My Fierce Highlander (30 page)

“You had a peace treaty, so I knew you would
be kind. I had a feeling, even before you awoke, that you were a
good man.”

“Och, I’m not that good.” If he were such an
angel, he wouldn’t be thinking of ravishing her right here and now,
outside on the ground with several other men within speaking
distance.

His body tightened and yearned for her, but
alas he must fight his urges.

Through her thin smock, her breasts pressed
against his bare chest, near stripping away his sanity.

She kissed the base of his throat, and
pleasure flowed through him like melted butter mixed with
honey.

“You’re warm,” she whispered.

Either he was daft or that was an invitation.
“And you’re soft.” He stroked his palm up from her waist and over
her breast through the material. Her nipple hardened. “Except right
here,” he murmured and rolled her nipple beneath his thumb.

She gasped. In the abandon he loved, she
thrust her breast into his hand. When she lost control, he couldn’t
help himself. He moved down and licked her nipple through the
fabric, plucked it between his lips. The earthy scent of woman with
a hint of green herbs filled his senses. Lust washed over him. She
lay flat on her back and buried her hands in his hair, embracing
him close.

He glanced around and found that none of the
men had moved.

“Hold onto my shoulders.” He lifted her as he
rose and carried her to the tent. Inside, he lowered her to her
bedroll and woolen blanket.

Once he’d covered them again, he kissed her,
deep and thorough, relishing the wet, hot feel of her mouth and her
unique taste. He loved the way she followed his mouth and sucked at
his tongue.

What a rogue he was for taking advantage of
her vulnerable emotions. But he wanted her. Forever. And he would
use any means to tie her to him. He wanted his bairn growing in her
belly. Not just because he needed an heir, but more, he never
wanted her to leave him. He would have an excuse to make her stay.
That probably made him a desperate bastard and a barbarian, but he
didn’t care. His clan, his lands, his title—those were his duty.
But Gwyneth was his delight. His reason to smile.

He kissed a trail down her neck and plucked
at her nipple through the material again. She whimpered and arched
her back. He would have this wretched garment off her.

Stroking a hand up her thigh, he pushed the
linen upward to expose her hips. She lifted her upper body, and he
pulled the smock over her head.

So much silky, bare skin. The allure near
made him dizzy. He didn’t know where he wanted to touch her first,
so he touched her everywhere, smoothing his palms along her
feminine curves. She purred against his lips. When he grazed his
fingertips between her legs, he found her wet. She moaned, and he
ached to plunge to her depths.

She was the most eager lover he’d ever had.
Surely, she craved him as much as he craved her, by simple touch or
look. After he unfastened his trews and pushed them off, he parted
her legs and rolled between them.

Maybe if he got her with child, she would be
forced to marry him because of her blessed conscience. It was not
trickery because she well knew the risks of lovemaking.

He suckled her breasts and rubbed his shaft
lightly against her mound. With delirious moans, she arched and
tugged at him.

“Alasdair?” she begged in a breathy tone.

“Aye.” He could wait no longer to join his
body with hers. Savoring every delightful inch, he slowly slid into
her tight, wet heat and growled at the euphoria that dazzled
him.

Gwyneth uttered beautiful quiet groans and
pants. He kissed her mouth, flicked his tongue in and out as he
mimicked the motion of his shaft. Locking her legs around the back
of his and meeting his hips, she shoved him to the brink of release
too soon. Though it had been only a day since their last encounter,
he hungered for her hourly.

Holding his weight up off her slight frame,
he thrust himself into her, gently over and over. And then faster
with more urgency.

She tilted her hips and met his thrusts just
as her climax grasped hold of her. She squeezed him and near took
his sanity. With his kisses, he tried to muffle the cries coming
from her mouth so she wouldn’t wake the others. At the same time,
his own impending release charged in on him, replacing his
rationality with a pleasure so sharp it stole his breath.

Though he tried to stifle his own moans, he
was too far drowned under the influence of ecstasy to control
anything.

When his reasoning ability returned, he
sucked in deep breaths.

He placed soft, lingering kisses to her
mouth. Nay, he could never let her go.

