by Seonaid
If she had her way. Only she wouldn’t have her way. He’d not let that happen.
Still, for tonight, he’d let her think whatever she wanted to. Let her believe she’d never see him again so he could prove she couldn’t do it.
It would be that good between them. He had no doubts.
Light of foot, he headed for the high ground, a large slab of rock that overlooked where young Deian lay. Seonaid would curl up with the lad, then come to him when it was her turn to take the watch.
He’d best get ready. It took careful planning for a man to win a woman.
CHAPTER 7 ~ SEDUCTION
“Yow!”
Seonaid sat up, bow in hand, only to see Padraig hopping about, nursing his finger.
“What did you do?” She scrambled to her knees.
“Burnt my finger!” His sour look at a steaming pot of water explained where the damage was done.
“Bring it here,” Seonaid ordered, but he jutted his chin toward Deian and she realized they risked waking the lad. Reluctantly, she rose, crossed to him, a stern mother, badgered into caring for an injured child.
Only something in his eyes, a glint, the lazy way his lids dropped halfway, as though to hide something, held her gaze to his. It didn’t even slip when she reached him and she couldn’t say if she took his hand in hers or he put it there, but both of them raised his hand to her mouth. So caught in his nearness, the soft touch of his finger to her lips startled her. She tried to step back, but he held her steady, his gruff words sluicing over her like a caress.
“Succor it well, will ya?”
Lord help her, she did; pulled it into her mouth and laved the heat from it, even as the heat rose in her.
“That’s my lass.” She was too confused to argue the point, for right now she was his lass.
“Come, follow me.” And he reached down for the steaming pot without a care for the heat.
“What are you doing with that?” she asked.
“Shhh, don’t want to wake up the lad,” he warned, so she put her hand to his back, as the night was dark, and followed him with all her trust and not a little bit of curiosity.
“Did you really injure yourself?”
“Aye, a wee bit.” But he didn’t seem to notice the water that splashed from the kettle to his leg.
“Where are we going with this?” But the land dipped suddenly and Padraig made a sharp turn to the right. “I know, you’re heading to the river.”
“Was,” he corrected. “We’re here now.”
“Are you planning on warming the frigid river with a kettle full of boiling water?”
Instead of answering, he put the kettle down and turned to her. “Every morning you wish for a hot bath instead of a cold stream.”
“One kettle…” He didn’t let her finish.
“Oh, lassie, do you think I’d be that daft, to offer you a piddlin’ kettle of hot water?”
The urge to run swept through her. Fear, that he’d really done it, done something so special for her that she wouldn’t be able to stand it. She swallowed back foolish apprehension.
Of course he hadn’t. There were no baths to be found in the highland and they only had one small kettle. “You’re teasing me for whinin’.”
“Never.” He cupped her jaw, ran his thumbs over her cheeks. “I’m giving you a dream.” Before she could run, before words spurred by fear could spoil the moment, his lips touched hers, soft but firm, a caressing touch. His tongue traced the seam of her mouth. “Now just wait.”
He pivoted, reached for the kettle and stepped away. She couldn’t see clearly, the moon was on its last edge, but she heard the splash of water along with the rumbling tones of the river.
She sighed. Of course he had no bath to offer. In fact, he wasted all the warmth when, at the least, she could have put some in a bowl and washed with a cloth.
But she’d not say anything. He tried to please her, and that was enough.
“Come.” He reached out, she took his hand. “Take your shoes off.”
She bent down, did as he said.
“You’ll have to trust me not to look, but you’ll want to take off your tunic and trews.”
She shot up, disappointed. “Now?” She’d made a promise to him, but thought he’d try, even a wee bit, to coerce her.
“Aye. And if you don’t mind not peeking, I’ll do the same.”
“For a cold dunkin’?” She couldn’t hold the sarcasm back. He’d led her out of her shell, but that armor was not so far away.
“Ah, my lassie, would I bring you down her for a cold bath?”
