Amanda Scott (40 page)

“We are not done yet, sweetheart,” he said hoarsely. Gently wrapping the towel around her, he turned her face to him, rubbing
her through the towel and hoping the fire warmed her. “I just want you,” he said quietly. “You are unlike any woman I have
ever known, and you stir a fire in my loins that makes me want to take you to bed and keep you there forever.”

Without saying more, he scooped her into his arms, towel and all, and moved to lay her gently on the bed.

“I’m still wet,” she protested, “and no one has warmed the bed.”

“You are as dry as you’re going to be for a time,” he muttered hoarsely, “and we’ll warm the bed ourselves.”

She chuckled then, saying, “You are too hasty, sir. What of your bath?”

“I swam last night and bathed the day before,” he reminded her. “ ’Tis more bathing than most men attempt in a month.”

“Still, you must take off the rest of your clothes,” she said, pulling the towel out from under her and doing her best to
dry herself while in record time he stripped off his shirt, netherstocks, and boots.

Naked, he remembered the fire and went to put more logs on it, but he left all the candles to gutter in their sconces as and
when they would. Tonight, he would continue to watch her every expression while he claimed her properly as his wife.

She had slipped under the coverlet and pulled it up to her chin, but he drew it back again, holding it there to look at her
and knowing that he would not soon grow tired of doing so.

As he climbed into bed beside her, Molly felt even more conscious of the size of his body than she had before, but she was
glad that he seemed to hear no strange voices tonight. His hands were warm, and they stirred more heat in her as they caressed
her. Her body had been responding to him from the moment she had heard his voice in the room instead of Doreen’s, and in the
tub, he had played its tunes as deftly as a piper played his pipes.

He held her in the curve of one arm, lying on his side while his free hand teased the tip of her breast. His hair tickled
her cheek. It smelled lightly of the woods and of the leather lining of his helmet. When his lips took the place of his fingers,
she gasped as they warmly enclosed her nipple and began to suck. Her body responded as fully as if he had touched her between
the legs again. His hand moved lower, teasing her senses elsewhere the way his lips and teeth teased her breast.

Gasping, she murmured to the top of his head, “Tell me what to do.”

His lips released her nipple and he looked at her. “Let me feast,” he said.

She tugged his hair. “Kiss me first.”

Chuckling, he moved up and claimed her lips, his kisses gentle at first, then more demanding. She squirmed against him, hot
and ready, and at last, one of his hands eased between her legs, caressing her lightly until, without thought, she moved against
his fingers, urging them to do what they had done before.

Instead, they continued to tease until she wanted to scream but could not without stopping his kisses. She was moaning, writhing
feverishly, when at last she felt his body ease over hers, and then breath and movement stopped when she felt him easing himself
into her.

When he penetrated her, she inhaled with a sharp little cry. It was not the same as in the tub. He moved slowly, and she could
tell that he was trying to be as gentle as he knew how to be, but his every movement brought an unfamiliar ache.

Pausing and gently stroking her breasts and belly, he murmured, “It will not always hurt, sweetheart. Your body will soon
adjust to mine. You’ll see.”

“Good. How long will that take?”

He chuckled. “Not long, but it won’t happen in a few minutes either.”

She did not want him to stop, ache or no ache, but when he moved inside her again, she gasped, and he went still.

“Is it too much pain?” he asked. “Not really,” she said, surprised that he would ask. What little she had heard about husbands
had not led her to expect him to show such consideration for her discomfort. “It’s just that there are so many new feelings
all mixed up together,” she said. “Many are delightful, others not.” When he did not reply, she closed her eyes and inhaled
deeply, letting the breath out slowly, willing the ache to disappear.

His lips touched hers, and she forgot the ache, kissing him hungrily, her tongue dancing with his as she savored the exciting
sensations his kisses and caresses stirred in her.

When he began to move inside her again, first carefully but then with greater urgency, the aching returned at once and she
opened her mouth to ask him to slow down, just for a moment. Before she could, his body moved sharply, then more quickly,
pounding against hers, and then it was over.

He lay heavily atop her. She could feel his heart pounding and knew that her own was pounding just as hard, but the ache had
already begun to ease.

He shifted his position to lie beside her again. Still holding her in the curve of his arm, he drew the coverlet up higher,
saying, “You mustn’t get cold.”

They lay like that for a few minutes, until she felt herself begin to relax.

“Will it truly be easier next time, this part of it?”

“Aye. Does it still hurt?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“I’ll get the cloth,” he said. “You’re likely bleeding, but it will stop soon.”

He slid out of the bed and walked to the tub to get the damp cloth she had used to wash herself before.

“I can do it,” she said, feeling shy.

“Let me.” He was deft, gentle, and quick, and when he was done, he tossed the used cloth into the tub and climbed back into
bed beside her. Putting his arm around her, he held her close, and a comfortable silence wrapped itself around them.

Moments passed.

“You’re no longer a maid, lass,” he said. “Nay,” she said, wondering if she was no longer Maid of Dunsithe.

He turned on his side to face her, and his free hand moved idly to stroke her breasts again. To her astonishment, her body
tingled and stirred, inviting more caresses. She snuggled closer, smiling up at him, willing him to kiss her. When he did,
she felt a sense of power. She had beckoned, and he had obeyed.

