Chapter Eighteen
Isla walked casually through the Great Hall and smiled at the laird who sat at the dais. She had never spoken more than three words to him, and she was more than happy with that. It saved her humiliation and kept others from speculating whether she would bed anyone or just Buchan. She tried not to grimace as she recalled her latest, and potentially last, encounter with him. It went better than she anticipated, and she did not feel as dirty as she usually did. Once she passed through the large doors and stepped into the bailey, she hurried to the guardhouse. She knocked and was relieved to find it was her cousin who answered. He had worked hard to make himself one of Buchan’s most favored warriors, but it also meant he watched over Isla. He smiled to her as she offered a quick embrace.
“Andrew, ye most open the gates. The Sutherland is here for his nephew. Buchan is unconscious in his chamber and will nae be an issue, but we havenae long before someone tries to rouse him. We must get Lord Tavish out now.”
“What have ye done?” Andrew hissed.
“I have done what I have planned for months. Buchan willna stand in ma way to freedom, and we will do what is right. Ye ken Lord Tavish is in the pit, and ye ken he has nay business being there. Ceit is here, Andrew.”
She awaited Andrew’s reaction to the last piece of news. Her cousin had been besotted with Ceit for years. Once upon a long time ago, Andrew had hoped to court Ceit, but with the events that followed, he had lost hope of seeing her again.
“Ceit’s here?”
“Aye, for Tavish. They’re to marry, Drew.”
Isla watched as anger then sadness then acceptance washed over his face.
“She is doing her duty then. Just as she always has.” Before Isla corrected him, he was moving towards the door. “Let’s be on with it then.”
Isla stood within the doorway and watched as Andrew spoke to a few of the other guards and then listened as the portcullis cranked open. She thanked every saint she remembered that the Comyn guardsmen served alongside their host’s. It was the only way this had the potential to work.
The sound of the large gate opening so late in the evening made many turn to look. There was no way to disguise who entered. They had agreed they needed their horses nearby to make a hasty exit. Leaving them behind and sneaking through the postern gate was not an option when they were unsure of what condition they would find Tavish. The men also wanted the advantage of being on horseback when the inevitable melee ensued. They were right in their estimation. It was only a matter of seconds before hell broke loose. Many of the Comyn guardsmen stood back and did not intervene, but the Closeburn men rushed forward with swords drawn. They came pouring out of the Great Hall and the barracks. They outnumbered the Sutherlands, but Isla watched in amazement as the Sutherlands deftly held their own. She waved to Ceit who scrambled from her horse. Ceit stopped short when she saw Andrew Comyn step next to Isla. It had been nearly a year since she had seen her best friend’s cousin. There had been a time when she imagined she fancied the young man, but there was nothing, but a familiarity bred from a lifetime of knowing one another. She looked at Isla instead.
“Where is he?”
“This way. Follow me.”
“Ye will need ma help, Cathryn.”
Ceit nodded, remembering that since she had grown into a woman, only Tavish and Isla called her Ceit. When the ladies at court and the queen did, it was not the same.
The three of them weaved through the bailey until they reached the side of the keep cast in shadows. Ceit saw the metal handle welded to the wooden trap door. It was barely wide enough for her to pass through let alone a man of Tavish’s stature. She wanted to sob when she pictured how he must be suffering. Andrew reached the door first and looked around before sliding the latch back.
Tavish listened to a battle going on above him. He crossed himself as he hoped that it was his uncle who had come for him and not some other inconvenient intruder. If the men who hosted him died, then no one would know he was in the pit. He would most definitely starve to death then. A heavy boot landed on the wooden trap door, and Tavish scrambled to grip the wall. He had left his boots tied around his neck as he prepared for his exit. He shimmied his way to just before the hatch. When the bolt move, he compressed himself as tightly as possible, preparing to spring forward. The door swung open, and Tavish launched himself up. It was more of an awkward scurry than an attack, but he pulled himself out. He was ready to swing when a weight landed on his back. It was a weight that smelled of rosemary and thyme. He twisted the person who clung to him until he held her in his arms.
“Mo dhìonair!” Ceit moaned as she clawed her arms around his neck.
He lifted her off the ground with his good arm, and she wrapped herself around him and squeezed as hard as she dared.
He let out a soft chuckle as his mouth sought hers. Their kiss was hard, and a battle born of desperation. Tavish forgot where they were and was ready to find a wall, anything solid, to take Ceit against. In the moment, he did not think about them not being married. He did not think about the battle that still raged around them. He did not think about the man he saw when the hatch opened. All he could think about was consuming and being consumed by Ceit.
“Let go, ye savage. Let her go before I run ye through.”
Tavish pulled back from Ceit even as she resisted releasing him. He set her down and pushed her behind him as he turned to face this newest opponent. He took in a man close to his own age who wore breeks but sounded like a Highlander.
“Keep yer filthy hands off the lady,” seethed the man.
Tavish took in his opponent as Ceit’s arms wrapped around him. He realized the man who held a sword towards him was not a real threat. He did not know who the man was, but Ceit either would have drawn back or drawn dirks if she perceived the other man was a real menace.
