Susan King - [Celtic Nights 03] (35 page)

She nodded, pressing her brow against his cheek. "What of my kinsmen?" she asked. "What shall we do?"

"We will find a way." He kissed her hard enough to leave her breathless, head tilted, eyes closed. "Hush, now, and let me love you," he murmured. "Leave the rest for later." He kissed the delicate lobe of her ear and felt her sag against the door, heard her gasp, felt that same rush within himself. Her hands skimmed his chest, rounded over his arms, settled upon his back.

Covering her mouth with his, gathering her into his arms, he felt an inner craving. He sensed in her hands and her fervent kisses that she, too, felt the power between them like fire.

She pressed against him, her abdomen flat and small, her body strong and lithe, and his urgent hardness filled, nestled into her giving curves. A thundering insistence shuddered through him, and he kissed her again, holding her against him, stroking her shoulder, her arm, tracing her breast through the damp shirt.

He cupped her, caressed her, and she sighed into his mouth. Now, and every time he touched her, he felt the wonderment of it, the awe of it. He had dreamed of her in France, and thought he must be dreaming again, so sweet was this, so real and perfect. She moaned against his lips, and he kissed her deep, drawing the plaid off her shoulder. Working his fingers at the sturdy belt, he removed it, and the enveloping plaid slid away, leaving her in a thin linen shirt.

With her shoulders against the door, kissing him fervently in return, she pulled at his wet shirt and at the waist of his trews. She laughed a little, softly, as she helped him and he helped her, and he began to chuckle as well, feeling a bubbling of joy. Declaring his love for her at last had levitated soul and spirit in a way he had never experienced before.

Whatever troubles awaited them seemed far outside this enclosure of love. Here and now was all that existed, was fitting and true. He had pledged his heart to her long ago—long before Beltane, he knew.

Feathering his lips along her cheek and her ear, he pulled at her shirt, and she at his. Both tugged in a kind of frenzy, kissing and caressing, so that the final casting aside of the wet clothing and boots was sheer relief. When she stood naked and warm and willing in his arms, and he in hers, his body surged against her with kindled, ready desire.

She was still damp from the rain, her hair curling in tendrils beneath his hands as he framed her face to kiss her, and slid his hands along the length of her, down to her hips and up again, her skin a creamy luxury under his palms. Her kisses were gentle but fervent over his mouth and along his neck, and he sighed out, long and low, gathering her into his embrace. Her hands slid down from his shoulders and braced against his lower back, and he swelled for her, pressed hard against her. She gasped and leaned against him until he thought he might lose breath, reason, control.

Passion raced through him, made him quiver as his fingers covered her breast, the bud firming against his palm. Dipping his mouth to her throat, his fingers teased her nipple, then his lips replaced them to suck gently. She moaned, soft and eager, and her fingers found a whorl along his ear so sensitive that his body spun inside, and his muscles surged, clenched.

He caught her up into his arms then, and she rode lightly as he carried her across the room to his own bed, where she had been sleeping alone for so long. Sliding with her between the closed curtains, he lowered her to the heather-filled mattress and went down on his knees.

The fragrance released in the bed was wild and intoxicating. Years had passed since he had lain here, and now he was with her. Now, at last, he was truly home in body and soul.

She lay back, stretching and seductive, so beautifully curved, warm to the touch, so enticing that he hardened further, felt himself grow firm and hot just looking at her in the shadows. The ruby firelight filtered through the curtain weave, setting her afire like a deep jewel. He leaned forward to kiss her, tracing a pathway along her throat and the valley between her breasts, shifting his mouth upon one nipple, then the other, until she gasped and drew him closer.

Stretching out beside her, letting his hand follow the taut length of her thigh, he kissed her where her heart drummed hardest, at throat and breast. She arched like a bow in his arms as he slipped his fingers over her abdomen, then touched the soft nesting tucked between her legs. She took in a deep breath and moved against him.

He delved within, where she was honey-slick and hot, to touch the rosebud nubbin, drawing from her a cry, a quickening of breath. Rocking, pleading with her body, she rode in his arms, and he knew the instant the flame caught within her. He felt it swirl like wildfire in himself, but he held back, savoring her with lips, hands, fingertips, until she cried out again and pulled him hard against her.

Her hands roamed over his back, his hips, his abdomen, and her fingers found and caressed his hardened length, and lightning shivered through him. He rocked away, too ready, too willing, his body tightening insistently. Instead, he took his time with her, his touch relentless but gentle. He eased her along until she moved like a wave beneath him, her cry as soft as the rain that swept over the roof.

He would have coaxed her again, but the honey and fire that replaced his blood rushed him onward. Her hands found him again, closed over him, hot as embers, himself like iron in them. Warm and lush against him, the softness of her body inflamed him further. When she tucked him into the clefted pulse of her, he gasped at the heat and the richness there, so delicious that he could scarcely think, could hardly restrain himself any longer.

Upon his next breath, he felt himself slip upward inside of her, and he penetrated the thin barrier so quickly that it was done before he realized it, before he could pull back and prepare her with a whisper, with care. She made a little groan of discomfort that was transformed into a sigh of pleasure. Searing inner heat surrounded him, and a subtle, sensual flexing of her hips pulled him deeper into her.

She shuddered beneath him, her body melding with his, her undulating movements creating a power that drew him deeper into the magic with her. Where he ended and she began he did not know. Kissing her mouth, her tongue, he felt the power build in him like flame, rolling through him until he exploded with it, able to control it no longer. Love poured through him, rinsing away years of holding back his feelings for her. All he had ever wanted, all he wanted now, was Eva.

