Alex knew he was close to exploding within her. He could feel the pressure building, his sac tightened in anticipation, and his erection swelled even more. He reached between their bodies and searched for the sensitive bud that would stir her to the same level. He found it, and Maggie raced toward another orgasm with him. When he felt the first quivers of her release, he rolled her onto her back and thrust as deeply as he could into her molten passage. He felt his seed begin to escape as he plunged a few more times to gain his release.
He knew he yelled out her name as he surged inside her. Then he collapsed on top of her and prayed that he would still be alive after he calmed down. He eased off to one side, allowing her to catch her breath, too.
Alex knew that time had passed, but he couldn't tell how much. What had occurred between him and Maggie was more than just having sex. He knew that deep within himself. But he hesitated to speak, not knowing the right thing to say to her. He didn't know what this meant to her: A commitment? A physical release only? He knew it felt so right, being inside of her, joined to her body. Nothing he had ever done with any other woman came close to what he experienced with Maggie just now.
It felt so right, so good.
He must have dozed off because Maggie lay curled up at his side, her head resting on his chest. He smoothed the hair back from her face and shook her gently.
"Maggie. Maggie, love. It's time to wake."
It didn't work. He groaned. She was a bear to wake up. He shook her again, this time more firmly. When he got no response, he looked around and remembered where they were. He slid out from under her and ran down to the loch. He grabbed their shoes and his tunic and he dipped his tunic in the cold water. With it still dripping freely, he dashed back to the grove where Maggie lay, snoring and oblivious to the world.
"Maggie," he called once more. Alex knew what he was going to do was cruel, but he couldn't resist. He twisted the tunic and let the cold water drip onto her. The icy droplets hit her face and stomach and legs, and Maggie woke up screaming. When she realized who had done what to her, she jumped to her feet and started chasing him. Alex was not about to point out that she was as naked as he was!
They'd reached the water's edge when he stopped and let her catch him. He pulled her into his arms and they fell into the lake together. She was momentarily silenced as they went under the surface, but her screams pierced the air as they came back up.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Alex MacKendimen?" She stood up in the shallows and pushed the mass of sopping hair out of her eyes and over her shoulders. "It's freezing in this damned lake."
He clucked his tongue at her. "Maggie, lass, that's not the kind of language I would expect from a lady, ye know?"
He didn't know exactly what he had said to cause the change in her, but from her stricken look, he knew it involved Anice. She started to walk out of the lake when a loud cough startled them both.
"Alex, the laird thought it best if ye came back and practiced yer swordplay wi' the men instead of yer wench."
Brodie's voice was loud and mocking. He was sitting on the large, flat rock where Alex had first found Maggie.
It only took an instant for her to sink back into the deeper water with a squeak.
"I thank ye, Brodie, for delivering my faither's message. Ye can go now."
"But, Alex, I'm supposed to wait for ye and bring ye back."
"Thank ye again, Brodie, I can find my way back to the practice yard," Alex growled out from behind clenched teeth.
Brodie got to his feet. "Weel, if ye think ye can find yer way... I'll tell yer faither that ye be on yer way back." He ambled off into the woods, whistling a tune.
Maggie had already stumbled out of the water and was running for her clothes when Alex walked from the lake. He got to the clearing in the trees as she was squeezing the water from her hair.
"Ye are difficult to wake, and using the water was a cruel trick to use on ye. And I am sorry for Brodie finding us like that, Maggie. Can ye forgive me?"
"It wasn't your fault that Brodie came upon us like that, Alex. Our disappearance from the keep together was obviously noted. I'm just glad it was Brodie and not one of Anice's maids who found us like this." She gestured to their lack of covering.
He pulled on his breeches and tied them. He fought to get his boots on and then tugged his tunic over his head.
"I think it might be a good idea if we do not return together. Why do not ye take yer time getting dressed, and I'll see ye back at the keep later?"
