The upbeat rumblings of the crowd sprawled across the grounds encouraged Ramsay to continue. He lifted his left hand for silence while still resting his other hand on Brant’s shoulder. “The goddesses are well pleased with Clan Skene and have so guided me to place my newly found son t’foster with their clan—to train with them and learn their strengths and one day, upon such time as he’s suitably proven himself, to take his place as their chief.”
The stirrings of the crowd were louder now and Ramsay didna miss Katie’s surprised look when he publicly claimed Brant as his son. It couldna be helped. ’Twas one of the several pieces of the game that had t’be put into play.
“Ye will do the goddesses and m’self proud, aye?” Ramsay asked Brant in a voice loud enough for all to hear.
For the first time since Brant and his mother had made themselves known, the young man stood tall and proudly lifted his chin. “Aye, Athair. That I will. I swear to it.”
“But what of me?” Gerta interjected, her face red and scowling as she rushed forward to point a shaking finger at her son’s adoptive clan. “I devoted my life t’the raisin’ of yer son and now all the thanks I get is a moth-eaten coastal clan that doesna have a pot left t’piss in?”
“Máthair!” Brant barked out, his own eyes widening at his newfound courage. “Ye willna say such. Ye’ll be grateful for the generosity of all involved.”
“Like hell, I will,” Gerta snarled as she raised her hand to strike him.
Grabbing hold of her wrist, Ramsay silenced her with a stern shake. “I have other plans for ye, woman. Quiet yerself and listen.”
“Aye?” Gerta jerked her arm free and peered up at Ramsay with a worried look. Gone was the conceit of the whorish vixen. For once, Gerta appeared meek and extremely leery.
Ramsay motioned to Gordon who then led the man they had kept to the shadows up onto the platform. Gerta gasped as the barrel-shaped man, dark and burly as an oddly short bear, stepped into the light, then walked up to her and took hold of her arm.
His look severe, foreboding, and stern under bushy black brows that knotted together above the bridge of his crooked nose, the man glared out at all the faces, staring at them for a long moment before he held up Gerta’s arm as though she were a prize he’d just won. “I publicly stake m’claim here and now on this night.”
Every servant and guest went silent, even the noise of the waves seemed hushed. All leaned forward to hear what the man was about to say.
“Clan Ross may have took this woman in t’care for her son but she’s been a warmin’ my bed for nigh on twelve winters.” He jabbed a stubby iron smithy–stained finger toward Brant. “She claimed she couldna be my wife until her son was settled as he deserved.” He turned back and fixed his bushy-browed glare on her. “Yer son is settled. Yer now m’wife, aye?”
Gerta shook her head. “Nay…nay! This is no’ what I deserve.”
“Ye have the right of it,” Ramsay informed her. “Ye deserve far less than this fine man for the way ye’ve behaved toward all those who’ve shown ye the least bit a kindness. The goddesses are no’ pleased with yer behavior, woman—especially no’ the way ye chose t’treat a protector’s son.”
He pointed at the gruff squat man still holding tight to her arm. “Ye’ll be his wife or ye’ll be cast out. No clan. No hearth. No croft. No one will take ye in. I swear that it shall be so. I strongly advise ye to accept yer lover’s generous devotion if ye wish t’live through this coming winter.”
“I wouldha had ye if no’ for that bitch!” Gerta screeched as she turned and lunged toward Katie.
Her intended yanked her back in place at his side, resettled his grip on her wrist, and solemnly bowed to Ramsay. “She’ll no’ trouble ye again, m’chief. May the goddesses bless ye with many fine sons, High Chieftain, and may evil ne’er darken yer door.”
“And may the goddesses bless ye all the rest of yer days,” Ramsay said. The poor man would need blessings. Gerta was sorely pissed. But it was for the best and she should be thankful that he’d placed her with someone big-hearted enough t’treat her kindly.
Ramsay turned to the crowd and stretched his hands toward the heavens. “Feast and enjoy this night, the last of our celebrations. Tomorrow, we set to refilling the larders and setting aside stores to keep us warm against the coming winter’s icy touch.”
