The Raven's Moon (32 page)

She glided her hands up and down his arms, his back, pulled him close, her hands showing him her eagerness, her anxiousness. He wanted her fiercely, utterly, his body urging him onward despite the impending danger. He caressed his lips along the curve of her cheek, found the shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue.

They might have no time, or all the time they needed. He did not know. He only knew he could not stop touching her so long as she urged him on with her lips, her mouth.

"Hurry," she whispered, turning her lips to meet his again.

He took a breath as if he had been starving for air, and swept her shirt over her head, flinging it aside. He yanked off his doublet and his own shirt while her warm, slender hands trailed up his chest. She grasped his arms and pulled him down to her.

He had vowed, only that morning, to take her only when she desired it as much as he did. That moment was here, now, as the deep currents that bound them together swept him along with her now, swiftly, forcefully, like thunder on scudding clouds.

Urgency and passion swelled in him and drew him inexorably toward the power that grew between them. Impatiently now, he pulled his breeches loose and leaned onto the bed, rolling her with him, taking her into his arms fully.

Languid and beautiful, she watched him, the supple contours of her body edged in blue-gray light. He wanted to touch her, taste her, fill her—he could not keep apart from her, physically in this moment, or ever, heart and soul.

He was as lost to her, then, as the day she had taken him down on the road. This time he surrendered his heart—this time he was willing. He pressed her warm, lean and soft body against his own, and she arched her hips against him. When he pulled at the drawstring of her breeches, she helped him slide them away.

Then he traced his lips along her throat, lowering his head to kiss the unutterably soft skin between her breasts, letting his tongue slip over her skin to the sweet, firm nipple. She cried out softly and grabbed at his shoulders, sliding her hands over his back, around to his abdomen, pausing there.

And suddenly he sucked in his breath as she found him lower, deeper, wrapped her slim fingers around his turgid length. He felt her sweet breath sighing into his mouth while her hands explored him tentatively, then more boldly.

Heart pounding, heat flooding through him, he nuzzled at her breast while his hands skimmed the sensuous curve of her inner thigh and his fingers slid upward, all the while telling himself to wait, to mingle his pleasure with her own.

His fingers glided and slipped inside her, where she was warm and honeyed, to the pulsing bud within. Touched there, she gasped; stroked, she moaned, and he kissed her mouth, teasing her tongue while he eased another deep, soft moan from her with a new stroke. As her body found its rhythm, she arched toward him—and he shifted then, and covered her.

She undulated beneath him, opening willingly, welcoming, and he pressed forward gingerly at first, denying his body's thundering insistence. He eased himself into her heated moistness with exquisite care, knowing she would feel pain. He pushed slowly, feeling her inner resistance, until she gasped and relaxed, and began to move in a silent, urgent harmony with him. "Now," she whispered. "Oh, now—"

The moment unfolded, spun out into waves, extraordinary sensation without measure as she eased herself upward and he pushed, thrust, plummeted into the welcoming heat and lusciousness that existed inside of her. He thrust again and lost himself, and then pulled back, trembling, aching inside to set himself free, but pausing, waiting, until she ached for the same freedom as he did.

She arched under him and gave a small, poignant cry, and the gathering storm rolled and exploded through his body—he felt as if his soul rushed into her, as if all the desire, all the need that had ever been trapped inside poured out of him. Beneath him, she rocked with him, quickened, and the force of their bond released them together, flesh and spirit whirling.

He knew now, that he belonged to her, with her.

* * *

"Soon." Mairi sat up. "Do you feel it?"

He did. He tipped his head and listened, a hand on her bare hip. At first he heard only the wind buffeting the roof, and the thudding of his own heart. Then another sound emerged.

He reached for his clothing, stood quickly to dress in the dark. Mairi found her own clothes and put them on, as silent and swift as he. His body still trembled, spent, vivified.

The rhythmic sound grew—regular, fast, more dangerous than the storm. Below, he heard Christie call his name softly. The thundering became the steady beat of hooves.

Mairi stepped into his arms, and he He enfolded her against him for a moment, bodies familiar now. The curves and hollows and planes of her body fitted his now, even in a quick embrace.

He kissed her, released her. Then he went to the ladder.

Chapter 21

"They were three brethren in a band—

Joy may they ne'er see!

Their treacherous art, and cowardly heart,

Has twin 'd my love and me."

—"Lord Maxwell's Goodnight"

When Mairi reached the bottom of the ladder, Rowan had his boots on and was already strapping his belt over his leather jack while he spoke urgently to Christie. Outside, Heckie Elliot's voice sounded through the wind. The dog barked and burst through the bed curtain to circle anxiously near the door. Jean and Jennet stirred and called out and began to rise, and the children whimpered.

Mairi patted the dog's rough coat, feeling Bluebell's quivering tension. Mairi trembled too, body and soul still finely tuned from the sensual loving that she had found with Rowan only a little while ago. She grabbed her long boots and pulled them on, hands shaking, as she watched Rowan.

He sheathed his broadsword in the holder looped onto his belt, and Mairi crossed the room to take his arm. "We are safe here. There is no need to go out to meet them."

"I'm preparing in case," he murmured, shoving a gun into his belt. Stepping back, he loaded a steel-tipped quarrel bolt into his latchbow and pulled up the bowstring to set the long metal trigger. "Go sit with Jean and Jennet and the bairns, and keep away from the door."

Hands shaking, she picked up his second wheel-lock pistol. "I'll stay with you. I've fought reivers before."

