by Eliza Knight
The crowd broke out into chants of “Mackintosh,” over and over until the floor beneath her feet rumbled.
She wanted to ask him if he could love a woman in a position of power, but one look at him was enough to know that already. He did love her, and she’d seen it before. Why hadn’t he said the words?
As quickly as the question popped into her brain, the answer did as well. Because he was waiting for her. From the very beginning she’d told him that she would be the one to set the pace. That they couldn’t be together until she said it was the right time. Now he stood there so humbly before her, and yet she could feel the power coming off him in waves. Toran didn’t have to announce his position or demand respect; he simply earned it.
He’d put himself forward and worked hard to gain the respect of the people, even Dirk. Not once had he backed down.
More than once he’d proven himself to be a man of his word. Whatever his past had been, his stumbles from grace, he’d found a place with her that had lifted him up and kept him steady.
And she loved him for that. Loved that with him by her side, she felt invincible.
“’Tis I who am proud, Fraser,” she said softly. “’Tis I who am grateful to ye. Ye’ve more than earned your place here, and I’d like ye to help me lead the men to Stirling. We’ve more than one contingent. I shall lead one, and I hope ye’ll lead the other.”
Toran’s eyes shuttered his reaction, and she knew it was because she’d truly touched him.
She patted him on the shoulder, wanting to grasp the front of his shirt and pull him in for a kiss but not yet ready to make a public declaration of it.
“I will make ye proud,” Toran murmured.
“Ye already do.”
This time it was Toran who hoisted her up onto his shoulder and danced her around the room. A fiddle and then a pipe started up, and the dancing began. When Jenny slid down the length of his body to join in the dancing, every inch of her came alive, feeling his hardened muscles against the softer parts of herself.
From the look in his eyes, he felt it too, wanted to keep her snuggled close. But they were both tugged in different directions by the clan who wanted to dance with her too, their eyes staring longingly after one another.
Jenny danced two songs before having to break the clan’s merriment with a sobering truth. “We need to rest. All of ye. For tomorrow we ride.”
When Dirk started to leave the great hall, she called him back. The room emptied out around them, leaving them alone and standing by the hearth.
“I know what ye’re going to say,” he started, “and I willna let ye go without me.”
Jenny sighed, her heart sinking. “I know. But I canna leave my mother and the rest of the clan alone with redcoats in the area. And there is another reason.”
“Dinna say it.” Dirk shook his head fiercely, his jaw muscle tightening.
“If I dinna return, I need ye here, Dirk. I need ye as my second, to continue what we started. Hamish canna regain control of the clan.”
“Nay. I willna stay.” Dirk crossed his arms stubbornly and shook his head. This was one battle she wondered if she’d be able to win.
“I know ’tis a lot to ask of ye. Believe me, if there was any other way I could see out of it, I would find it. But, Cousin, ye have been my second from the beginning. How can I go into battle and leave the clan at risk?”
“And as your second, I should be by your side to the end. Ye willna die, no’ with me there. And we’ll keep guards behind to protect your mother.”
Jenny thought of Moire’s fate and how her mother would also be likely to toss herself to the wolves if she thought it was the only way to protect others.
“Your mother would want me to go with ye,” he said.
Jenny was silent, knowing there was no argument against that.
“Name your mother as second, Jenny. Give her the strength to fight Hamish should his plans change and he comes to the castle. Give her the power to make right what is wrong, at least until we return.”
It had never occurred to Jenny that she could do such a thing, given the older Lady Mackintosh’s long grieving, but it made perfect sense. Her mother was the daughter of Jacobites, had been married to one, had long held the belief in the Stuart crown. Now was her time to shine in Jenny’s absence.
“All right. I will ask her.”
“Good. And ye’ll allow me to join in the fight?” Dirk looked relieved.
“Aye. We’ll split the contingents of men into thirds. But I need ye to choose men to remain behind. If ye’re not going to be here, I need strong men to protect my mother and in case Hamish returns. Mac would be perfect to take charge of the remaining men.”
“Aye, he would.”
“I trust ye,” Jenny said.
They parted ways, and she climbed the stairs on tired legs, her mind racing. They’d not been able to meet the prince at Glenfinnan, but this time they would be ready. She’d put a ball of lead into anyone who tried to stop them.
Jenny’s door was ajar, and she approached with caution, pushing it open with a fingertip to see inside before she crossed the threshold. Toran stood at her hearth, gazing into the small leap of flames that danced in the grate. The fire had been stoked since she’d been in the room last, an hour before.
“What are ye doing in my bedchamber?” She crossed the threshold then and shut the door, afraid that someone might see him there.
He glanced at the closed door and then back at her. “I’d kept it open for propriety’s sake.”
“I think ’tis fair to say that no matter what, ye standing in my bedchamber will raise an eyebrow. ’Tis a far cry from courting. And ye’ve no’ answered my question.”
Toran dropped his elbow from where it rested on the mantel and approached her. He stopped a few paces away, leaving enough space for them not to touch but not enough space for her to find her breath. The man seemed to suck all the air from the room when he was near. Golden flecks of candlelight glinted in his blue eyes, and his gaze swept over her, leaving her feeling as though he’d plucked open every button, untied every lace, and slid every inch of fabric from her skin.
