Highland Storm (16 page)

It was easy enough to sense he hadn’t abandoned thoughts of the subject, even if he’d agreed not to speak of it. Fortunately, distracting him wouldn’t be difficult, as there was more hardness to his body than just his muscles. She lowered a hand to his groin, where she caressed his stiff cock beneath the sheets.

For a brief moment he was still, then he responded by relinquishing his hold on her free hand and caressing one of her breasts instead. Her nipple sprang up hard beneath his thumb, and the rest of her body flushed with anxious heat. Making love with him would be more than a simple diversion from dark thoughts. It would be wonderful. She’d wanted him since he’d walked into the house, soaked to the bone with rainwater and looking just as he had on the day she’d met him.

“I love you, Alexander.”

She gripped his shaft, thumbing the slit at the tip and thinking of when she’d first felt it, in the damp, lonely woods by the edge of the spring.

He squeezed her breast and pressed his lips against her temple, sending a light shiver down her spine. “I love you too, more than my own life. I wasnae speaking idle words when I said I wouldnae let any harm come to ye.” He paused, pulling his hand from her breast and pressing it against her belly instead. “Or the child.”

“I ken that well enough,” she replied, warming her palm with friction as she stroked him harder. His words were sweet, but his cock was throbbing, and she didn’t need to be convinced, only reassured.

He shuddered against her and rolled on top of her, easing his way between her thighs. She lost her grip on his cock as he entered her, gliding smoothly past her damp folds. Her channel tightened immediately around his shaft, grasping him as tightly as she had done a moment ago. Warmth blossomed in her belly and her nipples hardened to tiny buds.

“Ye feel so good,” he groaned, flexing his hips against hers and stretching her in a way that made her want to squirm and arch against him. She gave in to the latter urge, thinking she would have said the same if he hadn’t taken her breath away with the first stroke.

She moaned and wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him tight and close as he continued, settling into a rhythm that was as steady as the rain falling against the windows.

* * * *

Isla was used to waking to the feel of Alexander slipping away from her, rolling out of bed and into his tartan, ready to start the day. This morning, she awoke instead when the bed shook, startled from sleep by a rasping cough.

“What do ye think you’re doin’?” she asked, when Alexander threw back the sheets and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Rising at the same hour I always do,” he replied. “I’ll leave sleeping past dawn to that lout, Alpin.”

Isla cast a cursory glance at the window, but the sky was too dark with clouds and rain to tell the time. Likely it was the exact hour Alexander claimed, though—he had a remarkable internal clock. He was already pulling a fresh shirt from a chest of drawers and over his head. She decided to cut to the chase. “I heard ye cough.”

His reply was a sort of indecipherable half-grunt that she translated as, ‘aye, and what of it?’

“Ye dinnae need to be goin’ out into the rain in such a state,” she said. “I expect ye made yourself ill by stayin’ out so long in it yesterday.”

He mumbled something about having work to do, but the argument was weakened by another cough. “My throat tickles, that’s all. I amnae ill.”

“Oh, aye? Then ye willnae mind if I feel ye for a fever?”

He looked warily at her as he swathed his hips in tartan and prepared to don his belt, though his reply was an admirable attempt at nonchalance. “Not at all.”

Isla swung out of bed, shivering slightly at the chilly air, which was in stark contrast to the comfortable warmth of the bed sheets. Her nipples tightening beneath her shift, she glided to Alexander’s side and reached up to press a hand against his forehead.

“Ye feel warm.” Not burning hot, but as if he had a slight fever.

“Of course I do. It’s so cold in here a dead man would seem hot to the touch.”

Isla placed her fists on her hips, ignoring the goose flesh that had sprung up on her sides as she did so. “Dinnae play stupid with me, Alexander. You’re ill, and I’ll be damned if you’re goin’ out into the rain again to catch your death.”

He grinned. “There’s the spitfire lass I met along the road. I thought ye said she was gone?”

“Aye, well, that was before ye started actin’ like a fool again.”

