The Warrior Bride (26 page)

His brows had risen toward his hairline, but she stormed on.

“You have been teasing me for days,” she said and, swinging her legs off the mattress, reached for her dirk and rose to her feet. “‘Tis a bit late to stop me now.”

She raised the blade, but his gaze never dropped to it.

“I have not been teasing you, lass. I have been doing me best to keep meself to meself.”

“You lying bastard,” she said, and took a step toward him. “Do not act the innocent lad with me now when I know you are a master seducer.”

“Master- ”

“Get your arse back on that bed.”

His lips moved, but not as violently as other parts.

She lowered her gaze to watch his erection buck against the hard expanse of his belly, then drew a deep breath. “I am not one of your tarts to tease until they swoon for wanting you.”

“Tarts?”

“Me,” she said, and raised the dirk, “you will satisfy.” His erection danced a little fling. “Very well then,” he said, and loosened his fist. “But ‘twill be by me own rules.”

She pulled her gaze from his penis and gritted her teeth against her own impatience. “You have rules?”

He delayed a moment, then, “Of course.” “What are they?”

“You’ll remove your clothing.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in, but once they did, she immediately began ripping at the gown, her fingers frenetically trying to work around her dirk, but he stopped her.

“Lass.” He took her fingers in his own, brought them slowly to his lips and kissed them. “I may be a master swordsman, but I am not a master seducer.”

She laughed. It sounded strange, perhaps because she was salivating.

“Here,” he said, and releasing her hands, turned her about. “‘Tis no reason to hurry,” he said and, sweeping her hair aside, kissed her neck.

She didn’t tell him he was entirely wrong, that there was every reason to hurry. That she was burning up, that she ached, that the damn world might end at any moment and ruin everything. Instead, she gritted her teeth and let her eyes fall closed. Her gown crept slowly open and with every inch of skin that was bared, she received a kiss. Down her neck, across her shoulder, along the length of her arm. She trembled with impatient longing as the garment sighed away, stepped out of the ring of fabric and shivered as his hands slid over her buttocks.

“MacGowan!”

“Shh,” he said, and set his hands to the ties of her stays.

They too eased open with horrid slowness until they slipped onto her hips. Her breasts spill out. He kissed her shoulders, then skimmed his fingers after the garment, slipping down her waist with mind-numbing gentleness, before turning her in his arms and pressing the thing to the floor.

“Rhona.” He said her name like a prayer. “You are the most splendid thing I have ever set me eyes upon. Like sunlight against me skin.”

“Nay, I- ”

“Shh,” he said again, and kissed her lips with tantalizing tenderness.

She pressed into the kiss but he was already drawing back.

“Aye, you are handsome,” he said, and kissed the corner of her mouth. “And bright.” His lips touched her throat. She moaned and let her head fall back, exposing herself to him. “And strong.” Lightning scorched her breast. She gasped at the searing feelings and twisted the fingers of her free hand into his hair. The other still grasped the knife. He touched her with his tongue, lapping her nipple and she jerked against him.

“MacGowan!”

” Lachlan,” he corrected and, setting his hands to her waist, dropped to his knees.

“MacGow- ” she began, trying to pull him up, but he licked her navel and she hissed between her teeth. The sound ended on a moan.

“And desirable,” he whispered and, cupping her buttocks, pulled her closer still.

He kissed her belly, spreading his caresses across her skin like magic, then working lower. She squirmed, but finally his mouth reached her hair.

She stilled in his hands, and he tilted his head to kiss her. She gritted her teeth and bucked against him, feeling his tongue against her ache for just a moment before he rose languidly to his feet.

“You are certain you wish to do this?” His voice was as quiet as the night.

“You jest.” Her own rather resembled a croak. The dirk wobbled in her hand.

“Shall I take that as a yes?”

She nodded. “Was that a yes?”

Perhaps she had forgotten to nod. She did so now and he reached down, cupping her bottom in both hands and lifting her up against him.

She wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him. He moaned into her mouth, then strode forward and pressed her back against the wall. Their lips joined again, and in a moment he was inside her. He caught her groan in his mouth as she arched hard against him.

Muscles exploded beneath her hands, but she could think of naught except the ache now. He pumped into her. She pumped back. Her legs slipped. She dug her heels into his bunched buttocks and ground into him.

Tension mounted, winding like a clock inside her. She squeaked something unintelligible and dug her fingers into his back, desperate to stay astride, and he answered her frenetic energy with a power so deep it seemed to drive to her very core.

She gasped his name. He groaned, and then she exploded, pleasure and desire and fulfillment all bursting within her. She sagged against him, and would have fallen had he not held her aloft and carried her to the bed. Once there he lowered her to the mattress. She sank onto it, breathing hard, every limb loose, every fiber exhausted as she fought for air.

As for Lachlan, he dropped down beside her. His chest rose like a bellows, his sculpted arms lay unmoving at his sides.

“MacGowan.” Her voice was as weak as her body.

She breathed in, trying to settle her heart, but when she turned on her side, she saw that he was as glorious as ever and as naked as the truth. Never in all her life had she seen anything so spectacular. “You are a liar,” she said and, managing to lift her dirk, ran the flat of the blade slowly up the dramatic slope of his chest.

“Liar?” If he was offended it did not show in his tone.

Indeed, the word was breathy and faint.

“Aye,” she said, and slipped her blade over his nipple.

It peaked immediately. “You said swordplay was your forte.”

He turned his head to stare at her. A slight scowl marred his brow. She slipped her hand lower. “‘Tis,” he said, and she smiled.

“Are you certain?”

“Aye.”

She moved closer so that her thighs brushed his and her breasts caressed his arm. “I believe you are wrong, MacGowan. But we’d best be sure.”

“You want a battle?” he said, but even as he said it, she felt his attention rise against her thigh.

“Aye,” she agreed, and swinging her leg over his, kissed him full on the mouth. “Choose your weapon, champion.”

Lachlan awoke from a dream. Every muscle felt as limp as a steed’s forelock, every thought was as rosy as dawn.

Master seducer? Him? Of course, there was some pain that accompanied the title. He moved his leg. The muscles in his thighs ached and when he rolled his shoulders, the scratches on his back burned.

He smiled. Aye, she was a lioness, but he should have expected no less. Could have wanted no more, and if he were lucky, mayhap she was also insatiable. Turning, he reached for her.

The other half of the mattress was empty. He sat up with a scowl. His balls bunched between his thighs. They were, he realized, the only part of his body that didn’t hurt.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he rolled his shoulders forward and back and rose to his feet. Finding the hose he’d purchased was no great difficulty. Pulling his tunic over his head gave him a bit of pause, but in a moment he was striding down the hall.

The house felt empty and quiet. Lachlan snagged a chunk of dark bread from the table as he passed and hurried outside, but once there he stopped short as he gazed toward the cobbled lane.

There, seated behind a pair of matched bays, was Rhona, but she was not the woman he had loved the night before. Nay, this morn she was the warrior, solemn of face and dark of clothes as she glanced down at Shanks who stood beside the looming carriage.

Lachlan swore in murderous silence as he strode down the steps and approached the heavy vehicle.

“You should not go alone, me laird,” said Shanks. She replied, but Lachlan failed to hear her words. The old man’s fingers looked gnarled and white where they gripped the carriage seat. “But surely you will let me fetch your lad at least.”

“Nay, Shanks. Fare thee well now. See to my Knight.” The ancient servant’s grip tightened even more upon the edge of the seat. “But how long will you be gone? Me master will not last much longer, and then the manor will fall to you. Surely you will wish-”

“Where are you off to then?” Lachlan asked.

Rhona tensed, but he received little pleasure from her surprise. Indeed, no pleasure would ever seem so great after last night’s.

“‘Tis about bloody time,” Shanks muttered.

Lachlan ignored him, keeping his attention on the girl. “Where are you off to so early?”