He kissed the tip of her nose, her chin, and then reclaimed her lips, lightly, teasingly. His hand was busy, too, stroking
her breasts and belly. When a fingertip touched the mark on her breast, stroking it gently, she thought he meant to begin
again, and despite lingering soreness, she had no wish to stop him.

He said casually, “Are you certain that no one ever told you how to find Dunsithe’s treasure?”

Abruptly sensual lassitude vanished and her spirits fell. “I know only that it is supposed to exist,” she said quietly. “Why
do you ask about it now?”

“I just thought it seemed logical that, during your childhood, someone must have given you some clue as to where it lies hidden
or how to claim it.”

As calmly as she could, fighting her disappointment, she said, “Is that why you have been so attentive, so passionate tonight?
Hoping I’d tell you all I know about my fortune so you can find it and protect your castle against future attacks?”

“I ask because it occurred to me to ask when I touched that mark, and because I have the right,” he said. “I am your husband,
lass. What is yours is mine. It has naught to do with what passed between us tonight.”

“Well, I don’t know any more about it than you do,” she said bluntly. “I’m tired. Can we go to sleep now?”

“Aye,” he said in much the same tone, “but tomorrow you can ready yourself to leave Eilean Donan.”

“Leave?” Shock surged through her as her worst fear was confirmed. Eilean Donan was no more her real home than any of the
others had been. “You mean to send me away just because I cannot tell you where to find Dunsithe’s treasure?”

“Nay, lass,” he said more gently, slipping his arms around her and drawing her close again. “I am sending you away because
Patrick, Thomas, Malcolm, and I are all convinced that Donald’s men won’t rest until they have avenged his death. I want you
where I know you will be safe.”

“But where?”

“I’ll send you to Jamie. He will not deny you royal protection, and I cannot think of anywhere you could be safer than at
Stirling under his care.”

“But I don’t want to go to Stirling. I can be more useful here.”

“I did not ask what you wanted to do. I don’t deny that you did well today. Thomas told me that your skill amazes him.”

“But this is my home now. I belong here!”

“You will go to the King,” he said implacably. “I do not want my wife on the battlements fighting alongside my men, risking
her life and possibly—now—the life of my heir as well.”

“Very well, then, I’ll go,” Molly said stiffly. “Good night, sir.” And with that, she turned over, determined to ignore him.
It was a wasted decision, though, for he held her close, his powerful body warm against hers, but he said no more and she
decided he had fallen asleep.

She realized as she dozed off that she had wasted the time she had spent searching for her lacy nightdress.

Fin lay quietly awake, holding her, wanting to tell her he did not want to send her away. He dared not, though. Given even
a little encouragement, she would fight to stay, and he could not allow that. Not only would she put herself in danger but
also he had to think of Eilean Donan and Kintail. If he died, and she was already carrying his child, she carried their future
in her womb. It was long before he slept.

C
laud struggled to waken, vaguely aware that something was happening, but his body refused to cooperate. Shrieking struck his
ears from every side, growing louder, refusing to let him rest.

The Host! Terror stirred his consciousness as nothing else could have. He opened his eyes.

Although the sight that greeted him was terrifying enough, it was not the Host. His mother stood before Catriona, but Maggie
had not done the shrieking, for Catriona was still at it. Claud had never seen her so animated.

“Stay away from me, you cursed old besom,” she snapped, arms akimbo. “You may say what you want to your son, but you wield
no power over me.”

Claud struggled to speak, to warn her, but even had he managed to do more than open his mouth and gasp, it was too late.

Maggie raised her hands, and Catriona flew backward and up through the air, still shrieking. When she landed, she was hanging
by the back of her gauzy green gown from one of the hall banner poles, arms and legs waving wildly.

“You are mad, old woman,” she screamed. “How dare you do this to me!”

Claud held his breath.

Folding her arms across her chest, Maggie glowered up at Catriona. “Dare, is it? ’Tis no I wha’ dares, ye wicked, boiled-brained
callat. Didna my Claud warn ye that he stood tae be broken by the Circle for the things ye plagued him tae do? I’ll wager
he did, but ye paid his warnings nae heed and continued tae sway him tae your own selfish aims so ye wouldna ha’ tae stir
yourself tae serve your ain laird.”

“I did not! And even if I did, it is no concern of yours. Now, let me down!”

“I dinna want tae hear another word from ye, ye triple-turned slut,” Maggie snapped. “Haud your whisst!”

“How dare—!”

Without unfolding her arms, Maggie flicked a finger, and although Catriona’s lips continued to move, no sound issued from
them.

Maggie said in a quiet but carrying tone, “Now that a body can hear herself talk, it occurs tae me, my wee wicked baggage,
that ye ha’ twice used the word ‘dare’ in speakin’ tae me. Can it be possible that Claud failed tae tell ye that I am myself
a member o’ the Circle?”

Catriona ceased her flailing, and her eyes rounded in disbelief that soon altered to trepidation.

“Ah, ye begin tae see your peril, do ye? I warrant we’ll soon hear ye tryin’ tae apologize. Before ye do, however, tell me
this. Did Claud no tell ye he’d suffer punishment that would grow fiercer, the more time he spent in your company?”

Catriona hesitated only for a moment before nodding.

“How wise ye are no tae lie tae me,” Maggie said gently. “Ye’ll find a way off that pole in time, but ye’ll find, too, that
your powers ha’ diminished. Since ye’d rather persuade someone else tae do your work for ye, ye can ha’ little use for them,
but I’d urge ye to take special care lest ye lose them altogether.”