by Amy Jarecki
“N-no, wait!”
But before the words escaped her lips, she was riding on his back as Ciar worked his arms and legs, making the water splash everywhere. When he stopped, he wrapped an arm around her waist and coaxed her around to his front—skin to skin, her breasts molding into his chest. “Are ye still cold, lass?”
“Aye, though not as much as before.” Unable to touch bottom, she wrapped her legs around him, needing warmth, needing him. “Y-you?”
“Invigorated. Och, I reckon the water on the hob ought to be steaming by now. What say you we go fill a half barrel and warm our bones?”
“Oh, yes.” Her teeth chattered. A warm bath never sounded so good—as long as they were together. “We mustn’t delay a moment longer!”
* * *
“Stand in front of the fire whilst I fill the half barrel,” said Ciar, ushering the lass forward by the shoulders.
“I-I’m soooo c-cold.”
Her lips were blue, and her entire body shivered as Albert dashed in circles around the chamber, acting as if he’d never been so happy to be dripping wet.
Ciar tucked his plaid around his hips, fetched the tub from the storeroom, and rolled it into the center of the room. “I’ll just pour in the hot water and temper it with a wee bit of cold.”
Clinging to her blanket, Emma nodded. “W-we have the rose soap that Nettie sent over.”
“Aye.”
Archie’s wife had also provided a spare shift for Emma, hazelnuts, and a leg of roast mutton, bless her.
He used a folded cloth to pull the pot off the hob and waddled across the floor so not to burn his thighs. Thank God Emma couldn’t see his duck walk, nor anyone else for that matter. He’d never hear the end of it.
Once he’d readied everything, he stepped back. The soap and sponge were in a bowl beside the tub. Drying cloths were draped across a chair where they wouldn’t be splashed. And Emma’s lips were almost pink again.
He took her hands. “Are you ready?”
“Is it warm?”
“Aye.” The dog dipped his nose into the bath and sputtered while Ciar led her across the floor. “Albert thinks so as well.”
Emma snorted. “You’ll have to wait your turn, ye hairy mop.”
He dropped his plaid with a whoosh. “Will you mind if I step in first?”
“Will we both fit?”
“If I dangle my legs over the edge.”
“Will that be comfortable for you?”
Ciar brushed her cheek with his knuckle. “With you in the bath with me, it will be like floating on a cloud.”
“You say the nicest things.”
“Only because you bring out the cordial ogre in me.”
“Why ogre?”
Ciar submerged himself into the tub backside first. Warm water sloshed up to the center of his chest. “Because I am a beast, agreeable or nay.”
“You’ve never been anything but pleasant toward me—pleasanter than anyone else.”
“That’s because kindness breeds kindness, and you’re the most affable lass I’ve ever met.” He tugged her fingers. “Can you step in and straddle me?”
“Like a horse?”
He liked the image she conjured—Lady Emma on the back of a horse wearing nothing but wild, flowing, auburn tresses. “Aye,” he said throatily, his cock already so hard it tapped his stomach.
Ciar eased back and feasted his eyes on the idyllic pose she made. It made him want to be a painter simply to capture the beauty of a nymph preparing to bathe. Her medal of Saint Lucia swung forward while she braced her hands on the edge of the tub. With her eyes half-cast, she carefully climbed in with one foot and then the other. A bonny grin spread across her lips. “It is delightfully warm.”
“Mm hmm.” As she began to lower herself into the water, Ciar caught her wrists and stopped her. “Allow me a moment to gaze upon perfection.”
Her expression grew uncertain as she tried to cross her arms over her breasts. “But it isn’t natural for me to flaunt myself.”
“When we are alone, there is no reason why you should not. One man, one woman, remember?” He kissed her fingers. “You’re beautiful, Emma. From porcelain skin to hair of burnished fire. And whether you like it or nay, you have the figure of a goddess.”
“Now I know you are telling tall tales.”
Ciar tugged her onto his lap so she faced him. “Oh, no, lassie. You may be as sweet as a sugared date, but your body is made for sin.”