The crowd roared in agreement and happily complied. The heart-lifting sound of pipes, fiddles, and drums filled the air, drowning out the sounds of the sea.
Ramsay took his seat beside Katie, scooped up the hand she had resting on the arm of the chair, and brought it to his lips. “Pleased?”
“I’ll be pleased when this last night of revelry ends and I can get back to my T-shirt and jeans. Will the goddesses snatch us up from here or do we have to go back to that abandoned croft? You know—kind of like a through the stones kind of deal?”
Ramsay’s hopes dropped to the pit of his stomach and dragged his heart down with them. All Katie cared about was getting back. She didna give a whit about anyone or anything other than the twenty-first century.
The old wound in the center of his chest, the wound that the greedy, money-grubbing ex-fiancée of his past had left in her wake, cracked open a bit and added its ache of dread to the already turbulent mix of emotions churning through him.
He didna answer Katie. Couldna trust himself t’speak. She’d said she loved him here. But would she love him more than her career, more than her friends, more than whatever life she’d lived and was so anxious to return to in modern times?
“Ramsay?” Katie squeezed his fingers and shook his hand to get his attention, leaning close, so close she’d be impossible to ignore.
“Aye?” He couldna bear t’look at her—lovelier than anything he’d e’er seen in the dress of a high chieftain’s wife. Lore, we need t’stay here.
“What’s wrong?” she asked softly, cupping his hand between hers and frowning as she studied him. “You really don’t want to go back—do you?” The way she said it sounded like a gentle accusation.
Ramsay leaned back in the chair and allowed his gaze to rake across the crowd, settling here and there on particular folk—extended family, men, women, and children of which he’d grown quite fond in the verra brief time they’d been there. He could do so much here. Help them. Lead them. He finally shifted his gaze to Katie. “Nay, lass. I willna lie. I dinna wish to return.”
“I understand,” she whispered as she released his hands and folded her own in her lap.
“Do ye? Truly?”
She released a deep sigh as she idly rubbed a thumb back and forth across the seam of her clasped hands. “I get it. This is where you began, your origin. You probably feel like you’ve finally come home.” Smoothing her hands down her lap, Katie looked out at the crowd milling about in front of them—eating and drinking, couples clapping their hands in time to the music. “This is your family,” she finished with a faint shrug. “I understand.”
“But ’tis not yer origin,” he observed softly.
With a sad smile, Katie shook her head. “No. Not mine.” She accepted a tankard of mead from one of the serving lads, a somber, thoughtful look shadowing her features as she watched him scurry away.
“It’s so hard here, Ramsay.” Brows drawn together, she turned and faced him. “Life,” she added. She took a sip and motioned toward the boy who had just given her the tankard. “Take that boy. Ten…maybe twelve years old. Already has to work—hard, backbreaking work. If he’s lucky, he might live to see his thirties.”
“There are no guarantees in any life,” Ramsay countered. “No matter the century.”
He had to make her understand, had to make her see. “ ’Tis true life is harder here without the inventions of the twenty-first century. But take a closer look, lass. Look at the people. Life is richer here. Appreciated. Not a moment is taken
for granted.” If there’s one thing Ramsay had noted about the twenty-first century, especially in the Western world, it was that many had no idea just how good they had it. They’d become soft. Spoiled. Ungrateful. They frittered away their days.
Katie rose from her seat and returned her tankard to the small table between the chairs. “I think we’re just going to have to agree to disagree on this one. I want to go back, Ramsay, as soon as the goddesses are willing to send us.” She held out a hand and suddenly looked very weary. “I’m feasted out. Come on, I promised I’d scrub your back.”
“Beg pardon?”
“I owe you a bath for getting rid of Gerta—remember? Or would you rather stay here and feast?”
Mood improving at Katie’s promise, Ramsay rose from his chair. “Lead the way, lass.”
Chapter 20
Her touch inflamed him. Even through the coolness of the damp, sudsy cloth she was languidly scrubbing in ever-widening circles across his back. He felt a bit guilty and more than a little aroused sitting on a low wooden stool enjoying Katie’s ministrations. But if she felt duty bound t’do so in keepin’ with her promise, who was he to argue?
