“Lass, have a care,” Cameron said, then groaned louder.
She pulled her hand back long enough to lick the pearly drop from her thumb.
Yum. So, this is what being in control feels like.
Iona liked it, but was well acquainted with the man in her grasp. It was best not to play with fire. As she thought of what to do next, his hand fastened over hers and forced her back around his rigid length.
He showed her how to caress him in long, slow strokes. Once she got the idea, he released her and collapsed back into the bedding. Iona stroked him, marveling at how his body shivered. The cutest little noises filled the room, while his hips rose and fell. She glanced at his face where he’d clenched his jaw and shut his eyes.
“Ye need to stop, love,” he whispered.
“Why?” She pushed up onto one elbow without releasing him. With the moonlight on his face, he looked like a golden God; Apollo or Achilles in the flesh. His cheeks had turned ruddy; his eyes partial slits. This was what desire looked like.
Iona released her grip around him, and waited. Cameron closed his eyes, and his chest rose and fell. Eager to get to the next step, Iona poked him. His eyes opened, and he stared up at her.
“My turn?”
Cameron smiled and said, “Remove yer nightclothes, love.”
His endearment brought about a pleasant throbbing between her legs and a slight bout of dizziness. Her breasts felt swollen and heavy. Anticipation drove her to push up onto her knees. She drew the gauzy gown over her head and, even in the dark, she suspected he could see her breasts. The idea made her nipples harden. Tingles tiptoed down her spine to nestle between her buttocks.
“Yer beautiful, love.”
“What now?”
“Kiss me.”
It wasn’t a request, she noted. The reflection in his voice was full of harsh desire. For her. Placing a palm on his chest, she bent and brushed her lips over his. He tasted of Scottish ale and something stronger.
“Have you been drinking whisky?” The overuse of liquor might explain why he showed up in her room and had shucked his clothes. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. She pulled away, but he wrapped a muscled arm around her waist.
“Only one glass with Marcus. I am not drunk, nor would I wish to be. Yer intoxicating kisses be enough.” When he tugged her shoulder, Iona collapsed on top of him.
She squirmed until she lay splayed across his chest and groin. The hard ridge of his desire pressed against her woman’s center, and she gasped. He laughed, and Iona relaxed, soothed by his jovial attitude.
“What do we do next?”
“Iona, ye are a treasure and I wish I could give ye the world.”
“No one can do that.”
“Aye, but I can give ye pleasure, if ye trust in me this night.”
“I was attacked by a sorcerer, traveled through time, and battled knife-wielding ruffians. I’m still following you on this crazy adventure. How could I not trust you? Teach me?”
Cameron released a long, deep breath as if pondering a weighted decision. “Sit up and straddle me. I wish I could go slower, lass, but ye excite me.” Desire sparkled in his eyes, and his hands helped her rise over him.
“Is that a bad thing?” Iona asked, peering down at him.
He cupped her bottom and helped to center her over his abdomen and rigid length. She pressed against him, and the heat from his skin transferred to the sensitive nub between her spread legs.
“I am afraid I shall explode before I can give ye a taste of loving,” he whispered. The tip of his swollen shaft brushed the damp curls between her thighs. Her womb tightened, and tingles of pleasure burst from deep inside her cleft.
Oh, my!
“You? Afraid?” she asked, her voice faltering. She suddenly found it difficult to breathe. Then she spied the beads of perspiration dotting his forehead and the strain in his clenched jaw.
Power washed over her; power over the man beneath her, and it made her giddy. The punch drunk sensation felt nice. Would Cameron feel nice inside her?
As if on cue, he growled and lifted his hips and caused his perfect length to caress her inner thighs. She gushed between her legs, and pleasure circled the tiny nub between her curls.
“Up on yer knees, lass,” he ordered, and she complied. His hand reached between them, and he positioned himself beneath her slit. “Trust me and lower yer body onto mine.”
Iona trusted him. They had survived danger after danger. If she’d been unintentionally saving herself for a worthy man, he was that man.
She did as ordered, her smirk hopefully announcing she’d let him get away with ordering her around this one time. She sank toward his groin. A pinch, followed by Cameron’s pleasure-filled moan, rewarded her with the sweetest sensations. Inside her body, crazy little tingles grew. Cameron’s hands grasped her waist and she continued her slide downward until her curls tangled with his.
“Ye are hot and wet, love. How does it feel to ye?” The concern in his voice moved her to lean forward and kiss him. The delicious friction of their bodies yielded another manly moan. She licked his lips, then bit the bottom one.