“Och, Padraig—” not so unfeeling, just foolish, “—you can’t warm a river with one kettle of water.”
“With dozens, lass. I’ve been at this all night.”
She put her hands on either side of his face, “You’re a sweet man, Padraig, but all that hot water does is run down the river.”
“Come here,” He tugged her over to the small pool, pleased as a young lad with a bouquet of weeds. “Feel.”
She wouldn’t be so cruel as to not play along, “Fine.”
She crouched down, her hand to the water. She swished her fingers about. “Oh!” Then she reached deeper. “It’s warm, you’ve warmed the river!” She pulled her hand back, as if it touched a lie.
“Will it suit?”
“Oh, aye,” She wanted to ask him how he did it, how he managed to give her a warm tub, but tears clogged her throat.
“Come on, lass, get yourself in, it won’t stay warm forever.”
She looked up to where he stood, a dark shadow in the gloom. “You said you wouldn’t look.”
“My back’s to ya’, but I don’t hear anything. And you promised not to look, as well.”
“You’re coming in with me?” she squeaked.
“Aye, it’s dark enough and the water will offer as much modesty as you wish.”
She looked back at the pool, about five feet round. “I don’t know.”
“Fine. I did the work, you can wait.”
“No!”
“Then let me know when you’re in the water.”
In a thrice, she had her clothes off and was stepping down onto a boulder so well placed, she could sit on it and be covered to her shoulders. Her feet dangled, toes touching bottom if she stretched them.
She should let him join her now. Despite the darkness, she could see the outline of his body. He was naked. Och, if only she could see the detail of well-toned muscle. But she couldn’t, so she turned away. “You can join me now.”
Water brushed her as he disrupted it. “Ahhhh. You can look now.”
He was about a foot away from her, mostly submerged except for his arms stretched out along the bank of their little pool.
“How did you do this?”
“With much toil and trouble. A real struggle.” His legs, buoyant in the water, brushed the outer side of hers. A light touch, gentle as seaweed tickling.
“Really? How?”
“This is a natural pool. I just dammed it, for tonight. For you.”
“For me.” She tasted the unfamiliar words, tried them on her lips. They spilled deep into her heart, shattered the final defenses. A wall he’d been chiseling at for years.
He’d changed her, on this journey. The lass who set out on these travels would have pushed him away, snapped at him for thinking he did this for her rather than himself. That woman would have questioned his motives.
Except she knew what he wanted, and he knew she wanted it, too. He didn’t have to go this far to get it. He could have had her with a cold bath.
So, for the first time in her memory, she revealed her vulnerability and told him the truth. “Your goodness frightens me.” Because it did. It made her believe in tomorrows that couldn’t be.
“Och, no, lass.”
And he was there, on her side of the little pool, pulling her into his arms, holding her tightly. She sniffled and laughed, and he chuckled.
“You’re confusing
me, lass. Do you want to laugh or cry? Is this a bad thing, then?”
“No.” She rested her forehead on his shoulder. “It’s a good thing. I’m laughing because I’m crying. It’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.”
She felt him nod, but heard his confusion. “I see, it’s good, so you’re crying.”
“I’ve cried more with you, on this trip, than since I was a wee bairn.”
“And is this good, too?”
She wasn’t surprised he sounded so doubtful. It didn’t make sense, but it was a good thing.
She tried to explain. “Crying didn’t bring my mother back. It didn’t keep my pa alive, or stop my brother’s cruelty. It just made me look weak. But now, letting myself be weak, because you’re here and you’re strong and you look out for me so I don’t have to fight everything. I can just…I don’t know…I can just be.
“Be who I am at the moment. And it frees me in a way I can’t explain and it calms me. Like the tears are washing away pain that’s been inside of me for years and years. It was hard and angry and bitter, and you’ve opened the door and I can’t seem to stop the flood.”
“You aren’t crying now, lass.”