“Perhaps ye didna see the way the lass practically ate me whole. I would say she doesnae want ma filthy hands to be anywhere but on her.”
Andrew was ready to lunge forward when Ceit darted around Tavish.
“Drew, cease! If ye havenae noticed, there is still a battle going on, and we havenae time for this.”
Tavish stared down at Ceit, not at all pleased with the way Ceit spoke. She knew this man well and seemed to have influence over him.
“Who is he, Ceit?” Tavish was now angry. He had not been before, but jealousy flowed white hot from his toes to his still aching head. He was in no condition to deal with one more complication. He wanted Ceit, a bath, and food in that order.
Ceit looked back at him, and her eyes widened when she saw the fury that had not been there a moment ago. She recognized it for how she wanted to react when Camille touched Tavish or the way the women looked at him in the royal bailey after their return from Crichton.
“Tavish, this is Andrew Comyn. Andrew, this is Tavish Sinclair, ma betrothed.” She never took her eyes from Tavish as she spoke.
Tavish was not sure if he liked the fact he merited a title and the other man, this Andrew, did not.
“Ceit, ye are a long way from court. Ye dinna have to do this. I will take ye home.” Andrew was pleading.
Tavish growled and made to move around Ceit, but she was faster. She stepped forward and glared at Andrew.
“Did ye nae listen to me? The mon is ma betrothed. I amnae going anywhere but with him.” She softened her tone as she looked back at Tavish who was an inch behind her. “Drew, I am home. Tavish is free, and I am with him. That is home. I want to go with him.”
She looked back at the boy who had grown into a man, and while his face was recognizable, she realized she knew little about him now. And he knew even less about her.
“Drew, we were children. We arenae anymore. I am with the mon I was always meant to be with.” She looked back at Tavish and pulled his arms around her as she gazed up at him. “I love him.”
“Dinna be ridiculous, Ceit. This isnae love. Ye couldnae have kenned him long since Isla never mentioned him before. It’s been hardly more than a fortnight since ye last saw her. Ye dinna ken this mon. Lust isnae what a marriage is made of.”
Tavish was done listening. He tried patience for Ceit’s sake, but he was not about to debate his feelings, or hers, with a stranger.
“Lad, mayhap ye didna hear ma lass. She said she loves me, and just as importantly,” Tavish looked down at Ceit and squeezed her against his chest, “I love her. I dinna ken who ye are, but ye are someone from Ceit’s past. And that is where ye will stay.”
Ceit ran a soothing hand over Tavish’s arm. A moment of guilt for the way he spoke to Andrew tugged at her, but she agreed with him.
“Andrew, he is right. I dinna want to hurt ye, but ye are holding onto a past that doesnae exist anymore. Ye only want me because I am a reminder of how things once were. We will never be the Comyns we were before the harrying. I am a Sinclair now.”
Andrew lowered his sword and looked between Ceit and Tavish before nodding his head.
“I wish ye happy, Ceit.”
Their conversation was cut short by an angry roar that came from behind them. They all spun and saw John Comyn racing towards them with his sword drawn. Someone succeeded in rousing him from his drugged stupor.
“Ye whore! Ye fucking whore! Ye drugged me, and now I will kill ye.”
The angry former earl was surrounded by men who branched out to join the fight that continued. Ceit had a brief notion that it was unlikely the Sutherlands were still standing if the battle lasted this long. There were not that many of them to continue to hold their ground.
Tavish pushed both Isla and Ceit behind him and was ready to use his size alone to head off Buchan. Andrew stepped next to him, poised to defend the women too. Buchan took two more steps towards them before the tip of a sword poked through his chest. His mouth gaped as he looked down. The sword disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and blood shot forward before racing down his chest. His knees crumbled as he sank to the ground, and Adair stood behind him. Isla pushed between Tavish and Andrew and raced to him.
“Nay one will ever speak thusly to ye again. I will run them through just as I did this thieving bastard.”
He pulled Isla into his embrace and then walked away with her. They left Andrew, Tavish, and Ceit staring at Ceit’s dead uncle. Tavish pulled her against his chest, and she sunk into the protection his broad body offered. He stroked her hair and held her until her shaking ceased.
“It’s over now, mo sheillean beag. It’s over. He is dead, and the king will release ye from service.”
Ceit nodded her head but refused to let go. Andrew slipped away to lick his own invisible wounds and to allow the couple privacy.
“I have been terrified for the past day. I dinna ken if I can marry a warrior. It’s too hard.”
Tavish tipped her chin up and furrowed his brow.
“What are ye saying? Ye dinna want to marry me even though ye say ye love me? Even though I love ye?”
“Nay! I dinna ken what I am asking, but I most definitely am marrying ye. If I canna bear sending ye off to battle because I dinna want to be without ye, then I most definitely amnae backing out of marrying ye. I just wish ye avoided fighting all together. I wish ye never have to leave ma side.”
