Ramsay grinned as his nimble fingers yanked free the back ties of her bodice. His expression shifted to a sly, wicked look as he slid both hands lower, shoved away the gathered layers of her skirts, then gripped her bare thighs and lifted while teasing his fingertips back and forth across her aching slickness. As he buried his face between her breasts, maddening her even more with the tickling soft stubble of his short beard, Ramsay shifted to support her against him with his left hand while he explored even deeper with his right.
“So wet,” he whispered against her skin as he teased his fingers back and forth across her slit.
Her arms propped atop his shoulders and her thighs around him, Katie squeezed and bucked as he slid a finger inside her. She hugged his head to her chest, grinding hard into his hand and shuddering.
“More,” she groaned into his hair. “Move that damn kilt!”
“Not yet, m’lady.” Ramsay slid another finger in and ground the heel of his hand against her clit, over and over.
Son of a bitch, he knows what he’s doing.
Katie rocked back and forth, digging her nails into his shoulders.
Ramsay worked the fingers inside her and rocked against her clit harder, playing her like a musical instrument in an age-old song.
“Come for me, Katie,” he whispered against her throat. “I want t’feel ye come.”
“Get inside me,” Katie cried out as she bucked and humped his hand, struggling to hold back the building orgasm that promised to get really loud. “I want to come on you,” she panted. “Get inside me now!”
Without another word, Ramsay slid his fingers out of her, grabbed her by the ass, and pulled her down hard and fast, ramming himself deep inside her.
“Yes!” Katie squirmed and rocked, settling him even deeper. “Yes!” Head back, she rode him hard and gave herself to the primal ecstasy of the orgasm she’d fought to hold back. She might’ve screamed. She wasn’t sure. All she knew for certain was that she pumped and rode and came then pumped and rode some more until Ramsay rolled them to the ground and hammered his urgency home, blending his guttural roar with her screams as he joined her in exquisite blissful release.
Chapter 15
They were skin to skin, the faint thumping of Katie’s heartbeat tickling against his rib cage. This was a joy he’d begun to wonder if he’d e’er know. Ramsay smiled up at the wispy clouds skittering across the darkening blue of the early evening sky. Katie’s soft humming snore blew across the hairs of his chest. Poor lass. Worn weary. A sense of pride filled him. He’d served his lady well.
He propped one arm behind his head and curled the other around Katie, snugging her even closer. If not for the upcoming feast, they’d spend what was left of this day, and perhaps even the warm summer night, filling the chieftain’s private garden with Katie’s cries. After all, ’twas obvious by the benches and rolling moss-covered hillocks craftily engineered and set among the maze of thick hedging that a chieftain enjoying his lady’s charms was why this place had been built.
Flora’s anxious face, highlighted by the candle she held, popped up for the third time in the second-story window looking down on them. Katie would be beside herself if she ever realized just how little privacy the high chieftain and his lady had.
Ramsay waved Flora away with a scowl. In the maid’s defense, she was more than likely anxiously awaiting the opportunity t’come help pull Katie together before the feast and was also probably more than a little worried about how little time she’d have t’help Katie dress. The status of the high lady’s maid in the keep and even in the clan largely hinged on how well her lady was served and presented at gatherings.
That damn feast. Ramsay blew out a strained huff of air through tightly clasped lips. As the third son of the once high chieftain, and especially with the shift to the twenty-first century, Ramsay had paid little attention to his father’s mumblings about clan pomp and circumstance. He remembered some of it, but he’d been naught but sixteen years old when they’d been pulled forward. Sixteen suddenly seemed like a long time ago. I wish t’hell I’d paid closer attention. Thank the goddesses for Gordon.
Gordon had reminded him that tonight’s feast would be the first of several. As each druid clan arrived t’pay their respects and pledge their fealty to the new high chief and his lady, there would be a night and a day of feasting and revelry. ’Twas expected.
A deeply ingrained sense of duty in his DNA forced him to gently shake Katie as he kissed her forehead. Her snore shifted to a higher, more nasal pitch and she cuddled closer, nesting her head more comfortably into the dip of his shoulder.
