“Uh huh.”
He laughed. “When we arrive home.”
“Fourdays?”
“Don’t make me think aboot it,” he whispered down to her. “I dinna wish to make you too tender to keep up the pace we’ve set. If I take you afore we arrive home, ‘twill force us to slow down to accommodate your tenderness.”
She recalled the length and girth of his manhood. Whether he thought her a virgin or not—and she highly suspected not—he was no doubt correct that his size would leave her sore. Octavia hated to admit it, but Angus was, as usual, correct. She’d have to wait. She’d carry a serious case of female blue balls in the interim, but she’d wait.
“’Twill be a hardship for me as well,” Angus said as if reading her thoughts. “Dinna worry, wife. You will have more sex than you know what to do with the soonest.”
Wife. She was Angus’ wife. As their party took off, a bemused expression settled on her face. She had never thought to be any man’s wife before the alien invasion and after it, well, she had never thought to end up as anything more than food. But this… this felt right. It was the first time she’d ever felt completely like a woman in the presence of a man. And this was but day number four.
He didn’t want to change her—not anything about her. That thought struck her with staggering intensity. She turned it over in her mind for the better part of the next hour, analyzing and reanalyzing it.
Men in her time had been intimidated by her; the medieval warlord was not. He found her bravery commendable rather than a stain on her morality. He, this living relic, had been able to accept Octavia in her entirety whereas men of her time had not.
It was no wonder he’d gotten under her skin so quickly and so thoroughly. He had done the impossible. Laird Angus Karrik had said “I do” to both the woman and the warrior within her.
He would be an easy man to come to love. Hell, she was half there already. It might have only been four days, but they were four intense ones.
They rode for seven hours, taking but two short breaks to care for their mounts. As they neared Cavanaugh land, their allies came out to greet them. Angus thought it odd that so many Cavanaugh warriors were on the far edge of their property until he came to a stop, Octavia in his lap, and saw what ‘twas the men fretted over.
A dead Cavanaugh. Not just dead, but disemboweled. His head had also been cracked open, the innards inside it now gone. The clansmen surrounded their fallen mon, all of them wondering what could have done such a thing to a mon so big as Logan Cavanaugh.
Angus watched as Octavia looked warily over her shoulder and into his eyes. “Xenocann?” he quietly murmured. He sighed at her nod. “You’ve your death stick—rifle—do we need it?”
“It’s in my baggage,” she confirmed. “But I can reach it quickly.”
The laird wanted to learn how to use the rifle, but he realized he’d have to wait until they were alone for that. He motioned for Colban to catch up to him.
“What say you, Doctor?” Angus asked. “How long has he been dead?”
“Maybe seven or eight hours,” Doctor said quietly. He was careful to keep his voice low. “At best.”
“So it’s slowing down,” Octavia murmured.
“It’s getting colder the farther north we travel,” Doctor pointed out.
At Colban’s odd stare, Angus gave him a look to let him know he’d explain later. The laird had already made the decision to take his five closest men into his confidence. Colban and Niall were two of those men. But now was not the time. Not when they had no privacy on another clan’s border.
The mood in the village as they all rode in was somber at best. Logan’s widow was inconsolable, though to her credit, Octavia did try to comfort her.
“I’m so sorry,” he heard his wife say once she’d dismounted and made her way to Morag Cavanaugh. “I realize you don’t know me yet, but I wish there was something I could do to help.”
“’Tis kind of you, milady.” Morag dabbed at her eyes. “I wish for your sake that your arrival was under better circumstances.”
Angus gently pulled his wife away from Morag. “’Tis proper do we greet the laird afore others,” he said softly. At Octavia’s horrified look, he quickly reassured her. “The clan will think highly of you for speaking to Morag afore aught else. Have no worries, wife.”
‘Twas another hour and a half afore he, his wife, and his men were well inside Cavanaugh land and at the doorstep of their laird, Daniel. Daniel was quick to greet the Karrik laird warmly, denoting his allegiance to Angus. The Highlander clans were mayhap sovereign for all intent and purposes, yet was there also a hierarchy of sorts. Angus sat at its informal apex for his were the most skilled warriors the Highlands could claim.
The Cavanaughs did not have the sort of wealth the McClintocks and Karriks possessed so after the evening meal Angus thanked his host for offering his hut, but decided to make camp outside with his wife and men. Thankfully, he thought bemusedly, said wife seemed to prefer the outdoors to the huts.
The eve had a chill to it so Octavia donned her cloak afore lying down beside him. Angus shared the warmth of his plaid and his furnace of a body with her. They laid under a tree as James kept first watch. She curled up into Angus’ embrace, her tempting backside pressed against his burgeoning erection.
“Will it ever be over?” Octavia whispered. “Will the night ever come when I can close my eyes and not worry about a feeder sneaking up on us?”
Angus held her tighter. “Aye, wife. I promise you this.”
