He grinned and gave chase. Practically raised in the water, Duncan was the fastest swimmer in his clan. Last year he’d come in second to Rory MacLeod at the swimming competition at the Highland Gathering. Next year he intended to be first.
He didn’t expect it to be much of a chase, but Jeannie surprised him. What she lacked in strength, she made up in agility and speed.
She was quick, he’d give her that. A wolfish smile curled his lips. But not quick enough.
He held back, lulling her into a false sense of security for a few minutes, before catching up with her in a few powerful strokes. With one hand he reached out and latched his fingers around a slim ankle, pulling her back until he circled her waist. The ivory linen of her nightraile puffed out like a sail, revealing long, shapely legs. She tried to wriggle free, but he held her firm, her efforts only succeeding in stirring his body to painful awareness. He pulled her around to face him when they burst through the surface, both of them gasping big gulps of air from their underwater struggle.
Her eyes shone with laughter as she tried to push away. “Let me go.”
“I don’t think so,” he said, snuggling her more firmly against him. God she felt amazing. Chest to chest, hip to hip, legs entwined—he could feel every glorious inch of her. From the soft pillow of her lush breasts, to the hard point of her nipples and bones of her hips, to the sweet juncture at her thighs, to the strong, lean muscles of her legs. They could have been naked, there was nothing between them but water and wet fabric.
Playing with fire…
All of a sudden she seemed to become aware of their position—of their very intimate position. And there could be no doubt of his very prominent state of arousal. Her eyes widened and he heard the erotic little catch of breath in a small gasp. But she didn’t move. The innocent curiosity in her gaze only fanned the flames of his desire—and his agony.
“You cheated,” she said, her voice husky.
He was intensely conscious of the heavy rise and fall of her chest against his. Of her soft breasts crushed to his chest. Of the hard point of her nipples branding him. He forced his attention back to their conversation. Cheated…he arched a brow. “How so?”
“You grabbed my ankle.”
He shrugged. “There are no rules in warfare. A good warrior takes advantage of any opportunity.”
She bit back a smile. “And what of honor?”
He smiled wickedly. “Overrated.”
“Wretch.” She giggled and tried to push away again. This time he let her go. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold her like that and not kiss her.
She swam to the edge of the loch and levered herself up to sit on a long flat rock that served as a ledge over the water. Planting his hands on the edge of the rock, he pulled himself up beside her. He caught her staring at his flexed arms, but she quickly turned away, embarrassment staining her cheeks. He fought a grin. Apparently, the prominent muscles in his arms developed from the constant sword training served another function other than dispatching enemies.
She’d brought her knees to her chest, hiding her nakedness from his view, but he wouldn’t have trusted himself to look at her anyway. They sat in contented silence, the exertion of their swim seeping from their bodies as they watched the reflection of the silvery moon bob on the rippling black water.
“You’ll be leaving soon?” she asked.
He nodded. “Aye, the situation with Huntly has deteriorated. I need to return to Castleswene to report back to my father.” He wasn’t sure how much she knew of their reasons for being at court.
King James was furious with the recalcitrant Earl of Huntly and intended to rein the Great Lord in. Not only had Huntly refused to either renounce his Catholic faith or leave the country as required by last year’s decree, but he’d also been accused of conspiring with the king of Spain to restore the papist religion to Scotland. Huntly’s continued defiance was an embarrassment to King James who was trying to assert himself as heir—a Protestant heir—to the aging English queen.
“There will be war?”
Apparently she knew enough. “It seems unavoidable—unless Huntly agrees to the king’s demands to renounce his faith.”
“Which he won’t do.”
“Probably not,” he admitted.
“And you will fight?” She couldn’t keep the trepidation out of her voice.
“Aye.” She looked like she wanted to say something, but he cut her off. “It’s what I do, Jeannie.” There was something inside him that drove him and he couldn’t give it up—not even for her.
She gave him a long look but didn’t respond. Instead, she asked, “And what is my father’s part in all of this?”
He shrugged. “That’s up to him. But the king hopes he will be persuaded to see the virtue of our side.”
Jeannie considered him thoughtfully. “In other words, King James is hoping to take advantage of the current feuding between my father and Huntly.”
It was an astute observation. Her father had been furious with Huntly’s role in the murder of the Earl of Moray—enough to break his vassal duty and feud with his lord. The king hoped to drive the wedge even further between the two. “Aye,” Duncan admitted.
