Claimed by the Highlander (16 page)

She leaned up on both elbows, wondering dazedly what he was going on about. He swung around to face her.

“I can’t go down there like this.” He was aroused again. His kilt wasn’t hanging right. “Are you willing to have another go?”

“Oh yes,” she answered breathlessly. “And since I’m already well satisfied, there’s no need for foreplay.”

Her ferocious Highlander returned to her, and with a fiery glint in his eye, said, “Are you sure, lass? Because I’m feeling energetic. This might last a while.”

“I’m absolutely sure.” All she wanted was to feel him inside her again.

He braced his feet apart on the floor, then slowly slid into her soaking depths with glorious ease this time. He made love to her while standing up, and he made it last a good long time, working inside her with smooth, plunging meticulousness that left her reeling with amazement. When he climaxed, she felt it as if it were her own. He finally collapsed onto her with a groan of deep satisfaction.

A moment later he climbed onto the bed—explaining that he was too exhausted to make it to the door. He stripped off his clothes, then fell onto his back like a tremendous toppling oak.

He did not leave the bed again until morning, and by that time, Gwendolen was feeling somewhat addicted to her new husband’s sexual expertise.

And quite thoroughly schooled in the enticing act of lovemaking.

Chapter Twelve

Angus strode in circles around the Great Hall, swinging his sword through the air in wide, sweeping arcs, waiting impatiently for Lachlan for arrive.

He had not had breakfast yet—it was still too early for that—but he felt a great need to work his body into a lather and ease some of the tension he was feeling, for his wedding night had been more complicated than he’d expected. Gwendolen had drained him dry, and he needed to prove to himself that he was not entirely sapped of strength and vigor, otherwise he might have to lay down some boundaries.

At last Lachlan appeared under the wide, arched entrance and leaned a shoulder against the wall. His face was shadowed with dark stubble, his eyes rimmed with red. He watched Angus lunge and strike at the air, then he ambled forward, yawning.

“Is there a reason you dragged me out of bed on this, of all days, when you should still be shagging your pretty new wife? Bluidy hell, Angus, I only got to sleep an hour ago.”

“And what were you doing all night?” Angus asked irritably.

“Ah, you know. The usual. Drinking. Singing. Shagging.”

“I told you to stay away from the MacEwen women for a while.”

“Not to worry. My little friend last night was a MacDonald from the village, and a bonnie one at that.”

Lachlan drew his sword. They paced back and forth, eyeing each other intently.

Suddenly, Angus swung hard, and the heavy clang of steel against steel did wonders for his mood. He needed to feel like he was still the same man he had been on the day he stormed the gates of Kinloch. He needed to know that his desire for his wife was not going to consume him.

A particular memory flashed through his brain as he ducked under Lachlan’s aggressive attack. He remembered wiping a tear from Gwendolen’s cheek, just before dawn. She’d looked up at him and told him she was happy, and he had done the unthinkable and gathered her into his arms.

Lachlan came at him suddenly.

Angus shouted a fearsome war cry and defended himself against his cousin’s impressive overhanded swing.

“Is there a reason you’re so keen to fight this morning?” Lachlan asked, moving quickly to deflect another blow. “She didn’t hold out on you, did she?”

“Nay.”

They fought hard and fast for a few more minutes.

“That’s it?” Lachlan said, as he turned away and circled the room. “That’s all you’re going to say about your wedding night?”

“That’s all I’m going to say.”

Lachlan came at him again. There was a piercing ring of steel against steel.

“No regrets then?” Lachlan asked. “You’re pleased with your wife?”

“Stop talking, Lachlan, and fight me!”

Later, when they were both dripping with sweat and breathing heavily, they sat down on the dais. Angus threw Lachlan a towel.

“You know,” Angus said, wiping his face, “I never imagined I’d end up married to a woman like Gwendolen MacEwen. I always believed that only foolish men took beautiful wives because they were thinking with their knobs instead of their heads.”

“And love makes a man weak,” Lachlan added. “So you’ve always said.”

Angus looked up at the swallow’s nest in the rafters, but the bird was not there. “Has there been any word from her brother yet?”

“No news, but I sent five men out to hunt him down, so one of them should be able to discover something. It might take a while, that’s all. In the meantime, I’m extracting all kinds of interesting facts and opinions from Onora. She’s an easy flirt and a fountain of information about Kinloch, and the people in the village.”

Angus wiped the towel over his face again. “Do you ever feel like you’ll burn in hell for using her like that?”

Lachlan chuckled. “Nay, because she’s using me, too. She’s quite the seductress. And it’s not as if I’d ever bed her.”

“Just keep your wits about you.” Angus wiped at his arms. “And don’t forget your first priority—to maintain a strong defense. Position the most reliable men at the battlements and keep sending out the scouts.”

“I’ve got it all under control.”

“Has anyone been out yet this morning?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ll go myself, then.”

Lachlan regarded him keenly. “Are you sure? Don’t you have a pretty young bride waiting in your bed?”

“Aye, but she took advantage of me last night. I need to refill my well.”

Lachlan threw his head back and laughed.

*   *   *

A short time later, Angus strode across the rooftops to check on the sentries. He looked toward the horizon, then went to the kitchen, grabbed an apple and crunched into it on the way to the stables. He told the groom to back off and mind his own business while he saddled a horse for himself, then departed from the castle through the main gate.