“Katie,” he said softly, regret filling him at having t’lose the sweet warmth of her by his side. “We must get ready for the feast, lass. Wake up.” He shook her again.
Katie mumbled something unintelligible, threw one leg across him, and squeezed so close that his cock awakened, hardening for another dive into the delicious wet heat that was surely as close t’heaven as Ramsay was e’er going to find whilst still on earth.
We dinna dare. Ramsay silently scolded. No’ enough time.
He shook Katie a little harder. “Lass—ye must wake up. We must dress for the feast.”
By the subtle rubbing against his side and the rocking of Katie’s hips against him, the wily lass was most definitely awake now. “I don’t want to get dressed,” she whispered against his chest, then accentuated the comment by licking a circle around his nipple. “Tell them to party without us.”
Her hand slid down and found his cock in complete agreement and the longer and harder she stroked, the more his bollocks tightened and shouted a hearty, “Aye!”
“Duty be damned,” Ramsay groaned, as he hoisted Katie up to straddle him, grabbed her by the hips, and thrust up to meet her.
Katie rocked, her skin flushed, and nipples reddened by a great deal of suckling. Her jewelry had managed to survive the earlier romp and now the rays of the late afternoon sun hit the circlet about her neck and lit her face with the glow of a golden goddess. He loved the expressions she made as she rode him and had already learned that when she held her breath and bit her lower lip, she was struggling to hold herself back from the edge of delicious oblivion.
Ramsay pumped harder and slid his hand down to stroke her clit in time with every thrust.
The lass was panting hard and heavy now and had given up biting her lip.
“That’s it,” Ramsay crooned, pumping faster and massaging her clit harder. “Come for me, lass. Come for me now.”
Keening out a ball-tingling combination of an ecstasy-filled scream and a greedy growl, Katie slammed both hands against his chest, grinding into him hard and fast as she shuddered and came, treating his cock to hot wet squeezes that quickly convinced him to join her.
Bucking hard and fast, Ramsay grabbed her by the waist and jammed her down against him thrust for thrust, spilling himself inside her until he fell back against the ground—completely spent.
“Lore a’mighty, woman…lore a’mighty,” he panted when he was finally able to speak.
Katie gasped against his neck. “I have never…”
“Good,” Ramsay interrupted, still breathing hard. “Yer husband should be the only one t’give ye such pleasure.”
An earsplitting gong sounded somewhere above them. Then the sound of a horn from the direction of the front of the keep filled the air with a deep bone-shaking howl.
Katie rolled off him, grabbed her nearby pile of clothes, and clutched them to her chest. “What the hell was that?”
Ramsay scrubbed a hand across his face then rolled to a sitting position. “Another clan has arrived. We must go now. ’Tis no helpin’ it. The feast canna be delayed any longer.”
Scrambling to her feet, Katie hurriedly shook out her chemise then yanked it on over her head. “I hope there’s a back way up to our rooms.” She paused, nerv
ously patting at her delightfully mussed hair. “Geez, what a freaking mess. I’ll have to sneak up there and rebraid this or everyone’s going to know how we spent our afternoon.”
Ramsay didna think it prudent t’mention that more than likely, everyone in the keep already knew damn good and well how their chieftain and his wife had spent their afternoon. Not only had he and Katie been quite loud, but Gordon, Flora, and Mistress Macklemurry all had appeared in the windows above t’see if they were finished so the festivities could proceed.
A satisfied grin tickled his mouth. Of course, unless the keep were under attack, everyone concerned would consider the seedin’ of the high chief’s bairn top priority and everything else could wait until such seedin’ was done.
Katie swatted his arm as she yanked her skirt up over her chemise then reached up under it and jerked the layers of linen down in place. “What are you smiling at?”
“Not a thing, m’lady,” he replied with a gallant bow as he scooped up his armor and threw it over one arm.
She backed up to him as she looped her arms through her bodice. “Tie me up and get it good and snug like Flora did so the front will look right.”
