Conall: The 93rd Highlanders, Book Two (4 page)

“
You know
what I need,” she replied calmly. “Are you ready to give it to
me?”

“
I shall take
my leave, Mrs. Scott,” Munro said, carefully folding her blanket
and laying it down on the cot. He held out his hand for his jacket.
“Thank you.”

For some reason his
desertion tonight was a sharp disappointment. Blinking back
unexpected, inexplicable tears she bit off the thread and smoothed
her hand over his jacket before handing it back. “Be more careful
with it,” she said sharply. “You’re lucky you didn’t lose the
buttons.”

“
Yes, ma’am,”
he replied respectfully, all humor and intimacy gone. He picked up
his scabbard and sash and moved toward the tent opening without
putting any of them on. “Good evening, Fletcher,” he said, and then
he was gone.

“
I’m sorry,”
Conall said, and was surprised to realize he meant it. “I didn’t
mean to run him off.”

“
You didn’t,”
Avril said, busy tucking her sewing things back into a small box.
“I did.”

Conall didn’t want to
ask, he didn’t want to know, but some perverse creature in him made
him do it anyway. “Did you ask him to be your man
again?”

Avril sighed heavily as
she rose from a little stool and carried the box over to a crude
wooden shelf. “And how is it your business what I did or didn’t
do?” she asked, showing some of her spirit despite her obvious
weariness.

Conall walked over to her
and gently turned her face up to him. She wore no bonnet, just a
set of ragged fur muffs over her ears. Her blue eyes were
bloodshot, as if she’d been crying. And the dark circles around
them made him unaccountably angry.

“
It’s my
business because I care about you,” he told her curtly. “How much
sleep are you getting at night?”

She jerked her chin out
of his hand. “Enough.”

“
I doubt
that.” He looked around the tent, taking note of things he’d missed
this afternoon. “It’s freezing in here. Why haven’t you a bigger
stove?”

A bark of laughter was
her immediate response. “And where am I to be getting a bigger
stove?” she asked. “And with what money?”

“
Don’t the
men pay you?” he asked, vowing to have words with the men he knew
came to her for things, just as Munro had.

“
That money
is for passage home,” she said. “Not for creature
comforts.”

“
There’ll be
no home for you if you’re dead of the cold.” He swallowed and
turned away as he was assaulted with memories of the men he’d seen
at the hospital with frostbitten toes and feet literally breaking
off in the doctors’ hands. “I’ll get you a good stove.”

“
You haven’t
the right.” She stood there proud and defiant before him. He knew
what she wanted. What she thought she wanted.

“
What would
give me the right?” he asked, needing to hear her say
it.

“
If I was
your woman, you could get me a stove. You’d share it then.” She
didn’t flinch from saying it, didn’t act coy or play the
seductress. Her Scottish practicality and stubborn pride stared
right at him, daring him to refuse again.

“
Fine,” he
said. “I’ll make you my woman, and I’ll buy you a stove.” His heart
was beating so fast it made his knees weak. He was crossing a
bridge and burning it behind him. There’d be no going back. If he
took her tonight, she’d be his and only his. The air felt thick
with fate, as if this was a moment meant to be.

“
It takes
more than words,” she said, her voice weak and breathless as though
she felt it too.

“
I know,” he
whispered, reaching for her. She came to him with no protest,
wrapping her arms around him as he pulled her close and kissed
her.

She tasted cold. It made
him tug her closer, hold her tighter. Her lips began to warm under
his, and then he tentatively slid his tongue along them, as she’d
done earlier today. Immediately she opened her mouth and welcomed
him in with a moan. He hadn’t known what he was about earlier, but
it didn’t take a brilliant man to figure out this kissing. The more
he did it, the easier it got. As her lips grew warm, her breath was
hot against him, heating him from the inside out.

