By the time she reached the gate, a small crowd had gathered, mostly made up of men who’d been part of the foraging party. The quartermaster barked orders at the men, tried to direct the flow of vegetables and grain to the various kitchens and storehouses, but few people seemed to pay him any heed. When Nicholas crossed the drawbridge and walked through the gate, a cheer arose, not only from those gathered at the gate, but from the men on the ramparts.
“Bloody well done, Kenleigh!”
“You showed that bastard!”
“Good show, Lieutenant!”
She took in the sight of him all at once—the blood on his shirt, the wind playing in his hair, the sweat on his brow, the power of his stride, the dark rage in his eyes—and she wanted nothing more than to slap him soundly across the face. She might have done exactly that, had he not taken her by the arm and pulled her callously through the throng and across the parade grounds back toward the officers’ barracks.
Private Fitchie hurried after them, a look of terror on his face. “I tried to keep her in the barracks, like you said, sir, but she wouldna listen!”
“What in the hell were you doing up on the ramparts? You shouldn’t be out of our quarters during an alarm!” Nicholas walked so quickly she had to run to keep up.
“Dinnae talk to me like that!” She jerked on her arm, but he held fast. “You didna see fit to tell me you were goin’ into danger. I had to learn it from Annie!”
“I didn’t realize, madam, that your approval was required.”
“Oooh! My approval? You haggis-headed bawheid!”
Annie stood in the doorway, a smile tugging at her lips, Isabelle in her arms.
Bethie felt a surge of waspish temper. What did Annie find so amusing?
“If you want to call me names, love, I suggest you try calling me something I can understand.” Nicholas pressed Bethie up against the wall, kissed her roughly. “Otherwise, I’m likely to miss the insult.”
How dare he kiss her! She pushed him away. “Fine! You’re a foolish arse! You do understand those words, do you no’?”
Nicholas glared at her. “Annie, do you mind? I need to talk to my wife.”
He wanted to talk? Fine! She had a few more things to say. “How about ‘bastard’? Is that clear enough?”
Annie smiled. “Belle and I will pay a visit to the tradin’ post. Ye take as long as ye need. Come fetch her when ye’re... um, done.”
Bethie barely heard her. “Or ‘whoreson’? Do you understand that one?”
“Thank you, Annie.” Nicholas reached out, grabbed Private Fitchie by his collar. “Don’t let anyone disturb us. Do you understand? The first person to open this door dies!”
“Aye, sir. But...”
Bethie didn’t know when she’d felt so angry. “Maybe ‘bloody idiot’?”
Nicholas held a hand over her mouth, stifled her curses. “But what? Speak up, Private!”
“You will no’ hurt her, sir... will you?”
“She’ll be lucky if she escapes with her life!” With that, Nicholas pulled Bethie none too gently through the doorway, slammed the door behind them, and dropped the bar in place.
He turned to face her, a look of raw masculine fury on his face, his eyes blue fire. With a growl, he jerked her against him, captured her lips with his, forced his tongue deep into her mouth.
This was no gentle kiss, no attempt at seduction. It was raw, savage, brutish.
It was wonderful.
Bethie found herself kissing him back, her passion every bit as rough as his. Tongues invaded, twined, stroked. Teeth nipped, bit, ravished. Hands tore at clothing, thrust it aside, sought tender skin. And then they stood naked, fevered flesh against fevered flesh, panting their desire.
Almost beyond reason, Nicholas pulled her with him onto the bed, rolled onto his back so that she was astride him. Then he settled her so that her woman’s mound pressed against his aching erection. “Let my cock do for you what my tongue does.”
For a moment she looked confused, even afraid. But then he rocked against her, flexed her hips, showed her exactly what he meant. Her eyes closed, and she gave a long, throaty moan.
