Chapter Twelve
After so many years, their lives had collided. Like two raindrops falling through the air side by side, they struck the surface of this flooded pond, splashed, and then melded together into something greater.
They each had desires, responsibilities, dreams, but now they had entered a life of new possibilities, and Elizabeth knew that they must now come together, work together, to make it all a reality.
Alexander’s profession would take him far from her. There was no denying that. If she were to marry him, they would be spending time apart. If she were to accept his offer, Elizabeth would have to be strong. She would need to be confident and ready to embrace his clan. Sometimes with him, sometimes alone, she would have to build a future for them all.
Two days ago, the prospect terrified her. She had plans, a different future in mind. Most importantly, she didn’t know the character of the man who was her intended. But so much had happened. And it wasn’t the danger of the storms or surviving this adventure together that finalized her decision. It was meeting the man beyond the daunting reputation . . . and understanding the woman lurking within her own skin.
For twenty-three years, she’d been an observer of life. Whether she was accompanying her father on his many projects or living at Queen Margaret’s court, she’d watched from a safe distance—learned some things—but never immersed herself completely. She’d never created anything of her own. Now she had a chance. As long as he was hers and she was his—for one day or for eternity—Elizabeth was ready. Those possibilities lay within their grasp.
“I’ll marry you, Highlander,” she told him. “But from time to time, would you take me aboard your ship if I promise to learn to swim?”
He laughed and his shoulders relaxed. The hard line of his jaw softened. She hadn’t realized until this moment that he’d been anxious about her answer.
“I’ll teach you to swim,” he replied. “And I’ll take you with me wherever I go. Whenever you like.”
Still holding her hand, he got up and came around the table. She stood, her insides whirring in sweet turmoil about what she knew was to come. Never, before meeting Alexander, had she thought of the inevitability of this moment. No other man had ever made her insides tremble like this.
She stared at his lips, remembering the pressure of them on her own.
“Touch me, Elizabeth.”
Desire ripped through her. An intense, primitive need started low in her belly, spreading like fire through her limbs.
She reached out, touching his chest, running her fingers over the taut sinews, over a scar as long as her hand. His muscles and skin reacted to her feathery touch. She slid her hand lower to his abdomen where dark hair formed a triangle and disappeared at the belt. She traced it downward.
She was aware of her breaths coming in shallow gasps, but then so were his.
He took hold of her hands and pulled them around his waist, drawing her closer until their bodies met. Through the layers of the dress and his kilt, she felt the pronounced ridge of his erection. Warmth licked through her limbs. She wanted to melt and mold herself against his body. She traced the hard lines of muscle on his back.
“There’s only so much I can take this first time,” he said.
“Will there be more than one time?” she asked coyly.
His lips descended on hers, kissing her with a passion that scorched her. In all her life, she had never known this yearning that he ignited in her. It was a fire that only made her want to burn hotter. The throb that had started in her belly became white hot, pulsing deliciously. Elizabeth wanted him to take her . . . right here, this moment.
“A second time,” he growled. “And a third too, if you give me time. You can have your way with me as many times as you desire.”
He scooped her up into his arms and carried her across the cottage.
With every step, his mouth brushed her neck, leaving a tingling wake along her skin and spreading a delicious ache through her body. When he stood her beside the bed, he held her tightly to him, his thigh pressing intimately between her skirts. Raw need rushed through her center. It was like running headlong down a hill, crazy and out of control. Elizabeth tried taking steadying breaths to slow and prolong the fiery madness.
He pulled the dress slowly over her head, dropping it at her feet. She saw his eyes darken. Her body reacted to the caress of his gaze, prickles of heat following the path of his eyes. Her skin, her flesh strained to be touched.
“You take away my breath with your beauty,” he said.
“You’ve seen me naked before.”
He looked hungrily into her flushed face, his thumb moving down the column of her neck. “But have I touched you before?”
“You did, brushing away the bees. Don’t you remember? You . . .”
Elizabeth forgot what she was about to say when a finger traced a slow seductive line to her breasts. His palms cupped the weight of each, his thumbs circling the sensitive nipples.
“Did I taste you before?” he asked as his mouth closed over one.
She cried out softly at the tug of his lips. Her breaths shortened as she threaded her fingers into his hair. She watched in amazement the hard planes of his handsome face against the curves of her flesh. “I think . . . I think I would have remembered this.”
Alexander smiled as he gently sat her down on the bed and stepped back.
He unfastened his belt. Elizabeth watched his hands’ movements. He unwrapped the kilt from his hips and dropped it to the floor.
Elizabeth had seen paintings and statues of gods and heroes. She understood the male anatomy. But he was flesh and blood. He was hard, and he was larger than any Greek or Roman. Alexander Macpherson was far more impressive. And he was hers.
He came to her, and a thrill raced through her as she lay back and opened her arms to him. She shivered as an unknown excitement took control of her. Her hands traveled along his back, taking hold of his rock hard buttocks. She opened her legs, knowing instinctively that relief would come only when they were joined.
“Too soon,” he whispered raggedly.