Avril slid her hands up
his chest and cupped his jaw. She tugged on his beard, deepening
the kiss, and it was Conall’s turn to moan. Her hands slid up into
his hair, knocking his hat off, and suddenly he was desperate to
feel her against him, beneath him. She wrapped her leg around his
and he roughly cupped her bottom and lifted her up so he could
press his cock against her. There were too many clothes between
them. He needed her like he’d never thought possible, in ways he’d
only imagined. He’d never known this kind of heat between a man and
a woman could exist. He’d heard other men talk of it, but he’d
dismissed it as foolish bragging. Oh, how he’d been
wrong.

He broke the kiss with a
gasp and Avril began to press kisses to his cheeks and his neck.
“How can we do this without having to undress you?” he asked,
panting as though he’d run a far distance. “It’s too cold for
you.”

“
You warm me
up,” she said with a thick burr. He grinned, loving that he brought
the Scottish out in his lass.

He felt her tugging at
his waist and stepped back a bit to see she was unbuckling his
belt. “Take these off,” she said. “You can’t bed me wearing your
sword.”

Before long, Conall’s
uniform lay in a heap on the floor of the hut. The cold chilled him
but it didn’t cool his ardor at all. When he wore only his shirt
and kilt, Avril tugged him toward the bed. “Come,” she
urged.

He stopped her before she
could push him down on the cot. “These, off,” he said, pulling the
muffs from her ears. She laughed. “And this,” he said as he began
to unbutton her large coat. “I’ll keep you warm.” She bit her lip
and nodded as she stared up at him from beneath long lashes
highlighted by the fire’s glow. He slid the coat slowly off her
shoulders. “And this,” he whispered, working on the buttons on the
front of her woolen dress. “Can we take this off?”

“
Please,” she
whispered back, rubbing her hand against his chest. He could feel
the heat of that caress through the clothing he still
wore.

“
I want to
feel your hand against me,” Conall demanded. She obeyed, sliding
both hands into his shirt to rub against his nipples, hard from the
cold. The feel of her on his skin made him groan and he paused in
stripping her long enough to kiss her roughly. She gave as good as
she got, pinching one of his nipples as she bit his lower lip and
sucked on it. Conall was wild for her. He grabbed her gown and
yanked it off her shoulders, forcing her hands away from him,
trapping her arms. He broke the kiss and stared at her. She was
standing there, her arms back, her small breasts thrust out covered
in only a sheer slip, her chest rising and falling with her fast,
rough breathing.

“
Touch me,”
she begged. “Touch my breasts.”

Conall covered them
immediately with his hands and Avril moaned. He could feel her
nipples, so much larger than his, hard and pressing against his
palms. He pinched one and she whimpered, but moved closer to him,
silently asking for more. He pushed the straps of the slip over her
shoulders with her dress, exposing her breasts to the frigid air,
and she gasped.

“
I want to
put my mouth on them,” Conall told her. He’d heard talk, he knew
that was what men did, and suddenly he wanted to do it more than he
wanted to take his next breath.

“
Oh, God,
yes,” she moaned. “Get this dress off me, Conall.
Please.”

He did as she asked,
leaving her slip on for modesty and warmth. Then he wasted no time
in taking one of her nipples into his mouth and sucking on it hard
and fast. She cried out, cramming her hands into his hair and
clutching fistfuls, tugging it. The pain only drove his desire to
greater heights. Avril dragged his hand up and covered the other
breast with it. He knew what she wanted and he pinched that nipple
as he lightly bit the one in his mouth. Her hips jerked toward
him.

When her hand slid under
his kilt, Conall froze. She grabbed his cock and wrapped her warm
fist around it and he said her name in a strangled
voice.

“
This, I need
this,” she said breathlessly. “Lay me down and fuck me, Conall.”
She practically sobbed his name. “I’ve waited so long.”

After he laid her down on
the cot, he unwrapped his kilt from his waist. His cock was long
and hard and for some reason he wanted her to see it. He wanted her
to touch it and need it. She immediately reached for it, as if she
knew. Her hand was rough, not the delicate softness of a lady’s
hand, and he loved the way it felt. He lay down next to her and
covered them both first with his kilt and then with her blanket.
Between the woolen covers and the heat between them, they should be
warm enough.