He sighed as if in acceptance. "No time to argue. That gun is loaded and spanned, and dangerous. Hold it more carefully—aye, like that. Do you know how to fire it?"

"I'll watch you," she said.

"Aim it, and pull the trigger only when you must. And do mind the recoil—it could knock you back hard." He went over to a window to peer through the parted shutters.

"Rowan Scott o' Blackdrummond!" Heckie bellowed now. "If you're in there—come out, man!"

Gripping the heavy pistol in both hands, Mairi went to the window beside Rowan to look out. He guided her out of the way and his broad back cut off her view. Instead, she peered through a gap on the hinged side of the shutter.

Weapons glinted in moonlight and several men sat their horses in the yard. Two riders held sputtering resinous torches. Rowan lifted his gun to the window and rested the barrel there.

"Come out, Rowan Scott!" Heckie called again. "We want what you are holding from us!"

"Be gone from here, Heckie Elliot!" he called. "There are women and bairns in this house!"

"Then save them, and come bring us what we want!"

Christie, carrying a loaded latchbow, went to another window, opened the shutter, and aimed his weapon. Rowan held up a cautioning hand to him.

"One chance, Heckie," Rowan called. "Be gone!"

Heckie lifted a gun, metal glinting—and Mairi saw a bright spark. The gunshot burst against the door, shaking it, but the lead ball did not penetrate the wood. Jean and Jennet, holding the children at the back of the room, gasped. Bluebell ran back and forth, barking furiously, and Mairi tried to shove her out of the way. She heard the children crying, and turned to see Jamie burying his head in Jean's shoulder.

Rowan gestured to Christie, who released a crossbow quarrel. Then splintering leadshot shook the stout oaken door.

"Rowan Scott!" Heckie shouted. "Give o'er the raven's moon! You have it—we know you got it from that wreck!"

"What in hell is he talking about?" Christie asked.

"Complicated," Rowan said curtly. He balanced his gun against his shoulder and aimed, pulling back the trigger.

The explosion was so loud, inside the room, that Mairi jumped and covered her ears. Behind her, Jamie and Robin wailed, and Bluebell leaped, snarling, at the door until Jennet dove forward to drag her to the back of the room.

"You caught that rogue in the shoulder, Rowan. Shall I try again?" Christie asked, sliding another bolt into his latchbow.

"I did not mean to kill him, nor will you, Christie," Rowan said. "We will not start a blood feud with the Elliots this night."

"Hey Blackdrummond! We are not gone!" Heckie taunted. "We'll burn you out if we must!"

"They have no principle against a feud," Christie drawled.

"Hey—bring that moon out, Blackdrummond!"

"Why is he asking for a moon? Is he mad?" Christie asked.

"Later," Mairi said distractedly as she peeked through a crack in the shutter. Men with torches rode across the yard.

"They mean to smoke us out," she said.

"Jesu," Rowan muttered, leaning his shoulder against the wall. "I'll go out," he said. "The children—"

"Rowan, nay!" She grabbed his arm. "They're waiting for you. They'll kill you!"

"We can shoot them down before they get to the thatch if we act quick," Christie pointed out, and let loose a quarrel. A cry rose above the howling wind. "Och, that was his leg. They refuse to take a good warning." He sent Rowan a flat smile.

Another shot rang out, chipping against the stone wall near the window. An arrow followed, thudding into the shutter, the edge of the wood banging into Mairi's head. She stumbled back and raised a hand to her temple, seeing a trickle of blood. Rowan grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the windows.

"I'm fine," she said. "Just a wee cut."

"It could have been far more," he said fiercely. "I cannot risk harm to you or the others."

Mairi took his arm to plead with him, but he shook his head firmly, set her aside, and turned back to the window.

Heckie bellowed again, the details of his threat lost in the wind. Christie released another latchbow bolt and Mairi heard another scream, followed by shouts and a flurry of arrows against the stone walls of the house.

"Got that one in the arm," Christie said wryly. "Told you I'm a careful shot, even in the dark. And no one dead. Yet."

Rowan chuckled softly and picked up his own latchbow to let loose a bolt that whistled past Clem Elliot's head. The man shrieked and raised his pistol, sending a lead ball slamming through the window to hit Christie, who fell backward.

Mairi ran to him, but Christie rose to his feet. Blood darkened his white sleeve. "It's naught," he muttered, shaking off her hands as he picked up his latchbow again.

Rowan swore under his breath as he reloaded the wheel-lock and wound the key. Then he picked up his helmet and shoved it onto his head, grabbed lance and latchbow, and went to the trapdoor to yank it open.

Mairi ran toward him. "Rowan, they only want the black mirror. Just throw it out to them!"

He took her hand, grasping her fingers. "If I let them have it, what then? If I live through the night, the English will be after me. I am obligated to apprehend these fellows." His gaze was dark and intense. "This is the better chance for all of us now."

He leaned down to give her a quick, firm kiss. "Hey, my lass," he murmured, "I'll come back. Naught could keep me away from you for long, hey."

"Oh, Rowan—" She gripped his arm, afraid that he would never return, knowing she could not convince him to stay.

"Let go, dearling," he said, and stepped away.

She watched as he dropped down the ladder into the byre. Reaching the bottom, he glanced up.

"Mairi—stand by the window and hold the gun high and ready. You'll know what to do. Jeanie Armstrong,"—he called out softly—"thank you for your hospitality. Tend to my wife's cracked pate, if you will." Then he was gone, pulling the trap door closed by a string.