Galloping fast across the bridge, he relished the hollow sound of the hooves clopping over the planks, then trotted across the dewy field to the forest. As he delved deeper into the wood, the dappled shade cooled his body, and he stopped a moment to breathe in the fresh scent of the pines and listen to the sound of fast-rushing water nearby. A squirrel chattered overhead.

He was pleased to be home at last, after two years on a distant, windswept island. He felt at peace here—something he had not thought possible for himself. Not in this lifetime. Yet here he was.

At the same time, he knew that if he was going to maintain control over Kinloch, he would have to be exceedingly careful. He could not allow himself to become distracted by a beautiful wife. Until Gwendolen’s brother was found, the possibility of an invasion would be a constant threat. Angus would have to stay focused and remember why he married Gwendolen in the first place—to improve relations between his clan and hers and provide stability at Kinloch.

He also needed an heir, and for that reason, he would continue to bed her. It was his duty, and he would fulfill it. With luck, the fires of his lust would diminish over time and these persistent thoughts about her would fade. Perhaps when she was with child, his passions would cool.

But she was not with child yet …

Turning his mount back toward the castle, he wondered if she was awake and imagined how she would respond if he slid back into bed beside her. He galloped through the wood, hungry for her body, and failed to notice the MacEwen clansman who was crouched low in the bushes, watching him with sharp and vigilant eyes.

*   *   *

After a record number of days of sunshine, it rained buckets in the Highlands for a month. Despite the wet weather and muddy terrain, the Kinloch scouts continued to scour the surrounding forests each day, and the sentries paced back and forth on the rooftops, providing security against the threat of attack.

Angus placed his trust in Lachlan, his devoted cousin and competent Laird of War, and poured a great deal of energy into the important task of providing Kinloch with an heir.

He and Gwendolen spent the afternoons indoors, ignoring the weather outside and alternating each night between her bedchamber and his.

“Has Lachlan always lived here at Kinloch?” Gwendolen asked, late one morning, as they lay naked in Angus’s bed with a fire blazing in the hearth. His chamber was warm and they were cozy beneath the covers. Angus lifted his head on the pillow to look down at her, for they were at opposite ends of the bed. She was resting her head on the footboard. He was massaging her feet.

“Aye. We grew up together,” he told her. “We used to compete in everything. I was a faster runner, but he had better aim with a musket.”

“What about swordplay? Which of you prevailed?”

“We were equally skilled, and to this day our sessions almost always end in a draw.”

She rubbed her toe over his shoulder and down the length of his arm. “How many of these scars did you get from your childhood competitions with Lachlan? Surely they were not all earned in battle.”

“I’d wager more than half came from friendly fights, when one of us was not paying attention, or was too drunk to be wielding a weapon in the first place.”

Her eyes flashed with excitement. “Could you teach me how to fight with a claymore? It might prove useful one day. You never know when you might need your wife to protect you.”

“Protect
me
?” He pinched her hard on the bottom.

“Ouch!” She kicked him under the covers.

Ducking beneath the sheets, he slid down to join her at the foot of the bed. “Are you carrying my child yet?” he asked.

“I can hardly answer that question,” she replied. “We’ve only been married a month.”

“But we’ve shagged so much, lass, it seems more like a year.”

Gwendolen was tempted to kick him again, but couldn’t seem to do anything but gaze into the brilliant blue of his eyes.

“Is this normal?” she asked. “Do all married couples spend this much time in bed?”

“Don’t think so. I believe we are strange.”

She huffed. “I know for a fact that
you
are. Are you aware that you grind your teeth in your sleep?”

His eyes narrowed. “How would you know that? Do you stare at me in the night?”

“Occasionally.”

“Why?”

She ran a finger over his lips and spoke with quiet seduction. “Because I am fascinated by your beautiful mouth and all the wonderful things you do with it.”

“And I am fascinated by the smell of your skin.” Smoothly, he rolled onto her. “Especially this shoulder.” He brushed his nose down the inside of her arm. “And your wrists … Your hands … And lovely little titties.”

He took a nipple into his mouth and began that slow, succulent licking that never failed to bring her to the heights of trembling desire.

Gwendolen relaxed her body and let her eyes fall closed, accepting the fact that she was becoming rather obsessed with her brave, passionate lion, even when she knew that he did not return her feelings, for there was always something distant about him, even at times like this, when he was making love to her.

He wanted a child. She knew that much, and it was important to him that she was amenable in bed, so he did what was necessary to make it so. She suspected, however, that this was just a temporary interlude for him, a pleasant diversion from his warrior life, and the moment it was confirmed that she was expecting, he would retreat, and she would not see him again until the time came to conceive another.

It was not so for her. All her life, she had wanted a marriage built on intimacy and love, and she was frankly surprised that this first month had been so passionate, considering that they had begun as enemies. She still could not forget the fury she had felt when she watched him storm the castle gates and kill her clansmen, and often wondered what her father would think if he could see how infatuated she had become with his enemy.

Two nights ago, she had dreamed about their firstborn son on his wedding day. Angus—proud and loving as any father could be—presented him with his prized claymore as a gift. She woke from the dream feeling elated, and wondered if some dreams did come true. It was possible, she supposed, for many of hers had found their way into the reality of her life. The lion, for instance.

A moment later, her husband slid into her with exquisite ease and looked down at her face, while he braced himself above her on both arms. She gazed up at him in the silvery morning light and prayed that, one day, something more than sexual desire would exist between them. She was coming to realize that she wanted a deeper, soulful connection with her husband. For she could not live for duty alone. Not with him.

The knowledge of that fact terrified her.

Chapter Thirteen