Heat flared in his gaze. “Do I detect a challenge, my lady?”
She gave an exaggerated shrug, her eyes dancing wickedly. “If you aren’t too tired. You were doing all the work, after all.”
“I assure you, my love, it wasn’t work.” He kissed her, nuzzling her mouth with his lips and tongue, then moving onto her ear. “Nor am I tired,” he breathed against the damp skin, sending a shiver down her spine. He scooped her up into his arms. “Though I appreciate your concern for my welfare.”
She giggled and whacked his chest. “What are you doing? Let me down.”
A very naughty grin spread across his gorgeous face. “I think not. I intend to show you exactly how to do this properly.”
And he did—twice—though she suspected there was nothing proper about it at all.
Hours later, Jeannie collapsed in an exhausted heap of naked entwined limbs just as she’d wanted. But never could she have imagined the absolute contentment, the intimacy forged in the arms of another. She could stay like this forever, tucked under his arm, her head resting on his shoulder, her cheek pressed to bare skin. This might be her favorite place in the entire world. She inhaled his warm, masculine scent, savoring the moment and knowing she would remember it always.
His soft breathing sounded in her ear, filling her with contentment such as she’d never known before. She smiled, her fingers toying with the smattering of fine hairs that formed a triangle on his chest. He’d earned his sleep.
So had she. He was here, with her, safe.
She sighed, nuzzling deeper into the crook of his arm, and closed her eyes. Everything was going to be all right.
It was her last coherent thought before sleep dragged her under.
It was still dark when Duncan jerked awake.
He swore, furious with himself for falling asleep. He needed to get back to camp before he was missed. Carefully he untwined himself from Jeannie’s naked limbs and eased from the bed.
It creaked loudly with the removal of his weight and Jeannie stirred, but did not wake. It was probably for the best. He hated leaving like this, without explanation, but neither did he have time for another scene.
He hadn’t meant for this to happen. He’d only meant to comfort her, to calm her fears with a gentle kiss. But he’d tasted her need, felt her urgency in the sweet press of her body against his, and desire had reared up inside him like a wild angry beast demanding to be set free. Would it always be like this between them? Hot and explosive, almost desperate in its urgency?
Even after the first time, his efforts to slow the pace and tease out her pleasure were for naught. Their emotions were too raw, their passion too fiery, their need too violent. He lost his mind when he was with her. A small part of him questioned whether he was equipped to handle something so intense. He’d never thought something like this could happen to him. He’d always felt his destiny lay on the battlefield; love had never seemed part of it. Love only complicated things. He need only look as far as the old tales of Arthur or Tristan to see that.
His gaze lingered on her face, her delicate features almost angelic in repose—were it not for the naughty mouth. Even sleep couldn’t hide the decidedly sensual curve of her lips.
His chest tightened, moved beyond words that she was his.
Forcing his gaze away, he squinted into the darkness trying to locate his belongings, which in his eagerness—or frenzy—had been strewn around the room.
Instead he was surprised to see everything folded in a neat pile. He frowned. When had she done that? He shook his head. He must have slept deeper than he’d realized. Given what they’d been doing—and that he’d found release three times in about an hour—it probably wasn’t all that surprising. He should count himself fortunate that he woke at all from such a sated slumber.
He dressed quickly and pressed one more kiss on her temple before quietly leaving the room. Less than an hour later, after leaving instructions with the ale woman to rouse the guardsmen at dawn, he pushed back the flaps and entered the dark tent.
He was glad Colin was asleep—he was far too tired for explanations. With only a few hours left until daybreak, he didn’t bother to remove his clothes, tossing off only his weapons and sporran beside him before crawling onto his pallet. He was so damned tired.
And morning would come soon enough.
Chapter 8
Duncan’s eyes and throat burned from the acrid smoke of gunpowder that hovered like a shroud over the bloody battlefield. Sweat poured from every inch of his body. He was exhausted, dirty, and bleeding from too many places to count. It was a rout all right, just not the way his cousin had planned.
“Fall back!” he yelled to a party of men advancing before him. But it was too late. The cannon ball exploded right in front of them, taking two men with it. Five more explosions followed in quick succession down the line with similar deadly results.
Initially, the sight of limbs torn apart and flying body parts had startled him just as it had the rest of the Campbell forces. It had taken all of Duncan’s command to prevent half the troops from deserting at the first blast of the strange, terrifying weapon that attacked with a devastating power never before encountered.
That first cannon shot had proved a harbinger of things to come. By no accident it had been aimed right at his cousin’s position, claiming not the intended target, Argyll, but Campbell of Lochnell who rode at his side.
Now, hours later, with the rest of the army deserting all around them, all that was left of the vanguard were his father’s men and the right wing under the command of MacLean of Duart.
It wasn’t only Huntly’s cannon that had decimated them, however, but treachery.
