Quietly for fear of being seen, he led her.
“Where are we going?” she asked again.
“To get me horse. He is tied a little way off from here.” He put the extinguished lamp into the basket.
Torcall took her hand, leading her the little way to his horse. Their steps were light so that if any was about, they would not be heard. A few steps away from his horse, they heard a flurry of feet. Torcall pulled her to himself as he hid behind a close wall.
She was breathless at being pulled so close to him, almost as though she were afraid to breathe. From their hidden point, they watched a figure holding a dimmed light walk across. It was a singular figure in obvious haste. It was obvious that whoever it was hadn’t expected anyone else to be present. As the figure approached, Torcall and Ceana recognized her.
“Lottie,” Ceana gasped.
Torcall placed his hand over her mouth to silence her, and Ceana froze. Luckily, she hadn’t whispered loud enough for Lottie to hear.
They watched Lottie walk to the window of one of the houses. Then, she waited while looking around nervously. A few seconds after her arrival, a figure scaled down the walls. Ceana didn’t recognize him, but Torcall did.
“Bale,” he whispered, shocked.
The two exchanged a passionate kiss before walking off into the night.
Finally alone, Torcall and Ceana stared after the pair. Then, Torcall let his hand fall from Ceana’s mouth. It had been hard not to notice her soft body pressed against his.
“Who would have thought?” Ceana whispered.
“I can see why they hide,” Torcall mused. “Her father would have his head.”
Lottie’s Faither was the Clan Chief's brother, while Bale was a mere guard in the keep. It was common knowledge how protective her father was of his only daughter.
They walked the short distance to his horse. Torcall handed her the basked and mounted. Then, he handed her his hand and pulled her up behind him.
“I will ride very slowly,” he told her. “Hold on to me with a hand and hold on to the basket with another.”
Ceana nodded and leaned into him, wrapping her right hand around his torso.
He liked the feel of her hand on his body but warned himself to concentrate.
Slowly, the ride began. The cool night was just perfect for a ride, and he knew that it was his first but not last night's ride. It was a quiet ride too. But for the soft patters of the hooves of his horse of the ground and the crickets and frogs who knew no night, there was quiet. Ceana seemed just as enthralled by the beauty of the night as he was and said nothing until they arrived at the loch.
He took the basket from her and helped her down. Then, he dismounted himself.
“‘Tis beautiful here this night,” Ceana said breathily. The moon reflected beautifully on the loch. It looked like a faerie world that Ceana's head had been filled with as a child.
“Aye,” Torcall agreed.
He opened the basket, took out the cloth he had taken from his own chamber, and spread it on the soft grass.
“Milady,” he gestured grandly to the cloth.
Ceana giggled and sat on it. “Thank ye, milord.”
Torcall sat opposite her and put on the lantern with the matches he had brought along.
The light illuminated their faces, and he could see her more clearly than he had before. She wore a little gown that was obviously meant for sleep. It was made of sheer silk, and Torcall became painfully aware that she wore nothing beneath.
He could trace out the curves of her body in his mind’s eye. He had had women. Growing up with men, as he did, exposed him to the realities of life early enough. He knew about lust, and he knew how to make a woman want, but never before had a woman made him want as deeply as Ceana did.
Jealousy filled him as she tossed her hair behind her shoulders. He was reminded of the comments of the old man in the market. Was there a man that she couldn’t bewitch? It annoyed him slightly that he was just one of the many men to fall for her. Yet still, he couldn’t help himself.
At that moment, Ceana leaned forward, and he could see the shape of her breasts through her silk dress. He hardened slightly and yearned for her deeply, but she was innocent; he knew that much. Yet, he ached to do things to her. He wanted to own her body until she screamed out his name again and again. He would relish it too—the soft mews that she would give out. In those moments, she would think of him alone.