“Och, lass, ye say that now, but give it an hour. Ye will be annoyed at me again and wishing ye were free of me.” Tavish tried to laugh, but his heart still pinched like it was in a vice.
“Tav, I am marrying ye. I want to do it this vera moment. I dinna ken if I am strong enough to keep seeing ye in danger. Kenning that one of these times, someone may kill ye.”
“Would ye have me hanging on yer apron strings? Following ye around like a wean?”
“Aye,” Ceit nodded emphatically. “If it meant ye were far away from danger.”
Tavish looked at how serious she was, and his heart eased. It even melted a bit.
“Ye do recognize the pot calling the kettle black, dinna ye? This is how I feel whenever ye go dashing off. Lass, I dinna go into battle that often. I am home more than I am away.”
“Mo chridhe, I dinna want a devious husband. Ye swore ye arenae a liar. Dinna start now.” Ceit huffed. “I ken why Magnus was at court. It was to smooth over the angry clans ye, Sinclairs, have been fighting. Ye have been in the thick of it all. Before that, ye were feuding with the Mackays. Dinna try to tell me ye werenae a part of that.”
Tavish had the grace to look sheepish.
“Aye, well, we have had a spot more trouble, but it is over. There should be peace now in our part of the Highlands. We can—"
“Tavish! Tavish! Where the hell are ye?”
Hamish came running towards them, bloodied but in one piece. He looked his nephew over before pulling him into a hug. Tavish groaned but returned the embrace as best he could.
“Uncle Hamish, I havenae ever been so glad to see ye.”
“Och, I can say the same for ye, but ye will have to save it. This isnae over yet. The laird’s men who hold this keep are at bay, but only because many of Comyn’s men turned on him. But ye arenae safe here. Ma scouts just returned and said there is a contingency of mercenaries nae far from here. I would venture they are men hired by Buchan. It willna please them to discover he is dead, leaving them unpaid. We must ride. Now.”
“How many men do ye have with ye?”
“Close to a score.”
“A score?” Ceit broke in. “I asked for only five. I kenned ye brought seven, but a score. Where were they?”
“Following a safe distance behind. Ye couldnae be serious that I would ride into an unkenned enemy’s bailey to rescue ma nephew with less than a dozen men.”
Ceit looked between Hamish and Tavish and nodded.
“Holy witch’s tits, lass. I wouldnae risk yer life or Tavish’s by being so unprepared. Ma men’s arrival and the Comyns who turned are the only reason any of us are still standing, but we willna be for much longer if we dinna ride out. It is nae our fight to be had when these men arrive. Buchan and the laird are both dead. I dinna ken if they are Scots or Sassenach, and I havenae any interest in finding out.”
Tavish took Ceit’s hand and pulled her back to the main part of the bailey. As they arrived, shouts came from the battlements announcing the mercenaries had been spotted.
“Postern gate,” Isla called out. “Tavish and Ceit, use the postern gate. We canna all fit through, but ye two can. If there are mercenaries on their way, it had something to do with the king. If it has something to do with the king, then they will ken aboot Ceit. Go!”
Ceit pulled herself into the saddle and watched as Tavish mounted favoring one arm.
“Just how hurt are ye, mo dhìonair?” Ceit was unsuccessful at keeping the worry from her voice. She had not taken full stock of his injuries when he climbed out. She was so relieved to see him alive, she did not consider whether he was wounded beyond what she saw at the castle.
“I will live. But only if we ride out. I dinna have a sword, and ma arm is broken. I’m down to one dirk. I canna fight and protect ye at the same time. We must away with haste.”
Tavish wrapped his good arm around Ceit’s waist and let her handle the reins. They rode towards the postern gate, relieved to see a Comyn swung it open. Ceit thought she recognized the man, but they rode by too fast for her to be sure.
Once they cleared the gate, Ceit dug her heels into Whisky’s flanks and leaned low over his withers. Tavish grunted but leaned over Ceit’s back. They galloped across an open meadow and headed east, or at least that was the direction Ceit assumed they traveled. It was growing too dark now to tell for sure. The mercenaries were traveling north, and she hoped she would not inadvertently take them across the other men’s path. They rode hard, and the only sounds were their breathing and Whisky’s. Ceit pushed her horse for over an hour before he was lathered, but she was unwilling to risk him going lame. She slowed him to a walk.
“Tavish, are ye all right?”
“Right as rain, lass.”
“Tav, dinna lie for ma sake. Ye’ve bashed aboot the head, ye are favoring ye ribs and yer arm. Tell me true. How are ye?”
“It’ll all come right. Dinna fash.”
“Are ye purposely being obtuse? Are ye trying to pick an argument?”
“I’ve missed ye and yer fiery tongue.”
“Mo chridhe,” she ground out.
“Och, what do ye want me to say, Ceit? I’ve a broken arm and possibly some cracked ribs. I’ve been concussed at least twice, and ma body aches like a blacksmith has been hacking at me.”
“Then let me tend to ye. We canna travel much further in the dark. I fear I’m already losing ma way, and we canna risk Whisky stumbling in the dark.”