She wriggled, making her mons slide flush against his erection. Within a heartbeat, her expression changed from one of happiness to that of seductress. “Oh, my.”
“Mayhap now you understand exactly what you do to me.”
“Me?”
“Yes, lass, you.”
He clamped his big hands on either side of her face and kissed her, let his tongue lazily sweep into her mouth as he rocked his hips, brushing himself along the intimate channel that would bring her undone.
Her hand searched to the side. “Should we not wash whilst the water is hot?”
Ciar collected the soap and placed it in her fingers. “If we must.”
“Mayhap we can make it fun.” She grinned like a contented cat as she slowly swirled the soap over his chest. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent as Emma worked the slick bar lower and lower until she lightly brushed his member.
“May God have mercy on my soul,” he growled.
“And mine,” she added, wrapping her arms around him and rubbing the soap with her breasts.
Ciar dropped his head back and moaned.
Emma stiffened. “Am I hurting you?”
“Lord, no.”
She scooped a handful of water and let it dribble atop his shoulder. “It feels good, then?”
“Like I’m drifting among the stars.”
“I think the lather is—um—sensuous.”
“Do it again.”
This time Emma took even longer, exploring every part of his body, first making him sit forward so she could wash his back. She ran the cake under his arms and around his neck. Then she rocked away and covered herself with rose-scented bubbles. A pink tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth as she drew the soap around her breast torturously slowly. “It feels…”
“Hmm?”
“Good.”
“Have you ever touched yourself like this before?”
She shook her head. “You bring out the Jezebel in me.”
He tsked his tongue. “You are shameless, and I adore it.”
Laughing, Emma pressed her soapy body against him and buried her face in his neck. She trailed kisses along his jaw until Ciar tilted her chin upward and captured her mouth. Still, Emma set a fervent tempo as she writhed against him. Back and forth and, holy Moses, when she rubbed herself up and down along his length, his eyes crossed.
Somewhere in the midst of the frenzy, she took hold of his shaft and rose to her knees, teasing herself, teasing him.
Ciar wanted to thrust into her so badly, he tried to think of anything to keep himself from taking her. The cattle, the accounts, Wilcox, the bloody bastard dragoons…Emma’s wet quim sliding around my cock.
God yes, he wanted her now. He palmed her breasts and suckled each nipple, thrusting his hips upward while hot, wet woman surrounded him.
“Aaaaahhhh.” A high-pitched sigh squeaked from Emma’s throat—one of utter ecstasy yet of pain as well.
Ciar opened his eyes and froze.
Oh, God.
She’d done it so fast.
And he’d let her.
His bum cheeks clenched. “Are you hurting, lass?” he asked, barely able to utter a sound.
“A bit,” she peeped, clinging to him, her eyes squeezed shut.
“But we agreed not to…”
“You deemed it so. I do not recall agreeing.” She moved a bit. “Are you angry with me?”
How in God’s name could he ever grow irritated with this selfless, talented, effervescent creature? “Never.�
��
“T-then show me what to do next.”
“Relax,” he whispered, letting the muscles in his arse ease.
Emma’s grip softened while she exhaled with a long sigh.
“Better?” he asked.
“Mm hmm.” She wriggled a bit. “What now?”
“I think it comes naturally to you, lass.” He sank his fingers into her hips. “If you want to ride me, rock your hips to and fro as you were doing. But ride slow, like you’re on a well-broke horse, not a colt fresh off his ma’s teat.”
Emma moved slowly at first, the corners of her mouth drawn downward.
“You don’t have to keep going—not if it hurts.”
“Sh.” She plied him with a kiss, her hips working faster.
Ciar tried to let her take the reins, but when she took his nipple between her fingertips and tempted him, a shot of seed burst straight through the tip of his cock. He needed to thrust, to bury himself deep inside this woman and take her to heaven. He grabbed her hips and urged her faster, urged her to rock and swirl and…
As Emma cried out, he roared with the power of his release, clinging to her as if he’d never let go.
