by Jackie Ivie
She shrugged on her supposition and took another sip of ale, rubbing at the foam that tipped her nose.
Such a tent would be of great use in any season and in any clime. She wondered if the English had anything as finely worked and useful. She didn’t remember the D’Aubenville family possessing any. Then again, she hadn’t been involved with any of her father’s weapons, including his siege tents. Nor would he have allowed her to. Machines of war meant men, and Juliana hadn’t been allowed near them. As a lady of quality, she wasn’t in any man’s company without a chaperone.
She could see the wisdom in that.
Juliana looked over at the sleeping lump that was Aidan Niall MacKetryck and snorted. She took another sip of her second tankard, swallowed, and considered it. She wouldn’t have met him if the castle hadn’t been overtaken. And that meant she wouldn’t know this love emotion or the sheer rapture he gave her. Sir Percy Dane certainly wouldn’t have raised it in her, if the one time they’d met was any indication. Even if she accounted for her age at the betrothal ceremony, the man was tall, thin, and hawk-nosed, with beady blue eyes and a weak chin. Nothing about him had set her twelve-yearold heart to racing . . . but he did look good in his chain mail.
Juliana sighed. That future was gone. Any wedding with Sir Percy Dane was gone. She was ruined. She had been the moment she admitted she loved the laird of the MacKetryck clan. And then it was solidified when he’d taken her maidenhead. She might as well admit it and carve out another future . . . with him.
Juliana pulled another sip from her tankard. She didn’t know much about it, but she was willing to be his woman . . . sharing his chamber and his bed. The old Juliana would have hung her head in shame, covered herself in sackcloth and ashes, and fought the idea with every fiber of her being. The Juliana that admitted loving Aidan MacKetryck was different. She’d take what he offered.
She moved the mug, watching the ale swirl with the oil wick behind it. She’d be his mistress . . . Her eyes narrowed. But she’d be the only one. Some mistresses had more power than wives. It was ever true. She stopped the mug’s movement and watched the light waver and glow through the amber color. He’d better follow through on his promise to dismiss his other women, regardless of what position they claimed in his life. Juliana D’Aubenville wasn’t sharing. Ever.
She looked over at Aidan atop his cot, since that was where he’d gone once he’d finished affixing the knife fastening, after giving Arran to the count of three to hie his arse back to his own tent before being sent there with a skean in his buttocks to make it memorable. That was her fault. She’d asked for more of this wonderful ale, and Arran had informed her, amid a smattering of stutters when he brought it, that this particular tankard was the last of it, and if they wanted more, they’d need stop by Killoran’s croft. The others were already thinking to make it by eve. If they found the sporran easily. Or if Aidan forewent finding it. And that was what got the lad threatened.
Aidan hadn’t looked interested in partaking of the stew. He hadn’t wanted a drink. He hadn’t even stayed awake to peek while Juliana bathed, and she’d looked for it.
It must be as he’d said, then. He needed rest after . . . tupping. Juliana closed her eyes and suffered the shivers and heated blush at the repeated memory. She rocked back against the tent side while the fabric bowed slightly, but held. It seemed Highlanders not only knew how to make a tent, but knew how to anchor it. Juliana forced that thought into her consciousness, since reacting to Aidan’s touch wasn’t getting her much of anything except discomfort. She went back to her ponderings. And sipping at the ale they’d brought for her.
They’d anchored this tent well, but it was ever so. The sides were taut with tension from their mooring ropes, easily supporting any number of things . . . including her weight. Juliana turned slightly and flipped a finger into the material. It bounced back, answering that question. It was extremely well anchored.
The roof was pointed at the center, lifted with more rope, creating a slope for runoff. They’d have to position this tent near a taller structure like a tree . . . or one of the larger tents. This time, they’d placed Aidan’s tent between the two larger ones, solving that problem and making it even more sheltered. If the storm that had ended their search was still raging outside, it was nearly impossible to tell. Except for the occasional whiff of air sent through where he’d locked the blades together again.
She looked that way for a moment, watched the bottom of his door flap slide along the ground, and when she looked back, Aidan was on the pallet in front of her . . . fully stretched out on his side. Naked. And she hadn’t even heard him. Juliana gasped, the tankard in her hand trembled, and she ordered her eyes to stay focused entirely on his face. It wasn’t easy. The oil bowl was on the little trunk behind him, putting a flickering gold glow to his outline and a mass of shadowed male everywhere else.
“Good eve,” Aidan said, putting a finger out to slide it in a circle on the mat. He didn’t look to see it. He didn’t move his eyes from hers.
“Uh . . .”
Her mind wasn’t working. Her tongue was right with it. Juliana held the gaze for as long as she could without blinking. Then he started widening the circle circumference, moving muscle on his chest and dragging her attention, despite her effort. Juliana’s glance dropped there, imprinting the amount of naked male behind his hypnotic movement, before blinking and returning to his gaze. It was nearly impossible to hold it, though, since he’d raised the one eyebrow and had what appeared to be a slight smile on his lips as well.
“You found my shirts,” he remarked.