“Vera well. We stop for the night when we find somewhere safe. But we canna have a fire.”
“I ken. I willna be able to do much until I can see, but mayhap we can find a stream where I can wash the cuts I ken ye have on yer head.”
“I would give ma good arm for a bar of soap.”
“Do ye mind smelling like rosemary and thyme?”
“I dinna mind what flower I smell like if I didna have to stink anymore.”
“I have a small piece in ma saddle bag.”
“Bless ye, mo sheillean beag. Always prepared.”
“Something like that.”
They rode in silence for at least another half an hour before they came to a slow-moving river. It was not wide, and Tavish knew they would ford it in the morning, but for now, it would allow him to bathe and drink, and allow Whisky to rest.
Ceit waited for Tavish to climb down before she lifted her leg over the saddle. She squeaked when she became weightless. Her toes touched the ground with Tavish’s solid chest pressing against her.
“Ma mind was filled with ye every moment I was down there. If I wasna planning on how to get maself out, then I was fantasizing of ye. I dreamed of ye.”
He kissed the side of her neck, she turned her head and rested it against his shoulder, giving him better access. She reached back and grasped his plaid in both hands to brace herself. His lips scorched her as they moved up and down, burning a trail of desire. His teeth nipped and then his tongue soothed as his mouth traveled from the shell of her ear to her collar bone then back to the tiny spot just behind her ear that made her tremble. She clenched her thighs together as an ache took up residence between her legs. She moaned as Tavish’s arm slid up, and his hand cupped her breast. He rested the hand of his injured arm at her waist. His fingers bit into her, but it was pleasure rather than pain that coursed through Ceit. She turned and looked up at him. Her hunger was mirrored in the longing written on his face. She pushed his sporran out of the way and hooked her fingers into his belt, pulling him to her. She wanted to wrap herself around him as she had at Closeburn, but now she was past her initial relief, she remembered someone badly injured his ribs. She stepped back, but Tavish pulled her to him.
“I amnae broken. At least nae everywhere.”
His lips brushed against hers, playing with her, tempting her. She tilted her head back to receive his kisses, but when he would not deepen the kiss, she growled in frustration. She sank her fingers into his hair and pushed his mouth to meet hers. He offered no resistance this time. His lips crushed hers, and she bit his lower lip. His tongue surged into her mouth, and she moaned from the pure delight of their bodies being joined, if only a small part.
“Tavish, I need ye. I need to touch ye. I—I ache all over with longing.”
“Tell me. What do you feel?” His hand kneaded her breast harder, and she sank against him.
“I dinna ken how to say it.”
“Try for me, mo leannan. I want to ken what I do to ye. I can tell ye that ye make ma cock so hard ma targe would hang on it. I want the inside of ye to milk me dry. A river of fire is running through me, and I ache too. With longing to make ye mine.” The hand of his injured arm no longer pained him. There was no pain except for his bollocks tightening. He squeezed her backside as he ground his rod against her belly. “Tell me.”
“I ache between ma legs so badly it hurts. I want ye to fill ma sheath with yer sword. I want to ken what it is like to be one with ye as ye slide into me. Ma breasts are so heavy, and they tingle. Tav, I am so unsettled, so restless.”
Tavish smiled down to her as he cupped her jaw.
“See. That wasna so difficult.”
“It wouldnae be so difficult for us to assuage our needs.”
Tavish needed little more invitation, though it would disappoint her when their tryst did not go as far as her untried body craved.
“Ceity, I will pleasure ye just as I have before. I will bring ye the release ye crave. I crave it too.”
Ceit purred at the new diminutive. No one had ever called her that before, and she liked that it was something that only Tavish did. It was something that was theirs alone.
“Somehow Tavvy doesnae sound as good.” She grinned up at him.
“Especially since that is what Mairghread called me when she was a wean.”
They laughed together before their desire got the better of them. Tavish pulled at her laces until her kirtle sagged. Ceit did not hesitate and pulled her arms free. The gown rested at her waist, and she watched Tavish as she pushed it to the ground. Tavish took in the sight of her in just her chemise, stockings, and boots. His cock twitched, and his clothes were too heavy on his body. He unpinned his breacan feile and put the brooch into his sporran. He unfastened his belt and caught the length of wool before it fell to the ground. Ceit took it from him and folded it. She looked for somewhere to place it and noticed the river again. She took Tavish’s good arm and led him back to Whisky. She dug into her saddlebag and produced the hunk of soap. She brought it to her nose and grinned again.
“I shall have ye smelling fresher than a daisy.” She winked and walked to the river.
Tavish trailed after her like an eager puppy. Before they reached the edge, he pulled her to a stop with his arm around her waist. He looked over her shoulder and surveyed the river bank. The moon and stars were bright that night, and they watched one another with ease. The water did not seem to be moving that quickly, but that might disguise a deeper, fast moving current.
“Wait here, please.”
