Alexander groaned, thrusting faster, then locked his arms as he lunged forward, burying himself deep inside her to pump and spill within her. He tensed, then jerked and pulsed with another groan. Shaking his head as though struggling to recover from his own ecstatic fog, he shuddered above her, gasping as he bent and pressed his forehead to hers. “Did I hurt ye?” he panted.
“Only in the verra best of ways,” she assured with a nuzzling kiss to his mouth.
With the greatest care to keep himself from brushing flat against her, Alexander pushed himself to one side and collapsed beside her. He snugged his head against hers as he gradually caught his breath and returned to normal breathing. “I canna believe two stab wounds didna prevent ye from making love to your husband.”
Catriona rolled to her side, propped her head in her hand, and grinned down at him as she tickled her fingers across his chest. “'Tis your own fault, m’love. The ache I had for ye was fearsome. Much stronger than any cut of a knife.”
“Ye're a rare woman, Catriona,” Alexander said as he pulled her down for a proper kiss.
“Ye're rarer still, Alexander,” she whispered. “And I thank God ye're mine.”
He pulled her to him and settled her back to her resting spot in the dip of his shoulder. “I thank God ye're mine as well.” He’d never admit it to her, but he’d needed this. The touch of her. The scent of her on his skin. He’d needed the ecstasy of spilling himself inside her and hoping like hell they’d seeded a son or daughter. A new life to fill her womb and round her belly. He needed hope.
She’d spoken rightly when she’d said they’d know Campbell’s rage as soon as his men had doused the fires and taken stock of their stores. He brushed a kiss to her sweat-dampened temple and held her closer. At least they’d had this night. A smile curled across his lips. Stab wounds or no, she’d been determined to make love to him. What a braw fiery woman she was, and she was all his.
Her breathing had already evened out, and she’d gone limp beside him. Catriona only relaxed this much when she slept. He stared up at the ceiling, the gentle shift and flow of Catriona against his side as her breathing eased in and out calmed him. If only they could be this way forever, lying in one another’s arms, their greatest worry being whether they’d planted the beginnings of a child and would it be a son or a daughter.
A light pecking tapped on the door, so light Alexander barely noticed it.
Ever so gently, he slid out from under Catriona, holding his breath and freezing in place when she stirred for a brief moment then rolled away from him and snuggled deeper into her pillows. Once her breathing had evened out again, he rose from the bed, yanked on his trews, and padded to the door.
He eased open the door and peered into the sitting room, dark with only a single candle burning on the round table in the center. Magnus stepped out of the shadows and motioned for Alexander to join him.
“You and the lads did well.” Alexander kept his voice low as he eased the bedroom door shut without a sound.
“Aye. 'Twas the lads. Give them the praise.” Magnus’s tone was grim and filled with trouble. “Both cannons are ruined, warped by the explosion and heat of the fire. But it pains me to tell ye that one of the boys didna make it.”
Alexander’s heart fell. He’d feared such. He shouldha ne’er allowed a pack of lads who’d ne’er fired a gun nor wielded anything other than a kitchen knife or a crofter’s plow, to do a man’s job. “Who?”
Magnus shook his head. “The one they called Oakie. I could no' place the name until they reminded me of his looks.”
“Were they able to bring him back so we might honor him with a proper burial?”
Magnus cringed as he scrubbed a hand across his mouth and made a face as though the entire situation tasted foul. “There was no' enough left of the boy to bring back. When they lit the fuse, it slipped free of the main barrel and Oakie ran to shove it back into the powder. The barrels shifted as he climbed across them and pinned his leg.”
“Damnation.” Alexander heaved out a groaning sigh, feeling as though he’d been gut-punched. “His family?”
“Only a father. No other kin.”
“Let me dress and then see to the man. He needs to hear how grateful we are for his son’s sacrifice. His boy was a fearless warrior.”
“Aye.” Magnus turned toward the door then paused. “Sawny also heard word of the king’s regiment whilst we were in the Campbell camp.”
“What word?”
“Two days.” Magnus pulled the door open. “They arrive in two days.”