At her nod, he started to leave. He turned and watched her stand and put her chemise back on. He covered the small distance between them in a few steps and wrapped her in his embrace. He touched his lips to hers, and he kissed her slowly and deeply. She sighed as he stepped away from her.
"And, Maggie, I did not."
"You didn't what, Alex?"
"I did not make love to Anice last night. I havna made love to any other woman or wanted to since I got to Scotland and met ye." She blushed at his words.
"Thank you for answering my question." He turned to go when he heard her say his words back to him. "And, Alex, I havna made love to any other mon or wanted to since I got to Scotland."
He liked the accent he heard in her voice. He smiled and waved and ran into the woods to catch up with Brodie.
Well, they would talk more tonight. And, he hoped, make love tonight, too.
Chapter 29
"It looks to me that the first time was a good one for ye and yer Alex."
Maggie wheeled around to identify the intrusion into her privacy. She had been lost in her thoughts about what had just happened between her and Alex and never heard the woman approach.
"What did you say?" she asked.
"I said that it looks to me that ye and yer Alex finally took the step."
Maggie could feel the blood drain from her face and was helpless to stop her reaction.
"I don't know what you mean. Who are you?" She clenched her hands together, trying to stop their trembling, but nothing could stop the god-awful fear that she and Alex had been exposed.
"I am called Moira. I'm the healer of the clan MacKendimen." The woman paused for a moment. "And some in the clan say I have the an-da-shealladh."
Maggie regretted not taking time yet to learn more of those tongue-twisting Gaelic words.
"The healer? The one who made the potion for me?" At her nod, Maggie continued, "You have my thanks for your help." Moira simply smiled in response.
"And-a-shee-lad?" Maggie stumbled over the words. "What does that mean?"
Moira chuckled at her pronunciation. "Nay, lass, no' even close! But I thank ye for trying to wrap that out-lander's tongue of yers around our good Gaidhlig words." Moira bent over and picked up one of the baskets at her feet. Maggie was so startled by this woman's sudden appearance that she had failed to notice them. Moira surprised her again by holding out one of the baskets for her to carry. "Come, lass, help an old woman in her task."
"You don't look old to me," Maggie said, not seeing a gray hair among the thick brown hair on the woman's head. She stuffed her scarf into the pocket of her skirt and held out her hand.
"And, ye do not sound English to me, lass."
Moira dropped the handle of the basket into Maggie's outstretched palm. Not able or willing to respond to her taunt, Maggie lifted the basket closer to her face and inhaled deeply, enjoying the freshness and fullness of the scents. She examined the contents and recognized several plants and flowers from nearby fields. Others didn't look familiar at all. She looked up to catch sight of Moira disappearing through the trees. After looking around the area to see if she'd left anything behind, Maggie then raced to catch up.
"You didn't tell me what anda-whatever means."
Moira continued at her brisk pace, never slowing down. She looked back over her shoulder at Maggie, smiled enigmatically, and said, "Two sights."
"Two sights?" Maggie asked again.
"Weel, that's
what the words mean, but ye probably know it as the second sight."
Maggie stopped dead in her tracks. Whatever confusion she had suffered before now turned to unadulterated terror. Those words were exactly what Mairi used to describe her gift: second sight. Was there a connection? What could or did Moira know?
"Come, lass. Visit awhile. I have ointments to make, and we can talk about ye and yer Alex." Moira's melodic voice drifted back to Maggie and shook her from her fear. As she looked around, Maggie didn't see anything that seemed familiar in this part of the woods. "And bring my basket wi' ye."
Maggie followed the bits of conversation as though she were following a road map, weaving through trees and bushes with Moira always just ahead, just out of sight.
