His answer was to withdraw, dragging her down until her stomach rested on the bed, her feet touching the floor. From behind, he spread her legs apart, his fingers probing her opening. “No, Nairna. I’m going to take care of you.”
Abruptly, she felt him filling her and the thickness of him was shredding all the clear thoughts of her brain. She surrendered to the heady pleasure as he drew her hips to him, penetrating her in short thrusts.
She moaned when he quickened the pace, the rhythm bringing her swollen womanhood into full contact with his shaft.
“I love you,” she blurted out, shocked when a shaking spasm gripped her. Though she hadn’t meant to confess the words, they had an effect upon her husband. He gentled his thrusts, going deeper, as if he were trying to caress her from within.
Though he didn’t reveal any of his own feelings, she sensed that he did care. He kissed her shoulder lazily while he penetrated her again. “Do you want me to take you like this?” he murmured, filling her up with a smooth stroke. “Or like this?” He took her hard, with a fast pace that stole her breath. Immediately, her body reacted and she fought to catch her breath.
“Faster,” she gritted out and he obeyed. He pumped inside, taking her with no mercy, his shaft slamming inside so hard, she bit back a scream. A spasm of ecstasy flooded over her, making her come apart with wicked release.
“Tell me again,” he demanded, reaching up to cup her breasts. His fingers pinched her nipples, but there was no pain, only a delicious pleasure that shot down her body into her womb.
“I love you,” she admitted. His hands stimulated her breasts while he finished his thrusts, driving so deeply inside that she felt like he’d stolen her mind, as well as her heart.
And when he at last found his own fulfilment, his breathing shuddered against her, his hips driving deep. Nairna’s heartbeat thudded within her chest, while Bram rested atop her.
“I’m coming back to you, a ghaoil.”
She only prayed he could keep that promise.
Chapter Eighteen
The circular defenses of the English fortress were heavily guarded. Archers wearing chainmail stood at the gatehouse, while Bram spied more soldiers patrolling the motte-and-bailey structure. As Hamish led them inside, Bram felt the coldness rising up. His claymore was strapped across his back, hidden from view by his cloak. He kept his shoulders lowered, trying to hide himself from their view, but he counted soldiers, mentally reviewing their positions.
A second inner curtain wall enclosed a modest wooden structure that was starting to resemble a keep. From the layers of stone built up against the wood, Bram supposed that prisoners were being used for the labor. He kept his eyes fixed upon the ground, searching for the entrance to the prison. It would be a small opening, likely somewhere heavily guarded near the center of the fortress.
Though he kept near the others for now, he was already planning to slip away to find the location. It might be that he could steal away while Hamish was speaking with Lord Harkirk.
Hamish dismounted and led them inside the fortress. He’d worn his best tunic and a cloak lined with fur, making it clear that this meeting was indeed meant to be a negotiation.
Bram’s gaze flickered to the Englishman, and the ruthlessness in his eyes reminded him of Cairnross. He possessed an air of superiority, as if he owned the souls of the men around him.
“I have come with the chief of the MacKinloch clan,” Hamish began. “He wishes to negotiate the return of his younger brother Callum. We believe he is a prisoner here.”
The English lord’s face remained cold and impassive. “I presume you are speaking of the one who was transferred to me from Cairnross.”
“Aye,” Alex interrupted. He stepped forward, meeting Harkirk’s expression with his own determination. “I want Callum returned to us.”
“And what are you prepared to offer in return?” the lord inquired. “Another hostage to take his place?”
An icy coldness rose up in Bram’s throat, but he didn’t flinch or turn his face away. Instead, he stared hard at the enemy, letting Harkirk see the unbridled hatred. Men had suffered and died in chains, innocent victims who had been taken to punish the clan members.
“You’re going to release him,” Bram said quietly. “The clans protect their own.”
“Do they? Then why is it that they’ve retreated to the north, hiding in the wilderness?”
“They’re biding their time,” Bram answered. “Joining forces together.” He lifted his eyes to the Englishman’s. “By keeping our clansmen as prisoners, you give us a reason to join together against a common enemy.”
Harkirk let out a rough laugh. “Your barbaric fighting methods don’t stand a chance against our cavalry. We’ll defeat you, just as we did with Wallace’s men at Falkirk.” A thin smile stretched his lips. “And you know what they did to Wallace. He was drawn and quartered, like the traitor he was.”
He gave a flick of his hand and half-a-dozen guards came closer in a silent threat. “MacPherson, we’ve nothing more to discuss.”
“One prisoner,” Hamish interrupted, lifting his palm. “I am prepared to offer silver for his safe return.”
Bram’s fists tightened when he saw the bag of coins Hamish withdrew from beneath his cloak. He recognized the sack of false coins, and he held his breath.
“A contribution from our clan,” Alex intervened.