He made it a request, knowing Ceit was less likely to listen if she sensed he was ordering her. He stepped down to the water’s edge and watched it again. A twig snapped under his feet, and he picked up the larger portion, tossing it into the water. It moved lazily downstream, but Tavish remained unconvinced. He looked around and found a small branch. He leaned as far forward as his aching ribs would allow and dunked one end into the water. The water pulled at the branch but did not drag it away. It reassured Tavish it would not be dangerous for them to enter. He turned back and held his hand out. Ceit took it, but it was just a courtesy because she moved sure footed until she was beside him.
“We are overdressed for a bath.”
Tavish had no time to offer a witty response because Ceit untied the ribbons to her chemise and let it fall to the ground. Tavish considered he had seen plenty of beautifully formed female bodies. He even considered there was little more to impress him. He discovered now how wrong and arrogant he had been. The sight of Ceit pulling off her boots and stockings made him impatient to see her body once again. He had left his own boots back by Whisky.
Ceit caught movement from the corner of her eye and looked up to see Tavish standing beside her. His bare body shone in the moonlight, and she had seen nothing like it. His body may as well have been hewn from stone. A master artisan would not have been able to make it more beautiful. Each muscle was finely chiseled and defined. She watched a shiver run over his skin as she stared at him. His legs and arms were more powerful than she realized even when he held her. His stomach was a series of peaks and valleys as he breathed in and out slowly. His chest called to her, and she stepped over to run her hands over the expanse. She looked down and got her first clear view of his cock. Her hand meandered down his front until her fingertips danced over his flesh. The opaque seed leaked from his tip, and she brought her fingertips to her mouth. She sucked her fingers into her mouth as her eyes drifted shut. Tavish was sure there had been nothing as erotic as the scene Ceit painted in the moonlight. She opened her eyes as her other hand wrapped around his length. Her strokes were slow, pure torture for Tavish. He tipped his head back, and Ceit watched the cords in his neck stand out as he struggled to maintain control of his body. She wanted anything but control in that moment, however, she saw the fresh cuts and bruises just as she saw the hewed muscles.
“Tavish, we must clean these wounds. Ye willna make for much of a groom if ye’re dead from infection.”
Tavish chuckled then it morphed into a full laugh.
“I dinna see what is so funny aboot ye dying, or is it the notion of being a groom?”
“Dinna buzz, mo sheillean beag. I dinna want to be stung. I laugh because I crave all of ye. Nae just yer body, but yer mind too. I find I am aroused even further by your practicality,” he dropped a kiss on her cheek, “and I rather like that ye fuss over me.”
Ceit was ready to say more, but when she saw tenderness in Tavish’s gaze, she relented.
“Mo dhìonair, I love ye. I dinna want to even consider more happening to ye. More that might take ye away from me. It scares me, then I—what did ye just say—buzz when I dinna have control.”
“I ken, ma ghaol. I ken, and I would have ye buzzing aboot me for the rest of our lives, if ye will have me.”
It was Ceit’s turn to laugh as she stroked him once again.
“Och, I intend to have ye.” She laughed again as she waded into the cold water.
It was enough to make her shiver but nowhere near as frigid as water in the Highlands. Tavish entered and stood behind her. His rod finding a home between her buttocks. It was an unusual sensation for Ceit, but not an unpleasant one. She pressed her hips back as Tavish pulled in breath between his teeth.
“Tav,” there was uncertainty in her own voice, but she forced herself to ask her question. “I ken this is the same way animals stand when they mate. Can people do it this way too?”
Tavish was sure he would lose the last thread of control at her innocent but arousing question. He took a breath as his hands rested over her belly. Her silky skin under his hand, the skin of a belly he hoped would one day carry their children, made his chest tighten with love, devotion, protectiveness, and a slew of other emotions he was not bothered to separate.
“We can,” he whispered back.
“Will ye show me?”
“Aye.”
Ceit pressed back harder, and when she looked over her shoulder, Tavish read the invitation. He steeled himself to turn her down. He had never wanted a woman as much as he did Ceit, but he also never wanted to cling to a woman as much as he did in that moment.
“I will show ye, Ceit, but it canna be now. Nae until we are married. I willna dishonor ye by taking what isnae mine to have.”
“And I’m sure I’d already made it clear it is mine to give.”
Tavish’s hands ran over her belly, and Ceit leaned back into his chest. The sensation gave her a deep sense of belonging just as much as the possessiveness flowing through Tavish. Ceit assumed she would rebel at the sense of ownership Tavish had. She had resented the control and the sense of being naught more than a trinket to the king and her uncle, but Tavish was different. She wanted to be his, but a small niggling idea took root as she was ready to give herself over to him.
I am ready to be his. But will he ever be just mine? His reputation speaks for itself. He has admitted his past. He has loved many women before me. What is to keep him from loving more after me?
Tavish sensed a change in Ceit and guessed he understood why.
She doesnae trust me. Or at least, she isnae sure I willna disappoint her. That cuts deeply, but I understand. Ma past doesnae speak vera well for me.