Then, as if she opened a door into another world, Maggie broke into a clearing and the village was spread out before her. Clusters of four or five cottages each spread out between her and the castle wall. Smoke curled from openings in the roofs and added to the other smells she was just beginning to notice. The animal sounds and odors she had detected on her ride through the village were now amplified, louder and stronger because they were closer. Pigs snorted and rooted the ground in their pens. The shaggy cattle being driven to another roughly fenced yard made a sound unlike any moo she had ever heard. Maggie jumped back from their path and watched them tamely meander where they were guided by the man in charge.
After the herd passed by, Maggie turned and looked for signs of Moira. She followed a well-worn path that led around some of the cottages and toward a group of people who she could not understand. Approaching from behind she came upon a small group of young women who were giggling and blushing and primping. She didn't comprehend the words, but the actions were a constant through time and place. There must be a man around, a good-looking man, who they were trying to impress. She sidestepped the ensemble and was granted an unimpeded view of the village blacksmith at work.
He stood near a fire, working a piece of metal over the white-hot flame. Bang, bang, bang. The noise echoed out past her into the village. Even from this distance, she could feel the sweltering heat pouring from the forge and smell the odor of the heated metal as he worked it into a new shape with heat and water and brute force.
He wore no shirt, and the black trews he did wear were plastered to his lower body by the sweat that constantly flowed down his chest, stomach, and back. His long, black hair was braided back to keep it out of his face while working near the dangerous fire. Hair the same shade covered his well-developed chest and spread down into those pants. Maggie swallowed deeply and tried to look unaffected by this display of blatant, sensual manliness. She completely understood why the fair maidens of the village spent their time ogling this guy.
"What's his name?" she whispered to the girl nearest to her. After a moment's hesitation and no response, she gently nudged the girl nearest to her with her elbow and repeated her question.
"Pol," the young woman stammered out, "the blacksmith." The words ended on a feminine sigh that she had heard many times in the junior high hallway.
Pol paused in his work to wipe his eyes. Never putting his tool down, he dragged his forearm across his forehead and bridge of his nose. Before wielding his heavy hammer again, he stretched his arms over his head and then rotated them down, exposing his extremely well-shaped, muscular chest and back to his gathered fans. As Maggie watched him work his crowd, she couldn't help but appreciate his well-formed legs and behind and... Damn, this was fun, but it wasn't helping her find Moira. With Moira's basket still in her hand, Maggie stepped away from the adoring crowd and approached the blacksmith.
"Good day, Pol." Maggie heard the surprised gasps behind her.
"Good day to ye." His voice was deeper than the echo in the village well and his eyes were bluer than the loch on a sunny day. Something fluttered in her stomach in reaction to this stunning man.
"Can you tell me how to find Moira's cottage?" She held out the basket. "I have her herbs."
"Weel, lass, ye follow this path until it leaves the village, and ye will see Moira's place just afore ye enter the forest." He used one his of massive arms to point the direction.
"My thanks for the aid." Maggie gave a modest bow of her head to express her appreciation. Just before she took her first step on the indicated trail, Pol grabbed her hand. The onlookers hissed their disapproval.
"Ye should have a care wandering through the village alone. Some men willna respect yer place in Alex's life."
She pulled her hand free from his strong but not hurtful grip. "And you, are you one of those men?"
"Nay. I have all I could want," he answered with a genuine smile that revealed extremely attractive dimples and a cleft in his sculpted chin. "I do not need to go looking fer trouble wi' Alex's woman." Maggie relaxed her guard a bit and returned his smile. "But ye best be on yer way afore my watchers tell tales that are no' true." He nodded toward the bevy of beauties watching his every move.
"Again, I thank you. Have a good day, Pol."
"And a good day to ye, mistress."
As Maggie turned toward the edge of the work area, she heard an older woman yelling at the girls. Waving her arms and using a voice that Attila the Hun would have been proud of, she dispersed the crowd around the smithy. Pol, she noticed, went back to his work, but not without a farewell wink and nod to her.
