Once a Warrior (39 page)

“Does it hurt badly?” she asked, concerned.

“It is a scratch,” Malcolm told her dismissively. “I had forgotten about it.” He drew her close and began to nuzzle the silky skin of her neck.

“We should go back to the castle so I can tend to it,” Ariella whispered, threading her fingers into the dark fall of his hair.

“We should,” he agreed, unfastening the clasp of her cloak. “But it is very crowded there.” The garment slid to the ground, unveiling the soft contours of her gown.

“No doubt the clan is arranging a grand welcome for you,” she predicted. She sighed with pleasure as his hand closed over her breast. “Graham and Ramsay are probably practicing their bagpipes as we speak. And Angus and Dugald are sure to want to recite their poetry.”

Malcolm buried his face against her throat and groaned.

“I think we should rest first, don’t you?” she suggested, her voice taut and breathless. She rose and began to lead him out of the clearing, threading her way deeper into the green-and-gold light of the forest.

They came upon a bed of ferns growing lush beneath a quivering canopy of trees. Sunlight played in lemony ripples upon this sweet-scented mattress, over which Ariella carelessly tossed her cloak. Then she turned, pressed her body to his, and kissed him. She did not tremble as he removed her gown, for the sun was warm upon her skin, and the muscled heat of his naked flesh soon burned against her. She clung to Malcolm as he lowered her onto the cloak and stretched over her, sharing his strength, his desire, his joy, kissing her and stroking her and tasting her until she was filled with liquid heat and aware of nothing but her need to be with him, always.

“Ariella,” he whispered hoarsely.

She opened her eyes to find him studying her, his blue eyes burning with such intensity, she felt exposed to the depths of her soul. She raised her fingers to trace the grim line of his lips, then laid her hand against the roughness of his shadowed cheek.

“I love you, MacFane.” She drew her brows together, considering. “Or shall I call you MacKendrick now?”

“There is no need for such formality between us,” he assured her, lowering his mouth to kiss her eyes and nose. A trace of a smile curved his mouth as he finished, “‘My lord’ will do.” He buried himself deep inside her, making them one.

She gasped, whether with outrage or pleasure he could not be certain. He laughed and kissed her tenderly, feeling gloriously strong and whole as they pulsed together beneath the flickering ribbons of light.

K
ARYN
M
ONK
has been writing since she was a girl. In university she discovered a love for history. After several years working in the highly charged world of advertising, she turned to writing historical romance. She is married to a wonderfully romantic husband, Philip, whom she allows to believe is the model for her heroes.

A
LSO BY
K
ARYN
M
ONK

Surrender to a Stranger

The Rebel and the Redcoat

ONCE A WARRIOR

FANFARE
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All rights reserved.

Copyright © 1997 by Karyn Monk

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eISBN: 978-0-553-90328-7

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