“Ceity, ye ken I dinna want anyone but ye.” He turned her to look at him, but he kept his hands over her womb. “Lass, we both ken I have a past. One I supremely wish I didna. But it is just that. Ma past. Ye are ma present and ma entire future. I love ye. I would have ye as ma wife this vera moment. And nae because someone arranged it for us, but because I am sure I canna draw another breath without ye at ma side. I dinna want to. Mo ghaol, I told ye already that I have pledged ma fidelity to ye, and I did so the moment I learned of the betrothal. I did so because it was the right and honorable thing to do. I am a Sinclair. We dinna ever stray from our women. I keep that pledge because I love ye, and I couldnae do aught less than remain true to ye. I always presumed we kept our promise of fidelity because it was just a matter of honor. I ken now that is only the smallest sliver of the reason. We keep our vow because we want to. We keep it because we canna imagine any other way. Ceity, ma past is behind me, and I pray ye can see that too. I pray that ye see only the two of us when I hold ye, when I make love to ye because it’s only ever been ye. I have never loved another woman, and so I have never made love to another woman. I have committed the act of coupling, but I have never felt, I mean truly felt, anything before I met ye. I never wanted to, but now it is all I want.”
Ceit listened to Tavish and forced herself to stand still when all she wanted was to cut off his words with a deluge of kisses, but she understood it was as important for him to make his confession as it was for her to listen to it.
“Will ye marry me, Ceity? I havenae properly asked ye yet.”
“I will marry ye, Tavish. It is all I want, too.”
Tavish led them into a deeper part of the river where the water came to their waists. He lifted her now seemingly weightless body, and she wrapped her legs around his hips, still mindful of his ribs. His cock rested between them, and her mound rubbed against it. Ceit ran the soap over his shoulders and back before leaning away to whirl it around his chest and down his stomach.
“Hold ye breath, lass.” At her nod, Tavish dunked them under the water.
They came up laughing as much as shivering. Ceit ran the soap through Tavish’s hair until it was sudsy. He closed his eyes and reveled in Ceit’s ministrations. He had never understood any man’s desire to have a woman bathe him. It always seemed pointless to have someone else do what he accomplished much more efficiently. Now he understood.
Ceit released his waist and stood on her own feet but laughed at his annoyed growl.
“Let me do ma job, then ye can have yer turn.” She gave him a saucy wink as she moved around to look at his back.
It took all her restraint not to gasp when she saw the livid bruises that covered him. There were small nicks from his recent attacks, but it was the deeper healed lines that drew her touch. She traced the deeper ones and feathered her fingers over the small white lines. She worked the soap over his broad shoulders and back, having to strain to reach the top of his shoulders. She washed his arms and beneath, then moved the soap to his waist and skimmed his skin as she moved across his ribs. Ceit hissed when he caught her hands and moved them below the surface of the water. She wrapped her hands over his cock, trapping the soap between them and washing him as she pleasured him. She let go with one hand and cupped his bollocks. She caressed until they tightened as she washed them and was fascinated with the way the skin changed as he grew more aroused.
Tavish was sure he would explode if he let her keep touching him the way she did now. His climax crept through his body, and his cock begged for release. He did not doubt his body would be ready for another round the moment he was done spending. He refused to be the first one to find pleasure. As though reading his mind, Ceit’s pace quickened, and her hold tightened.
“Let me,” she murmured against his back.
Tavish let go of his control, but not before he pulled Ceit around to stand before him. His fingers found her entrance with one hand while the other held her leg. They watched one another as their hands moved, caressing, stroking, pumping until they both went rigid. Tavish savored the spasms as Ceit’s muscles locked his fingers within her core, and Ceit took pride in causing the pulses that spilled his seed into the flowing water. They sunk against each other and held on, neither wanting to end the moment.
It was only when the goosebumps on Ceit’s skin stood out that he decided they should not stand there much longer. He pried the soap from Ceit’s clenched fingers, and she giggled when she realized she mashed the soap into a small wad. Tavish skimmed the soap over her body and fought to control his resuming arousal. Ceit dipped under the water to wet her hair once again, and Tavish rubbed the soap between his palms until he had a lather he rubbed through her tresses. Ceit attempted to reach his hair too, but even at her height, it was not enough to grant her enough reach to wash it. Tavish lifted her and once again she wrapped her legs around him. She was coming to like this position and would not have minded staying that way all the time. They luxuriated in each other’s ministrations, and when Tavish finished, Ceit leaned back, his hands bracing her back, and allowed the current to rinse away the suds. Her upturned and exposed breasts were far too great a temptation for Tavish. He leaned forward and licked the puckered nipple of one breast before tugging the other with his lips. He alternated back and forth, sucking her turgid nipples and as much of her breast as he managed to draw into the hot recesses of his mouth. Her moans spurred him on as he increased the pressure. He slid one hand down to her bottom and reached beneath her to slide his finger into her sheath once again. Ceit glided in the water but floated as though she was high above them both. Her body was languid as he worked it to completion. She enjoyed Tavish’s touch so much more than she ever imagined possible. She was inexperienced, but she accepted it was not just the touch of a man she yearned for. It was Tavish. There had been other handsome men at court, even handsome men within her clan. Her mind even flashed a picture of Andrew. But none roused any interest. Only the image and sensation of Tavish caused any heat, and she was on fire despite the cold water. When her sated body was too limp to float, Tavish lifted her up and placed her back on her feet. He dunked his own head and washed the soap out.