* * *
A few minutes more of walking, and Maggie reached the edge of the village. There, tucked into the encroaching trees, was Moira's cottage. Maggie expected seven little men to come parading out at any moment, whistling their way off to work. She'd noticed that most doorways were smaller here, or should she say now. Another big difference was that each croft had an enclosed area for the animals to use when the weather was too cold. Luckily, it was the middle of summer, so they could keep the creatures outside. She didn't think she could ever get used to sleeping with those cattle!
At her approach, the door swung open, and Moira greeted her.
"Here, lass, let me take those." Moira took the basket and waved Maggie inside. "The water is still cool in that pitcher, if ye want to refresh yerself."
"Thank you, I am thirsty." Maggie took an earthenware mug and filled it. "Can I get you some?"
"Nay, lass, I already quenched my thirst afore ye got here. What took ye so long?" Moira began to sort the various plants into separate piles on the high worktable on one side of the room.
"I lost sight of you when we entered the village. I had to ask directions."
"Who did ye ask?"
"Pol, the blacksmith."
"Ah," Moira sighed, "he's a good mon."
Maggie could not believe her ears. She could swear that Moira meant more than just a simple comment.
"You know him well?" she asked innocently.
"Verra well, lass. And he's good, verra, verra good." Her voice lowered to a very throaty tone.
Maggie choked on the mouthful of water that almost made it down her throat. Moira smiled. "Are ye shocked? Ye, of all people, shouldna be."
"What do you mean, 'me, of all people'?"
"Weel, yer place is sleeping wi' the son of the laird. Why should someone else sharing their bed wi' another be such a shock to ye?" Moira's eyes and hands never left the task of sorting the contents of the baskets, but Maggie could feel that Moira was paying complete attention to her answers.
"It really isn't any of my business who you sleep with, Moira. It just surprised me that you would be so open about it to me."
"To ye?"
"I'm sure the rest of the village knows about your er... relationship with Pol. But I'm a stranger to you. Why share that with me?"
"Ye are not a stranger to me, Maggie Hobbs. I have been waiting for ye and yer Alex for a long time." The words sounded very familiar to her, and Maggie noticed that Moira was staring directly at her as she spoke now. The woman's eyes had taken on an unnerving glow.
"Why do you call him 'my Alex'?"
"He isna ours, is he?"
Maggie couldn't focus her eyes, once the room started to spin around her. She couldn't stand up, either. She was falling to the floor when the darkness crept up and claimed her.
* * *
"Here, lass, take a wee sip of this. It will clear yer head."
Maggie felt a gentle but strong hand lift her head and a cup at her lips. She managed a small taste before choking. The liquid burned its way down her throat, into her unsuspecting stomach, forcing tears to her eyes. Even the air pouring into her lungs burned like the fiery liquid. After a few coughing spasms, the burning subsided, and she tried to speak.
"What did you give me?" she asked hoarsely.
"Just a wee dram of the usig-beathe."
"Whisky?"
"Is that what ye call it? How do ye feel, lass?"
Maggie sat up and touched her forehead. With Moira's help, she stood, swaying slightly. She grasped the edge of the nearby table to get her balance. She closed her eyes and waited for the room to stop moving. "I think I'm all right now. I don't know what happened."
Moira took Maggie's hand and Maggie felt a wave of warmth and comfort spread through her whole body. Moira reached up and placed her palm to Maggie's cheek, pushing the hair away from her face in a motherly gesture.
"Ye have nothing to fear from me, lass. I am not a threat to ye or yer Alex. I may be the one able to help ye both."
Moira moved away from her and went back to sorting the plants, and Maggie stood forgotten for the moment. Before they could continue, a small boy stuck his head into the cottage through the top half of the door that Moira had left opened and called out to Moira.
"Is the Sassenach woman still here, Moira?"
"Aye, Robbie, and ye best be watching yer mouth. Ye do not have to insult the puir lass. I know that yer maither taught ye better than that."
The boy's eyes widened and his bottom lip trembled a bit, but he nodded his head, accepting Moira's correction.
A Love Through Time Page 18