He leaned up on one arm
so he could see her better. Then he grabbed her hand and wrapped it
around his prick again. She smiled and tugged on his length, her
hand sliding down to the head and then back up, and Conall thought
he might pass out. He’d surely done it to himself a hundred times,
but it had never felt so good. With her other hand she tugged up
the skirt of her slip. The blankets covered most of her, so he
couldn’t see much, but just the thought of her naked under there,
the thought of putting his cock there, made his hips jerk. She
grabbed his hand, which had been squeezing her breasts, and pulled
it down between her legs.

She was wet. He knew that
was right. A woman needed that to take a man. It also meant she
wanted to fuck. Brodie had told him that. Brodie had fucked a fair
share of girls in his time and had laughed at Conall, who was too
shy to approach any woman for that. But with Avril, it just seemed
so right. He ran his fingers along her sex, feeling the valleys and
folds, the soft, delicate skin and rough, curly hair. It was as
mysterious as it was arousing, feeling her like that, without sight
to aid him.

“
Slip your
finger inside me,” she whispered.

He did as directed, and
the wet, tight heat of her made his cock twitch and leak. She ran
her thumb through the wetness on his tip and spread it around and
he groaned as he drove his finger deeper into her. She spread her
legs and thrust up against his hand, moaning.

“
Put your
cock there, Conall,” she begged. “Hurry.”

Conall climbed between
her legs, and at the first touch of his cock to her sex he groaned
and the arms holding him up trembled. It was Avril who took him in
hand and guided him into her, Avril who thrust her hips high and
drove him deeper. She cried out in pleasure and Conall could feel
her tremble around him, and without conscious thought he thrust
into her, drove past her tight walls to the very heart of
her.

Avril sobbed and clutched
his arms tighter and her hips pumped up against him. “Move,” she
gasped. “Fuck me.”

“
I don’t–“
Conall gasped, not even able to get all the words out.

“
Like this,”
Avril said, pushing his hips back and then pulling them forward.
She’d bent her knees, spreading them wider, and he glided in and
out of her.

“
Christ,” he
said, the word breaking as he sucked in air. It felt so good Conall
was shivering with the pleasure. He thrust on his own, harder, and
she sobbed again, clearly in pleasure and not in pain. For several
minutes the only sound was the damp of their flesh meeting and
their harsh breaths. Then Avril dug her nails into his
arms.

“
Conall, I’m
coming again,” she cried out. She tightened on him once again,
rhythmic pulses grasping him like a vise inside her. His own
pleasure grew so intense he gasped with each breath. His cock was
harder than it had ever been, and he knew he was going to come
too.

“
Avril,” he
groaned as heat traveled from his balls to his cock head and burst
into her. She moaned and rolled her head against the
cot.

When it was over he
couldn’t hold himself up and collapsed on her. She clutched him to
her, kissing his neck and rubbing his back.

“
You’re mine
now,” he told her, his lids heavy, sleep stealing over
him.

Beneath him Avril shoved
his shoulder until he slid down to her side. “Aye,” she murmured,
cuddling into him. “At last.”

He wrapped his kilt
around them both, held her tight and slept.

Outside the hut in the
freezing cold Graeme rubbed his hands together to stay warm.
Despite his warm clothes, the cold had pierced his soul as he
listened to Conall and Avril coupling. He glowered at anyone who
dared to come too close. He was the only one who should hear them.
Just him. In some small way, it made them his.

Graeme lounged on the
ground outside Avril’s hut. The sun was shining, though the cold
still stung against Graeme’s cheeks. There were several officers
there with him, including Conall, who sat about ten feet away,
laughing at something Brodie had just said. He could watch Conall
all day. He most likely wasn’t being very discreet. But Conall and
Avril had been together for weeks now, and everyone acknowledged
it. No one was worrying about the way Graeme looked at him. And
with the sun turning his red hair to flame, and his strong legs
stretched out in front of him, his kilt barely keeping his modesty
intact, there was no way Graeme could look away.