She straightened slightly, though her hands remained steady on the lines. “I have but a few errands to run. ‘Tis naught to concern yourself with.”

“Errands.” He glanced behind the wooden seat. “With your trunks in tow.”

Her expression hardened. “Aye,” she said, and turned her attention back to the old man. ”Take care of yourself, Master Longshanks.”

“But won’t you be taking your lad here with you?” asked the old man, and gave Lachlan a concealed jab in the ribs.

“‘Tis not for you to concern yourself with,” she said, and her face softened a mite as she placed a gloved hand over the old man’s. “You’ve worries enough.”

“I will miss you,” he murmured. “As will me laird.”

“He is much blessed to have you.”

“And you,” he said. Were there tears in the old bastard’s eyes? “He knows that now if he did not before.”

For a moment Lachlan thought she might say more, but instead she lifted the reins and the steeds moved out.

Shanks hissed something, but Lachlan was beyond hearing for he was already swinging up beside her.

She kept her attention on the rutted lane in front of them. “You are not invited, MacGowan.”

”Truly?” Anger crowded in on the pleasure that still haunted him. “And where am I not invited to?”

“As I have said, ‘tis none of your concern.”

He settled back. Rage made his body tight. Fatigue made it ache. “I thought I made it me own concern last night, lassie.”

They passed a tanner with a fresh hide slung over his shoulder. The old man glanced up at the sound of the endearment, but Rhona kept her attention strictly on the road ahead.

“You got what you wanted,” she said, “‘tis time to be on your way.”

“What I wanted!” he rasped. Her expression changed not a mite, so he shifted his attention to the uneven road in an effort to refrain from throttling her. “What I wanted!” His words were louder now. She shifted uncomfortably on the wooden seat and carefully avoided the gaze of a passing blacksmith. “It seems to me ‘tis what you wanted too, lass, unless I be mistaken about the knife wound in me side.”

“Do you say you did not want it?” she asked, and glanced at him from below the broad brim of her hat.

Desire rekindled in him, for despite everything there was something about her manner that made him remember every moment of the night just past.

“I wanted it,” he said.

She nodded once. “Then you should be well satisfied. ‘Tis time we parted ways.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me and you understand me, MacGowan. I will be gone for some time.”

“So you are going to him,” Lachlan intoned.

She said nothing. Neither did she glance his way as they rattled out of the village and onto the well worn path of the common thoroughfare.

Anger stirred with a dozen other emotions, twisting Lachlan ‘s stomach. “So you are on your way to the fat marquis without so much as a thank you.”

She did look at him now, but her gaze was disdainful, her eyes cool. “You are a vain cockerel, aren’t you, MacGowan?”

“Vain! Me?”

“I may not be as desirable as some, but I am capable of attracting others to me bed if I so wish. Do not think I cannot. Aye, you are gifted, champion. That much I admit, but do not think I will come begging for your attention.”

He sat in absolute silence for several seconds, then, “You think I expect you to thank me for last night?”

She went stiff. Her eyes shifted rapidly toward him and away. Her gloved fingers tightened on the lines. “Nay.”

He continued to stare. “Aye. You did. You entirely forgot to be grateful that I saved your life and-”

“Nay, ‘twas what I was referring to.” She glanced nervously toward him. “That and the fact that-”

He roared with laughter. Her brows lowered like a hand beaten portcullis.

“What the devil are you chortling about, MacGowan?” Her voice was low and her expression angry, but the world looked utterly rosy again, as bright as a fresh tomorrow.

Lachlan chuckled to himself. Life was good. She continued to glower.

“Truly,” he said finally. “I cannot think of a single other instance when I have been so flattered.”

“I’m certain there’s a reason for that.”

“There must be,” he agreed, grinning widely.

“I meant…” Her teeth were gritted. “There is probably naught else you do as well.”

“Better still!” he said.

She stopped the team abruptly. “Get out.”

“What’s that?” he asked, and struggled to control his grin.

“Get out before I kick your arse off of here.”