They’d taken pity on the servants, already worn thin with a keep full of visiting clans and managing not one but two immense feasts in such a short span of time. Nary a one could be spared t’prepare the fine full-size bath on such short notice. Katie had forgotten that hot water couldna be obtained at the mere twist of a knob—especially not enough hot water t’fill her specially made bathtub. So, she’d offered a sponge bath instead and he’d gladly accepted. Like forbidden lovers, they’d snuck around Agnes and fetched their own buckets of water for their wash. Then they’d hied up the stairs like runaway thieves, laughing and speakin’ in whispers as they left a trail of sloshed water in their wake. Lore a’mighty—’twould fill m’heart to overflowin’ t’spend the rest of m’days like this.
“I love the scent of this gooey soap.” Katie rinsed out the cloth in the basin and reloaded it with another scoop of the white pasty substance from the small crock. “I wonder how Creada makes it? Flora mentioned soapwort root.” She moved around to stand in front of him. “Sit up straight. I’m soaping you on all sides before I rinse you.”
“Yes, m’lady.” He straightened on the stool, shifted his feet wider apart, and pulled her close between his knees. He looked up at her and smiled. “D’ye no’ think this would be much nicer if ye removed yer shift?” He gave her the most innocent look he could muster. “I dinna wish it t’get wet.”
Barefoot and more tempting in the simple linen shift than any woman he’d e’er encountered, Katie ignored him, intent on soaping his shoulders.
Ramsay cupped her bottom in both hands and squeezed.
Katie paused in her sudsing of his torso. With one blond brow arched, she feigned a scolding tone. “Don’t want to get it wet, huh? I now have a pair of very large wet handprints on my ass, thank you very much.”
“Then we’d best get this off ye so ye can hang it to dry.” In one smooth motion, Ramsay took hold of the narrow shoulder straps of the thin chemise and shimmied the garment down her body into a creamy white puddle at her feet. “Much better,” he murmured with a nibbling kiss up her warm smooth belly.
“Patience, sir.” Katie pushed him back, stepped out of the shift, and padded across the room and hung it over the window ledge.
Ramsay nearly lost the ability to breathe as she slowly returned to him, naked and unashamed. Her ivory skin shimmered gold in the candlelight and the light dusting of nearly translucent hair on her arms and legs made her look as though she’d been dipped in liquid fire. The temptation of her nipples shone as rose-coppered tips on the breasts he intended to fondle and taste as soon as she came within reach. He rose from the stool in anticipation.
She stopped within a few feet of him and grinned. “Your top half is all slick and soapy. Don’t we need to rinse you before we pursue what I see in your eyes?”
Before she could react, Ramsay lunged forward and grabbed her, sliding her tight against him. “I believe I prefer ye to the washin’ rag.” Holding her snug in one arm, he scooped up a handful of water and dribbled it between them.
Grabbing his ass and giving him a teasing grind of her hips, Katie doubled his determination by rubbing her now soapy breasts back and forth across his chest. She nibbled her lower lip across his as she spoke in a seductive whisper. “Public service announcement: we need to rinse. I’m not keen on finding out if soapwort burns in sensitive places.”
“Fair point, lass.” He didna wish any fiery revelations hitting at the most inopportune moment either. “Join me in the tub, aye?”
Brow furrowed and a what are you up to now look in her eyes, Katie nodded toward the paneled wall leading to the small room handily nestled between the lady of the keep’s chambers and the high chieftain’s. “The big tub? In the anteroom?”
“Aye.” Ramsay nodded as he grabbed up two of the remaining unused buckets of water waiting on the floor. “Get the other bucket, aye? And then open the panel.”
Scooping a pile of fresh linens up in one arm, Katie grabbed the last bucket of water and sloshed a bit in her haste to reach the anteroom. Stepping back a bit, she activated the secret opening with a well-placed kicking thud.