***

Gwyneth awoke sometime later, feeling a
rough, hot hand stroking up her leg, over her derriere, across her
belly and up to her breasts. She immediately remembered where she
was. And what they’d done. Sweet heavens! She had not meant for
this to happen.

Well, maybe she had.

She had but wanted someone to hold onto,
someone to talk to.
Alasdair.
She was not strong like he’d
said, but weak, especially in his presence. He was her weakness,
but at the same time, her strength. He made her believe anything
was possible, indeed, that he could accomplish anything.

With him lying close behind her, she snuggled
her naked bottom to his hard body. He felt delectable. His erection
prodded her. A warm tingling swirled through her belly and moved
downward in a wet, itching sensation. She was his puppet.

“Gwyneth,” he breathed into her ear and
suckled her earlobe.

“Mmm, yes.”

He lifted her leg back over his and spread
her thighs in a most unusual way. With his fingers, he teased her,
stroking between her legs. The pleasure was so immobilizing, all
she could do was slide her hand backward around his neck, into his
hair and hold on.

Then he did something she didn’t
expect—positioned himself and thrust into her. Surely this was a
scandalous and forbidden way to make love. She had not even
imagined it would be possible. This was the way animals mated. And
at the moment, she felt like an animal—she wanted to bite him.

“Shh,” he whispered in her ear, and she
realized she’d cried out. His clansmen slept outside. She was
momentarily shocked at herself. With a fingertip, he continued to
rub her in a scandalously erogenous spot while he glided into her
depths, slowly at first. Then with more demanding insistence.

The magical tingles centered there. She
arched her back and pushed her rump against him. Wanting more,
wanting him deeper, wanting all he would give her with his forceful
body and powerful movements. She shoved the wadded up plaid into
her mouth and bit into it to muffle her cries as rapture claimed
her. Oh, her body wanted to hold onto his and never let him go.

He grasped her to him tight and slid to the
hilt. There he shuddered into her and moaned.

“I want all of you,” he breathed into her
ear. “
Tha gràdh agam ort
.”

She knew what those Gaelic words meant—
I
love you
.

Conflicting emotions besieged her.
Instantaneous joy, overshadowed by deep sadness. Rage and
helplessness.

Dear God, I love you too, Alasdair.
But too many things prevented her saying the words.

Their love could never be.

Chapter Fourteen

When next Alasdair became aware, men’s voices
echoed back at him from some distance. He opened his eyes to
firelight and early dawn glowing through the tent. God’s bones,
summer nights were too short. He had not wanted to be caught in
Gwyneth’s tent, for her sake. He had meant to return to his own
bedroll long before now, but he’d found it nigh impossible to leave
her.

Gwyneth lay sleeping, cradled in his arms,
her nose pressed to his chest and her soft breaths tickling his
skin.

She was still naked, as was he. Closing his
eyes, he savored this moment as one that neared perfection. If he
could but wake every morn ensnared in her arms, he would be a happy
man.

Would she ever consent to marry him? He would
not ask her again until he was sure. She had cried last night after
they’d made love the second time. Perhaps she had understood his
words spoken in Gaelic. One part of him wanted her to know he loved
her, but another part didn’t, because she might not feel the
same.

It wasn’t over yet. He was nothing if not
determined. Once he rescued Rory, Alasdair was certain Gwyneth
would agree to marry him. He would somehow convince her Rory would
be safe growing up in the Highlands. And if he could achieve peace,
once Donald MacIrwin was arrested, there would be no more feuds and
skirmishes between the MacIrwins and MacGraths.

His clansmen talking and laughing outside
drew Alasdair’s attention once more. They had to be on their way
soon if they intended to catch Southwick. Alasdair gently
disentangled his limbs from Gwyneth’s, stroking his hand over her
silky skin in the process. Such temptation. If he didn’t stop
touching her, he would emerge from the tent with an erection his
trews couldn’t hide.

He turned to his back, found his trews beside
him and struggled into them. After kissing Gwyneth’s forehead, he
braced himself to face his men.

He crawled from the tent, stood and closed
the flap behind him.

When he turned, the gazes of the five men
gathered around the fire locked on him. Tomas, Boyd and Sweeney
smirked. But Angus and Padraig scowled at him.

