Their kiss soon sparked their passion and Arran whispered, “We should hurry to our bedchamber.”
“What’s wrong with right here?’ she asked, her hand slipping beneath his plaid and his hand grabbing hold to stop her.
“You deserve better than the barn, wife.”
She brushed her lips over his. “I deserve to love my husband where and whenever I want.” She chuckled softly. “Besides, it’s too far to our bedchamber. I can’t wait and I don’t want to wait that long.”
“You’re incorrigible, wife,” he teased, scooping her up in his arms.
“You flutter my heart with such flattery, husband. Now hurry me to a hay pile where I may welcome you with open,” —she grinned— “legs.”
Arran shook his head, laughing. “I do love you, wife.”
She pressed her cheek to his and whispered in his ear, “Show me how much.”
Her warm, faint breath sent gooseflesh rushing through him and sent his passion soaring, but then his wife always roused his passion and many times with little effort.
He eagerly carried her to a pile of hay and placed her down on it and with her arms around his neck he had no choice but to follow, stretching out nearly on top of her. Their lips hurried to each other, their kiss hungry as if it had been too long since the last one.
Arran pulled away to give them time to breathe. “I would love to go slow, but this place isn’t as secluded as our bedchamber.”
“I’m so excited to be doing it with you in a barn—my dream come true,” she said with a chuckle, “that I fear I’ll climax as soon as you enter me.”
He hurried his lips to hers for a quick kiss. “A wife whose dream it is to couple with her husband in a barn—my dream come true.” He smiled. “And fear not, if you climax to soon, I’ll make certain you climax again.”
“Promise?” she asked, wiggling against him.
“My word, wife,” he said, though feared he might come even faster than she did, which would hamper his efforts to see it done.
Arran wasted no time, he pulled his wife’s garments up and pushed his plaid aside.
“Do hurry, I need you inside me,” Purity said anxiously.
Sometimes his wife’s innocent remark excited him beyond reason and this was one of those times, not that he needed his passion to go from soaring to raging near out of control if he intended to see her satisfied before him.
He slipped easily into her. She was so wet and yet still snug and when she wrapped her legs around him and took him deeper inside her, he almost climaxed there and then. Not that he wanted to. He wanted to last a while longer, feel that build, that push to the edge, and the anticipation of falling off, then soaring and exploding.
“ARRAN!” Purity cried.
“Shhh,” he warned. “Or we won’t be alone for long.”
“Then hurry!” she urged and clamped her mouth tight, not that it stopped her moans. She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting against screaming out his name and fearing what would happen when her passion exploded.
Soon! Soon! It was building, she was on the edge, ready to fall. A few more hard thrusts and she’d be—the loud screech had her eyes flying open and before she could call out, her husband thrust into her so hard it sent her over the edge into a mind-shattering climax.
“Damn it, King,” Arran yelled as he felt the cat’s claws dig into his back. “I’m not hurting her.” He cringed as King’s claws dug into him again. “Purity, tell him—” He stopped when he realized his wife was in the throes of her release, her moans not helping the situation. “KING!” he yelled again, the cat’s claws shredding his shirt.
“STOP, KING! NOW!” Purity ordered as the deliriously delightful sensation ran through her body.
Arran moaned in relief when King jumped off him. He got annoyed since the cat’s claws had put a damper on his passion.
Purity saw her husband’s passion begin to deflate and tightened her legs around him. “You promised and I need you again.” She raised her hips, squeezing him tight.
Damn if his wife didn’t rekindle his desire quickly and knowing she was ready for him again had him growing harder and harder as he moved faster inside her… then King came and parked himself atop Purity’s head and stared at him. Arran almost swatted the little beast off her.
“Ignore him,” Purity said.
“How can I? He’s staring right at me.” Arran growled and King hissed.
“King, GO AWAY!” Purity ordered.
The cat stared right at Arran and hissed, then swung his tale, but didn’t move.
That was it. Arran stopped, pulled out of Purity, and rolled off her onto his back. “I’m going to kill him.”
King got up, meowed, and walked off.
“I’m definitely going to kill him,” Arran growled. “Hear that, King, just wait. I’ll get my revenge.”
King meowed in the distance.
“Don’t threaten him or he’ll—”
“What will he do?” Arran demanded, interrupting her and turning on his side to glare at his wife. “I’m bigger and stronger than him.”
“And he’s sneaky and has very sharp claws,” she reminded and cringed. “Let me look at your back.”
Arran quickly turned his back to her, so angry that he feared he’d say something he’d regret.
“These scratches need cleaning. Let’s go to our bedchamber so I can clean them and you can put on another shirt. I’ll mend this one for you.”
“I don’t need them cleaned,” he said, frustrated.
“Aye, you do,” she said, resting her head to the back of his shoulder. “And when we’re done there’s something I want to do.”
“If you think to tempt me, I’m too annoyed to respond to any temptation,” he complained with another growl.
She sighed softly. “I’m disappointed, since I’ve been so eager to taste your shaft.”