Ramsay gave her an affectionate swat and kissed the back of her neck. “Yer maid will help dress ye when we reach our rooms. Ye willna wear yer everyday dress.” He nudged her toward the entrance to the garden. “Yer covered enough t’walk through the keep. Come, I’ll show ye the way.”
As soon as they left the private maze leading to the garden and turned into the wider, more frequently used hallways, Gordon and Flora appeared.
Flora scurried in between Katie and Ramsay, then clucked and nudged Katie forward like a herd dog cutting the chosen sheep out of the flock. “Come, M’lady. We must make haste and get ye dressed for the feast.”
Katie glanced back at Ramsay and rolled her eyes as Flora hurried her down the hall. “I guess I’ll see you at the feast,” she called out as they disappeared into one of the three hallways splitting off from the main one.
Gordon demanded his attention with a single thump of his fist against the armor Ramsay held folded across his arm. “I thought it best t’tell ye that it’s Clan Ross that has arrived.” He scowled at Ramsay as though that information should have some significance.
Clan Ross. There were no Rosses in Brady. At least none that he could recall at the moment. “Clan Ross. What are ye no’ sayin’, Gordon?” Gordon MacTavish was a man of few words, and at times, infuriatingly so. Ramsay had already learned that much. “Speak, man. I dinna wish t’be blindsided at the feast.”
“Blind…sided,” Gordon carefully repeated, his unruly black brows knotting into an even deeper scowl as they walked faster down the hall. “What the hell is blindsided?”
“Surprised,” Ramsay explained as they followed the same route that Flora and Katie had taken earlier, then turned left and entered the chieftain’s private chambers. Ramsay fully intended t’cause quite the stir in the keep once the festivities were over by having the chieftain’s and his lady’s chambers combined. He’d be damned if he slept in a room separate from Katie.
Gordon shut the door behind them and took his post in front of it with his arms folded across his chest. “Clan Ross,” he repeated slowly as though Ramsay might no’ be the brightest bauble in the jewel box.
Ramsay tossed clothing and armor on the bed, then walked naked over to the metal basin and pitcher of water that he’d sent the servants into a panic over when he’d requested the articles always be kept at the ready in his room. The maids had looked at him as if he’d sprouted a second head. It shocked them no small amount that their new chieftain actually wished to bathe more than once a year. ’Twas no’ natural and quite unhealthy as far as they were concerned.
Pouring water into the basin, Ramsay soused a rag then filled it with the sweet-smelling white goo that a maid had informed him Old Creada—the white witch—had proudly gifted the new chieftain and his lady. As he sudsed away the cock-hardening scent of the afternoon’s pleasures, he tossed his words back over one shoulder. “I dinna recall any details about Clan Ross. Educate me, Gordon.”
Silence met the request.
Ramsay rinsed away the suds with the wet rag, grabbed a generous-size linen that was folded beside the basin, and turned to Gordon as he dried off. The man just stood there. Staring back at him. Looking like he was waiting for Ramsay to run him through with a sword.
Hell’s fire and demon’s bollocks. “Friend or foe, man? Are they a danger to the Heartstone?” That question should damn sure get the stubborn fool talking.
Gordon’s entire persona shifted as he vehemently jerked his head back and forth. “Nay, m’chieftain. Clan Ross is true t’the blessed stone and the goddesses. I swear it.”
Ramsay yanked on the fresh léine that one of the maids had carefully laid across the bed. “Then what the hell is wrong with Clan Ross?” The black short coat was next, then he completed the ensemble with his kilt, boots, dagger, and short sword. He didna care t’wear a pair of this century’s trews. Snugging his belt in place, he glared at Gordon. “Answer me afore I choke it out of ye.”
Gordon gave him a thoughtful look then shifted in place with the uneasy shuffling of a man struggling with an embarrassing confession. “They live closest to the ancient MacDara lands. They tended the broch and all that was left after the men of the north…” His voice trailed off and he looked away, unable to face Ramsay any longer.
