by Jayne Castel
Confused, Adaira drew back. “Don’t ye want to kiss me?” she whispered, hurt.
Lachlann muttered a curse and leaned back against the tree. “Ye have no idea how much.”
“Then why won’t ye?”
He cast her a look of pure frustration. “Because once I start, I won’t want to stop. Ye are a maid … I don’t want to ruin ye.”
Adaira tensed. In her haze of lust she’d forgotten about that. A high-born lass’s maidenhead was a valuable thing. It seemed Lachlann understood that better than her.
A wave of recklessness swept over Adaira then. She’d be no chieftain’s wife. She had no virtue to cling to. She wanted Lachlann to kiss her again, to discover the magic he’d shown her a glimpse of. A strange thing had happened to them both since leaving Talasgair; it was as if they’d stepped through a door into another world—one she was eager to know more of.
Adaira craved the oblivion of his touch.
Still, wanting Lachlann to pull her into his arms for another fierce kiss was one thing, actually demanding he do it was another.
Shyness overrode recklessness, and Adaira shifted away from him. She now felt embarrassed and a little foolish.
How can ye want someone ye don’t even trust? Her conscience needled her then, reminding her just how fragile the bond was between them. It was just as well that Lachlann had pulled away—but all the same, she still ached for his touch.
They sat in silence for a while, and when Lachlann spoke, his voice was subdued. “There’s something ye should know, Adaira.”
Tensing, Adaira looked over at Lachlann to find him watching her, his gaze shuttered.
“What?” The question came out as a croak. Her nerves were getting the better of her.
His mouth curved. “One promise I did keep. I never told my father or brothers how we escaped from Dunvegan. None of them know of the hidden passage into the dungeon.”
Adaira drew in a sharp breath. His admission surprised her, distracting her from her heated, tormented thoughts and disappointment that he’d withdrawn his touch. “Why not?”
He held her gaze. “Some secrets are best kept.”
The Samhuinn fires burned, and the laughter and revelry of the folk of Kiltaraglen echoed long into the night.
Adaira and Lachlann eventually turned their backs on the fires and moved away from the edge of the woodland. Moonlight shone through the trees as Lachlann led his horse deep into the woods. Adaira followed. A cold veil settled over the world now, and another night of clear skies promised a frost in the morning. Shivering, Adaira pulled her cloak close.
They made camp for the night in a tiny glade surrounded by ash and oaks. The trees were losing their leaves, and Adaira’s feet rustled through them. She stopped, waiting while Lachlann tethered the stallion.
“It’s so cold,” she breathed. “Can we not light a fire?”
He glanced over at her, his face all sculpted planes in the moonlight. “Not this close to Kiltaraglen … there will be folk up for a while yet.”
Adaira drew her cloak closer. “But we’ll freeze.”
He cast her another look, one so heated that it made her belly flutter.
Adaira went still. After Lachlann had ended their last kiss abruptly, she’d thought he would avoid looking at her like that. Suddenly, it didn’t seem so cold in the glade. Adaira was acutely aware of Lachlann’s nearness. Her heart started to hammer. They stared at each other for a long moment. She saw the hunger in his eyes, the way his chest now rose and fell sharply, but he didn’t reach for her.
She realized then that he wouldn’t.
Lachlann wanted her to make the decision. This needed to be her choice.
Breathing shallowly, Adaira stepped toward him. “Will ye keep me warm?”
She couldn’t believe she’d asked him such a thing. Part of her was terrified, and yet another part—one she’d only just discovered—was thrilled by her boldness.
Lachlann wet his lips. “I shouldn’t.”
Adaira took another tentative step toward him. “What do ye want, Lachlann?”
“Don’t make me answer that,” he said huskily. “It’ll scare ye off.”
Adaira held his gaze, her heart hammering so loud she was sure he must have heard it. “I’m not scared,” she lied. “And I know what I want … ye.”
Silence fell between them. Adaira saw a nerve flicker in his cheek and knew he was struggling.
“Come here, Aingeal.” The raw edge to his voice made her stomach dive.