In response, he jerked upward. She released his succulent mouth and sat upright. He felt so good. Deep inside her, filled to the hilt, she felt him shudder. Her body responded, the throb deep and delicious as a ride at the fair.
A roller coaster, she decided. She raised her body with her knees, again. Before his shaft could fully escape, Iona slid back down.
“This feels pretty good,” she said. Up and down, up and down, her ride continued. Pressure built while his hands slid up along her ribcage to cup her breasts. She arched her back as deeper, exhilarating sensations spread throughout her body in a confusion of tingles, shivers, and throbs.
Cameron thumbed a taut nipple, and she gasped at the sensation. His hand slid downward, then tunneled through her curls to the little hidden nub. He fingered the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing and plucking until she couldn’t stop twitching.
She moved faster. Every cell sprang to life. Her heart rate soared, and her breaths grew shallow. Perspiration dotted the valley between her swollen breasts, and a white light formed behind her closed eyelids.
“Cammie?”
“Go with it, love. Soar. Let yer body fly.”
She did.
* * *
Iona stretched, then winced. She remembered in vivid detail that she and Cameron had spent the night in each other's arms, exploring their bodies and making love until dawn. Sunlight streamed through the open curtain. She covered her eyes with her hand.
“Time to leave, lass.”
“Now? It can't be morning already. I didn’t sleep.”
“ ‘Tis true, love,” Cameron said, the smile in his voice preceding his laugh.
She shot to a sitting position.
The bedcovers toppled to her waist and her hair flew in all directions. A rumbling gasp from the doorway proved to come from a shocked Cameron. Fully dressed, he resembled a Highland God; all gathered wool, crisp white shirt, and boots. His dark amber eyes widened.
Oops, he caught me staring.
His only saving grace was his loose blond hair and Viking features. They softened the hard line of his mouth.
Gathering the covers, Iona covered her naked breasts. “I'm coming.”
Cameron's eyebrows rose.
Guess the word means the same everywhere.
“Give me a moment to dress.” Her heart thudded and her thighs dampened at the memory of a naked Cameron as he coaxed her with another orgasm. A desperate urge to wash in private meant the fun and games were over. For now.
“We must break our fast and leave within the hour. Dress yerself warmly, and meet me in the great hall.” An odd look colored his face for just a second as if recalling exactly what had transpired between them, last night. He closed the door with a thud. Was he embarrassed? Was he sorry?
Am I?
Her true self had surfaced beneath his touch; a sensuo
us creature who enjoyed every minute of his ravishment. She groaned when she recalled what he told her about tonight. They’d sleep on the forest floor, not even in a tent.
Iona slipped from bed, and dampened a piece of linen in a bowl of icy water. After washing, she dressed in a borrowed, serviceable, gray frock. She finger-combed her wild curls and missed Jake’s iron spikes. She packed her meager assortment of clothes, shoes, and cloak, then skipped down the stairs as lighthearted as she'd ever been.
When she spied Cameron speaking with Marcus Mackenzie on the dais, her breath caught in her throat. Why had such a powerful man allowed her to set the pace for her own seduction? Cameron had proved insatiable, and the soreness between her legs was her reward. Perhaps a night apart was a sane decision.
“Sit here, lass,” Cameron ordered, pointing to the chair beside her satchel.
Iona acquiesced to his throaty demand. She felt too good to argue, and was happy he’d retrieved her things.
“Marcus was updating me concerning an evil menace that has plagued the valley from here to the Sutherland border.”
“Aye, Kirk has heard of the sorcerer as well. He stole valuable potions from their healer’s cottage.”
“A Sorcerer?” Iona slapped a hand on her chest, then glanced at Cameron. Concern colored his face with worry lines. “Can you describe him?”
“Cameron asked the same question. Those that have seen him describe him as black-cloaked, with long gray hair and eyes like flame, carrying a large staff. Have ye come across such a person?”
“Aye,” Cameron said.
Iona nodded, and thought back to the fire in Dorcas’ tent. “Has he been seen recently?”
Marcus nodded, and Iona's breath caught. Tense silence followed until Fia walked in the room. Iona's new friend looked so excited to see her, she failed to notice the servant who entered from the kitchen and carried a large, lidless pot.
They collided.
When the boiling stew sloshed over the sides, Fia screamed. Everyone rushed to her side by the high table, but Iona paused to grab a pitcher. After sniffing it to make sure it was water, and not ale, Iona dumped it on Fia’s arm. The skin already bubbled with a second-degree burn.
“Bring more fresh water and some clean towels,” she ordered. Marcus relayed the order to another servant while Cameron helped Fia to a nearby bench. After making sure the hot liquid had not burned her anywhere but her forearm, Iona squeezed her hand in sympathy.