“No.” She met his eyes, tracked them, as they looked from her face, her lips, her neck.
“I want to kiss you, Seonaid, but when I do, I don’t know if I can stop with that.”
“I know.”
“Och, lass. That’s not much of an answer. Do you ken what I’m asking?”
“Aye. I don’t want you to stop with a kiss.”
He curled a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Will you tell me when it doesna’ feel right, good?”
“Just kiss me, you daft fool.”
CHAPTER 8 ~ A SHIP
They stood upon a rise, the great expanse of Loch Eriboll glistening in the distance below them.
“We’ve come a long way.” Seonaid acknowledged.
“Aye,” Padraig said.
One hand raised to shadow her eyes, Seonaid pointed to the tiny dot of a village sprawled on a jut of land further up the coast. “Is that the town of Eriboll?”
“Aye.” Angry, he’d been miserly with his words of late, but she’d best know the lay of the land. “The ocean is beyond that again. About as far from Eriboll as it is from Glen Toric.”
“If we stop now, we could still be there by midday tomorrow?”
Padraig answered with a sharp nod. The terrain would be difficult, but no more than it had been. Less so, as the rises were not so challenging. Although the low ground would be boggy in places.
“It’s a larger town than I expected,” she offered.
Again, a sharp nod.
Two days ago, they’d come together. She saw it as a good-bye. A memory to hold. Oh, Lord, it was sweet, to be sure. Sweet enough to wipe out any chance of good-bye.
He’d never forget the way she pulled his mouth to hers, wrapped her arms around him. Seonaid surrendering was a glorious thing, to be sure. Slick and naked under the water, her body slid against his, like a water nymph, until her legs bracketed his hips, her arms clung to his neck and her lips, those sweet succulent lips, tasted him, her tongue teasing his.
He’d refused to rush the moments. Stayed her with the strength of his hands, as they traced the length of her body. He worshiped her, in the only way he knew to worship, with his hands, his lips, all the while his legs straining with tension, his manhood wanting to plunge, hips to buck. Torturous heaven as her fingers tickled, ran through the hairs of his chest, brushed his nipples. Before he could catch his breath, she dipped her head, nipped where her fingers had just been. He barely felt it for the anticipation as her hand glided down, down.
“Sweet Jesus,” he howled, as she wrapped those fingers firmly around him. Bit back on the sound he made, as he didn’t want to wake the boy. Panting, eager, his lips found her breast, suckled like a starving child, for he was starving, starving for the taste of her, for knowing her. He’d wanted her since he was old enough to want. He’d dreamt of her, worried about breaking through that wall she built, and here he was, shattering her defenses to find the true lady warrior, all hot and eager and wild as any Celtic Queen set on battle.
And she was winning, thank all that was good. She was winning and the winning was better than any loss he’d ever had and the reality more than a dream could conjure.
He’d intended to tickle and tease her for a night of seduction, but he couldn’t do it. He lifted her up, stunned, when she guided him to her tight depths. He thought he’d died, reached sweet heaven. She rose and fell on him, he bucked and played with her, his hand teasing her little button of pleasure, his mouth tasting the salt of her breast, her shoulder, finally her mouth. A ravaging kiss swallowed his bellow as he filled her with his seed.
Oh dear God, if you really are there, let this seed take. Make her mine.
A night more powerful than the hardest won battle. Full of giving and taking and feeling.
He woke, the next dawn, to find her, once again, at her prayers—only this time, tears streamed down her cheeks, as she made her supplications.
Tears? Had she felt shame for what they did? He’d asked her, bluntly, not even waiting for her to close with her God.
“Are you weepin’ for shame?” He hadn’t meant to shout, but he was that stunned. “For there’s no shame in our comin’ together.”
She’d been as stunned as he, turning to him, her eyes wide, still wet and brimming and then she ran to him. “Och, no, never. I’ve known shame and that wasna’ it.” And she’d clung to him as if she’d never see him again.