The waves subsided and he came back to awareness, finding himself separate from her again. He sighed, gathered her close.

"Eva, my own," he whispered into the rich tumble of her hair. He kissed her, the quiet strength of their passion still simmering in his blood. She turned into the shelter of his arms.

"I am your own," she said. "And you are mine. It has always been that way, I think."

Chapter 24

Incessant rain sheeted over the thatch, and Eva added a pine log to the peat fire for brightness as well as warmth. She lit two thick tallow candles and set them on the table while Lachlann finished his meal of cheese and oatcakes. When he divided his last oatcake between the dogs, Eva laughed, standing beside him. Despite the dreary day, a luminous sense of joy filled her.

He drew her to him, and she bent to kiss him, feeling deep gratitude for their night of tender loving and the wonder of waking in his arms. The transformation of their old friendship into something altogether different felt like a kind of miracle. She closed her eyes as he rested his head on her breast, and her heart beat faster beneath her plain gown as his hands slid over her hips, hinting at pleasures yet to come.

Beyond the dreamy enclosure of her newfound joy, her thoughts still spun. Troubles remained that demanded resolution. Soon she would have to face them, though for most of her life she had dreaded the thought of an ultimate contest and a final confrontation. Now she must face Colin to claim not only her island but her self and her freedom.

Despite her training, she did not think of herself as a warrior woman, nor was she as extraordinary as Aeife of the legend. She was an ordinary girl, strong and capable, willful and sometimes bold; and now she knew she was deeply loved.

If she was ever to break free of Colin and reclaim Innisfarna, if she was ever to live a life of peace with Lachlann and her kin, she would need all that, and more. Somewhere within herself, she had to find and draw upon a well of courage.

* * *

"Too slow, and off balance." Alpin commented on her last strike as he circled Eva, eyeing her stance. He had corrected her more than usual while she swung an old steel sword at the wooden pell, a solid upright post that Alpin had set up in the alder grove on Innisfarna.

"I am doing the best I can," she countered irritably, and swung again. The dulled edge of the blade bit into the wood and stuck. She wrenched it free with an exasperated little yelp. The sword was cumbersome, and her back and shoulders ached with every movement. When she began practicing, she had discovered herself stiff and sore from the other night's frantic sword challenge. Lachlann's blows were heavier than she was used to taking, and her wrists and shoulders still felt the brunt of it.

A couple of evenings spent in lovemaking had soothed the aches deliciously while exercising other muscles, but now she felt the strain. And though she tried to stay intent on her movements, her mind remained in the smithy, and with the smith.

The day had dawned cloudy but free of rain, and when Alpin came over the water, Eva had left without telling Lachlann. Red light glinted in the smithy windows and the hammer clanged steadily, and she had not wanted to disturb him.

Distracted and tired, she lost her footing yet again. Her next few blows were awkward, the flat of the blade slamming into the pell and vibrating into her arm.

"Awful," Alpin said. "That is a sword, not an axe! What is wrong with you today, girl?"

She slid him a glance without reply. Although she rarely practiced openly during the day, the sky blew dark with rainclouds and the castle showed little activity. The soldiers, Alpin told her, were resting, as many of them had been out on patrol again until the small hours.

Eva remembered hearing the men ride into the stable yard just before dawn, while she lay in Lachlann's arms, glad of the sense of safety she felt there. But their nights of loving did not change the fact that her decision could bring danger to her kinsmen as well as to Lachlann. That continuing dread made her so anxious that even the headiness of newfound love could not balance her.

With the next overhead strike, she lost not only her footing but her grip on the sword as well, which went skittering across the ground. Alpin threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Ach,
you are useless," he said bluntly.

"But I am working hard," she protested, flexing her aching shoulders, "and I feel it."

Alpin grunted. "Do that drill again, but think about your overhead blow. Imagine your opponent coming at you."

She huffed as she downstroked, jarring her sore wrist and arm, then repeated the movements despite discomfort and fatigue. Nothing she did seemed to go well, and Alpin continued to mutter at her.

Finally he beckoned her away from the pell to work with him. After donning a quilted jack for protection, she faced him. He lifted his steel sword, and she lunged, countering his strike, but her blade skidded off his. Gasping in frustration, she let temper fuel her effort as she lunged again, hitting his sword on the diagonal, shoving so hard that he fell back a step.

"Ah, there she is!" Alpin said approvingly. He led her through more sequences, blades chiming. Then he paused, lowering his blade as he looked past her. She turned.

Lachlann leaned against a tree, his arms folded, and Ninian peered out from behind him. "So this is where you practice," Lachlann said. "We could have been soldiers. Where is your caution?"

"Ach
, I knew you were there, and I let you watch," Alpin said, though Eva was doubtful of that. Ninian ran forward to help as Alpin gathered the gear.

Eva wiped her brow, breathing hard, determined to cover how startled she had been. "No one has ever found us here before. Ninian makes sure of that. He led you here because he knew it was safe to show you. What are you doing on the island?"

Lachlann walked toward her. "A few of the soldiers rowed across to look after the horses, and said that Robson wanted to discuss some smithing commissions, so I came back with them. I hoped to find Alpin to ferry me back. I did not realize that you were with him, though it does not surprise me, after the other night," he added in a low tone.