Chapter Eighteen

His aching cock tented his féileadh, making his gait stiff as he stalked the room and lit every single torch along the walls. He caught himself practically racing around the room. She’s not leaving, ye fool.

With the last torch spitting and flaring to life, he faced her. And sucked in his breath. Lord, she was beautiful. The flickering light touched her at many angles, giving her skin an otherworldly glow. She looked so wee next to the dominating four-poster, but her size belied her toughness.

And that flare of her hips…

Aye, she was a fine wife for a warrior.

He prowled toward her, heart beating a feverish beat, his gaze soaking in the contour of her rosy cheek, down to the luscious curves of her chest and hips, and back up again. He halted, leaving only inches between them. Stroked a blunt finger along the creamy slope of her neck to where her dress cloaked her shoulders from his gaze. Skimmed along the neckline and saw—and felt—her shiver.

And the blazing light showed him all of it. Every succulent inch of visible skin. Every indentation and freckle and bump.

The fabric of his shirt swished against his torso, and he glanced down in surprise. She was tugging his shirt out from under his féileadh.

Then, Mo Chreach, her warm, smooth palms touched his skin. Stroked against his belly and up his chest. He closed his eyes. It was his turn to shudder.

She was delightfully responsive to his touch, but equally shocking was how much he reacted to her slightest touch. He could have her hands stroke his skin all night, and he’d die a happy man.

Touch. Not something he’d experienced much of in his life. Until he’d felt hers, he’d not thought he was the poorer for it. Now he was like a ravenous beast for her touch. A ravenous beast whose hunger would never be sated.

However, he was making a paltry showing already. He fingered and tugged on the buttons and ties which anchored her clothing, working quickly to release her from its confines, his breaths growing harsher.

As soon as he’d loosened it enough, he smoothed his palm down her slender neck. This time, when his fingers bumped against the collar of her dress, he edged it across her shoulder. In fascination, he watched her skin pebble in the wake of his hand. Her breathing grew rapid, aiding the descent of her dress from her shoulders.

“Duncan,” she whispered, pleading.

He angled his hips, fitting himself against the soft pillow of her belly while his trembling fingers trailed across her creamy shoulder and eased her dress down. He repeated it on the other side.

The fabric caught on her breasts, highlighting their plumpness. He stepped away, letting the bodice fall. He drew in a sharp breath. She was perfect. Her eyes, large and luminous in the torchlight, gazed upon him with… Och, with all the desire a man could wish for.

Reverently, he cupped the pale globes, his rough palms against her creamy flesh. He flicked his thumb across her peaks, and she sucked in a shuddering breath. Before his eyes, her nipples hardened.

Urgency now chased desire in his veins.

He gripped her waist and tossed her onto the bed, her soft laughter starting before she even landed. Her laugh. It…touched something. Something deep inside his soul. She propped herself up on her elbows, smiling down from her new height, while he quickly unwound his féileadh and tugged off his jacket and linen shirt.

He cared not where his clothes landed and instead mounted the steps and placed his knee on the bed’s edge.

“Wait,” she said, her voice husky, her body dipping toward him from his weight. “You got to look. Let me now.”

His cock had been rigid, pointing toward her, but now it hardened further, pulling up tight against his stomach. “Ach, nighean, I do not think I can let ye look your fill, much as I wish to grant your every desire.”

She smiled, her eyes not only twinkling with happiness, but also with heat and a touch of teasing. “Wow. You don’t talk much, but when you do, you really know how to string words together.”

“That’s enough words from me, I think.”

Her hooded gaze traveled up and down his body, firing his blood everywhere it landed. Her gaze on his body was almost equal to her touch. Almost. He climbed onto the bed and swung a leg over her shapely body, crouching over her, caging her in with his body.

Criosd. Fiona, stretched out below him—in a bed—was everything he’d imagined. Her pink lips were plump from his kisses, her skin flushed, and the eagerness in her gaze said she couldn’t wait any more than he could.

Every sigh, every touch he must savor, for in the morning, he’d be leaving her for he knew not how long. He must not only create memories to later cherish, but also give her no cause to regret their union.

He began at her shapely ankles. Grazed his finger along the delicate skin, memorizing their shape, tracing the lines and forks of her blue veins. Gently cupped her wee foot and brushed his lips on the wrinkle between her ankle bone and heel. Her leg jerked. He smiled. Fiona was ticklish.

Up her trembling calf and the evidence of her strength in its muscular shape. No, Fiona would not have sticks for legs.

He brushed his mouth along the side of her knee, touching his tongue to her skin. Like satin, but warm. Och, her scent. It flooded his senses, and he groaned as he trailed his mouth and tongue up to place another kiss on the inside of her thigh, but then he was staring at bed linens instead of creamy thigh. His quarry had jerked away. Her fingers clutched his shoulders, tugging.

He stared at her in befuddlement. “I’m romancing ye, nighean.”

“And I appreciate it,” she said, humor glinting in her gray eyes. “But the anticipation is killing me.” She tugged again. “Come here, you.”

As he rose, following her urging, he clasped the edge of her skirt and trailed his hand up her silky soft thigh, exposing her as he went, the fabric bunching and brushing against his hand. She might be wishing him to hasten, but he was going to use every moment to touch her. To feel her.