His grin widened. “And here I’d thought it wouldnae be anythin’ but sweetness and kisses from here on out.”

She reached out and seized the end of his belt, pulling it from his hand. His kilt fell to the floor in a flurry of tartan, leaving his legs bare beneath the hem of his shirt.

“You’ll not step a foot outside this room ‘till the fever leaves ye.” Sensing the defiance in his gaze, she decided a little logic couldn’t hurt. “Ye cannae ride in such weather anyway. The horses will have to wait until tomorrow in any case.” No need to mention that if he still had a fever the next morn she’d tie him down to the bed to keep him there, even if the sun was blazing.

When he gave another noncommittal grunt, she smiled sweetly up at him. “I’ll give ye a kiss if ye come back to bed.”

When he’d finally slipped back between the sheets, she joined him, pulling him close and pressing a kiss against his lips.

“What do ye think you’re doin’?” he asked when she rose, just as she’d asked him a few minutes ago.

“Going to help Mrs Mary with breakfast,” she replied.

Gavin trundled out from his bed of rags beneath the wardrobe as she spoke, perhaps sensing a trip to the kitchen. He blinked his large, dark eyes sleepily, but his round little bottom wriggled as he wagged his tail ferociously.

“I’ll bring ye some on a tray, dinnae worry.”

He frowned at her from where he lay on his side, an elbow propped on a pillow. “Ye promised me a kiss.”

“And I gave ye one,” she said, arching a brow. “You’re not so ill that ye cannae remember what happened just a moment past, are ye?”

“Nae. It’s only that I thought ye meant…more.” He flexed his hips suggestively, drawing Isla’s attention to the sheets that had tented nicely over his crotch.

She was torn between exasperation, amusement and a desire she didn’t dare to acknowledge. The last thing she intended to do was cause him to overexert himself while he was supposed to be recovering, however tempting the bulge of his hard cock looked beneath the linens.

“The purpose of bein’ in bed is to rest,” she said, managing to keep any traces of desire out of her voice.

Still, she leaned in to press another kiss against his mouth. She couldn’t see his cock, but its hard outline was on prominent display, straining against the sheets. The urge to reach down and caress it seized her, but she was saved from its tempting grip by a sudden bout of nausea that it seemed no early pregnancy morning would be complete without.

She reached frantically under the bed for the chamber pot, struggling to simultaneously push her loose hair out of her face. Just as she leaned over the porcelain container, Alexander’s hand brushed the back of her neck, scooping her hair neatly up and out of the danger zone. He held her locks at the nape of her neck until she had finished. She blushed and shoved the chamber pot back beneath the bed.

“That wasnae exactly the reaction I’d hoped for,” he said, releasing her hair and tucking a wayward strand of it behind her ear.

Heat flushed her cheeks, and she thought she wouldn’t have minded if her sleep-tousled hair had hidden her face entirely. Vomiting in front of Alexander wasn’t exactly the picture of romance, even if it had been mostly just water she’d risen to sip during the night.

“Me neither,” she mumbled, “though I dinnae suppose you’ll trouble me for any more kisses for the rest of the morn.”

He fell back against the pillows in mock despair. “Aye, it’s hopeless. Unless…” He reached out and ran a hand suggestively over the curve of Isla’s hips, dipping his fingertips into the hollow between them and brushing her folds through the fabric of her shift.

“
You’re
hopeless, Alexander,” she said, taking a step back before he managed to rekindle her desire. Still, she grinned. “Now get some rest.”

She turned to the wardrobe and hurried to pull out a fresh gown and petticoats, eager to dress herself against the chill. The thought of the warm kitchen with its large fireplace was more inviting than usual. She only hoped Mrs Mary hadn’t broken out the garlic this early in the morning. If that was the case, she’d have to retire to the bedroom with Alexander, and she didn’t think she’d be able to convince him to lie still if she had to share the bed with him.

“Are ye warm enough?” she asked as she finished dressing. “Shall I fetch ye some extra blankets?”

