He peered through the windows. “Another hour, at least,” he agreed.
“‘Tis much too warm a day to be cooped up in a bedchamber,” Arabella told him. “I have a far better idea.”
“Ye do?”
“Aye, my lord,” she drawled, and taking him by the hand, led him from the castle out across the drawbridge. “I discovered this place with Maggie, for she is suffering with her teeth, and the heat does not help. Your mother recommended I rub pounded clove on her gums, and it does help, but not entirely. The trick is to distract her from the pain,” Arabella explained. “I take her walking, and we only recently found this little stream flowing beside this small grove of trees here in the meadow. The trees shelter our bathing place from sight of the castle.”
“Ye swim?” He was surprised.
“Aye,” she said. “My father taught me when I was small.” Arabella began to unlace her gown as she spoke. “Our daughter loves the water and is as agile as a wee froggie.” Undoing her bodice, she laid it carefully upon the grass beneath the trees. “The stream bed is sandy here and not too deep. I never let Maggie out of my hands, however, though she protests mightily. I think if I let her she would swim away.” The Countess of Dunmor’s long skirt and petticoats dropped to the ground, and stepping out of them, she gathered them up to place them with her bodice. She was wearing no stockings, he discovered when she kicked off her slippers, and was clad only in her chemise now. Looking curiously at him, she said sweetly, “Will you not join me, Tavis, or do you not swim?” Arabella stripped aside her chemise and tossed it onto the pile of clothes. “Ohhh, how I love the feel of warm air upon my body!” she told him ingenuously.
He had thought he was past being surprised by her behavior, but he was not. This was a new Arabella. One he had not seen before. An impudent little woodland sprite with saucy breasts, and saucier buttocks that flashed before him now as she moved to enter the water. He felt himself growing hot with the need to possess her, and he wondered if a wife should be as tempting as his wife was.
Arabella turned her head toward him, the waters of the little stream lapping at her mid-thigh. “Are you coining, my lord?” she said softly, and then she bound up her long braid, the tip of which was already wet. With a laugh she splashed into the water and paddled about.
The earl considered a long moment as he decided whether he could reach the safety of the water before she discovered the state of his desire for her. His manhood was already hard and thrusting beneath his kilts. Casually he bent and, having kicked off his shoes, drew his stockings off. Slowly he undid his shirt, careful to keep his back to her, unaware that she was admiring his long torso and muscled shoulders.
“Why are you so poky?” she teased him.
The Earl of Dunmor dropped his kilts and turned to face his wife.
“Oh!” she said, and then she began to giggle.
“Madame,” he said fiercely, “I will nae be mocked!” and he strode purposefully into the cold water toward her.
Mischievously she splashed him, shrieking with feigned terror as he launched himself toward her, evading him skillfully as he moved to within easy grasping distance of her. “Catch me if you can, my randy lord!” she cried as she scampered to the other side of the stream bed.
With a roar he was after her, lumbering about noisily in the water until, with a surprisingly quick lunge, he did indeed catch her, and drawing her wet, squirming body inexorably to him, he covered her mouth in a burning kiss even as she pressed his lips firmly with her own. They kissed for what seemed a very long time, and then he murmured, “Madame, hae ye ever been fucked in the water?” even as he slowly impaled her upon his throbbing manhood.
Her slender arms wrapped about his neck, her wet body squirming against him in her passion. “Oh, you are a wicked man, Tavis Stewart, to tease a body so,” she moaned against his mouth, and she rubbed her breasts provocatively against his broad chest.
His big hand cupped her buttocks, reveling in the springy flesh that pressed into his palms as her legs squeezed his waist. “Ahh, lovey,” he groaned, “I hae missed ye, and ‘tis past time our Maggie hae a baby brother. Did ye nae promise me a son for Dunmor, Arabella Stewart?”
“Aye, I did,” she agreed. “Ohhh, Tavis! Do not cease your sweet torture! Ohh, I cannot bear it!I cannot!”Her body shuddered with sweet fulfillment as she first threw her head back, the column of her throat straining with her passion, and then with a small, satisfied sigh, dropped her head upon his shoulder.
Slowly he walked from the water, cradling her in his arms, still buried deep within her sweet sheath. With great control he slipped to his knees, laying her upon her back, covering her face with warm kisses which seemed to revive her, and her light green eyes fluttered open.
“I missed you too, my lord,” she told him with understated simplicity.
“I know,” he replied, his mouth twitching with amusement. Then he began to pump her with deep strokes, his strong thrusts drawn out and protracted, tarrying within her, bringing her almost to the point of tears as he deliberately stroked her ever-rising desires. It was not easy for him to hold his own hungers in check, but he had discovered soon after the consummation of their marriage that his wife had an enormous capacity for loving. It was not a bad tendency for a wife to have, he thought, particularly as she seemed totally satisfied with him and showed no inclination to other men. He was certain of that, having been more than well aware of his nephew’s interest in Arabella and her most firm refusal of Jamie’s favors.
Beneath him Arabella thrashed, her ecstasy growing with every passing moment. She clawed wildly at him, raking her small nails sharply down his long back, eliciting a grunt of irritation from him, causing him to drive even deeper into her sweetness. She reeled with the intoxication and the intensity of his fire, as leaning forward he took one of her nipples in his mouth and bit down gently, albeit firmly, upon it. Shrieking softly, she tried to twist away from him, but he held her hips in a tight grasp, suckling hard upon her flesh, feeling her wonderfully tight passage begin to contract about him.
“I die!” she sobbed. “Ohh, I die!” and she shivered violently with the intensity of her ardor.
He could wait no longer, for her own rapture but fueled his. “I also!” he groaned, pouring a libation of his lusty juices into her love grotto.
They lay together upon the sweet green grass amid a tangle of exhausted limbs for what seemed the longest time. They half dozed while about them drowsy honey bees droned in the summer clover. To the west the sun was sinking slowly in a blazing glory of red-gold and purple. Above them in a tree a crow called loudly, warning all within his voice of the hawk who was hunting his evening meal, while near them a family of young rabbits peered curiously at the two naked humans lying upon the warm ground.
Finally Arabella sighed; a sound replete with satisfaction. “You were most pleasurable, my lord,” she said with great understatement.
“As were ye, madame,” he answered her.
“I suppose we must return to the castle,” Arabella noted sadly, reaching out to pick up her chemise and put it on.
He grinned up boyishly, his dark eyes brimming with mischief. “Unless, of course, ye want to run away wi’ me, madame. Shall we walk out like a simple Jock-upon-the-land and his lass, Arabella Stewart? Living in a wee cottage? I shall hunt and fish for our daily sustenance, and ye will weave garlands wi’ which to adorn my triumphant brow when I return home wi’ a brace of conies.”
Arabella laughed. “My lord, you are more romantic than a green maid having thoughts about her first lover,” she teased him.