Such a fine arse. Ramsay licked his lips as a stray river of sudsy bubbles shimmied down the small of Katie’s back, detoured at the mouthwatering dimple in the top of her left arse cheek, then picked up momentum and rushed down the back of her leg. Aye. The big tub for hurried rinsing and then the fine curve of the bench with the high spindled ends—the perfect height to bend Katie over.
He groaned under his breath as she bent in front of him to set the bucket and linens on the floor. The look she gave him as she hurried back into her rooms for a burning candle to ignite the pair of torches flanking the hearth made him groan louder. “Yer killin’ me, woman.”
After placing the candlestick on the mantel, Katie held on to the side of the tub with one hand as she stepped inside it then motioned him forward with the other. “Get over here, then. This cool metal doesn’t feel half bad after today’s heat.”
Ramsay hurried forward with the buckets of water, set them down beside the others, then fetched an empty tankard from a nearby table.
“Thirsty?”
“Only for yerself, lass.” Ramsay scooped up a tankard full of water and trickled it down Katie’s front, envious of the streaming water sweeping the suds down her curves. He leaned forward and sucked the water droplets from her nipples.
Her fingers tightened in his hair and she rose to the balls of her feet, cradling his head as he nuzzled her breasts. Finally, she broke free and took the tankard, filled it with water, and poured it across his soapy chest. Her unblinking gaze locked on his, she let the tankard drop to the floor. She caught handfuls of the bubbles sliding down his body then slid his tightening scrotum into her left hand while she soaped his cock with the right.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered, eyes half closed as she pumped, making him rock to and fro with every stroke. “Thorough rinsing coming. Promise.” She teased him with a nipping kiss on his bottom lip then gave him a wicked smile. “I don’t like the taste of soap.” True to her heavenly words, she picked up one of the nearly full buckets and with infuriatingly slow care, poured the water over him until no trace of soap remained.
“Yer a wee vixen, ye are.” Ramsay nearly lost his balance when Katie slid her way down his torso and sucked him hard and deep on her way down to set the bucket on the floor outside the tub. “Lore a’mighty, woman.” He laced his fingers in her hair and held on for dear life as Katie pumped in place, sucking him in then out whilst the entire time, palming his bollocks and squeezing his arse.
“I canna take much more,” he finally confessed with a groan.
“Then what say you we retire to that bench over there a
nd I can sit in your lap like I did in the garden?” she suggested as she climbed her way back up his body.
His earlier fantasy of bending his dear wife over the end of the bench and hammering into her from behind until she cried out his name fresh in his mind, Ramsay smoothed his hands down her back, snugged them up tight under the cheeks of her arse, and picked her up. Katie urged him on by wrapping her legs around him and squeezing.
“A fine idea, dear wife. That shall be the first of many positions tonight, aye?” By the wicked glint in her eyes, he knew Katie was in the mood for adventure.
“First of many?”
“Oh, aye,” he assured her in the most serious tone he could muster considering the circumstances. Slowly, he lowered them both to the bench, enjoying every nuance of Katie’s expressions as he slid her down onto his cock then adjusted their positions to ensure he was buried to the hilt. As he cupped both her breasts, she started a slow rocking motion, back and forth, her eyes closed. Ramsay trailed his fingers down, starting at the base of her throat, tickling down between her breasts, then ended at her engorged clit and stayed there.
“I love it when you do that,” she said in a breathy groan, rocking faster as he stroked.
“We’ve three entire rooms and all night, wife. Be thinkin’ of what would thrill ye.” Still pleasuring her clit as she rode him, he slid his other hand behind her head and pulled her down for a long, deep kiss.
Katie rode him harder, suckling his tongue like she’d sucked his cock. Her wet heat clutched around him and she broke free of the kiss with an ecstatic groan.
“After I bend ye over the bench and take ye from behind, ‘twill be yer turn to choose the next position,” he said between a few groans of his own.
Gyrating her hips harder and faster, Katie smiled and gave him a slow wink before she threw back her head and shuddered. “Prepare to be dazzled,” she said in a breathless moan as her fiery hot wetness quivered and squeezed, sucking him hard with the age-old rhythmic massage his cock could ne’er withstand. The time had come. Literally.
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