Without stopping to think, for she would surely lose her nerve, Adaira stepped forward into the circle of his arms.
Lachlann reached out and cupped her face. The feel of his touch made her stifle a gasp. It had a magical effect, both steadying and exciting her.
Heart pounding, Adaira leaned toward him. Her gaze was on his mouth now. She ached for another taste of him.
With a growl Lachlann captured her mouth with his.
Adaira couldn’t help it; a low groan escaped her. The feel of his lips moving over hers, the glide of his tongue, and the heat of his mouth, unleashed something primal within her. She linked her arms about his neck, pressing herself against him, while she responded to his kiss hungrily.
He was delicious. She could happily drown in the feel of his mouth ravaging hers.
Adaira’s hands traveled down, over his broad shoulders to his chest, exploring, before they slid over the hard muscles of his upper arms. Even through the layers of clothing separating them, she could feel his strength, his contained power.
Lachlann gently bit her lower lip, before his mouth trailed down to her neck.
Adaira sighed and sank against him. Her cloak fell away, and his hands explored the curve of her back. Then he cupped her bottom and pulled her hard against him.
Even through the loose material of his braies, Adaira felt Lachlann’s arousal—his rigid, hot shaft—pressed up against her belly. A pulse began between her thighs, a deep throbbing ache that made her writhe against him.
Lachlann muttered a curse, grabbed hold of Adaira, and steered her backward.
Two paces brought the pair of them up against the trunk of an oak, a mattress of fallen leaves around their ankles. Pressed against the rough bark, Adaira wound her arms around Lachlann’s neck once more, her mouth seeking his.
Their kisses turned wild, wet. Her body pulsed with need, the sensation intensifying when he slid his leg between her thighs. His hands gripped the hem of her léine and kirtle, drawing them up around her hips. The cold night air kissed Adaira’s naked skin, but when she shivered, it wasn’t from the chill.
Lachlann took hold of her right thigh, lifting it so that she could wrap her leg around his hips. An instant later her core was pressed against the rigid length of his shaft.
Instinctively, Adaira arched up, moving her hips sinuously against him.
Lachlann groaned loudly. He almost sounded as if he was in pain. He clasped his hands around her naked buttocks and ground her against him.
An aching pleasure spread through Adaira’s loins. She writhed against him, searching for something nameless, something that teased her, tormented her. Something just out of reach.
Lachlann leaned back from Adaira a moment, tearing his mouth from hers. His chest was heaving, and in the glow of the moonlight she saw the strain on his face. His eyes were dark and luminous. A light sheen of sweat now covered his skin.
“Ye have no idea,” he ground out, his voice ragged, “how much I want ye, Adaira. I could lose control. If ye wish me to stop, it has to be now.”
Wild need reared up within her. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.
He drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t want to hurt or scare ye.”
“Ye won’t.” She reached for him, dug her fingers in his hair, and pulled him roughly to her for a bruising kiss.
Lachlann’s tongue tangled with hers, all hesitation gone. Then with one hand, he reached down and unlaced his braies.
Breathing hard
, Lachlann freed his shaft. Adaira reached down to touch him. Her trembling fingertips traced him. His rod quivered and pulsed under her touch, its tip slick with his need.
Excitement ignited deep in Adaira’s belly. She’d never known what sensuality was till that moment, what it meant to want someone with every part of one’s body.
Her breathing came in short gasps as he grasped her hips and spread her thighs wide. The slick heat of their bodies connecting caused a whimper to escape her. He held her, pressed at the entrance to her core.
Nervousness fluttered up under her ribcage. This was really happening. Once they did this, there was no going back.
Slowly, taking his time, Lachlann slid into her. The sensation of him filling her, stretching her, made her moan. A deep aching pleasure spread through her lower belly, before a sharp pain made her catch her breath.
Lachlann stilled, letting the moment pass and waiting for her to relax against him once more. Then he slid the rest of the way in one smooth movement, so that he was buried deep inside her.