He took both of her hands and pushed them down onto the bed, away from her body. His mouth traveled to her breasts, laving and teasing as her tremors of exhilaration rose even higher.
Elizabeth’s skin burned as his fingers brushed lazily over her stomach, moving lower until he touched the molten center of her desire.
She stopped breathing as his lips followed, sliding downward along her body. Reaching beneath her, he raised her buttocks, lifting her to his mouth.
Elizabeth’s back arched and she cried out, but Alexander held her where he wanted her, tasting her. Effortlessly, mindlessly, her hips began to move to a rhythm pulsing from somewhere deep within her, and he continued to tease her until she was riding currents of passion into the very heart of a storm. Finally, with a desperate cry, she reached for him, taking hold of his hair before the madness unhinged her.
She sucked in a breath, holding it as wave after wave of pleasure swept her up until she was a leaf swirling high in the wind. She arched her back and called out his name.
“Make me yours,” she cried. “I want to feel you inside me.”
He moved up and kissed her even as he entered her. Her legs tightened around him, gripping him, and he drove deeply into her. He thrust hard and deep, quickening his movements until they erupted together, their cries of ecstasy blending in the warm summer night.
This is passion, she thought as her mind slowly floated back into her body.
This is love, she realized, looking into his blue eyes.
She loved Alexander. And she’d go to the edge of the world with him.
* * *
They’d come sooner than he expected.
A groundswell of feeling rushed through Alexander as he looked at Elizabeth, asleep on the bed. This was only the beginning, the start of their life, he reminded himself.
But damn them for arriving so soon, he cursed, listening to the boats moving across the flooded fields.
Stepping out into the fresh morning air, he pulled his shirt on, adjusted his kilt, and moved down to the water’s edge to meet the visitors.
The flood was starting to recede, and two boats lurched through the shallows until they could get no closer to the shore. Each craft carried castle guards, and he recognized the distinguished-looking passenger in one of them. Ambrose Hay, Elizabeth’s father. He was here in person to fetch his daughter.
Waiting for the old man to wade ashore, Alexander reminded himself that the three—or was it four—times he’d made love with Elizabeth last night was only a glimpse into their future. He wasn’t giving her up.
Elizabeth’s father had hardly stepped onto solid ground before he began his barrage of questions.
“Is it settled now?” he asked. “When my daughter lied and sent these men packing yesterday, did that mean she’s decided to go through with it? Have you two come to terms? Are you to be married?”
So Elizabeth had told her father how she felt about the marriage.
“I’ve proposed to her and she has accepted,” Alexander said, putting the man’s mind at ease. “The wedding will go on as planned.”
A breath of relief exploded from Ambrose. He laughed. “Hail to Queen Margaret. She did it. She arranged all of it.”
Alexander crossed his arms over his chest. Elizabeth had already told him the part the she’d been aware of. “What do you mean, all of it? What exactly did the queen arrange?”
“I don’t know what my daughter has told you, but to be honest, the lass only knew the part about leading you to the abbey.” The older man grinned. “The commotion in the village, the guards walking away from Elizabeth. Everything but the attempted kidnapping was all engineered by the queen. The last part was just a terrified blacksmith, acting and not thinking.”
Last night, he and Elizabeth had assumed as much.
“The queen would be an excellent military strategist if she looked out the window on occasion,” Alexander said wryly. “I am fairly certain she can recognize a flooded river from the White Tower.”
“True. That was a dangerous game she exposed my daughter to.” Ambrose looked over his shoulder at the expanded river. A moment later, he turned around again. “When Elizabeth sent away the men who came searching for you, the queen took it as a complete triumph. She sent word to me as soon as the men returned. I had no idea Queen Margaret enjoyed wielding Cupid’s arrows so much. The queen planned it all to leave you two to yourself, to give you time together, hoping you’d decide to go through with the wedding. The storm and the floods only added more adventure, to her thinking.”
“I’m glad we didn’t worry her any,” the Highlander said, not trying to hide his sarcasm.
It was a good thing he hadn’t hurt anyone in the village. Or killed someone. Alexander wondered if the queen knew about his reluctance with regard to the marriage, too. Not that any of it mattered any longer. Not the intrigue, not the manipulation, not the obvious flaws in the plan. It did irk him a little when he thought of how dangerous it was for Elizabeth.
Elizabeth.
He turned and looked up at the cottage. His breath caught in his chest at the sight of her standing in the open doorway.
He didn’t wait for the old man and strode up the hill to her. Her gaze followed his every step. The blush on her flawless cheeks was a hint that she recalled everything they’ve done last night, all that they’d said.
She reached for him and he took her hand, pressing her palm to his lips. Ambrose Hay was making his way toward them.
“As you can see, your father has arrived. We need to go back.”
“Send him away,” she murmured, moving into his arms and pressing her cheek against his chest. “It’s too soon.”
“Five days,” he told her. “We’ll be wed in five days.”
“What if something goes wrong?”
“You are mine and I am yours. Husband and wife. Nothing can go wrong.”