“God, woman, you have bewitched me mind, body, and soul.”
“Och…” Still panting, she collapsed onto his shoulder. “I wish this adventure would never end.”
Chapter Twenty
The days blurred together. They took Albert for long walks through the cover of the glen, and Ciar even let Emma accompany him on a visit to Archie and Nettie’s cottage. The passionate nights made it seem as if they were living in a dream. He chuckled every time he thought about how long he had known Emma and how he’d always pushed aside his feelings for her. Had he been in love with the woman since she was a wee lass of seven?
Most likely.
No woman in all of Scotland was remotely like Emma Grant. She was curious about everything and looked at the world as though every day held something magical. And it did because she was alive in it.
Ciar almost forgot about the charge of murder hanging over his head until Livingstone returned.
Emma was practicing with Albert on the lead. The dog stopped in front of a log, but rather than tap forward with her walking stick, she stood very still and turned her ear. “Is a storm brewing?”
The sky was unusually clear, but when Ciar looked to the cove, one of his sea galleys tacked through, manned by a crew of his men with Livingstone at the tiller.
Emma’s suggestion of a storm began a roiling in Ciar’s chest. What he wouldn’t give for a few more days of enjoyment in her company. “We have visitors.”
“Who?”
“Livingstone and a few of my men.”
The lass gripped her lead with both hands, her face stricken. “Oh.”
Ciar grasped her elbow and walked with her to the shore as the crew hopped over the side of the galley and dragged the hull onto the beach. He frowned at his man-at-arms. “I’m surprised to see you in broad daylight.”
Livingstone jumped down from the bow, keeping his boots dry. “There’s been unrest in Crieff. Wilcox has sent a regiment across the Highlands, and we’ve been fortunate to have a bit of respite at Dunollie.”
Ciar still didn’t like it. “He kens I’ll stay away with an army watching my gates, but he has spies about, mark me.”
“We took precautions. Sailed up to Mull first like the last time. No one will ken we ended up here.”
“Would you like to come inside for a cup of wine?” Emma asked. “It would be much more pleasant to chat in there away from the roar of the surf and the squawk of the seabirds.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Livingstone, motioning for the men to wait.
Ciar was so anxious for answers, he would have preferred to ask questions right there on the beach. But Emma was right. They’d be able to speak more freely inside.
She even placed a plate of oatcakes on the table and poured the wine. “It is ever so good to see you, Braemar,” she said, though not in her usual cheerful voice. She, too, knew his visit meant an end to their utopia.
Ciar gestured for Livingstone to take the second chair while he stood with his fists on his hips. “What news?”
The Highlander sipped and licked his lips. “The dragoon who cuffed you is named Brown. He’s a braggart and an ox of a man. He and Manfred are still posted to Fort William, but Riley has been transferred to the garrison at Dunbarton.”
“Fie.” Ciar threw up his hands and paced in a circle. “What else did my man Kelly uncover? I need something that proves their guilt beyond any doubt.”
“Och aye, Kelly did as we asked—had them in their cups at the Inverlochy alehouse. Brown was all too happy to boast about his crimes. He admitted to striking you from behind with a branch as big around as his thick arm. Moreover, he waved MacIntyre’s sgian dubh beneath Kelly’s nose—says he carries it for luck.”
Ciar slammed his fist into his palm. “I’ll show that bastard luck.”
Livingstone arched his brows and shifted his gaze to Emma, but she only smiled serenely and asked, “What of Manfred? Does he keep any of the spoils?”
“Indeed. It seems he’s fond of boasting as well—flashed MacIntyre’s pocket watch.”
“They need to pay, the lot of them.” Ciar continued to pace. “Where’s Kelly now?”
“I told him to wait at the inn in Connel.”
“Excellent. Send Archie there and have him tell Kelly to fetch MacIntyre’s son. Tommy Jr. will be able to identify his father’s effects. Have him stay at the Inverlochy alehouse, and we’ll meet him there three to four days hence.”
“Three to four?” asked Livingstone.