“I like being in your bedchamber,” he teased.
She rolled her eyes. “Get on with it then.” Her brusqueness belied how she was truly feeling, how she itched to leap forward and plant her lips on his.
“I’d argue for ye to stay away from the battle if I thought it would do any good.”
“But ye know me better than that.”
“Aye. So I wanted to instead remind ye of your promise.”
“My promise?” She raised a questioning brow.
“Aye, lass.” He moved closer, reaching a hand up to brush his fingertips against her cheek. She found herself leaning into his touch. “To kiss me when ’tis over.”
She tried to keep herself steady on her feet, her fingers curling into his shirt. For months she’d resisted him, hidden from him, but this temptation was just too much. “I’ll kiss ye now for good luck.”
Slowly, he shook his head. “I fear if I kiss ye now, in such proximity to the bed, I might convince ye to let me warm ye for the night.”
His tempting words slid over her skin like a caress, his breath faintly smelling of whisky and the heat of his hard body wrapping around her. She wanted to feel him consuming her. The man was intoxicating, with a potent power over her that left her without sense.
“I fear if I fall into bed with ye, I’ll never come out of it,” she admitted, feeling her face heat with the admission.
“’Tis the same for me, lass.”
He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead. Jenny closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his breath on her hair, his lips on her skin. She tipped her face up to his and kissed him then, needing to feel him if only for an instant. She kept the kiss swift and brief and then leapt away from him, put
ting the coldness of air between them.
Toran chuckled. “I have a little more control than that, sweet Jenny. I’ll no’ be tossing ye onto the bed like a heathen.”
Oh, but she wasn’t certain she would mind that. To be tossed onto the feather ticking and then to feel the press of his hard body on hers… A shiver of awareness swept through her.
“Och, lass, dinna look at me like that.” Toran’s voice was low and gravelly, and the way he looked at her with such raw desire made every nerve in her body come alive with want.
“Like what?” she croaked.
“Like ye want me to give ye a proper kiss.”
“If ye can keep it to just one,” she drawled. “As ye pointed out, the one I just gave ye was lacking.”
His lips curled in a slow, sensual smile. “I can give ye a proper kiss if that’s what ye’d like, sweetheart.”
Jenny squared her shoulders, chin lifted, and looked him dead in the eye. “I think ’tis only fair, given we are about to go into battle.” She was fully aware that she was using a line most soldiers used on the women they wished to bed, but she didn’t care. Clichés be damned, she just wanted him to touch her.
“Something to look forward to in the end,” he murmured.
“Aye. A taste of what’s to come.”
Toran’s hand slid around her waist, laying a path of fire in its wake, before pressing to the base of her spine and urging her forward.
Their bodies collided.
His other hand slid up her arm, fingers brushing her neck, thumb stroking her lower lip. Then he leaned forward, placing his tongue where his thumb had been, licking her lip before capturing it in his mouth and giving it a gentle suckle.
Jenny whimpered at the sensual move, winding her arms around his neck at the same time he captured her lips for a searing kiss. His tongue delved inside to taste her, sliding against her own with tantalizing, hedonistic purpose.
The way they were pressed together she could feel the swell of his arousal grow against her until it pressed hard and hot against her lower belly. Her nipples hardened, and the place between her thighs throbbed with need. She pressed herself tighter to him, hoping to fill that need with touch.
Toran’s hand slid from the base of her spine to her rear, tucking her closer still until that hard part of him rubbed against the apex of her thighs. She gasped a moan against his lips.
He retreated and pressed again, backing her up as he did so until her back hit the wardrobe, rattling the wood. Something toppled to the floor with a crash. Neither of them tore their mouths from the other to look to see what it was.
Toran’s hand slid from her buttocks to her thigh, roving lower until he reached the back of her knee. He lifted her leg to curve it around his hip, giving that hard part of him further access to the hot part of herself.
His hips rocked against hers in delicious movement, their mouths clashed, tongues teasing. A hand splayed across her rear and the other gripped her ribs, sliding higher until he was cupping her breast. Fingers stroked that turgid peak. She moaned again, and Toran groaned into her mouth, kissing her deeper still as he explored her breast.
This was no mere kiss, and yet she wanted more. Enough to make her want to beg him to take her to bed now, to forget what she’d said. They shouldn’t go into war without having him laid out naked on her, their limbs entwined on the feather ticking.
She wished then that she’d not gone to dinner in her breeches but that she’d worn a gown, any gown that left her limbs naked beneath her skirts.
But perhaps that was as good a reason as any for her to keep wearing breeches, for he was in a kilt, and all they would have had to do was lift the hem of both their garments before his hard arousal touched her softer one, joining them together forever. But what was so bad about that?
The hand that had been fondling her breasts was sliding lower, delving into her breeches until he cupped her bare sex. She bucked against him, not realizing until it happened how very much she wanted him to touch her there nor what it would feel like for him to do so.
Goodness…it was magic. The pulsing need inside her leapt until she was gasping, frissons of heat and pleasure centered on his fingers spreading through her limbs.
