She jumped from his lap. “You would not dare!”
James Leslie eyed her lazily from his camp chair and, reaching out, pulled her back into his lap, kissing her soundly. “A woman who saysyou would not dare,when she knows damnwell that I would, is either asking to be spanked or is foolish. Are you asking to be spanked, madame,” he murmured, nuzzling her soft neck.
“No!” She giggled helplessly as he nibbled at her flesh.
“Then you are foolish, darling Jasmine,” he teased. His fingers were unlacing her shirt as he spoke, and now he slipped a big hand into the garment to cup her breast. It fit into his palm like a nesting dove.
“I am not!” she protested. Oh God! Her breasts were so very sensitive now. She was surely breeding again. He rubbed the nipped insistently, teasing at it until it was hard with longing.“Jemmie!”she cried out softly as he laid her back against his arm, and then, lowering his head, began to suckle upon her breast. “Someone will come! Someone will see us! Ohhh, God!” She could feel the wetness between her legs.
Raising his head, he tipped her from his lap and pushed her into the tent. There were no words for the moment between them. They both knew what they wanted. Sliding to her knees upon the grassy floor of the tent, Jasmine waited but a moment for her husband to join her. Kneeling behind her, he pushed up her skirts, gazing admiringly upon the twin moons of her bottom. He loosened his own clothing and moved himself into position, pushing himself slowly into her hot, throbbing passage, groaning with pleasure as she tightened herself about him. Completely sheathed within her, he let himself enjoy the sweetness for a long moment. Then he withdrew himself very slowly before thrusting himself back hard into her quivering body. Her back arced itself concave as she ground her buttocks into his belly.
“Oh, witch!” he groaned, his hands fastening themselves strongly about her hips as he began to piston her fiercely. If she were not already with child, she soon would be, he thought randily.
Her body was bent in a posture of complete submission, and yet she did not feel as if she had surrendered, Jasmine thought. They had suddenly wanted each other, and it was she who had chosen the path that they would take. She who had knelt and offered herself to him. She was gaining every bit as much pleasure from this mad encounter as he was. His love rod was so strong. It pierced her to her heart. She could feel every one of his fingers, single and individual, as it pressed into the soft flesh of her hips. She would be marked for several days, for her creamy skin was very fine.
The heat of his body was burning her. He drove himself deeply into her, withdrew, and propelled his length hard once more. The walls of her passage clutched hungrily at him, seeking to capture him. “Don’t stop,” she begged shamelessly. “Ohh, Jemmie, don’t stop!”
He sought to please her, please himself,please them.Back and forth he slid his manhood, back and forth, until he could suddenly feel himself expanding, feel the tremors of excitement from Jasmine as she began to slide over the edge into the white hot pleasure, and, unable to restrain himself any longer, he let his love juices burst forth with a loud groan.“Ahhhhh! Ahhhhhhhh! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhhh!”Falling away from her, he rolled onto his back as she collapsed facedown into the soft green grass.
They lay panting for a short time, and then Jasmine said weakly, “You will not control me with your passion, my lord.”
James Leslie burst out laughing. “And here I thought you sought to cajole me with yours,” he teased her.
“Oh beast!” she cried, and pretended to smack at him.
Defending himself, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her once again. “Madame! Madame! ‘Tis not fit you beat your husband.”
She lay contentedly in his arms. “You are the most aggravating of men, Jemmie Leslie, and always were. You are only fortunate in that I love you to distraction, and above all others, else I think I should kill you.” Rubbing her face against his silken covered chest, she kissed it.
He stroked her dark head, entwining her thick plait about his hand and arm. “I have never needed a woman before, my precious, darling Jasmine, but I need you,” he admitted. “Until I set eyes upon you for the first time, I did not know what happiness could be. I am jealous of any man who gazes at you. I resent the years we have not spent together. My love is for you alone.”
“Oh, Jemmie! Sometimes I think I am not worthy of such a love from such a man. I am very spoilt and imperious, and I hurt without meaning to hurt; but I love you, my darling husband!” Jasmine declared passionately to him, and she kissed him hungrily.
“Ah, here ye two are,” they suddenly heard Adam Leslie’s voice, and he entered their tent as the earl scrambled up, pulling his wife with him. Adam’s eyes twinkled mischievously.
“Uncle,” Jasmine brushed the grass from her skirts, and attempted to smooth her hair, “I would apologize for my outburst earlier.”
“Och, lassie, ‘tis naught,” he replied graciously. “Yer breeding again, I expect, and a breeding woman is apt to be testy and a wee bit skittish. Yer forgiven. Now come gie us a kiss to seal the peace between us, eh?” He held out his arms to her.
Laughing, Jasmine went into them and kissed his cheek. “Is nothing a secret in Scotland, Uncle?” she asked him.
“Verra little,” he said, and he chuckled.
In the evening the men danced to the wailing of the bagpipes beneath the August full moon, the light from the fires casting wild shadows over everything in their path. Jemmiepointed out to her the distinctive plaids worn by the different clans. The Bruce tartan was red with white lines separating the red into boxes, and in the center of each square was a smaller green box separated by red lines. The MacDuffs had worn their hunting colors—a plaid of dark blue, green, medium blue, and red. The Erskines’ tartan was red with black; the Lindsays’ a similar design but in red and green. Jasmine’s shawl was the Leslies’ hunting colors—boxes of medium blue and green with broad bands of dark blue, and narrow bands of red and yellow.
On the last night of the games Jasmine stood with Fiona Leslie watching the men as they danced. Gracefully they stepped between the crossed swords, never once moving the blades with their feet. The pipes played with fierce intensity. A soft wind brought the fragrance of heather from the hillsides. The flames from the fires leapt as madly as did the dancers. There was something wonderfully wild and primitive about it, and that part of Jasmine that was Celtic was moved and touched.
When the dawn came, however, the skies, bright for several days, had lowered, and rain threatened. The encampment began to break up, and Bruce’s meadow began to look like one again as they packed their belongings and prepared to return to Edinburgh.
“Ye can save yerselves a day if ye leave directly from here,” Adam Leslie suggested to his nephew. “We’ll follow in a few days’ time and bring yer steward, Adali. He can close up Glenkirk House. Ye’ll be home all the quicker wi’out the baggage carts.”
The earl turned to his wife. “Jasmine?”
“It would be easier, but I have to go back to town, my lord. I have business with my bankers, the Kiras, that I must conduct in person.”
They crossed the Firth of Forth once more and rode back into the town. James Leslie went directly to his home, buthis wife went to her bankers, in Goldsmith Alley, off the High Street, so that they might leave the city all the sooner, and return home to Glenkirk. Stepping back out into the street, her business complete, Jasmine suddenly found herself surrounded by a party of rather nasty-looking men. A familiar voice greeted her sneeringly.
“So, madame, we meet again,” Piers St.Denis, the marquis of Hartsfield, said. “I have a warrant for your arrest. Take her and put her on the horse,” he commanded his men.
