The Reiver
Page 12
So Cristy crouched down to answer Colin. “No one will e’er be able to replace your Ma, lads. But if your Da will have me, I’ll do my best to love ye like a mother.”
When she glanced up at Brochan, she could tell by his grateful gaze that her answer pleased him. And when the lads began to cheer and dance about, she knew she’d said the right thing.
Brochan was silent as they climbed the motte and entered the keep. But after handing the twins off to Mabel and hanging up his sword, he took Cristy by the hand.
“Will ye tuck the lads into bed?” he murmured to Mabel. “Miss Moffat and I would like to watch the comet alone tonight.”
Cristy couldn’t help but shiver with anticipation at his suggestion.
Mabel, who was hardly naïve, took the twins in hand and gave Cristy a wink. “Come along, lads,” she said, “and I’ll tell ye the story o’ The Ant and the Grasshopper.”
As Brochan spread his gray woolen brat for Cristy on the crest of the motte, he felt like a changed man. Propped on his elbow beside her, gazing out at his woods, his fields, his slumbering herd of cattle, he no longer saw an overwhelming responsibility, but a shared vision. Now that he’d let Cristy into his heart, it seemed a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He was no longer alone.
He threaded his fingers through hers as they looked up at the shimmering comet.
“Do ye think ’tis true?” she murmured.
“What?”
“That ye can change your stars?”
“I know ’tis true,” he said.
She smiled. “’Twas the comet that brought us together, ye know.”
“I know.”
She leaned her head against his as she gazed up at the comet. “I think the star is starin’ down on us now and smilin’.”
He turned to kiss her brow. “Do ye think it might be willin’ to close its eyes for a wee bit?”
Cristy grinned. “I think it would be more than willin’.”
Brochan had never made love under the stars. But he was feeling transformed, and somehow it seemed the right thing to do.
He lifted Cristy’s hand and kissed her knuckles. Her lips parted, and he leaned forward to capture them between his own.
His blood went from warm to fiery in an instant. A roaring rush of desire flowed through his ears. He felt the tug of need in his trews before the kiss ended.
But he didn’t want to hurry. Their first tryst had been impulsive and frantic. He’d given little thought to anything but slaking his thirst.
He wanted this joining to be special. This time, he’d give her the patience and care she deserved.
Brushing the hair back from her face, he pressed a soft kiss to each eyelid.
She sighed in pleasure and placed a hand on his chest.
He kissed her sweet mouth again, letting his fingers drift along her temples, across her cheeks, and along her neck, leaving a trail of feather-light touches that made her quiver.
Slipping his fingers beneath the neck edge of her kirtle, he gently nudged it from her shoulder. Then, tipping her head aside, he placed a row of slow and deliberate kisses from the point of her shoulder up to her ear.
By the time he reached her ear, she was squirming in lusty torment. When he caught the delicate lobe between his teeth, she gasped. And when he let his tongue slip around the rim, she moaned with need.
He let out a worldly chuckle. She might grow impatient, but he still had a long way to go. They had all night, after all, and he intended to show the inexperienced lass every delicious enticement he knew.
Cristy didn’t want to wait. She’d waited her whole life to belong. And now that she’d found the man with whom she could share her laughter, her tears, her fears and hopes, she didn’t wish to waste another moment. She wanted to share her body with him. Now.
With desperate haste, before he could stop her, she unlaced her kirtle. She dragged it, along with her linen leine, down over her shoulders and past her hips, kicking the garments off her legs. While his jaw was still gaping, she lunged forward into his arms, rocking him onto his back.
The kiss she stole was full of passion and promise, fire and heart. It was the kiss she’d been saving all her life.
After his initial shock, Brochan answered her caresses, licking tenderly at her lips and weaving his fingers through the curtain of her hair.
The ache between her thighs was powerful and compelling. And now that she knew the joy to come, she couldn’t help but wish to hurry.
She fumbled at his trews, eager to free that amazing part of him that would grant her relief.
He caught her fingers and unlaced his trews himself. Then, taking control again, he clasped the back of her head. Wrapping his arm around her bare waist, he rolled with her until she lay on her back at the edge of the woolen brat.
From here, she could see the stars sparkling overhead like raindrops against the peat-dark sky. But when she shifted her gaze, she saw something even more beautiful. Brochan’s eyes were glistening with love and desire.
Slowly, he removed his own garments, and she felt the twinge of yearning with every inch of skin he exposed. He belonged to her now—this magnificent man with the broad shoulders and wide chest, breathtaking arms and towering legs, a chivalrous spirit and a loving heart.
When he came to her, their joining was tender. This time there was no pain, only fulfillment. And when they rode together on passion’s heavenly comet, a pure white light seemed to bless their union. Faster and faster they shot across the sky until the brilliant light shattered and scattered into a thousand bright stars.