He rubbed against her with expert strokes, dipping a finger inside her channel, in and out, round and round, until she was panting and sparks of bliss made her legs grow weak.
Jenny clung to him, her hips rocking in time with his movements until she felt herself breaking apart. Taken aback by the explosion of pleasure, her eyes grew wide, staring with shock and wonder into the blue abyss of his gaze. Toran swallowed her cry of rapture with a deep kiss, and she rode out the waves in desperate shudders, hips rocking against his hand.
Still holding tight, the only thing keeping her limp body upright, Toran let her leg fall back down, her foot hitting the floor with a thud. She clung to him, afraid to let go lest the rest of her drop down as well.
“That was beautiful,” he murmured against her ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth. “Your first?”
First what? First everything…save for his kiss. “Aye.”
“That will keep me going—having watched ye fall apart, feeling your body shudder against mine. ’Twas beautiful, lass. Incredibly so.”
It would keep her going too, perhaps even keep her from sleeping.
“Did ye feel it too?” she asked, wondering if he too had felt that explosion of pure ecstasy.
“Not yet.” He grinned wolfishly, and every nerve in her body reached out to him. “But I will.”
Jenny shivered. “When? Now?”
He chuckled. “Soon.”
“Why not now?” It seemed only fair.
His eyes darkened. “God, ye dinna know how much I want to.”
“Let me try. ’Tis only fair.” She had no idea what she was offering, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be too hard. He’d stroked her body the way a soldier oiled and cleaned his weapons, lovingly, thoroughly, until she’d shone from the care of it.
“Ye dinna know what ye’re asking.”
“Perhaps not all the ways of it, nay, but ye can show me.” She reached forward, feeling the rock solidness of him against the wool of his kilt, taking in the way his eyes dipped closed and his lips parted. He licked his lower lip rapidly, eyes opening again to stare into hers. The black pinpricks of his eyes had dilated, thinning the blue. Even though he said nothing, she could see the hope for more in his gaze. “Let me give ye the same pleasure.” Jenny stroked the long, hard length of him and watched Toran struggle to hold onto his control.
“I canna,” he protested. “’Twould no’ be right. I canna use ye ill.”
“What is wrong about it? Is it using me ill for pleasure when I offer, when I want to give it? Was I using ye ill when I took it from ye? Do no’ lovers give their pleasure freely?”
“Aye,” he groaned, as she stroked slowly up and down, marveling at the hardness, the thickness of his appendage.
“Then let me, Toran,” she purred. “Let me give ye the same feeling.”
His hand came around hers, stroking upward, the fabric still a barrier between her bare palm touching his flesh.
She shifted her hand to remove the barrier of his kilt, but he stayed her.
“Let that be something else we look forward to.”
“All right,” she agreed, her voice throaty with power and need.
With his hand showing her how to stroke, she caressed him and then lifted up on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his, sliding her tongue over his lips until he was kissing her back. A hand came overhead as he braced himself against the wardrobe, his own legs possibly as weak as hers had felt, and she had the sensation he was swallowing her whole. She wanted to be swallowed.
To be utterly consumed by this man.
His hips thrust against her, his arousal sliding at
a faster pace in her grip, until he was groaning into her mouth, his body shuddering right along with the wardrobe behind her. A hot wetness pooled in the fabric in her palm.
“Ye’re bleeding,” she said, terrified and unthinking.
“No’ blood,” he groaned and then chuckled. “’Tis a man’s seed.”
“Oh.” She should have known that, shouldn’t she?
Plenty of people had rocked their bodies beneath blankets at camp, and she’d seen animals mate, but now that she considered it, she’d never seen what happened after. Jenny grinned. She’d done it. Pleasured this incredible man, had his seed in the palm of her hand.
“Fascinating,” she murmured.
He exhaled against her hair. “’Tis ye who are fascinating, Jenny.” He kissed her softly.
“Allow me to get ye a towel,” she murmured and then ducked beneath his arm to go to the basin, where she dipped a cloth in water before returning to him.
He turned his back as he cleaned himself up, blocking her view of his nakedness and making her all the more curious to see what he looked like. What a man looked like.
When he was finished, he turned back around to face her and then tossed the cloth into the fire. “No need for evidence to make anyone accuse either of us of…wickedness.”
She glanced down at the broken pot that had fallen from the wardrobe. Considering the noise they’d made, it was a wonder no one had come knocking on the door already.
“Is what we did so verra wicked?” she asked.
He stroked her cheek, tugging on an errant lock of hair.
“Nay, love, no’ at all.” He regarded her with a face full of intensity, his jaw hardening even as she saw desire flaring in his eyes. “I need to go, else I will nay be able to.” He glanced toward the bed. “When this is over…”
“Aye.” Jenny nodded, not wanting him to leave either. She cupped his hand to her face and then turned her head to kiss his palm. “Sleep well, soldier.” She smiled at him, a little bit of sadness creeping in on her happiness.
“And ye too, Mistress J.” He backed toward the door, his fingers still captured in hers. She was loath to let them go, feeling the chill of the air against her fingertips when she did.