“Then I am pleased ye still care for this savage.”
Alana found her hands creeping to his shoulders, her knees weak, her body on fire. She was agonizingly aware of him—his heat, his strength, his scent. “No matter what happens in this war, I will always care.”
His eyes darkened. “Ye berated me at Nairn. Ye strongly disapproved.”
“I did not approve—I can never approve,” she answered. She opened her hands and spread her fingers across his hard, broad shoulders.
“I dinna want to speak of the war now,” he said roughly.
How she now recognized his tone, his need. It was hard to breathe with her heart racing so swiftly. Now she recognized her own need, too.
Alana reached up and took his face in her hands, aware that no lady would ever do as she was doing. But she could not stop herself. She did not care who saw them, or what they thought. She kissed him.
He stiffened in surprise. Alana’s blood was rushing so violently in her veins that she felt faint. Holding his nape, she forced his mouth open, thrusting her tongue past his. And she kissed him even harder, with all the passion exploding inside of her.
Suddenly he reversed their roles, locking her in his embrace, and breaking the kiss. His eyes were heated, but wide with surprise.
It was a moment before she could speak. “I missed you, too,” she said. And it was the truth.
He suddenly swept her into his arms and carried her into his tent, using his shoulder to shove the flap door in. He strode to his pallet and laid her down, coming down on top of her in one fluid movement. Straddling her, he slid his arms behind her back. “If ye had refused to come, I would have come to ye at Brodie.”
She thrilled. Alana reached for the outermost buckle of his two belts, yanking on it. It came apart and fell from him, his sheathed swords sliding to the bed around them.
He caught her hand, jerking it aside as he came down on top of her, kissing her. Alana cried out, pulling at his leine, as their mouths mated furiously. His tongue deep within her, he unbuckled his second belt and flung it away. Alana jerked up his leine and he pulled on her skirts. Hot and hard, he surged into her.
And within moments, they were both crying out, Alana blinded by both pleasure and joy.
And then she was drifting back to the earth, aware of being in his arms, beneath him on the small pallet. He shifted to his side, taking her with him, and he laughed, the sound male and satisfied. “So ye have missed me, truly.”
She snuggled her cheek against the slab of his chest. “Is it not obvious?” She kissed his chest. “How shameful we are.”
“I am not ashamed.” He kissed her forehead. “There are hours left until we sup...” He slid his hand over her bare backside; her skirts gathered about her waist.
Alana could not think about anything other than making love now. She sat up, untying her girdle. The gleam in his eyes intensified as he watched. She tossed it aside.
Then she slowly removed her blue surcote. As slowly, she removed her long-sleeved lavender cote. Clad only in her linen chemise, she undid her braid and shook out her long, heavy waist-length hair and smiled.
He growled and pulled her down beneath him, ripping the chemise in two.
* * *
“YEWILLMEETKing Robert,” Iain said. “Bruce is here.”
Alana lay nestled under the wool blankets and a fur cover on his pallet; he was standing and fully dressed. She had never been as sated, and she had never wanted to avoid contemplation and reason more. But his words instantly caused alarm.
“Surely I have not exhausted ye so that ye cannot get out of bed?” he teased, grinning.
“But you have,” she said softly, her smile brief. She did not want to meet Bruce, not now, not ever. She slowly sat up, holding the fur that had covered them over her chest.
His smile faded. “What is amiss, Alana?” He pulled a stool close to the pallet and sat down upon it.
She hesitated. She had such a good rationale to continue to deceive him. Yet her heart raged against the deception. How could she continue to deceive him when she loved him so much?
And Alana knew if she dared to think, she would beat a hasty retreat. So she shut off all internal debate. “Iain.”
“What passes, Alana?” he asked quietly, unsmiling. “Why are ye so sad, so suddenly? So grim? Did I not please ye tonight? Or is something else the matter?”
“Of course you pleased me,” she answered. She knew she must tell him the truth—and not debate her decision. She could barely breathe or move, much less speak.