Adaira raised her chin and met his gaze. It was almost too much to look at him, too intense, too raw. The pain had been fleeting, and the feeling of exquisite fullness that replaced it, made her quiver.
Holding her hips tight, Lachlann began to move inside her in slow, deep thrusts.
Adaira sucked in a breath, and the trembling in her body increased. How good it felt. Her body sang with pleasure.
“Lachlann,” she gasped. “I don’t … I can’t…” She wasn’t even sure what she was trying to articulate. It was just that she could feel a tension building within her, like a rising tide behind a seawall. It scared her just a little.
“Let go, Aingeal,” he whispered. “Give yerself up to it.”
And she did. Her head fell back as tension rose to its peak within her, and a great wave of pleasure crested the seawall and slammed into her.
Lachlann’s body went taut. He threw his head back and gave a deep, raw groan. Then, they collapsed against the oak together, limbs tangled, bodies spent.
Chapter Twenty-two
What will ye do now?
SHIVERING, ADAIRA PRESSED her back up against Lachlann. Once the glow of their lovemaking had faded, the cold started to gnaw into her bones. Yet Lachlann’s body burned like a furnace compared to hers, and when he wrapped his heavy mantle about them, a sigh of pleasure gusted out of her.
Adaira felt a rumble in his chest as he laughed. “Better?”
“Aye,” she murmured. “Much.”
They fell silent then. A sense of well-being unlike any other Adaira had experienced settled over her. His warmth cocooned her. She listened to the rhythmic whisper of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart. The scent of leather and warm male skin enveloped her.
She felt Lachlann place a gentle kiss upon the crown of her head. “Are ye comfortable?”
“I think so,” Adaira mumbled sleepily. Truthfully, her body had never felt so alive. The dull ache between her legs reminded her of what they’d just shared, of the pleasure he’d given her.
She wanted to ask him if what they’d shared together was usual. She had no prior experience, but he would know. Yet she suddenly felt shy in his presence. Her cheeks flushed when she remembered how bold she’d been with him, how lustily she’d responded to his touch.
She’d done it—she’d coupled with Lachlann. There was no undoing it.
She wondered what he thought of her now.
Tomorrow, in the cold light of day, she might end up regretting tonight’s abandon, but right at that moment, wrapped in her lover’s arms, Adaira could not.
Gradually, fatigue pulled her down into its embrace. Then she felt her eyelids droop and knew she was lost.
Lachlann held Adaira in his arms and listened to her breathing change. It grew deeper, and her body fully relaxed against his.
The feel of her pressed up against him, the tickle of her soft, heather-scented hair against his face, was both a balm and a torture.
Despite that exhaustion now dug its claws into him, he still ached for her. He’d wanted to take her again, this time on the leaf-strewn ground, but Adaira looked ready to collapse. He had to show the poor lass some mercy.
Lachlann loosed a deep breath and let his head fall back against the rough bark of the trunk.
This time tomorrow they’d be in Duntulm—and when they reached the fortress, things would change.
Adaira wasn’t his wife, or even his betrothed. Indeed, she was promised to two other men: Aonghus Budge and his own father. Lachlann had no claim on her.
Once she was safe with her sister, Adaira might change in her attitude toward him. She might remember all the reasons she distrusted him—that she’d once hated him.
Lady Caitrin would hear the tale of how he’d made Adaira a promise and then broken it. Adaira’s sister wasn’t likely to want him to remain at Duntulm once she knew the truth.
Lachlann gently stroked Adaira’s hair. She gave a soft sigh and snuggled deeper into his chest.
Swallowing hard, Lachlann stared up at the night sky through the spreading branches of the sheltering oak. There wasn’t much he was sure of these days. His decision to help Adaira flee Talasgair had thrown his world into chaos. All the things he’d once set so much store in no longer mattered.
One thing he knew though was that he wanted to protect Adaira, to keep her safe.
He had to find a way to ensure he stayed at her side.
Adaira gazed up at the giant thumb of dark rock, silhouetted against the morning sky. The land rose steeply to the north, and the familiar jagged outline of rocky pinnacles reared overhead. One in particular stood out.