“I would linger with ye forever, and I intend to share ma ablutions with ye countless times in the future, but ye are turning as blue as a berry. We canna light a fire, so we must get ye out and warmed up sharpish.”
Tavish led Ceit to the shore. He wanted to carry her in his arms, but even he admitted that was beyond him. There was no pain when he and Ceit were in the midst of their love play, but he would pay for his activity the moment they settled on dry land.
I wouldnae trade it for aught. I dinna care if ma ribs cracked in two if I can still hold her against me.
They reached their clothing, and Tavish wrapped his plaid around them both. He rubbed the wool over her skin and then held her against him. His heat soon warmed them both, but neither was eager to step apart despite no longer needing to share the plaid.
“Ye must dress, mo ghaol. Ye will catch a chill, and I havenae any skills in healing beyond cleaning out a wound and cauterizing. If ye are unwell, I willna ken what to do.” Tavish looked sheepish.
“Ye are a rather adorable mon.” She pecked his cheek and pulled on her clothes. “I should have washed this chemise while I had the chance.”
“Nay. Without a fire, it would never have dried by morning. I ken ye dinna want to put a dirty one back on, but it’s better than nae having enough layers to keep warm.”
“Aye. Though now I remember I have a spare in ma saddlebag. I would offer it to ye, but, well, I dinna imagine even one arm would fit through it.” She jerked her chin up and down to point out his broad body.
“Too big am I,” he pulled her close and gripped her backside.
“So it might seem, but I ken it will be just right.”
They looked into each other’s eyes, and the heat flared again. Neither missed the double entendre in their comments.
“I will make it just right, lass. When the time comes, I will make it just right for ye.”
Ceit nodded and swallowed. She was aware there would be pain the first time, but her ever increasing desire to explore his body and her own outweighed any trepidation.
They finished dressing, Tavish only having his plaid to put on before they moved back to Whisky. Tavish pulled his boots from the saddle horn and put them on. He had to admit he preferred having his feet covered from the cold, hard ground.
Ceit pulled dried beef from her bags and then looked for some berries in the nearby brush. She found only a couple handfuls of edible ones. There were others, but she was sure they would make them sick.
She handed them over to Tavish and watched as he tried to hold both the berries and beef in one hand. It was only then she noticed the odd bump in his arm. She took his massive hand in her tiny one and turned the arm back and forth. Tavish clenched his teeth to keep from grunting.
“Mo dhìonair, ye should have told me! Ye had nay business lifting me aboot. Och, ye need this setting. Ye may have done serious damage to it.”
Ceit’s look of anguish was enough to make Tavish wonder if he had erred in ignoring the injury. It was not the worst pain he had ever experienced and considered the fracture a minor injury.
“I must set this. It will hurt even more because ye have waited. I dinna want to cause ye pain, but with none of ma medicinals, I havenae much choice.”
“Do as ye must. I have had bones set in worse places and by much uglier men. I willna expire on the spot.”
Ceit ran her hands over the bump in Tavish’s arm, relieved that there was only a small disturbance to the bone. She might get away with not setting it after all.
“Can ye wiggle yer fingers for me? Aye, now flex yer hand.”
When Tavish accomplished each of her tasks, Ceit smiled.
“I dinna need to set it, but I need to immobilize it. Ye canna be using it. Ye must let it rest, so it will heal.”
Tavish pulled her between his thighs as he sat on a fallen log and cupped her bottom with both hands.
“But I have need of both arms.” He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.
“And I have need of a mon who isnae so stubborn. I guess neither is getting what we want.” She danced away from him, but not before he gave her a playful spank on the backside.
Ceit looked for two stiff sticks she would use as a splint and brought them back to Tavish. He looked at them and then at her as if she had lost her senses.
“I dinna need sticks tied to ma arm. It will come right without them.”
“And if it doesnae? Then what? Ye fight with only one arm? That’s sure to get ye killed and leave me a widow before I have time to wear ye into the grave maself.” She pulled a dirk from her pocket and cut a strip from her chemise.
“Now ye have ruined a perfectly good undergown. I amnae wearing a splint, Ceit.”
“Ye are. Ye can be the warrior, and I can be the healer. Let’s pretend. That means ye will listen to the wisdom of someone who kens how to take care of ye.”
“I dinna need to pretend. Mo leannan, I ken ye want to care for me, and I ken ye are convinced ye are, but I must have both arms free. If someone attacks, then I need both arms free to fight. If ye’re still positive I need the splint when we reach the castle, then ye can tie whatever ye want to ma arm, but I willna risk being unprepared should danger come yer way.”
