“Arran,” she whispered, pulling away just an inch. “Ye are still nae well.”
“I feel wonderful with me bonnie wife.”
He didn’t stop, and she didn’t protest any longer. His hand crept under her skirts and inched up her leg. His fingers stroked hersoft skin, and he squeezed her thighs. Eventually, he slid the tip of his finger between the lips of her sex, and she gasped into his mouth.
He gently slid his finger back and forth, feeling how wet she had become for him. Soon he felt her grinding against his hand all while he kissed and nuzzled her face and neck.
He thought his manhood would burst with each caress, and when a moan escaped her lips, he almost spilled in his trews like an untried yeth. He responded with a growl of his own, and his mouth came down hungrily on hers as his fingers stroked the nub at the apex of her sex.
As she rolled onto her back, his mouth never left hers, their tongues mating in a dance as old as time. She reached up and placed one hand on his waist, and the other gripped the back of his head. His fingers expertly moved and tested until she began grinding her hips against his hand.
Her release came quickly as she moaned and gasped into his mouth.
When her breathing slowed, she whispered, “Ye’re goin’ to be the death of me, me Laird.”
“As long as I have many more years to enjoy ye, I am all right with that.”
The sun shone brightly over the courtyard the following morning. Arran thought the space that was once used for training and fighting looked inviting and cheerful. The yard was clean and uncluttered, and the grass was cut.
Several stone edged garden beds lined the east wall, and he saw where Skye had transferred several plants. Two other beds were near the kitchen. He assumed one set was for medicinal plants and the other for spices.
Some window boxes were overflowing with flowers, and several flower beds bordered the sidewalk and steps to the keep. His wife had been busy.
“What have ye been up to, wife?” he asked when Skye stepped out the main door, carrying more flowers for the display.
“I ought to repay the favor. I asked Astrid to make us a special lunch to celebrate yer good health.”
She was about to carry on her organizing when Arran caught her hand and turned her back toward him, pulling her in and kissing her softly.
“Ye are such a bonnie lass.”
In the middle of the yard, near the kitchen door, three long tables had been set up, and his friends and family had slowly begun to gather. Elsie, Helena, Magnus, and Fionn sat quickly, followed by Ava and Skye, giggling like young girls as always.
The day was warm, so Astrid had prepared a selection of cold, preserved meats and vegetables, apples, berries and cheese. The bread was fresh, and she’d chilled the jams and jellies in the spring along with the wine and ale.
Around the table, laughter and chatter filled the air as they celebrated Arran’s recovery. Once the food was served and the goblets filled, Magnus stood up and made a toast.
“To Arran’s health, and to the quick thinking of Lady MacArthur and the bravery of all of ye. It’s a miracle we’re celebrating here today.”
Skye looked up and caught her husband staring at her. She smiled warmly and drank from her goblet.
Fionn glared into his small tankard. “How about some wine or ale for me?” he cried.
“Ye’re gettin’ none of that, Fionn,” his father scolded. “Ye can toast yer Laird just fine with yer cider.”
“Aw, what’s the harm, Magnus?” Elsie interjected. “Whiskey was me drink of choice when I was half his age. It makes ye strong! How do ye think I lived this long?”
Everyone laughed, but Arran wonderd now, indeed, the old woman had lived so long. He was fairly certain it was not the drink, for the physician had said drink had been part of what carried his father to an early grave.
He shook off the sad thoughts and took a moment to enjoy the laughter as it flowed around the table. It had been some time since there had been such peace and joy in his clan. Marrying Skye had lifted the dread that his council might throw him out one day. But that was not all. She had changed all their lives in ways for the better.
Fionn, who was acting as page, tugged at his sleeve. “Arran, there’s a man at the gate. He says his name is Colin, an’ he has news. But, me lord, he’s wearin’ MacKeith colors.”
“Then he comes openly,” Arran said. “I’ll see him. Douglas, Lyle, attend me.”
Skye glanced up from across the table from where she was tending Elsie. She gave him a worried look.
Arran gave her a friendly wave to tell her it was nothing. He wished someone could reassure him so easily.