Juliana’s eyes dropped to the shirt that she’d tucked beneath her knees. It hadn’t been onerous. The hem reached past her knees. The shirt was sewn from finely spun linen, making a flow of material that didn’t crease much, especially as it had been rolled into a small bundle and then shoved into a trunk. He had four more of them, and a beautifully woven plaid in that trunk. As well as silver armbands and a brooch of the same metal. He had enough wardrobe with him he shouldn’t have to go shirtless and half-naked all the time . . . most of the time, she corrected.
“Pity,” he said, bringing her glance back to his face.
“What?”
“I’ll just have to remove it.”
Her gasp matched the twinge of her entire frame and the widening of her eyes. The slosh of ale in her tankard gave most of it away, too, as it was the only sound for a bit. He was definitely amused. The slight lines at the sides of his eyes matched the upward tilt to his pursed lips.
“Naked . . . ness . . .”
He put the word into existence, splitting it with a long pause, making little sense and yet too much of it at the same time. And that finger of his was at the edge of the pallet and nearly to her toes. Juliana fought the urge to look.
“Me.”
He didn’t have to specify it! A rush of emotion flew through her, chasing the gooseflesh down each arm, tightening each nipple, and forcing a wellspring of warmth and want into existence at her core, and making her knees quake against the fine linen of his shirt.
“Awake. Readied. And naked.”
Breathing was going to be an issue. She couldn’t gain enough air with the short pants her body cursed her with. She had to open her mouth to pull in and push out each one. Aidan hadn’t moved, but it looked like he had, getting larger, and fuller, and creating a heat and awareness that had not only a warmth to it, but a sensual aroma afflicting her, too.
“Just . . . as you requested.”
He rolled onto his back, spreading both arms wide, while his head had swiveled to keep his gaze locked on her. The tankard dropped from nerveless fingers, spilling ale onto the dirt beside her. Both hands were atop her mouth, covering over the jaw drop as well as holding in the cry. Aidan was in a full grin now, while the one cocked eyebrow was daring her to ignore or argue, or do anything other than gape.
Juliana had never seen what she was looking at now. God had been extremely heavy-
handed in regards to Aidan MacKetryck. He was a beautiful male. He was in prime condition and in perfect physical stature. And well endowed. And he knew it. There was no stopping the urge to look and keep looking.
Then, he was moving the hand closest to her and pulling in the fingers, over and over in a rapid fashion, beckoning her. Juliana’s mind told her not to allow such an arrogant gesture, but her body was already moving, shoving forward onto her hands, which put her so close to him, she didn’t have to move another step.
And then he reached for her, wrapped both arms about her, and pulled her right atop him, locking her arms down at her sides, while her legs split to accommodate the bulk of his belly and hips, just as she would a horse. And then he took her lips, canceling every thought with emotion and sensation. Lips plied hers, breath touched her nose, raw and intensifying, and then his tongue reached the caverns of her mouth, sparking everywhere it touched.
Juliana writhed atop him, matching the movements of her moans, while his arms unlocked to accommodate it. Her hands slid along his sides, over massive pulse-pounding bulk to his shoulders . . . alternately wrapping about his neck and gripping into his hair so she could use the same kissing motion on him, slurping and sucking and licking. She felt his hands . . . moving along her back, her buttocks, to her knees, and then he pulled up the shirt hem, sliding it over her thighs, her hips . . . to her waist.
He had the shirt bunched at her back before letting it go, losing his objective to return to cupping and squeezing and maneuvering her buttocks, in order to push her down and pull her back up, sliding her against his rod. Over and over, liquefying her in place and sending shots of feeling down her legs and up through her belly, making an exquisite torment sensation of her nipples against him, with material still restricting.
Without warning, he pulled his lips from her, and shifted, locking her against him with an arm about her waist while she wasn’t loosening her grip on his hair. He flipped, the move putting them on their sides. And with the next one, full out on her back. She wasn’t given any time to assimilate it before he had his hands on both sides of her torso, right beneath her arms, and used that as a base for a shove up from her and onto his knees. The swiftness of the move unlatched her fingers from him as well as took all the warmth and heat and moisture away, and leaving a cold shiver in its place.
“Aidan?” Juliana whispered.
“Lift your arms.” He didn’t give her time to comply since he was shoving the shirt to her neck and then reaching above her to pull it off. Leaving her complete open, defenseless . . . and naked. And covering her bosom with both crossed arms.
“Oh . . . nae. Na’ now.”
The whiff of air accompanying the words riffled across her flesh, and Aidan had his fingers about each arm, coaxing her to remove them. Then he was adding to it with his kiss, draining her fears and canceling out her shyness. The exquisite sensation followed his mouth when he trailed along her chin to an ear, breathing shivers of reckless desire and shameless need into existence the entire way. She was covered in them, being tormented by them, enduring them. And Aidan was the conductor, lapping more of them into existence at her throat. Juliana started lifting her hips and that was the beginning of the undulation that heaved her from the pallet and against him, time and time again.
And his chuckle made the entire tension of sensation worse!
Juliana barely felt his warm, hard fingers sliding along her body, roving her flesh, before locking on to her waist in order to hold her in place while he propelled his entire body down her . . . taking his heavy bulk and fitting it between her knees. Where he was touching was igniting a thousand fires and even more shivers. And the sensation just kept building as Aidan slid his tongue from her throat . . . down the center of her . . . stalling time and her breathing and her heartbeat as he went.
