Surrender (25 page)

"Aye," Magnus joined in. "Like Muriele when
she climbed the pine tree afore ye came upon us in the woods,
Graemme. She near killed herself."

"Surely there's more to Elyne's mirth."

"For truth. I pictured Graemme sprawled in
bed, displaying all his glory. Ye awaited yer mate who had complete
control over ye. Even life or death, if ye displeased her."

"If she's going to have her way with me, I
think I would glory in it," Graemme scoffed.

"Ah, but what if she came through the doorway
and was withered with age. She had not taken a bath in weeks. She
kissed ye with fervor, drawing yer tongue into her toothless mouth
then felt yer, uh, tarse to see if it was eager for her."

"Dinna be disgusting," Graemme replied.

"Why not? It happens to women every day. But
their loving husbands land a fist on their jaws for not arousing
them."

"Lucifer's foul breath, woman!" Magnus
exploded behind her. "Ye are right."

"How can ye think so, brother?" Disbelief
sounded in Graemme's voice.

"Because of Muriele. When she failed to give
Feradoch a cockstand just by looking at her, he beat her and tried
to kill her friend Esa because she also refused to do the
same."

"Enough!"

Graemme's explosive word kept her from
talking further. When he glared at her and blamed her for starting
such a far-fetched conversation, she shrugged. He may be angry for
the talk, but he'd probably think back on it each time he saw an
elderly man with a wife younger than his numerous bastards
were.

Her buttocks and legs began to ache from
riding so long. She'd be much more comfortable not holding onto the
pommel of her saddle for support. Funny, when she held the reins
she balanced much better, knowing if the horse was going to swerve
to avoid an obstacle in the road or lurch to a stop. A pox on the
man!

The sun didn't go down fast enough for her
liking. If they made an early night of it, the longer it would take
to arrive at Raptor and their odious wedding.

When darkness finally crept up on them,
Graemme grudgingly found a clearing where they made camp beside a
small loch. Her anger flared again when the eejit had her sit on
the ground then tied a rope around her and the tree.

"What does he think I can do, Squat?" She
grumbled and began stroking the dog when he came over and put his
head in her lap. 'Twas a comforting feeling. "Where in Hades does
Graemme think I would go? I'm nay a fool! I'd not set out in a
forest alone. Even two men wouldn't travel without a torch to light
the way. It would be an invitation for every thief and blackguard
in hiding to murder them!"

The last words faded when the men turned to
look at her with grins on their faces. They may as well have
reminded her she had indeed done such when she left Raptor. She
flushed and clamped her teeth together before she made a further
fool of herself.

After the men had fires going and hare's
roasting over them, Graemme came to her to let her take a trip into
the woods.

"Are ye going to be breathing down my neck,
or are ye going to be sensible and give me room for privacy?"

"Ye'll get yer privacy. Just be quick about
it," he said as they reached a sizeable bush that would shield her
from sight.

He turned his back, giving her more
confidence. She was near finished when she felt something drop on
her head. Something wet. And since her head was bent trying to
watch out for her feet, its warmth trickled toward her forehead.
She jumped up and brushed at her head, but it spread the foul stuff
even more. She had bird shite on her hair! The blasted bird must be
a friend of the Devil.

"Lucifer's crud-filled ears," she yelled and
came charging from the woods, her head bent as thouogh she intended
to ram it into Graemme's chest.

"Ye willna curse, Elyne. 'Tis most unwomanly
of ye."

Then he began to laugh when she was close
enough to see the reason.

"'Tis no laughing matter! Get the soap," she
grumbled while heading for the sound of a stream no more than
thirty paces away.

His footsteps were right behind her. She
skidded to a halt and turned, unfortunately, for it whipped the
foul-smelling hair across her nose. She swatted it away and glared
at him.

"We have no soap. Men never use it while
traveling."

"Ye like yer own stench? Ugh!"

"Nay. We use sand."

She marched on to the loch's edge, aware the
other men were watching her with amused smiles on their faces. She
carefully tried to fasten her skirts behind her. She pulled them
tight and clamped them with her knees. The sand was soft and didn't
hurt her skin.

