
“Don’t. Stop.” She pulled him closer. One strong thrust, and he broke through. The tear stung, but only for a second. She shifted her weight, trying to get more comfortable.
He cradled her head with his hands and rested his forehead against hers. “I did no’ mean to cause you pain.” His hips moved slowly in an enticing circular motion. “Are you all right, Beag Curaidh?”
She stroked his cheeks. “I’m fine, Hunter.” Drawing his face to hers, she kissed him. He moved against her. She met him halfway, and once again the tension built, climbing toward the peak of sexual ecstasy. They found their rhythm, rocking together in a dance as old as time.
“You’re so tight, so perfect, mo cridhe. ’Tis as if . . .”
She would’ve asked him to complete his sentence, but she shattered into spasms of pleasure so pure and so all-consuming that speech was beyond her. He strained against her, his thrusts faster, erratic, until a pulse of heat exploded inside her as he climaxed.
He collapsed. She could hardly breathe from his weight, and yet she didn’t want him anywhere else. His heart pounded next to hers, and his labored breathing against her neck sent a wave of emotion crashing over her. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked his back. Love. Longing. Babies, a home and hearth with him—she wanted it all, and she wanted it with Hunter. If he asked her to stay, she would.
He drew in a long breath and let it out on a sigh. “What am I to do with you, lass?” He lifted himself to peer at her. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes roamed over her face with a possessive glint. “Och,
never have I been so torn in two.”
She swallowed. “You could ask me to stay.”
He rolled over to his back and covered his eyes with his arm. “Nay. I canna afford you.”
“What do you mean? I don’t eat that much, and—”
“’Tis no’ your keep that concerns me, woman. ’Tis your safety.” He lifted his arm to glower. “I’m riding into a war that has lasted a decade. I dinna ken who my enemies may be, or who I might call ally. You heard Cecil. My clan is corrupt with MacKenzie spies. If I kept you, there are those who would use you to get to me. I canna afford to be distracted by worry. I canna allow myself such vulnerability. Too many lives depend upon me now.”
“A few minutes ago you said you couldn’t lose me, and now—”
“To death. I canna lose you to death. In your own century, you’ll be safe. Once you are returned to your kin, I will ken you live, that you are safe and far from harm. ’Tis best.”
“You don’t know that,” she muttered. “I could be hit by a bus or something.”
He got up and started gathering their clothing. “’Twould be foolish indeed to divide my attention between protecting you and executing my responsibilities as baron and laird to my clan. I vowed to do what is right. I swore to see you returned to your family. No matter how I wish things were otherwise, that is what I intend to do.”
She shot up and snatched her undies from his hand. Her face burned with mortification. “Stupid, stubborn, horny, self-serving . . . man. It would’ve been nice if you’d mentioned all of this before we had sex.”
“Whilst we were caught up in the throes of our passion? Would it ha’ made a difference to the outcome?” He untangled and separated her chain mail from her tunic and handed them both to her. “I’ve ne’er made it a secret that I intend to see you home, lass. I vowed as much the day I took you through Madame Giselle’s tent.”
She glared. “Of course it would have made a difference. If you’d made that little speech before making your move, I wouldn’t have given myself to you.” Liar. Oh, how she wished her voice hadn’t broken at the end of that last sentence. Such a fool.
“I . . .” She fought to control the tremor in her voice. “I’m going to the lake to wash.” Embarrassment heated her face. Despair seized her heart.
Hunter pulled his shirt over his head, jammed his arms through the sleeves and grabbed his sword. “I’ll go with you.”
“No.” She pointed a finger at him. “You won’t. I don’t want you anywhere near me.” What she wanted was a few moments of privacy to muster her defenses. What she needed was a year or three to mend the rift in her soul.
“Meghan, you own my heart.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “And I am no’ pleased in the least. ’Tis a weakness.”
He saw his feelings for her as a weakness? She owned his heart, and that gave him nothing but unhappiness. Her throat closed up. “I suppose you’ll keep pestering Sky to marry you.”
“Nay. That is done. To produce an heir, I must wed eventually, and I will do so out of duty. I ken you think me selfish, but what I do, I do to keep you safe. If you stayed and perished because of me, I would go mad. In your own time you are certain to live out your life as you were intended.” He grunted. “Aye, ’twould be far more selfish of me to keep you here than to send you home.”
“Don’t kid yourself, Hunter,” she gritted out between her clenched teeth. “What you do, you do to keep yourself safe.” She pulled on her boots, grabbed her torn hose and headed for the lake—buck-naked. “You are an ass—a delusional ass with an ego the size of the Grand Canyon,” she shouted. “Thickheaded doesn’t begin to describe you. I’m done beating my fists against your steel-plated armor. Done.”
The tears started the second she left the clearing. Seething, she continued to mutter insults at the man all the way to the shoreline. Dumping her things on the ground, she waded into the frigid water. She washed her inner thighs, painfully aware of the soreness inside. “Stupid decision on my part.”