Afterward, they lay together, side-by-side and hand-in-hand, gazing up at the night sky. They spoke of dreams and plans and wishes for the future. They mused over the gardens they would plant, the animals they would keep for the twins, and the Macintosh bairns they would make. And they marveled over the strange woman it seemed they’d both met at the tavern by chance, wondering whether it had been by chance at all.
As Cristy stared at the curious comet that had crossed her path and changed her fortune, she couldn’t help but believe in the magic of the summer star.
THE END
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More Books by Glynnis Campbell
The Warrior Maids of Rivenloch
The Shipwreck (novella)
Lady Danger
Captive Heart
Knight’s Prize
The Knights of de Ware
The Handfasting (novella)
My Champion
My Warrior
My Hero
Medieval Outlaws
The Reiver (novella)
Danger’s Kiss
Passion’s Exile
Desire’s Ransom
The Scottish Lasses
The Outcast (novella)
MacFarland’s Lass
MacAdam’s Lass
MacKenzie’s Lass
The California Legends
Native Gold
Native Wolf
Native Hawk
About Glynnis Campbell
I’m a USA Today bestselling author of swashbuckling action-adventure historical romances, mostly set in Scotland, with over a dozen award-winning books published in six languages.
But before my role as a medieval matchmaker, I sang in The Pinups, an all-girl band on CBS Records, and provided voices for the MTV animated series The Maxx, Blizzard’s Diablo and Starcraft video games, and Star Wars audiobooks.
I’m the wife of a rock star (if you want to know which one, contact me) and the mother of two young adults. I do my best writing on cruise ships, in Scottish castles, on my husband’s tour bus, and at home in my sunny southern California garden.
I love transporting readers to a place where the bold heroes have endearing flaws, the women are stronger than they look, the land is lush and untamed, and chivalry is alive and well!
I’m always delighted to hear from my readers, so please feel free to email me at glynnis@glynnis.net. And if you’re a super-fan who would like to join my inner circle, sign up to be part of Glynnis Campbell’s Readers Clan on Facebook, where you’ll get glimpses behind the scenes, sneak peeks of works-in-progress, and extra special surprises!
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Danger’s Kiss
Medieval Outlaws Book 1
He spotted Desirée at once, by the light of a moonbeam filtering through the shutters. She was asleep, luxuriously sprawled across the coverlet like a cat with a belly full of cream, commandeering his pallet as if her spindly frame required every inch of it.
“Oh, nay, you don’t,” he murmured. He might feel sorry for the orphaned lass, but he wasn’t about to let her usurp his bed. “Desirée,” he called.
She didn’t move.
“Desirée.”
Still no reply.
He drew closer, not close enough that she could swing out with a stray fist and clip him on the jaw, but close enough to be heard.
“Desirée.”
She still didn’t stir, but Azrael, tucked behind one of her knees, lifted his head.
Nicholas frowned. There was something tied around the cat’s neck. Something distinctly feminine.
“God’s eyes! What have you done to my cat?”
That woke her. She rose on her elbows, her eyes glazed, her mouth making sleepy smacks. “What?”
“What did you do to Azrael?”
She glanced down at the cat, as if trying to recall. Then her lips curved up in a smile that was pure mischief. “He thinks it’s pretty,” she said, crooning, “doesn’t he, Snowflake?”
Nicholas seized Azrael, who yowled once in complaint, and immediately untied the silly bow, dropping it atop the coverlet.
Desirée shrugged off his actions and snuggled back down under the blankets. “Did you get my list?” she murmured.
He gave Azrael a consoling pat and set him down again on the pallet. “Your list? You mean that nonsense about lavender and beeswax candles? Do you know how much saffron costs?”
“Come, Nicky, you can’t expect me to keep your house properly if I don’t have the required supplies.”
“I seem to have done fine before without them. And stop calling me Nicky.”
“What would you prefer? Your Majesty?”
Nicholas exhaled on a growl, trying to recall why he’d felt sorry for the pesky imp. “I’ve bought another pallet. I’ve placed it beside the fire.”
“Mm, good,” she purred. “I’d hate to think of you getting cold in the night.”
He blinked. The audacity of the naughty wench was amazing. Unable to think of a fitting verbal response, he decided to let his actions speak for him. He threw back the covers and, ignoring her indignant shrieks, scooped her up into his arms.
“Unhand me, sirrah!”
“You’re not sleeping in my bed.” He started toward the door.
“But I was there first!”
“’Tis my bed.”
“You weren’t using it.” She actually wedged her limbs in the doorway, trying to prevent his exit.
“Well, I’m going to use it now.”
“’Tisn’t fair!”
He didn’t feel like arguing the absurdity of a tiny lass expropriating his huge bed while he lay cramped on a small pallet by the fire.
“The only way you’re sleeping in that bed,” he whispered wickedly, “is if you’re sharing it with me.”
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