“Good morrow.”

They murmured greetings in response.

He didn’t care whether they approved or not.
Ignoring them, he strolled toward the bushes to relieve himself,
then to the stream to wash his hands and face in the cold water.
That brought him awake with refreshing clarity. Upon returning to
the campsite, he found his gear on the ground near his bedroll and
dug through his possessions for a shirt.

He slipped the garment on and sauntered
toward the fire. Angus handed him a pewter cup of ale and a warm
oat bannock.

“I thank you.” He sat on a rock by the fire,
while the others stared anywhere but at him. “A fine morn, aye,
lads?”

“Aye,” they chorused.

“We shall make much progress this day and
cover many miles. I’m hoping we’ll be arriving in Edinburgh afore
gloaming.”

“Are you wanting to run the horses into the
ground, then?” Angus asked, staring at the fire.

Alasdair stiffened. He hated his authority
questioned, but Angus was his cousin and ten years his senior, so
he oft spoke his mind.

“Nay,” Alasdair said with obvious patience.
“If we don’t make it by then, it cannot be helped.”

He ran his gaze over the men. When they
looked him in the eye, he dared any one of them to challenge him.
He would not have them passing judgment on something they knew
nothing of—his feelings for Gwyneth and what existed between them.
Best to face the issue head on.

“I can see you’re all wondering what the hell
I was doing coming out of Gwyneth’s tent. In truth, ’tis none of
your concern. And I won’t tolerate your judging her for it. She is
a lady now and always, deserving of our respect.”

“Forgive me, Alasdair,” Angus said. “But are
you sure
you’re
showing her respect?”

“Aye, though I ken you don’t see it that
way.” He refused to explain his relationship with Gwyneth to them.
He would not have them know he’d proposed but she’d turned him
down. He was not yet done convincing her to change her mind.

“Do you care for her, then?” Angus asked.

Padraig’s arrow-sharp gaze cut through
Alasdair.

Boyd, Sweeney and Tomas cleared their
throats, rose and drifted away to saddle the horses.

“Aye, that I do,” Alasdair admitted.

“Have you thought of marryin’ again?”

Alasdair tried to hold back his grin. “Don’t
fash yourself, cousin. I’m working on it.”

Padraig clenched his jaw so hard, he was
certain to crack a tooth. And his glare only intensified.

“Do you have something to say, Padraig?”
Alasdair asked.

He shuffled his feet and lowered his eyes.
“Nay. Just that…Lady Gwyneth is kind, and she’s been through hell.
You shouldn’t take advantage of her weakened state…m’laird…with all
due respect.”

Alasdair knew Padraig was a wee besotted with
Gwyneth, but he did not know the extent. He couldn’t speak harshly
to the kind-hearted man who had been loyal to him, and his father
before him, for many years. As well, Alasdair couldn’t tell them
Gwyneth had sought him out last night.

“’Haps ’tis true I’m a rogue, but I have the
best of intentions. Just give me a few days.”

***

Gwyneth awoke to daybreak and the rumble of
male voices. She couldn’t understand their exact words, but she
recognized Alasdair’s voice among them.

Alasdair. Oh, goodness!

She covered her head with the blanket and
recalled the details of their encounter. The way he had given her
comforting kisses and seduced her, body, mind and soul so that she
forgot her troubles. Forgot her darling Rory within the clasp of a
London knave.

Oh, dear lord, I am a weak wanton
. She
knew she shouldn’t have gone to Alasdair last night. She had been
safe in her tent. Safe and good and afraid…but most of all, lonely.
She had craved holding someone in her arms. And needed someone
strong—Alasdair—to hold her. She didn’t normally accept comfort
from anyone, but he had been out there, so close. She had needed
his deep voice murmuring in her ear, words of reassurance that
everything would be all right. She believed him; she trusted him.
His hands, so warm and comforting, smoothing over her. That’s what
she had wanted.

But the rest—the carnal bliss that he
unleashed on her—was part and parcel of their connection. Something
she needed like her next breath, yet at the same time, she knew it
was folly. She could not seem to learn her lesson. Sensuality was
to be her downfall, her most horrid sin.