He settled alongside her, one bare leg draped over hers, and kissed her smiling lips as his hand reached the warm apex of her sex. He brushed into her soft, springy curls and then, och, touched her slick, satiny skin. Her kisses grew frantic, nipping, devouring. He stroked his finger along her velvet folds. Already she was wet. For him.

Heat rushed along his skin, concentrating in the small of his back.

“Please, Duncan.” She squirmed against him.

He trailed feverish kisses, desperate kisses, down her neck, then pushed himself over her, resting on his elbows. He grabbed his aching cock and guided himself to her lush entrance.

This time, because he could, because there was light enough, he watched her face, her eyes, as he eased inside.

’Twas a beautiful sight. More than beautiful. Her generous, pale-pink lips parted, her gaze softened, and a flush bloomed on her pale skin. And he could see it all, unlike in the ground bowl the evening before.

And feeling her slowly surround him with her heat? Like sliding into acceptance, into a warm, welcoming sort of understanding. Like sliding into home.

He smoothed his thumb along her plump bottom lip and cupped her cheek. Her eyes flared with heat, and her tongue peeked out and laved the tip of his thumb. Urgency had him pulling his cock back, ready to plunge inside her again, but control had him easing back in on a sigh, seating himself fully in her warm sheath.

Mo Chreach, she felt incredible, gripping him. Feeling her heated skin touching his, seeing her hungry eyes avidly watching his. Again, he eased out, hissing at the delicious friction, and drove home, never taking his eyes off hers. Still, each draw out and back in was controlled, steady. Until she lifted those muscular legs and gripped his hips.

Control.

He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her unique scent, and found a rhythm that—judging by her gasps, her trembles, and her frantic hands clutching, scratching, and squeezing—heightened her pleasure, though it made it more difficult to hold back the release pounding down his veins.

As he moved in her, with her, he cursed himself for a fool. For how could he leave her in the morn? This only made the parting harder, not easier. He plunged into her, over and over, as if using his body to imprint himself in her memory. And she in his.

She gasped and contracted around him, shouting his name and yanking on his hair. He drove into her once more, his gaze intent on her beautiful face in the throes of her passion, and his release shuddered through him, an explosion of pleasure so intense he had room for one thought only before he blanked—aye, he was a fool.

Fiona blinked open eyes sticky with sleep. A rustling noise had awakened her. Humming with the hot, charged memories of last night, she stretched her hand across the sheets, smiling, ready to snuggle with Duncan and wake up properly, but all her questing hand met was a cool, empty spot where he should have been.

What—?

She sat up and squinted in the dim light of the room. Duncan stood by a dresser where he was cleaning himself with a cloth.

Whew. She hadn’t dreamed it. “Morning.” She stretched, enjoying the delicious feel of extending her sore muscles. Yep, she hadn’t dreamed it. She giggled. “You’re up early.”

“I mean to make an early start,” he said over his shoulder, his gaze flicking to hers, but just as quickly leaving.

Uh, her brain was still foggy from sleep, but…what? “An early start?”

He slipped his linen shirt over his head. “Yes. I have an errand that requires my immediate attention.”

“Oh. Okay.” There went her plan to perhaps stroll the grounds with him and get to know him better. “So you’ll be back later today?”

“Nay. About a fortnight if all goes well.”

She threw off the covers. “A fortnight?” She had watched enough British TV to know that meant two weeks. She yanked her shift on over her head. Slipping her arms into the sleeves, she hustled down the bed’s steps. “Where are you going?” Wherever it was, she had to go with him.

“Drumnadrochit.”

“Drumnadrochit?” Oh shit. This is it.

“ ’Tis a village near Urquhart castle.”

Heart pounding so hard it made her hands shake, she grabbed her petticoat from the floor, trying to bottle all her emotions into calm.

Marshal her thoughts. Convince him. Then pack. The MacLeod’s wife had been awesome enough to supply her with some clothes to replace the ones she lost on the ship. She’d need to pack the ones most suitable for traveling. She began to lace herself up. “I’m coming with you then.”

“Nay.” His was voice cold, hard.

She looked at him in shock but then reminded herself she no longer lived in her own time. “Why not?”

He stepped toward her, his face set in hard lines. “ ’Tis not an errand that concerns you. You’ll be safe here for a few days until ye leave with Gavin and the rest of the party for Dungarbh. I’ve already spoken with the MacLeod.”

Of all the… “Maybe the errand doesn’t concern me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t tag along.”

He stalked past her and opened the oak door. “Aye. It does.”

She followed him outside. “We’re not even going to discuss this?”

He was already striding down the Piper’s Gallery. “There’s no need. My word is final,” he threw over his shoulder.

“Hold up there, buddy. Not where I’m from.”

He spun around, eyebrows raised. “Husbands discuss their personal plans with their wives where you’re from?”

She put her hands on her hips. “You bet they do.” Well, at least the smart ones do.

“Interesting.”

She relaxed against the doorframe, glad she’d gotten him to understand she’d have input in this marriage if they were going to make it work. She opened her mouth, ready to start said discussion, when he pivoted and stomped down the walkway.

But… But… Heat flushed her cheeks, and not the sexy heat. Damn him.

Since she wasn’t completely dressed, she rushed back into the room and quickly donned her shoes and the rest of the accoutrements she’d need strapped on her in order to be seen.

Somehow she had to convince him to take her along. Without revealing why, or how she knew what was to take place in the near future.

She could go with the partial truth—they were newly married, and she didn’t want to be apart—but would that be convincing enough?