"I wouldna lean there if I were ye," Graemme
said.

"If ye must stand there to see I dinna swim
away, kindly keep yer tongue behind yer teeth."

"If ye say so."

She snorted in disgust for Graemme sounded
amused. The hateful man was probably laughing at her
predicament.

Pulling all her hair from in back to up and
over her head, she leaned forward to rinse it. Her left knee
wobbled in the sand and she reached into the water to steady
herself. It didn't help. Afore she knew how it happened, she was in
the water thrashing about.

Her clothing got in the way of her legs, but
she finally rose on her feet. She spluttered and fisted her hands
and wanted to hit something. Anything with more substance than
water. She glared at Graemme, who didn't bother to look up.

He stood on the bank slowly unbuckling his
sword belt and carefully laying it on the ground. Once the belt was
gone, the kilt had nothing to hold it. It flopped to the ground
like a wounded bird. In all his naked glory, he came toward her.
She backed up. She didn't want his help. Especially his
nekid
help.

She backed up. The ledge she stood on ended
with only one small step.

She plunged beneath the water. Squat started
barking and stopped abruptly when Magnus' muffled voice told him to
be quiet.

One of the men called out, "Ye'd best fetch
yer bride afore she drifts into some water monster's big mouth. She
would make him a tasty snack!"

She kicked her legs harder and fought the
water with her arms. As before, her clothes hindered her. Normally,
she was a strong swimmer. But then she had worn only her brother's
leggings and bindings for her breasts or nothing at all. It seemed
forever before her toes touched bottom and she tried to push up to
the surface again.

She may as well have saved herself the
effort. At first, she felt terror when something pulled at her
hair. Could it be a water monster had hold of her? She beat around
her hair, trying to find what had caught it. For her efforts, she
received a particularly hard jerk. Her hands flew out again and
came in contact with the hard corded muscles of a warrior's
forearms.

As he pulled her up, he slid her against his
body. She realized he'd removed the bandage around his thigh. His
injury was healing rapidly. Finally, the air she'd been holding
back exploded out of her mouth when her cheeks rubbed against hairy
thighs. His cock bobbed not a finger's width from her mouth. Why,
the cold water hadn't seemed to affect it much. Still, she clamped
her lips together. She could see his belly button as he kept
lifting, then his nipples, shriveled from the cold.

When her head cleared the water, she realized
he was standing. Standing? He must have read the expression on her
face quite accurately.

"If ye hadna panicked and curled like a
helpless kitten, ye could have bobbed up to get air."

"Let go my hair afore ye snatch me bald!"

He did. She immediately went under again, but
this time, she kept her legs straight. The bottom was not far at
all. She wished it was. From where she was now, she could see him
above her, laughing.

"I dinna think ye need to keep dunking yer
head, lass." Magnus' face was as somber as it had been at mass. He
leaned forward and studied her from his vantage place on shore.
"Looks to me ye have had a thorough washing bobbing up and down.
'Tis the same way the laundresses rinse our clothing."

Graemme doubted she needed his help. In fact,
she resented it. But he couldn't let his bride drown. Could he?

He was tempted.

The daft woman was as hard-headed as a ram
trying to batter down a wooden fence.

She was going to be nothing but trouble for
the rest of their natural lives together. The only time she was
anywhere near submissive was when he had her pinned beneath him. If
he was to have any peace in his life, he'd have to assure she
stayed hot and wanting.

If he could keep Elyne in the Highlands
without having to chase after her every time she took the crazy
notion to bolt back to Raptor Castle and beyond, he'd consider
himself lucky.

He shook his head. Worried. If aught happened
to her while she was in his care, Chief Broccin would likely remove
his head. With a dull axe.

He winced.

When she came to the surface, he grabbed her
kirtle and pulled her back to the shallow ledge.

"'Tis no way to bathe, lass. Has no one ever
taught ye to take off yer clothing first?" He tried hard not to
snicker, but the disbelief on her face made it difficult.