And then he reached a nipple and started the same hypnotic rotation around it, and Juliana went absolutely wild, bucking her body from the pallet, mashing her frame against every part of him she could reach, her knees squeezing over and over on his hardness. And then he put his entire mouth atop her and suckled. The keening cry tore her throat, even as she tried to quiet and end it. Juliana threw her head back and arched in a complete and total crisis of energy and wonder and ecstasy.
She forgot to breathe. She couldn’t do anything except feel. And exist. And experience the thrills coursing over and through her, again and again . . . accompanied by his chuckling, which just made everything more alert and tormented and grasping. And then Aidan moved to her other breast, and did the same things.
“Oh! Aidan . . . Oh!” His name was a sigh of sound meshed between exclamations of delight and enjoyment.
“You complaining . . . over my rest . . . wench?”
He asked it with a hoarse voice, looming over her. Then he was lowering his mouth to hers and moving her head with each lap of his tongue on her lips. That gained him a rain of fists on his chest, bucking motions with her hips against where he was poised, and moans of frustration with the way he tormented and teased her.
“More . . . complaining?”
He split the words with a grunt and pierced her with a look that went straight to her heart. Juliana already had her legs apart, allowing him entry, and with the one look she went to a bow shape in order to embrace him closer, locking her ankles at his lower back. Nothing. Aidan held himself from her with his arms, jerked toward her opening with nonrhythmic lurches, readied, hard. Engorged. Yet still he denied her.
“Please, Aidan? Please?”
“Now?” The word was hissed at her through his teeth. It came with a heavy pulse of his hips, pushing him through her entrance and punishing her with more slowness.
“Aye, Aidan! Aye. Now! Please?”
Juliana grabbed both sides of his head, filling her fingers with lanky strands of hair, locked her gaze to his, and willed a consummation. She watched the immense satisfaction hit his features. It was in the slant of his swollen lips, narrowed cheeks, and the half-slits his eyes went to. And then he slammed his lips to hers, and rammed home in the same instant. Juliana went crazed with it, flinging her entire body into the whorl of anger and intensity and rapture he took her to the brink of, and then shoved her over with each increasingly wild thrust he made into her.
Waves of ecstasy lapped over her, ebbing and growing and then rioting through her entire frame . . . ebbing again. Through it all she clung to Aidan, gripping his heated, moisture-imbued flesh, feeling the caress of every heavy breath he made against her nakedness, and the symphony of his grunts with each repeated move. Again. And so many times, she lost feeling with the pallet at her back, there was nothing but blue sky, endless vistas of wonder . . . and Aidan.
Grunting. Sweating. Pushing.
And then he increased his motions, going to massive rapid lunges against her, and forcing her to accept them. Deep. Allencompassing. Heart-touching.
“Lass . . . Ah . . . lass. There. Right . . . there!”
Each whispered word came with a corresponding move of his body within hers, but with the last, he stopped, taking her from the pallet with her cling as he arched upward for a perfect few moments. His heartbeat thudded against hers, his groin pulsed into hers, while every muscle and striation of his frame was bulging and taut and going purplish with a flush, and he was making her nose vibrate against his throat with the low groan that went on and on, and lingered in the air even after it was silenced.
Then, it was over.
Aidan lowered his head, opened his eyes, blinked rapidly for several heart-stopping moments, and then he dropped. Juliana dealt with the bulk of him, breathing in tandem with him, the action sending cool air over them until the volume and cadence of it slowed. That was when he rolled from her and onto his side. Juliana was watching, enthralled, as he opened his eyes again and turned his head. The instant it happened, her heart gave a near-painful thump, shooting a reminder of how she felt all over her. She didn’t know if she gave a sign, but a slight smile touched his mou
th before he rolled farther, putting him half on the pallet and half off. It also separated them. Juliana watched as he lifted his head. Dropped it with a slight groan. Lifted it again. Dropped it. And then he pulled in a huge breath and huffed it out.
“Aidan?” she whispered.
He put a hand up in his gesture for silence. Juliana surprised herself by obeying. She watched his dark eyelashes dust his face with his blinking, before they closed. She counted for more than fifty heartbeats, listening to his breathing calm, until it sounded like he was going to sleep. Again. And in that uncomfortable position.
Juliana rolled onto her side and supported her head on a bent arm. “Aidan?” she tried again.
“Aye?”
It was a grunt of sound, but it was an answer. He wasn’t asleep. She watched him lick his lower lip into his mouth before releasing it. The man had perfectly formed lips. And they looked swollen . . . mauled. Juliana’s body pulsed in a long disjoined motion from her side of the mat. The man was so beautiful! It was just unfair.
“I’m na’ calling for Arran,” he informed the air above him.
“What?” she asked.
“I am na’ calling for Arran.”
“Why?”
His mouth tipped into a smile. “I’m worse off than afore . . . although it does na’ seem possible.”
“Nay?” she teased.
“You . . . uh . . .”
“Yes?” she prompted.