“A full sail and rowers for such a short crossing?” She grazed the tip of her tongue along his throat, tracing the corded ridges of his tensed muscles. He wanted her as much as she wanted him. Good. They had indulged in each other before leaving Duart, but that had been hours ago. She needed him again. “Your men must sense our urgency.”
“How can they not?” He cast a sideways glance over his shoulder and grinned. “We’re dead in their sights.”
“Port ho! Boat yer oars and ready the lines!”
“Thank God,” he rasped as he nipped her earlobe.
She smiled, turning to see the much-anticipated port. The imposing sight made her swallow hard. “Is that Dunstaffnage?”
“Aye.” Stretching around to look her in the eyes, he frowned. “What is it, love? I hear worry in yer voice.”
She dreaded standing in front of the Lord of Argyll. Alexander MacDougall. Known for his ferocity and refusal to bend. And thanks to her vile brother, the man despised all Northmen. With a seductiveness she almost had to force, she wiggled back against Thorburn and brushed aside his words. “I had hoped we could enjoy each other, my love. Before we faced your liege.”
“We will,” he promised, gently nipping at her ear again. He gave her bottom a reassuring squeeze. “This early in the day, the MacDougall will most likely be on a hunt or one of his adventures. He isna the sort of man who lounges about waiting to be entertained. We shall meet with him tonight just before the feast.”
That eased her some, even though she realized she merely delayed the inevitable. She kept her gaze locked on the formidable stronghold looming up ahead. Its weathered walls sprouted from a stony outcrop, making the fortress appear as though it had risen from the earth’s very bowels. The windows and arrow slits scowled at her. Bellowed their accusations that she did not belong on the hallowed ground of Scotland.
As they moored, Thorburn swept her up into his arms, stepped out onto the pier, and carried her to the worn path leading from the shoreline to the castle. As he set her feet to the ground, he nodded toward a fork up ahead in the walkway. “To the left leads to the chapel.” His devilish smile did not suggest piety.
“The chapel?”
“Aye,” he said, seduction gleaming in his eyes. “Quiet corners there, ye ken?”
She had been called ahoreor whore many times because of her robust enjoyment of lovers, but not once had she ever desecrated a holy place with what everyone called her low morals. “A house of God is not aquiet cornermeant for what we intend.”
“Aye, m’love, but what about the woodlands and secluded benches at the edge of the kirkyard?”
“The weatherisvery fine today.” A good hard pleasuring would most definitely work out the tensed knots in her shoulders. Before she started down the path, he swept her up into his arms again.
“Allow me, m’lady.”
“I am going to allow you.” She wrapped an arm around his neck and outlined his ear with the tip of her tongue. “As many times as you wish.” She didn’t speak her fear that this might be their last joining. After all, the Lord of Argyll could very well banish her from their midst, and her Scottish bear would have no choice but to bid her farewell. No man would step away from his ancestry. From all he had worked for. And she would never demand such a sacrifice from Thorburn. “Find us a place, my love. I need you to take me.”
He strode faster down the path, just as she knew he would.
“Here.” He came to a stop but didn’t set her down. “Will this do, m’love?”
The fern-covered wood shading the chapel promised seclusion. The coolness of its shadows offered respite from the heat certain to ignite between them. Tender moss, greener than the finest emerald, covered the exposed roots of the trees, lending its softness as a cushion for their bodies. The wind rustling in the leaves overhead gave her the gentling she needed to set her worries aside and think of nothing but this wondrous man holding her.
“This will most definitely do,” she said, nuzzling the tender warm flesh behind his ear.
He lowered her feet to the ground, then claimed her with a kiss that revealed his need matched her own. His hands raced across her, tugging at her clothes with a frustrated urgency that filled her with both longing and amusement. Her laughter bubbled between them, breaking their fiery connection. With an apologetic squeeze of his arm, she took a step back. “Let me.”
Thankfully, back at Duart, a pair of kindly village women had provided her with attire more appropriate for a meeting with the Lord of Argyll. However, while the linen shift, woolen kirtle, and belted surcoat might be more suitable, the garments created a more challenging barrier between herself and Thorburn. Especially when they both longed for the pleasure of each other’s complete nakedness—not merely a tossing up of her skirts for the relief of a quick tumble.
She unbelted, untied, and peeled off the layers, shook them out, and draped them over a low-hanging limb. When she turned and discovered Thorburn still fully clothed, she gave him a stern tip of her head. “Are you waiting for Hendry to come and undress you?”
He swallowed hard and licked his lips. “Nay, lass.” He hurried to kick off his boots, then stepped closer, yanking his tunic off over his head and tossing it aside. “’Tis yer beauty, m’love. It mesmerizes me.” His touch slid across her, leaving a burning trail in its wake. It was now her turn to swallow hard.
“And now yer trews, my love,” she said ever so softy, undoing each button of the breeks with teasing slowness.
“Aye,” he rasped, staring down at her hands. “Ye’re doing quite nicely, love. Please dinna stop now.”
Trews undone, she slipped her hands inside. She cupped his buttocks, then skimmed them down his corded muscles, shoving the garment to the ground. Running her hands back up his legs, she paused midway and took him in her mouth.
“God’s beard,” he groaned, rising to the balls of his feet. He tangled his fingers in her hair, dislodging her circlet and mangling the simple braid she had carefully plaited. Unintelligible words escaped him in another rumbling groan as she sucked harder.
One hand locked on his buttock, the other cradling his tight bollocks, she treated the length of him with another long slow lick, then smiled up at him. “So, this pleases you then?”