"Turn yer backs to the loch and face the
fires, else I'll put my blade to yer arses," he bellowed at the
snorting men. They promptly presented their backs, though he heard
them taking bets on whether he was going to swive her in the water,
being he was already naked!

With a few deft movements, her clothing
floated atop the water. He'd never seen her in all her bare skinned
glory. The only times she was nude was on top of him in the bailey
while her father loomed over them, in the dark room at Raptor and
in the gloomy stable. Unfortunately, time and people had prevented
him from exploring her body.

Before him was a creamy back leading down to
two lovely dimples above her hips. The water lapped beneath them,
but he caught glimpses of her beautiful nether cheeks.

"Come, brother, 'tis no time to anticipate
yer pleasure in the marriage bed," Magnus said from the grassy
shore.

Surely, Lucifer must be cackling though
bloody lips at his predicament. His brother's eyes roamed where
Graemme couldn't see. Elyne's arms flew up and folded over her
chest, and she bent her knees to hide herself beneath the
water.

"Magnus, turn yer back! It might help if ye
saw the men properly cooked the hares."

"Already started the fires and the men are
turning the hares on their spits. If ye dinna want her to get a
chill, ye'd best hurry. The water is too cold for leisure
explorations."

"Warm my kilt to wrap her in." He turned to
Elyne. "Hold yer breath."

Without further warning, he stepped closer
and held her shoulders to make her bend. He dunked her head low so
her hair was in the water.

"Stop struggling, lass. All I'm doing is
trying to rid ye of the bird shite in yer hair. I have no interest
in tupping ye….At the moment!"

He was lying through his teeth, too. She knew
it. How could she not? His cock was hard and begging against her
soft back. If she wasn't more careful, she might possibly sheath
the eager thing.

"Be still. All yer squirming and pushing back
against me makes my cock think ye're inviting him in."

Elyne gasped so loud, he saw Magnus glance
over his shoulder.

It worked, though, for she stilled and
frantically swished her hair in the water, rinsing it as fast as
she could. She straightened quickly.

"For truth, ye're intent on breaking my nose,
aren't ye?" He backed away from her. "Stay there until I get my
kilt."

He gathered her wet clothing and laid them
atop the first bush he came to. Lifting his warmed kilt from sticks
beside a fire, he took it back to her. He didn't miss seeing her
suddenly avert her eyes. He didn't doubt she'd studied his back as
thoroughly as he had hers.

"Did ye like what ye saw, wife?"

"Nay. And I am not yer wife."

"Yet! But ye will be."

Elyne might lie to him, but she couldn't to
herself. He had a magnificent body. His shoulders were as wide as
Ranald's with taut muscles marking him as a warrior who swung a
sword with vigor. Below were smooth muscles on his tanned back,
narrow hips with tight buttocks and lean muscular legs. When he
turned toward her, her mouth went dry. Far from being an old,
withered man with naught to offer, he had everything. A more than
handsome face, virile chest with a hard, flat belly and muscled
thighs that looked to have strength enough to control the wildest
ride. Her skin heated at the type of ride she was thinking of
making.

She tried to avert her eyes from his rampant
sex. It drew her like a moth to the rushlights outside the keep's
entrance.

Had Lucifer formed him just to taunt her? How
could she be so drawn to a man she feared?

She shook her head. By the look on his face,
he'd said something she hadn't heard.

"Nay, ye dinna want to cover yerself, or were
ye gathering wool? Again?"

Graemme's eyes crinkled at the corners.

"Of course I want the kilt, you cocky
oaf!"

"Once we are married, I must insist ye call
me by more pleasant names."

He motioned for her to rise out of the water.
She did, but when she read the anticipation in his eyes, she
quickly turned her back to him. Finally, she felt the warm wool
against her flesh.

"Now back up to me so ye will be out of the
water."

She did and felt the water finally down to
her ankles. She grabbed the sides of the kilt around her body and
bunched the cloth at her chest and waist. Her boots squished,
making a funny sound. Once she came to a sizeable rock, she sat and
pulled them off. 'Twas amazing how much water they held.