The Scottish Selkie (11 page)

Kenneth added, “The rose of the free Scots shall flourish where the Stone of Destiny is found.”

* * * *

Bethoc pulled the dripping tunic out of the creek and laid it on a large boulder at her side. She closed her eyes a moment as the sun's soft morning rays warmed her skin. With her eyes shut tight, she recalled the image of Malcolm standing in the middle of the creek, bare with a smug grin across his face as sunlight sparkled on the water. 

He knows I want him.
A long, audible sigh escaped her lips. He thought she had left him. That is what he said. It shocked her, because she had never thought of leaving. She no longer believed the story of mac Alpin's treason. Drostan started a brawl and took it too far. So the earls died, each and everyone. Leaving her alone. 

Suddenly, Bethoc felt the heat of someone's stare and glanced toward the bush across the stream, but no one was there.

* * * *

Thorseth, the shortest and youngest of the Viking band of twelve strong; looking for adventure and a chance to gain treasures, hid behind a mulberry shrub. He watched a dark haired lady wash her garments. Thorseth deemed the large man, with the bearing of a warrior, was most likely her lord husband. The young Viking understood enough of the Gaelic tongue to know they spoke of a stone which belonged to the Scot king. They had called it Destiny. Thorseth deemed it could be naught but a rare, precious jewel.

Leaving the woman to her wash, the young Viking backed out of the bush in stealth, but at that precise moment, the lady looked up and cast her gaze directly at Thorseth. 

Bethoc felt the presence of danger, but didn't hear or see anything. Malcolm had left and she was too far from the village to get help if something or someone attacked. The clothes were clean and only needed to be dried in the air and sun. Hastily, she bundled the wet garments against her chest and slowly stepped backward from the creek. For if a beast watched her, she did not want to urge it into a charge. When she was twelve paces from the creek bank, she turned and ran to down the winding path. 

As Bethoc entered the village, she yelled out to Riona, the first person she spotted. 

Riona rushed to her. Bethoc handed her the wet clothes. “Hang these somewhere.”

“M'lady, what is amiss?” Riona wrapped her arms tightly around the wad of dripping garments. 

“It may be naught, but I need you to make haste to the rath. Fetch my bow and arrows and meet Malcolm and me at the creek.” 

“Yes m'lady,” Riona turned to a serving wench and handed her the wet clothes. “Here, hang these somewhere.” She sprinted off toward the rath. 

Bethoc ran to the palace, yelling for Malcolm. 

He charged from the hall and to Bethoc's side. “What is amiss?” 

“Malcolm, come to the creek. A loathsome man or beast hides in the bushes. Trust my Pict blood, I felt it glare at me.” 

“Direct me to this place, but stay behind me. You do not carry a weapon.” 

“Riona has gone to fetch my bow.” 

Malcolm grabbed her hand and took off toward the creek, pulling her behind him. A beast or man by the creek, he silently fumed.
Had Bethoc been in danger while washing clothes?
“Bethoc,” Malcolm bellowed unaware he raised his voice. “Keep sword or bow with you at all times.” 

“You took my bow from me.” 

“When you tried to kill Kenneth, but I gave it back.” 

“Riona is fetching it,” Bethoc snapped. 

“Heed my warning Bethoc, carry a weapon. These are strange times.” 

“Yes,” Bethoc readily agreed as they passed the outer yard of the palace and took the worn path to the creek. 

As they neared the stream, Bethoc pointed. “There.” 

Malcolm's powerful legs struck a trotting rhythm, he ran to the narrow end of the creek, and with the masculine grace of a stag, he leapt to the other side. With long, heavy steps, he came to the mulberry bush and drew his sword. He swept his blade through the shrubbery, slicing off leaves and twigs. Nothing. Malcolm searched the surrounding area, seeking signs of an intruder. Riona arrived and brought Bethoc the weapon. 

“Malcolm.” Bethoc crossed the creek and ran toward him with bow in hand.

 He raised his hand, palm up. “Halt.” He stared at the ground where he stood. “A foot print.” 

“Hoof or—” Bethoc's question was interrupted by Malcolm's answer. 

“The foot is too large for a woman. It's from a man wearing a boot. But who?”

Chapter Nine

Standing in the castle yard bathed by moonlight, Bethoc breathed in the soft scents or primrose and silverweed, growing wild. Gazing up at the silvery orb which kept the dark away, she wished it could chase away danger as well. The image of a footprint in the sand flashed in her mind, turning her stomach and revving her heart to beat so fast it nearly leapt from her chest. 

The rhythmic tapping of horse's hooves cut through Bethoc's distress. She looked up as Malcolm's mount let out a loud snort and trotted into the castle yard. Hiking up her skirt, she ran to her husband. 

He would hold her. And the death of her father, the threat of the footprint, even the dark of night, would all fade away when Malcolm wrapped his arms around her. 

Malcolm swung his leg around, dismounting the sleek, sweaty steed. He smelt of sweat and horse, scents of life on land. 

Malcolm lowered his tone to a soothing pitch. “We espied hoof marks of a horse. From a patch of nibbled grass it looks like the steed was tethered near the creek, but we did not find it or its rider.” 

“Mayhaps they hide in the woods or a bog,” Bethoc offered in a somewhat doubtful tone. 

“We leave for Scone on the morrow. You will be safe there.” Malcolm clasped her shoulders. 

“Yes.” Rather than comfort, his touch transmitted fire into her. She melted beneath the firmness of strong hands resting on her shoulders. Bethoc’s body craved the feel of his arms wrapped around her, crushing her against his broad chest. She wanted him last night yet the needs of her body gave way to her mind but not now. All her thoughts were of Malcolm and her need to slide her fingers across the muscular slab of his back and strip his clothes off to reveal his lithe, powerful physique, and the rock hard bulge of flesh between his thighs. To touch the throbbing proof of his arousal and roll her finders over its girth, slide them up and down its slick length. At long last to feel the fullness of male heat inside her moist, flaming core and the power of his engorged masculinity pumping her. Now. She had to have him.