Another confirmation, she would still say good-bye. And he’d not had a chance to remind her of what they had together because, in his anger, his frustration, he’d woken Deian.
“Want to hunt, lad? We’re needin’ some fresh meat.” And he glared at Seonaid. Let her feel what it was like to be on her own.
Two days ago that was. They’d wounded a deer, tracked it. Deian made the final kill. Together they gutted the animal, skinned it, headed back to the camp, and that’s when they saw the farmhouse. An old man and his wife, who offered the little they had and begged them to stay, to have the comfort of their bed.
So they’d traded the venison for a bit of oats and stayed for the night, leaving at daylight. Even then, the old couple pushed him to a promise. They were to take some of the venison to the couple’s cousins, who lived halfway between Eriboll and them.
“It’s not far off your path,” the old woman explained, “And they’ll treat you well.”
So the next night, they stayed at another cottage. And with every night apart, he knew Seonaid’s plan to go off on her own would grow stronger. And now, here they were with Eriboll in sight, when they’d be in a town.
Another night apart, fearing Seonaid would not be there when they got back to the camp.
He finally got a taste of her and he was back to starving. How was he to woo her with his body when they weren’t even near each other of a night?
Worse, she was right. Even the cottagers, living as remote as they did, asked about Glen Toric and the renegades and the renegade’s sister and her lad born of incest.
Word spread, people knew; but what they knew was second, third, even fourth hand. They wanted the tales from someone who had been there.
Padraig knew the rules of hospitality, his role as guest, to break the tedium of lives with tales of the clan. So he told of the confrontation with the Gunns and fed them with the capture of the renegades, the battle, the punishment, and the executions.
Every night apart, his heart remained with Seonaid, who they left alone with the horses, off in the hills where anything could happen. And his anger grew, that she was right and he didn’t know what to do about it.
Deian pushed his way between the adults, jolting Padraig’s attention back to the bluff, with Seonaid and the lad looking over the village.
“Look, Ma,” the lad pointed, “there’s a boat below, on the beach, and peop
le.”
“Where?” Padraig asked, even as he urged Seonaid and Deian to crouch down.
Sure enough, there was a long narrow boat pulled onto the shore. Men were loading it, but with what? There were no houses, no storage barns, just a gravelly beach.
“Trouble?” Seonaid asked.
“Aye. If that ship is trying to hide, it’s doin’ a damn good job of it.”
“It’s hiding on purpose?”
“I’ve no way of knowing that, but see the jut of land there? It would block the boat from view of the town.”
“Ma,” Deian interrupted. “They have a picture of a red lady on the front of their boat, like the men we hid from.”
“He’s right, Padraig. I think that’s the same boat.”
The wind stole Seonaid’s cap. She clambered after it, only to stop. “No,” she said, as she shook her head. “It can’t be.”
“What?” Padraig asked.
“There, south and to the west, just coming over that rise. I think they have prisoners, three, tethered to one another. I canna’ tell, but it looks to be women.”
“Shite!” Padraig cursed. “Shite, shite, shite.” He pushed back, away from the edge and rose, paced, threw his own cap to the ground. “Come on. I’ve got to get you away from here.”
“What are they doing?” she asked, but he turned away to grab his cap and hers. “Padraig!” she snapped. “Why are they taking people?”
“You donna’ want to know.”
“Aye, I do.”
This was not good, but he couldn’t put her off without a shouting match and they couldn’t risk that. “Slaving. That’s what I think they’re doing, slaving.”
Her eyes grew wide. “The gold coins?”
“Aye.” He looked at her, then away. “I think they were waiting for your brother.”
“Lochlan?” she whispered “That’s why he was stealing all those lasses. He was selling them.”
“Aye. That’s what I’m thinking.”
Seonaid headed back toward the edge of the cliff. Padraig tried to stop her. “No!” She shrugged him off. “I have to see if those are lasses they have.”