Ceit desperately wanted to argue. She did not want to give in to him when she was right about treating his arm, but she also accepted he was right about being able to use his arm if needed. She would admit that she was not fully equipped to fight off every man she came across and that she had been extraordinarily lucky so far. The battle at Closeburn and seeing the damage done to Tavish, the strongest man she knew, was proof to her she was ill prepared to fight against a group of warriors. She nodded her head, conceding his point.
“I dinna like it.” She crossed her arms.
“I ken, ma ghaol.” He pulled her arms loose knowing she encircled herself as a protective stance rather than one of defiance. He was coming to understand her desire to control situations and how off kilter she became when she was not. “I appreciate yer determination to heal me, but I am just as determined to protect ye. Neither of us always wants what the other if offering, but I count ma blessings I have a woman like ye to tend me.”
“I love ye, Tavish. I dinna like kenning ye’re hurt, and I especially dinna like kenning there is naught I can do when I am the reason for yer injury.”
“Lass, ye arenae the reason for this. Yer uncle was a brute who paid men to do what he couldnae or wouldnae. It was the men he hired who did this. Nae ye.”
“And none of this would have happened if it werenae for me. Ye only became involved with this mess because the king said ye had to marry me.”
“Let me be clear aboot something, Ceit. The king may have told me I was to marry ye, but I chose to spend time with ye, to be near ye because I want ye. I could have vera easily ignored ye until the day the king ordered us to wed. I didna want to do that. It was, and is, ma choice.”
She watched him as he spoke and saw a resolve there that made her understand why he was so fearsome on the battlefield. It was an unwavering determination, and it humbled her that she was now a reason for it.
“It’s nae because I consider maself duty bound either, so dinna let that notion take root. I have been drawn to ye like a fly to honey, and I am a better mon for it because now I have found a woman I love, and for some reason utterly beyond me, loves me back.”
“I do love ye, Tav.” She stepped back between his thighs, and he pulled her onto his lap.
She cupped his face in both hands and pressed a tender kiss to his forehead, each cheek, and at last his lips. It was a slow burning kiss. Neither was in a rush to escalate it beyond the exchange of love and devotion. It was a kiss fueled by love not lust.
“I dinna ken how the king kenned we would suit, but I am glad he did. When can we--”
Ceit’s words were cut short by a noise that floated to them. It was the whinny of another horse. Whisky’s ears flickered, and he raised his head to listen. He silently nodded and pranced in place.
Tavish pulled Ceit up with him and led her to Whisky. She was in the saddle before she realized what was happening, Tavish mounted behind her. He maneuvered Whisky to an outcropping of rocks they hid behind. It did not take long before ten men rode into the clearing where they sat speaking only minutes before.
“I ken they must be near. Ma horse sensed the other one. We spread out and find them since they canna be far.”
“Does the mon who finds them get the biggest reward?”
Ceit and Tavish sat frozen as they listened. Ceit was proud of her horse for being so well trained as to not move even a tail hair.
“Let’s find the chit before ye worry aboot who claims what. If we dinna find her, they willna be aught to enjoy. The king and her father willna pay for naught. Without her, there is nay ransom.”
Tavish’s arm tightened around Ceit as her fear made her rigid. They listened to the sounds of horses moving about and held their breath that no one would ride towards their hiding place. Both understood it was unrealistic that they would not be found. Tavish reached beneath his plaid and pulled his dirk free. He was down to just his one dirk he kept strapped to his thigh. He had no other weapons and desperately wished he had grabbed a sword before riding out from Closeburn. Ceit could tell from his movements and pulled her own dirks free. She still had all of hers and was certain she was about to need them. Tavish took the reins from Ceit’s hand and nudged Whisky to step back from the rocks. He would have the horse ready to gallop when the time came. It was inevitable, but Tavish crossed his fingers they would outrun the mercenaries. He kept backing Whisky until there was enough room to turn around or bolt in either direction. It was not long before the nose of a horse peeked around the rocks and the cry went out. Tavish spun Whisky and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks. Ceit buried her hands into the horse’s mane and leaned flat against his withers. Tavish huddled low to them and pushed the horse faster. They sped across the meadow as their pursuers chased. Tavish did not dare look back even though he wanted to determine whether they were gaining any distance. His broken arm held Ceit while his good arm controlled the horse. Whisky responded to Tavish’s silent commands in only a way a trained warhorse would. He could not imagine why Ceit would have a warhorse, but in that moment, he would not look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.
“Dinna let them flee. He doesnae have a sword. He canna fight!”
The voice carried across the open glen they raced through. Tavish tucked his chin to look under his arm. He saw two men chasing after them. One had a bow strapped over his back.
“There are three more on the other side.” Ceit whispered.
Tavish swore and scanned the horizon for anywhere to hide or any way to outrun their would-be captors.
“To those hills. Whisky can make it. Even with us both.” Ceit pointed to their left, and Tavish saw a rocky slope that seemed uneven and steep. “He’s a Highlander too. He will make it. His mother was a Highland pony. Ye canna tell from his height, but he’s stout and sturdy like her.”