It was obvious that Gordon didna wish t’bring up the one time that the clans had failed in their oath to fight alongside and support the guardians of the stone. ’Twas a shame all the druid clans shared. ’Twas only by the benevolent stepping in of the goddesses that the stone wasna captured. Máthair and Athair both had oft spoken of it. Even the druids of the twenty-first century repeatedly apologized for their ancestors’ failure. ’Twas time for Ramsay t’speak the words he’d oft heard his parents say.
“All things happen for a reason, Gordon.” Ramsay walked over and clapped a hand on Gordon’s shoulder. “We all are nothing more than mere mortals, struggling t’do what’s right and true. Sometimes, we fail.” He squeezed Gordon’s shoulder and gave it a friendly shake. “But what matters—is that we tried.”
Gordon bowed his head.
“Aye,” he finally whispered then lifted his head and gave Ramsay one of his rare looks that was the closest the man ever came to a smile. He dipped his chin with a decisive jerk then yanked open the door and waited beside it. “To the feast, m’chieftain.”
“To the feast.”
Chapter 16
May the goddesses leave us here forever. This place, this time—this was where he belonged. He felt the truth of it in every fiber of his being. He could already see himself sitting in this same chair, years and years from now, with Katie sitting beside him, and they’d be flanked by their many strong sons. Aye. This is m’home. Surely, she’ll learn t’love this time as much as I.
Ramsay reached over and covered Katie’s hand with his, contentment filling him even more when she turned to him and smiled.
“Again, yer breathtaking,” he said in a low tone to protect their conversation from the ever-inquisitive ears of the servants lined up along the wall behind them.
And she was. The rich deep blue of her gown made Katie’s ivory skin glow—he couldna wait t’free her from it and lend an even fiercer glow to the tempting mounds of her bosom swelling above the low neckline of the dress’s tightly laced bodice.
“Thank you,” Katie replied before sipping from her bronze goblet and returning her attention to the crowd in front of them that was filling several benches in the great hall. She leaned closer and held the goblet in front of her face to hide her words. “Is there anything I need to know about this Clan Ross? Flora was tightlipped the whole time she was dressing me. That is so not like her. Is something weird going to happen since they arrive
d to share Clan MacTavish’s feast?”
Ramsay had wondered the verra same thing himself because of Gordon’s odd behavior regarding the arrival of Clan Ross. But before he could answer, Gordon MacTavish rose from his seat at the far end of the chieftain’s table. In a booming voice that echoed across the hall, he lifted his glass and turned to Ramsay. “High Chief. Bearer of Scota’s spear. Mighty protector of the blessed stone…bid ye that we welcome Clan Ross and allow them entry to join us in this feast?”
Odd. A dread-laced premonition sent a shot of adrenaline through him. If a guest was no’ an enemy, permission need not be requested to enter the great hall and seek counsel with the chieftain. Ramsay lifted his own cup. “Aye. I bid Clan Ross welcome.” Then he feigned a sip of the mead—if something ill was about, he didna need alcohol fogging his senses. No sooner had he set his cup back on the table, than one of the servants at the wall behind him hurried to top it off.
The crowd of men and women seated at the tables running lengthwise in front of the main table, which was centered on the wide dais, all raised their glasses and responded in kind, “Aye!”
The double doors at the other end of the room swung open, revealing a small group of no more than ten or so men. One of the men at the back of the group stood a head taller than all the rest. His brawny, broad-shouldered appearance made the other men beside him appear small and diminutive. But it was also quite apparent that this man, this young man who looked as though he had the potential to be a fierce warrior, was determined t’lag at the very back, waiting until all the others had entered, as though he had no right to expect anything different.
A white-haired man, bent in form and with hands slightly trembling, bearing the broach of Clan Ross on his shoulder, led the men through the maze of tables in the hall, and brought them to stand directly in front of the chieftain’s table.
With head bowed and holding tightly to his staff, the elderly man lifted his hand over his head in a submissive gesture. “Forgive me, Protector, for no’ takin’ a knee. If I do, I fear I’ll ne’er rise again. But I assure ye, Clan Ross reveres ye like no other.”
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