“Ah, ye wished to return home to a bald lass with swollen eyes.” She smiled faintly when he laughed.
Jennet realized no one had told him of how she had taken the report of his death, and she was glad of it. She found her behavior embarrassing to recall, especially now that she knew the report had been a lie. What it might tell him about the depth of her feelings for him was also something she was not eager to discuss. She was still too uncertain ofhisfeelings for her.
“My father was at Dubheilrig,” she went on to explain. “Since I thought myself a widow, it seemed wisest to go with him. Your family urged me to stay, assured me that I and Murdoc were welcome, but”—she shrugged—“I chose to be with my father. Howbeit, I dinnae see why that should cause you to go on a raid when ye had only just returned home.”
“To find you. Artair had taken you into England. I couldnae march into the land of the enemy alone. I dinnae ken why your father continues to do so.”
“The coin is here. And when he deals with the English he does so as a Frenchmon.”
“Ah, aye, Artos de Nullepart. We discovered that guise as we asked after him. I fear we revealed his trickery. He willnae be welcome back here, not for a while.”
“He will realize that. Dinnae worry on it. Why did ye not just leave word with my kinsmen?”
“Then sit at Dubheilrig, waiting? Nay, I couldnae stomach that.” He lightly rubbed his hands over her slim back. “I needed to act. ’Twas more difficult to find you than I had thought. I was resigning myself to sending word out through your kin, and to waiting, when I found you.”
Resting her forearms on his broad chest, she lifted her head to look at him. “So now we shall return to Dubheilrig?”
“Soon.” He grimaced when her eyes narrowed. “I am now bound to follow this march to the end.”
“Does the Douglas mean to try and capture Edward’s queen then?” she asked, her voice softened by trepidation.
“Is Edward’s queen at York?” He idly traced the shape of her collarbone with his fingers.
“Rumor claims she is. She and Edward’s royal judges.” She thought of how Edward’s father had treated Robert the Bruce’s queen when she had been taken prisoner over ten years ago, how he had hung the woman in a cage from the walls of Berwick. “The Bruce might seek revenge for the barbarous treatment his own queen suffered long ago.”
“He might, though I should like to believe the Bruce wouldnae act so cruelly. I have no doubt the Douglas would.” He shook his head. “I cannae say what lies ahead. I have paid little heed. All I cared about was finding you.” He slid his hands down her sides to caress her slender hips. “I had no time for, nor interest in, the plots and schemes of our leaders. I sought only you.”
“Well, ye have found me.” She brushed her lips over his. “At least I will suffer only through the end of this raid.”
Cupping her buttocks in his hands, he moved her against him. “Then we shall hie back to Dubheilrig and find the priest.”
“The priest?” She traced his firm jawline with soft, nibbling kisses. “We need a priest?”
“Aye.” He murmured his approval when she began to kiss and caress his chest. “Handfast suited when there was no time left to us, but we have time now.” An increasing hoarseness entered his voice as her kisses and the light, tantalizing strokes of her tongue went lower. “Now a priest can wed us.”
Jennet was both delighted and surprised. “Ye still wish to keep me about?”
“Oh, aye, lass,” he replied huskily as she stroked his inner thighs with her tongue. “There is none to equal you. Not in all of Scotland. Nay, nor in England.”
“And in Ireland?” He had been gone a very long time, and she suddenly wondered if he had spent that time alone.
Easily guessing how her thoughts had turned, he half smiled. “Weel, there was this lass who cast an eye my way.” He smiled more fully when she glanced at him. “Ah, but I wasnae tempted. Weel, not enough.” He laughed at her look of disgust. “A mon can wait when he kens he waits for the best he will ever find.”
Warmth raced through her body, for it was the nearest he had come to admitting he cared for her. “Weel,” she managed to say, her own voice hoarse, “then this bold fellow must be rewarded for his fidelity.”
Hacon groaned softly with delight when she curled her long, silken fingers around his erection. Fidelity was not difficult to keep when he had a woman like Jennet. Memories of her touch were more than enough to give him the strength to turn from any temptation. He wondered if and when she would ever guess that truth, then lost his ability for coherent thought as her mouth replaced her seductive fingers.
Jennet praised him with her lips, excited and honored him with her tongue, loved him with her mouth. His guttural cries of pleasure, his writhing movements beneath her, fired her desire to greater heights. When he abruptly grasped her beneath the arms, pulled her up his body, and set her upon him, she was ready and eager for the joining of their bodies. At first she sweetly taunted him, moving upon him slowly and gently, denying him the fierceness he craved. But soon her own need stole her control and she gave him what he called for, driving them both to the convulsive satisfaction of their hungers.
Once her sanity began to return, Jennet eased the lingering intimacy of their embrace. “’Tis too hot for this,” she murmured as she flopped onto her back at his side and ignored his soft laughter.
“Mayhaps I shouldnae have heated that water,” he mumbled as he turned and rested his head upon her breasts.
“Nay, I was glad of the wash even if ye did get me all asweat soon afterwards.” She smiled sleepily when he responded with a drowsy chuckle. “So, we ride for York on the morrow?” she asked, idly tangling her fingers in his thick hair.
“Aye, at dawn’s first light. Although I would rather spend each minute of this night making love to you, I fear we must get some rest.” He briefly kissed the tip of each of her breasts before resettling there and closing his eyes “When riding with the Douglas ’tis foolhardy to become too weary. So, good sleep, dearling.”
“Good sleep, Hacon,” she murmured.