Arran sprang to his feet and yanked her up by her arm. “We leave now.”
Arran held his wife’s hand and was all smiles when they entered the Great Hall hours later, though he sent King a scathing look when he saw him. The cat was busy cleaning his paws, but he stopped to spread his claws as if reminding Arran who had been the victor in their little skirmish.
“I’m seriously going to get revenge against him,” Arran said.
“If you feel the need. I for one am grateful—though I’m sorry he scratched you—since I very much enjoyed the taste of you.”
Arran’s smile spread, recalling just how much she had enjoyed herself and how much he absolutely loved it. “Still, King has to know he can’t do that again.”
“Maybe he didn’t like that you disturbed his tryst and he sought his own revenge,” she suggested with a chuckle.
Arran looked to King. “He can’t be that intelligent. Can he?”
He shook his head, thinking himself foolish for considering such a ridiculous thought and was about to tell a servant to fetch them food and drink, neither of them yet to have eaten today, when Quiver burst into the room, his eyes wide with fright.
“Hurry, sir! Orvin is dead. Someone sliced his throat.”
Chapter 22
Mumbles, whispers, and worried and solemn faces followed Arran as he walked, his hand clamped around his wife’s, through the village. The people were worried and they had a right to be.
Quiver stopped just outside a small dwelling. “Orvin was killed inside his own cottage.”
It was the implications of what that meant that had Purity silently asking herself—how? It was daylight. Surely, someone had seen something.
“Chieftain Galvin and Freen are in there,” Orvin said.
Arran slipped his hand out of hers. “You should wait out here. Quiver will wait with you as will King and Princess.” He gave a nod to the pair who he hadn’t realized followed them out of the keep.
Purity’s response was to take hasty steps to the front door,
Arran mumbled beneath his breath as he caught up with his wife. His hand
beat hers to the latch and the weight of his body against hers saw them both through the door.
“What are you doing here, daughter?” Galvin yelled. “Get out! Get out now!”
Purity was quick to respond, “I’m not going anywhere, Father.”
“You will obey me, daughter,” her father threatened.
“The only one I obey now is my husband,” Purity said and heard Arran snicker.
Galvin turned a cold glare on Arran. “Order her to leave.”
“I won’t take her choice from her. She wants to stay, then she stays,” Arran said in a way that dared the man to argue with him and settled it even further by turning to Freen. “Who found him?”
“I did,” Freen said.
“On my behest” Galvin said. “Orvin has been doing nothing since he was released from his duties as cook and I sent Freen to tell him he’d be working in the fields. He couldn’t expect to do nothing all day. He has to do his share.”
Purity looked over Orvin as the men talked. He lay on his back near the hearth that burnt low. Blood pooled under his neck and had seeped into his shirt along his shoulders. The cut at his throat was more accurate than deep. The person who did this knew what he was doing or he’d been lucky.
“He favors Iona, they had threatening words, and he killed him.”
That brought Purity out of her musings.
“Quiver may have had words with him, but he didn’t kill him,” Arran argued and went to the door. “Quiver.” Arran’s summons had Quiver hurrying inside. “Did I order you to keep a watch over Iona after witnessing the heated exchange between you and Orvin?”
“You did, sir, and I’ve not left her side,” Quiver said. “Not until one of the kitchen helpers brought the news about Orvin. Then I came directly to you.”
Arran opened the door again. “Wait outside, Quiver.”
The young man bobbed his head and hurried out.
Arran looked from one man to the other. “I’m sure not only Iona can confirm that but the kitchen staff as well.”
“I told you, it’s Brynjar,” Freen said, looking to Galvin.
“Arran has placed the sentinels well. They couldn’t slip by them without being noticed,” Galvin argued.
“Brynjar’s warriors could,” Freen said and looked to Arran to confirm it.
Arran did. “Freen is right. It is a distinct possibility. The man does not accept defeat, no matter how many must die for him to achieve it.”
“We should postpone the wedding, Father, until this matter is settled. There is no telling what may happen during the celebration.”
“NO!” her father snapped angrily. “I will not be made to look the fool by a Northman. Freen, since Wolf’s warriors are here to help see that they do. Have them post more sentinels around the village.” He waved his hand at his daughter and Arran as if shooing them away. “You two will leave. I don’t need any help in this matter. I am still Chieftain of the Clan Macara.”
Arran’s arm hurried around his wife’s waist when he saw that she looked ready to argue with her father, and he got a serious scowl from her once outside.
“My father is a fool to think this is Brynjar,” she said, shaking her head and stepping away from her husband to pace. “What possible reason could he have for killing Orvin?”
“Brynjar needs no reason,” Arran said. “Fear is Brynjar’s most powerful weapon and he’s skillful with it.” He shot King and Princess a look, parked beside Quiver, their heads turning, following every step Purity took.
“Then he was victorious,” Quiver said. “All in the clan are worried.”
Arran looked around. The people kept their distance from the cottage, almost as if they feared being touched by Orvin’s tragedy. It didn’t, however, keep them from talking and speculating among themselves, and perhaps worry about who might be next.
