Page 74 of Highlander’s Mercenary Lass

This was the first time she had ever seen Fiona with a lad. Yet there she was, their faces pressed as close as lovers, as they danced a reel.

Shyly, Fiona dropped her eyes, refusing to look at them, leading Grace to clear her throat.

"Och," she said to Andrew. "Perhaps we should be getting away. It doesnae seem as if anyone will miss us now." She smiled. "Especially nae Fiona!"

Taking her hand, Andrew laughed, leading her through the merry room. Just as soon as they were out of sight, he flung her over his arms.

"Come on, Mrs. Caldwell. I'm carrying ye over the threshold!"

"Have ye got yer breath back, yet?" Grace grinned, as Andrew lay collapsed on the bed.

The sight of him there, all sweaty and glowing, made her laugh, but it also beckoned her in. Slyly, Grace approached the bed.

"Haud yer wheesht!" whispered Andrew. He did indeed look a little flummoxed, but the smile playing around his lips told her that it would not trouble him for long.

Smiling, Andrew extended an arm toward her, drawing her into his grip. Grace came a little nearer but did not sit down.

"I told ye nae tae carry me all the way," she chided. She did not lay down but hung her head over him quizzically. Her soft hair caressed his bare shoulder, tempting him in. Then, she reached for his face. "There's a hundred steps up tae the chamber!"

Andrew raised his eyes. "Two hundred," he corrected, "an' forty-three..."

Grace slowly brought her head to his head. The heat between them crackled, and it wasn't down to the new log on the fire.

Grace smiled, kissing him slowly. Then, with no warning, he rolled her over until he was on top of her. Grinning broadly, Andrew's green eyes danced wild.

"An' I'll do it again in a heartbeat, wench," he jested, pushing her back on the bed, and feeling the shape of her cheek.

A single bead of sweat trickled down from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine with a delicious squelch. Something inside her pounded, crazily, and Grace couldn't wait any longer.

Caressing him, she kissed him from the tip of his head to the base of his chest. Watching her quizzically, Andrew positioned her fingers on his torso, holding her hand against his nipples. Then he nodded, bringing her closer to his flesh.

Grace understood, and without another word, he removed his clothing, rolling up his leine and jettisoning it over the bedside stool. She grinned, spreading her hands all over his smooth flesh. He was ripe and firm and ready for a bite.

Sinking her face into his skin, Andrew groaned, a deep, passionate moan, as if he really were in the grips of a private ecstasy. Enthralled, Grace kissed him deeply, burying herself into his springy flesh.

He tasted fresh, the sweetness of his skin tempting her in further. Grace hesitated, but only as a tease. Placing her hands over her face, she pretended not to look.

"Och, I cannae," she said demurely, then flicked her amber eyes up to see his face.

"Ye can an' ye will, an' I command ye as yer husband!" said Andrew with a wink.

Grace pulled a face, then brought her hands all over him, rubbing and stroking him firmly.

Grace eyed him archly. "Nae yet, ye havenae paid me." She grinned. "Nae all o' it, anyway!" Andrew looked like he had been slapped.

"Paid ye?" he asked unsurely. "Ye want paying?"

Grace's eyes danced, showing him she was enjoying this. Andrew's total confusion tickled her.

"Aye," she said seriously. "When we first met, ye said ye'd pay me for finding the lassie ye were looking for. An’ well, ye did!"

Andrew's eyes rounded. Then he shook his head.

"Ye want me to pay ye...for finding ye?" he said.

Grace grinned, drawing nearer. "Aye," she said.

Andrew just laughed. "Och, I'll pay ye, alright, ye wench, when I get hold o' ye!" he quipped, rolling her over and over again. Then he stopped, with an arch glance.