She’d been under the influence of raging hormones and turned on by seeing Hunter in action as he defended her. She had mistaken relief and gratitude for something else. That’s all there was to it. Lust and adrenaline were a deadly combination. A sob broke free, and she admitted the truth. It would take her a while to talk herself out of loving Hunter.
Once she finished washing, she dressed quickly and returned to the clearing. Why oh why hadn’t they thought to bring Cecil’s gelding with them? Riding so close to Hunter would be torture.
Dressed and ready to go, Hunter handed her a piece of jerky and half of an oatcake. “Eat, and then we’ll be off. The rest of the men await us at Loch Dún Seilcheig.”
Without a word, she accepted the food. It might’ve been cardboard for all she cared. Bite, chew, swallow and repeat. She ate until her stomach was filled and the food was gone.
Hunter took Doireann to the lake for a drink, and while he was gone, she surveyed the small clearing. She’d never see this place again, and that was a good thing. Losing her virginity was supposed to be special, not heartbreaking.
Her mother and father had told all three of their children over and over about the promises and commitment they’d made to each other before making love. They’d admonished her and her brothers not to take such a thing lightly, not to just give it away. She bit her lip. They’d be so disappointed.
Sadness settled over her, weighing her down like a pile of stones had been heaped onto her shoulders. Hunter rode back to the clearing. He took his foot out of the stirrup, and she clamored up behind him. Instead of putting her arms around his waist, she gripped the cantle at the back of his medieval saddle. Once more they were on the road, facing a long stretch of silence. She had nothing more to say and nothing more to give. Time to go home.
The sun had begun to set by the time she and Hunter rode into camp. Tieren and the others greeted them and asked what had become of Cecil. The campsite lay hidden behind a thick tangle of brush situated near the shore of yet another pristine lake. Exhausted, Meghan slid off Doireann’s rump while Hunter related what had occurred. He bragged on her behalf, telling them all how she’d taken her stand atop a mighty boulder. She didn’t want to be reminded.
“Aye,” Hunter boasted. “I heard her taunt him. If I had no’ gotten there when I had, ’tis sure Beag Curaidh would ha’ slain the knave herself.”
“’Twould ha’ been her second kill this day,” said one of the other soldiers, flashing her a grin. “She saved your life this morn, my lord. Did she no’, lads?”
A round of ayes and nods were directed at her. She wanted to hide.
“Meghan.” Tieren leaned over his pile of belongings and pulled something out. He approached with her sword and scabbard in his hands. “I found your scabbard with the packhorses and your sword on the ground.”
“Oh, thank you.” She blinked hard, took them from him and buckled the belt of her scabbard across her chest. “I had hoped someone would pick them up.”
“Come. Sit by the fire.” Tieren’s gaze went to the bruise at her temple and then to her knees. “You look as if you could use a good rest, lass. Whilst we awaited your return, the lads and I did some fishing. Have some supper.”
At the mention of rest, she yawned. She nodded and made her way to the campfire.
Hunter handed his horse off to George and followed behind her. “Were you able to rout the remaining MacKenzies, Tieren?”
The deep timbre of his voice brought a fresh ache to her chest. They hadn’t spoken at all since they’d set out for camp.
“Aye, all but their commander.” Tieren grunted. “I thought it best to let him escape. We want him to return to his master with news of their defeat, aye? I dinna think we will see more MacKenzies between here and Castle Inverness. I’ve seen no sign of the two we sent ahead. I fear they were slain.”
“I thought the
same during the battle. The MacKenzies will pay dearly,” Hunter decreed. “For every man we lose, they shall lose ten.”
The men shouted with bloodthirsty approval and pumped their fists in the air. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Did anyone think to bring my horse along?”
“For certes, my lady,” a burly redheaded soldier said, his expression incredulous. “Think you we’d leave something as valuable as a well-trained destrier behind?”
The others laughed, and she rose to move somewhere else. She wanted privacy. She was sick of men, especially kilted, bloodthirsty warrior types. A path led down a slight hill to the lake. She took it, wanting nothing more than to be alone.
Meghan found a secluded spot overlooking the lake. She sank to the ground, her bruised knees protesting the movement. Leaning back against the trunk of a pine, she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the breeze whispering through the trees. Birds trilled from tree to tree, and their chittering sounds soothed her raw nerves.
Letting her mind wander, she relaxed each one of her sore muscles. She no longer wondered why she’d been brought to fifteenth-century Scotland. Her task had been to save Hunter’s life. She’d done it, and now . . . Now she’d leave this place. So much had happened since the day Hunter had pulled her through Madame Giselle’s tent. She rubbed her face. Good Lord, she’d killed two men!
She’d lost her virginity. No regrets. Hunter had said she owned his heart. He’d suffered so much loss as a child. She understood why he took the stance he did when it came to her, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. He had things all wrong, of course, but it wasn’t her job to straighten him out.
“Meg,” Tieren said, appearing beside her. “I’ve brought you some supper.” He lowered himself beside her, placing a large leaf holding a steaming piece of fish and some berries on her lap.
The Highlander's Folly (The Novels of Loch Moigh Book 3) Page 24