As if reading Arran’s mind, Quiver asked, “Do you think Brynjar will strike again?”
“There is no telling what Brynjar will do, and that’s what makes it so difficult to defeat him,” Arran explained.
“Are you saying the man can’t be defeated?” Quiver asked with a tremor to his words.
“The real question is—how do you defeat the devil?” Arran asked. “Go see if you can find out if anyone saw anything.”
Quiver hesitated. “What if some think I did it?”
“That was my father’s doing and he doesn’t know you, Quiver,” Purity said. “I’ve seen how easily you talk with others and they with you. Besides, those in the kitchen will confirm you were there with Iona.”
“And you will tell me if anyone accuses you of anything,” Arran ordered. “I’ll see that they do it no more.”
Quiver bobbed his head. “I’ll find out all I can.”
Purity’s stomach growled loudly.
Arran reached out, his hand closing around hers. “You need to eat.”
They walked toward the keep, King perched on Princess’s back as they followed along.
“It makes no sense Brynjar killing Orvin,” she said. “He didn’t even know the man.”
“It didn’t matter who he killed. Orvin’s death showed that Brynjar could enter the village and kill without being discovered. This killing shows that no one is safe from him. Anyone could be next.”
“But this only gives us more time to fortify the village and further protect everyone,” she argued.
“A challenge to Brynjar to show that no matter what we do, he’ll defeat us.”
“So you think he’ll kill someone again?” Purity asked.
“Unless we stop him.”
She halted abruptly, turning angry eyes on him. “Don’t think you’re going after him.”
“This has to end and it can end only one way, wife,” he said gently but with a firmness that let her know he would do what needed to be done.
“What if he isn’t the one who killed Wolf’s warrior and Orvin?”
“He certainly didn’t do the killing himself. One of his warriors was the culprit and one willing to die if caught. He will wait for a bigger prize to kill.”
Purity shivered. “You.”
“I escaped him once and now I’ve taken what he believes belongs to him. I’ve made him appear foolish in front of his men. He will not rest until he sees me dead, and his time is short here. He must return home soon or be forced to leave.”
A thought worried her. “He wouldn’t leave someone behind to finish the chore for him, would he?”
“Definitely not. This is something he wants the pleasure of doing himself and also to keep the respect of his men.”
Purity was quiet the rest of the way to the keep, her thoughts keeping her busy. She wished she could take a waander in the woods. She saw things so much clearer there and it had been too long, not that it actually was but it felt as it was, since she’d been there. She cast a lingering glance at the woods as they climbed the steps to the keep.
“Don’t even think about it,” Arran warned when they sat at a table in the Great Hall that had food and drink waiting for them. His hand clasped her arm. “I saw the way your eyes lingered on the woods and the yearning for the solace such a visit would bring you. This is no time for a visit to the woods, for you or for me, even with a troop of warriors to guard us.”
She rested her hand over his. “I would never take such a chance with either of our lives, and I have all the solace I need with you.”
It did his heart good to hear that she got the same comfort from him that the woods brought her. However, he had to ask, “But it was a thought?”
“Aye, husband, you know me well,” she said and rested her head on his shoulder, a place that she favored more and more each day. Then there was his scent. It was rich and manly and far too enticing.
He kissed the top of her head. “I will grow to know you better not only in the weeks and months to come but in the years to come.”
She loved that he let her know he planned on being with her for years. The thought of the many year
s ahead of them, of their life together, filled her with joy. She prayed it would be so and prayed no one else would lose their life—especially her husband.
Purity was busy the remainder of the day seeing that everything was made ready for the wedding and celebration. Not that there was much pleasure in it. Orvin’s murder had put a fright into everyone. There was endless speculation of what Brynjar would do next, many believing he would ride on the village and kill everyone.
She, however, found it difficult to believe that Brynjar was behind the murders and the more she thought on it, the more it troubled her. The problem was who else could it possibly be and why kill the two men?
With her husband and father cloistered in the solar and nothing else to be done for the day, Purity sat at a table near the hearth in the Great Hall. A windy chill was seeping through the stone walls, reminding that the fires needed constant attention to keep the rooms warm.
Princess and King were curled near the heat of the hearth sound asleep, having had a busy day. They would spend time with Arran and Quiver throughout the day, but always made their way back to her. She stared at the tankard of warm cider cupped in her hands, wishing she could calm her churning thoughts.
“You look troubled, my child.”
Purity’s head shot up to see Abbott Thomas.
“There is much to think about, Abbott.”
He sat on the bench opposite her at the table and rested his hands n his lap. “Don’t think, pray on the matter.”
“I do both, but things still elude me,” Purity confessed.
“Give it time as your friend does.”
Had she heard him correctly? Caution had her asking, “And what friend is that, Abbott Thomas?”
“The friend who has traveled a difficult road, visits the monastery more often than you would think, has been grateful for your silence, and most of all is eager to see you again.”
Entrusted to a Highlander Page 21