“Come dark, I aim to set a course for Dunbarton.”
“Are you certain?” Emma asked. “I would think the testament of two would be enough to convict the third.”
Ciar snatched his cup from the table. “I’m not taking any chances.”
* * *
Emma had already wrapped the last of the oatcakes in a cloth and filled an empty wine barrel with spring water when Ciar returned from asking Archie to find Mr. Kelly.
She brushed off her hands. “I think we ought to take plenty of food. And I found an empty cask that I filled at the spring. How long does it take to sail to Dunbarton?”
“A day with a favorable wind. Though if the weather doesn’t cooperate, it could take a week.” Ciar grasped her hands. “Nonetheless, I want you to stay here.”
Her back tensed. “Here? Without you?”
“Nay, sorry, you’ll stay with Nettie and Archie in their cottage.”
A new place? No, Emma hated new places. And she’d only met the crofters but once. “I-I hardly know them. And I’m not familiar with their cottage at all. I planned to go with you.”
“I ken the situation isn’t ideal.” He groaned, releasing her hands. “It is too dangerous to take you with me.”
“But what about confronting Wilcox? I am an outlaw as well. I must be there to clear my name, too.”
“Agreed. My men and I will have to sail through the Firth of Lorn on our way to Fort William. I’ll stop for you then.”
“But wouldn’t it be easier if I were in the galley with you?”
“I cannot allow you to go. Make no bones about it, we are heading into a lion’s den where danger lurks at every turn.” He cupped her cheek softly. “Stay with Nettie for a few days. I’m certain it shouldn’t be any longer than that. A sennight at most.”
Emma jerked away from his touch. “If you are insistent on leaving me behind, I will stay right here where I am familiar. There is plenty of food to last a fortnight if need be. And Nettie can check on me once or twice a day if it would make you feel more at ease.”
“But—”
She slapped his arm. “Allow me this one concession. I am the one being asked to stay. I should have a say in where I shall sleep.”
He said nothing for a moment before he released a pent-up breath. “Very well, but if you
feel uncomfortable being alone, I do not want you to hesitate and go to Nettie’s. They’d love to have you.”
“Oh, aye, everyone would love to have a blind woman bumbling about their cottage, knocking over the lamps and vases and whatnot.”
“You are awfully hard on yourself.”
“I am honest.”
Blast, blast, blast. Emma knew she would only be in the way if she set sail in the galley. But why couldn’t Ciar send his men to trap this Riley person? Why did he insist on sailing down to Dumbarton with them?
Emma didn’t ask. She knew the answer to her question as well.
Ciar needed to face all three culprits and let them know he would not tolerate being played a fool. Nor was he a coward. Any Highlander worth his salt confronted his foe and called them out.
She stopped in the middle of the chamber and buried her face in her hands. “Things have been utterly perfect, so blissfully wonderful. I don’t want it to end.”
Wrapping her in an embrace, Ciar pressed his lips to her forehead. “I ken, mo leannan. You are so dear to me I cannot bear to see you upset.”
“Must you go?” she asked, knowing she shouldn’t. “Braemar could fetch him.”
“Nay, lass. I have to face him myself.”
“What about the other two?”
“We’ll bring them to justice once we gain an audience with Wilcox.”
She pushed him away. “But what if the governor doesn’t believe us? We will both be captured and sent to the gallows.”
“Better off to the gallows than hiding for the rest of our days.”
“Nay!”
“Forgive me.” He brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead then pulled her into his arms. “I spoke out of turn.”
“You certainly did,” she said, resting her head on his chest. Oh, how she loved the thrum of his heart. “We will clear our names and set everything to rights.”
“Aye, lass.” He used the crook of his finger to tilt her face up, then kissed her. “I must go.”
“Promise to think of me every moment?”
“Thinking of you will be my driving light.”
She reached back and unclasped the silver medal she wore around her neck. “Bend down.” Securing it around his neck, she said, “Then I shall give you this for protection. Saint Lucia has watched over me since I was two years of age, and now she will bring you safely back.”