She smiled before tapping Lachlann on the shoulder and pointing up to it. “Look … Bodach an Stòrr.”
The Old Man of Storr was one of the isle’s most distinctive landmarks, although it had been a few years since Adaira had seen it last.
“Aye, it does indeed look like a giant’s thumb buried in the earth,” Lachlann replied. “We’re headed in the right direction at least.”
They had left the woodland north of Kiltaraglen as the first glow of dawn lit the eastern sky, and pushed onward. It was a day’s journey north along the coast to Duntulm.
The morning was tranquil, the loch’s waters as still as a polished iron disc. However, it was cold enough that their breaths steamed. The frosty morning air bit into Adaira’s face, and she found herself huddling against Lachlann’s back for warmth.
Despite that they’d slept sitting up on the hard, root-strewn ground, Adaira had rested better than she had in a long while.
She’d slept the whole night through and only woke up when Lachlann stirred.
“Time to go, Aingeal,” he’d murmured in her ear.
She’d awoken to find his arms around her, to find her face pressed up against the hard wall of his chest.
Their gazes had met, and he’d given her a lopsided smile that made her breathing catch. “Did ye sleep well?”
“Aye … thank ye.”
He’d bent his head and kissed her then, a soft, lingering touch that still made fire curl in the pit of Adaira’s belly. She’d reached up, her fingertips tracing the line of his stubbled jaw.
Last night had seemed like a dream, but this kiss told her it wasn’t so.
However, disappointingly, Lachlann had ended the kiss and risen to his feet. Reaching down, he’d helped Adaira up and brushed leaves out of her hair. “We’d better make a start if ye want to reach Duntulm by nightfall.”
He’d turned away then, and crossed to the stallion, readying it to ride out. As soon as his back was turned, Adaira had hurriedly smoothed out her kirtle and brushed more oak leaves from her cloak. She’d suddenly felt self-conscious about her appearance and knew she must look disheveled after sleeping rough.
Lachlann, on the other hand, had never looked more attractive to her. She’d longed to step forward and press herself up against him, to tangle her fingers in his hair as she
had the night before.
Now, perched behind Lachlann, she was acutely aware of the strength of his back, the breadth of his shoulders, and the play and flex of the muscles in his thighs.
They rode along the narrow road that hugged Skye’s north-eastern coast. They left MacLeod lands, riding through the smaller territories belonging to the MacNichols and the MacQueens, before entering MacDonald territory. It was a wild, bare coastline battered by prevailing winds. They passed coastal hamlets, where locals fished the cold waters of the Sound of Raasay, and long stretches of stony beaches where puffins nested. And all the while, a chill wind whipped in from the north, bringing with it the promise of winter.
Adaira was glad of the warmth of Lachlann’s body against hers, and of the fact that he sheltered her from the wind. The air bit at her exposed flesh this morning.
They stopped at noon, resting the horse and taking a meal of bread and cheese upon the rocks—supplies Lachlann had picked up in Kiltaraglen.
Lachlann’s cheeks were flushed with exertion and cold as he handed Adaira her food. “That’s the last of it,” he announced. “We’ll both be hungry by the time we reach Duntulm.”
Adaira smiled. She tried to catch his eye, but he looked away. Was she imagining it or did he seem tense, distracted?
“Caitrin will make sure we eat well, don’t worry,” she assured him.
Lachlann sat down on the sun-warmed rock beside her. “Ye are very close to yer sisters, aren’t ye?”
Adaira nodded. “We are friends as much as siblings … I miss them both.”
A shadow passed across his face, and Adaira grew still. “What is it?”
He shrugged. “Ye are fortunate. Ye have seen how things are in my family.”
“Aye … why don’t ye get on with yer brothers?”
Lachlann snorted. “Ye have met them. Lucas is a scheming bastard and the other two aren’t much better.”
Adaira huffed. “Lucas will inherit now.”
“Aye,” he growled, frowning. “Don’t remind me.”
Adaira watched him, her own brow furrowing. She knew how ambitious he’d been. It was difficult to let go of such things.