His lips curled into a half smile, clearly puzzled by the way she looked at him. 

“Malcolm, I am ready.” Her skin itched for the feel of his, She rocked her body slightly imaging their bodies entwined, rolling as one across the bed, her legs waving in the air as he thrust inside her until she exploded. Her heart hammered, she couldn’t think, her nether region throbbed and burned like a wild fire.

“To go to Scone?” His brows arched. 

“To be yours. To share my bed with you.” 

He didn't speak. His eyes grew wide and he took a deep breath. “Mayhaps you merely do not want to sleep alone this eve?” 

“Sleep is not what I am thinking of.” Bethoc turned and bid Malcolm to follow. 

Sounds of night birds and night bugs blended together into a gentle lull as she glided down the moonlit path. She sensed his heated gaze feasting on the subtle yet sensuous sway of her shoulder and hips. 

“Bethoc,” Malcolm called in a ragged tone. 

Turning, she gazed at him. They stood apart, but the raw hunger in his dark eyes told her all.

 Bethoc parted her lips. Malcolm stepped up to her, reached out, and yanked her in his arms. She leaned her head to his. Bethoc's mouth melded with Malcolm's, a mergence of fire and water. 

He squeezed her hand in his as they walked side by side to the rath. Bethoc released his hand and pulled the door open. Malcolm strode to the fire, lit a torch, and lighted candles posted around the room. The smell of burning wax filled the air. 

She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his strong, solid shoulders.

He leaned his head down to Bethoc's and crushed her mouth with his. “You taste like a honey comb stolen from a high tree. Wild and dripping with thick sweetness.”

Malcolm lifted her into his arms; she wrapped her long, lithe legs around his waist. Their slick lips pressed, rubbed, slid, and pushed fervently against each other. Malcolm rolled the back of her skirt up to her waist, exposing her bare bottom.

With her arms tangled about his shoulders and her long legs rolled around his waist, Malcolm carried her to the kitchen. Bethoc gasped as he set her bare ass on the hard wooden table. 

She grabbed the honey pot beside her, and dipped two fingers in the sticky sweetness. She rubbed her fingers, dripping with thick golden honey, across Malcolm's mouth. 

Sliding her sticky fingers back and forth, she spread the succulent honey all over his full, wet lips, which he licked with the tip of his tongue. Malcolm poked his finger in the small clay pot and stirred the honey in a circular motion. He stroked her lips with the thick sweetness then thrust his finger into her mouth. Clamping her lips down, Bethoc moaned, greedily sucking the golden treat. Her moist, wet womanly center quivered, wanting to wrap around his flesh the way her mouth clamped down on his finger.

Malcolm's dark blue gaze stoked the spark in her to a blazing fire. Her pulse raced as she lay back on the table, her dark hair covering the wooden tabletop. Clutching the hem of her dress in both his hands, Malcolm ripped the cloth all the way up. The sight of him peering intensely at her breast and tight, erect nipples stole all thoughts from Bethoc's head. 

Malcolm grabbed the honey pot and dipped his whole hand into the sweet smelling gel. He spread his fingers, dripping with honey, and as he painted both breasts with the gold syrup, the curved mounds thrust forward. Feeling a sensation of moistness between her legs, Bethoc knew she was getting wet. As she slid her legs further apart wanting him to take her now, she released a throaty groan.

Malcolm leaned down. His heavy breathing fell in time to her shallow gasps. He whirled his tongue across her nipple, lapping up the honey, then moved his lips to the other one, sucking all the nectar from the hard peak. He clamped his mouth down harder and tugged the sensitive flesh.

Though pressure coiled in her heated depths and she wanted him to fill her throbbing orifice with his hard flesh now, he continued this torture by cupping one breast as he took long licks of lush honey from the other. Then he brought his lips down full force on her nipple and nudged his teeth against it.

Sliding his sticky hand down the side of her body all the way to her thigh, he ran one finger across the blue curving lines pricked into her skin. He traced the horse, dolphin, wolf, boar, fox,
swirling snake and then the houses of her own parents her father from the wolves and her mother of the bears, as well as each pair of connected circles. His arousal throbbed, pained him with the need for release as he
painted each blue tattoo golden with the sweet honey.

He dipped his head back while his hands fumbled with his belt, untying it as fast as he could. His braies fell around his ankles. Malcolm grabbed hold of each of Bethoc's thighs, lifting and spreading her legs so she lay fully open to his gaze. “So ripe and wet.”

He dipped his fingers in the honey pot then slid them back and forth across each fold and into her red slit, painting her with the sticky gold substance. Leaning down, till his face hung over her exposed entrance, he slid his tongue across her slippery sweet skin licking her up and down as she moaned and whimpered until he wiped off every drop of honey. He slipped the tip of his tongue over her petal smooth center and pushed in and out. His lips closed down on her, greedily sucking. He withdrew his mouth from her drenched pussy and stood up straight. His smooth, warm fingers grasped her hips holding her steady as he aimed the tip of his large cock at her sensitive spot and rammed through her thin shield. 

Bethoc moaned at the breach, a flash of pain shot through her and he remained still, unmoving inside her. She felt her body stretch around his engorged rock-hard flesh. Hot shivers replaced the pain and her orifice quivered, then plummeted into a pit of fire, as he pumped her fiery core. She shrieked with pleasure. He pulled out of her completely then slammed into her, cramming her full. He withdrew again, leaving her empty wanting, but for a moment then sunk deep into her. Quickening his pace, he hammered her in a pounding rhythm.