He shook his head, which he’d finally dropped against the pillows. The tired look in his eyes made her doubly glad she’d convinced him to stay in bed. A good breakfast and some tea might do him a world of good—or at least she hoped so. With that thought in mind, she slipped from the room, Gavin trailing behind her like a tiny shadow.

* * * *

The kitchen proved a cosy if heavily scented sanctuary against the chill of the fireless corridors and the still-rainy outdoors. Earlier that morning, Isla had covered Alexander with an extra quilt, after she’d brought him breakfast and seen how he’d shivered beneath the bedclothes. After sitting down on the edge of the bed to eat with him, and checking him once again for fever, she’d returned to the kitchen. He hadn’t seemed any warmer than before, and Mrs Mary had yet to use any garlic in her cooking, so the day seemed to be going fairly well. At least until Alpin walked in.

He strode into the kitchen, rain-soaked and dripping, shortly before noon. Rather than looking ruggedly handsome like his brother, Isla thought his storm-swept appearance made him look as if he’d been up to some crime. His eyes were as cold as ever and rain dripped from the tip of his nose, which he seemed to keep perpetually in the air. Much to Isla’s relief, he didn’t give her so much as a sideways glance as he crossed the kitchen, dirtying the floors with muddy water as he reached the counter, where he took a scone from a plate and popped it into his mouth.

“Aren’t they delicious, Alpin?” Mrs Mary asked, mopping up the puddles he’d left behind without skipping a beat. After decades of service in the house, she was surely more than used to cleaning up after him.

“They’re good,” he said flatly, taking another from the plate.

“Isla made them,” Mrs Mary said, smiling as she wiped up the last of the rainwater. “She’s been quite a help in the kitchen. Her cooking is the talk of the house.”

Alpin scowled, pausing with a scone halfway to his mouth. After a moment’s indecision, he shoved it in and chewed it harder than was necessary.

Though it was a lost cause if there ever was one, Isla couldn’t help but admire Mrs Mary’s attempt at establishing some friendliness between her and Alpin. The poor woman surely wanted nothing more than peace in the household and among its residents, especially Alexander and Alpin, both of whom she’d helped to raise from birth. A surge of guilt assailed Isla as she watched her slip into the broom closet to put away the rag she’d used to clean up Alpin’s mess. It was unlikely that she’d ever see peace between the brothers, especially now that Alexander had married Isla.

Coira’s arrival interrupted the awkward silence, though it did nothing to ease the tension. She walked carefully through the doorway for the first time since her accident, fully dressed and with her hair tied into its usual severe bun, complete with green ribbon. Isla was surprised to see her out of bed and, judging by their facial expressions, Mrs Mary and Alpin were, too. Mrs Mary hurried to hover by Coira’s side, as if afraid she might have to catch her if she fell.

Coira spoke before she could begin to make a fuss. “Where were you, Alpin? Ye gave me a terrible fright, riding out in such foul weather without even tellin’ your own mother where ye were off to. After ye left, I spent the rest of my morn at my window, watching for your return.”

The sincerity in her voice, a combination of worry and relief, stirred something within Isla, setting off a twinge of pity as she remembered Coira’s confession from the day before, of how she’d fearfully watched her only son grow up.

Alpin leaned against the counter, looking totally bedraggled and completely undeserving of such sentiments, in Isla’s opinion—truly a man only a mother could love.

“I rode into the village,” he replied. “I’d already planned to go, and I didnae intend to let the rain spoil the day.”

“The village?” his mother asked. “What for, Alpin?”

Alpin shrugged. “To see someone.”

“A lass?” Coira asked. “Ye must tell me who.”

Isla wasn’t sure whether it was excitement or worry in Coria’s voice—probably both. No doubt she had grand plans for Alpin’s eventual marriage, and Isla had the distinct feeling that they didn’t involve just any pretty face from the nearest village.

Alpin didn’t seem at all pleased by this line of questioning. “It isnae anythin’ serious,” he said, biting a third scone in half and ignoring the disapproving look this statement earned him from his mother. “Shouldn’t ye be in bed, mother? Surely it pains ye to be on your feet.”