“Don't worry. I can heal the burn and stop the pain.”
Fia glanced up from her wounded arm, and searched Iona’s face. She wasn't sure what concern caused all the blood to rush from Fia’s face. She’d treat the injury because the young woman was a new friend, and she had the wherewithal to alleviate her pain.
The server returned with water and linens. Iona dug inside her satchel, pulled a small packet out, and tore it open with her little sgian dubh. After dribbling cold water over the injured area, she patted the skin dry. She mixed the powder in a small trencher, dabbed it on the Fia’s burned forearm, then wrapped it with the clean cloth.
“Keep your arm covered and dry, and by dinner time you'll be fine.”
When Iona stood and turned to talk to Marcus, a strange feeling skittered down her spine. She glanced around the great hall. Everyone’s attention had locked on her. She slipped the packet and knife back in her pocket and walked over to Cameron.
“Everyone is staring at me.”
Before Cameron could comment, a servant girl cried out, “Witch!”
All hell broke loose.
* * *
“This looks familiar,” Iona said as she surveyed the interior of her cell; the same bed, the same basket of fruit, and the same eerie feeling that things were not going to end well. She didn’t usually put a lot of faith in premonitions, but she’d had a few over the years; enough to make her take notice.
Smoothing her hair back over her shoulders, she concentrated on what she’d read in history books about people accused of witchcraft. People of the 16th century referred to witchcraft as witchery.
“Are ye okay, lass?” Cameron's voice echoed off the dungeon walls, originating from a cell at the far end of the hall. His voice washed over her and filled her with a sense of peace. They were in this together, and it was all her fault.
“I’m fine but I think I made a tactical error.”
“Aye. They act as if ye put the evil eye on their cattle.”
“All I did was heal an injury. Evil eye?”
“Witches have long been accused of causing milk cows to dry up. ‘Tis a killing offense.”
“All I did was use some healing herbs. Confervae—you might call it linarich—and ragwort to heal the burn. Blackberry leaves to reduce the swelling, and the like. Common stuff. I had no idea people of this time considered it black magic.” She kicked a toe in the dirt when she remembered that Marcus had confiscated her satchel. Again.
“Like Haven, ye underestimate yer enemy.”
His reference to Haven she understood. She’d taught Haven much, and they shared their knowledge of herbs, potions, and minerals.
“Why are you in the dungeon?”
“I be here because I threatened Marcus the moment his guards touched ye.”
A surge of joy flooded her at the image of her knight in shining armor. “What do you think they're going to do to me?”
“Ye might be drowned, strangled, or burned at the stake.”
Cameron's words sunk in, and she shivered. Dejected, she collapsed on the small bed and covered herself with the scratchy wool blankets. Something skittered across the ceiling, but she had more important things to consider.
“Reminds me of a saying my dad used to share. ‘If you do something good no one remembers, but if something bad happens no one forgets.’ My first instinct was to help Fia.”
“Yer instincts will get us both killed.”
CHAPTER 20
“Welcome back to Castle Ruadh, Kirk. Yer arrival is auspicious, to say the least. We have much to talk about, ye and I,” Marcus said, smiling at Haven.
“You remember my betrothed, Haven MacKay.”
“My lady.”
“How are you Marcus. Where is Lady Fia? Still keeping her in bed?” Haven had discovered Marcus and Kirk's fiancée in Marcus's bed at Bull’s Taverns the night Cameron Robeson was shot with an arrow trying to rescue her. Her new friend, Balfour, had died during the rescue attempt. She'd gotten away, saved Cameron, and found Kirk at the inn.
She had assumed he had struck Marcus down and taken his fiancée back. Finding out that Marcus and Fia were in love, and that the marriage Fia and Kirk planned would not take place, had given her hope. She'd taken Iona's advice.
I found the man of my dreams and held on tight.
“Lady Fia has been injured, and is a victim of witchery as well.”
Kirk glanced at her then quickly returned his attention to their host. He probably worried Skye had come here. She had gone missing, and had probably used her spells to travel.
Kirk was beside himself with worry. Haven, too. The 16th-century was hard on anyone who practiced anything that the people of this time could construe as witchcraft. Haven kept her use of potions, powders, and gemstones a secret among Kirk’s clan, but Skye flaunted her gifts.
Haven was the clan’s village healer, and had learned to rely on the medicinal herbs of the time to replace the lack of modern medicine. Willow bark worked for pain, and yarrow root staunched bleeding. A few mumbled spells she recalled from the ancient book she’d left behind at the Highland Games helped speed healings.
Skye, on the other hand, liked to shout her spells from the mountaintops, in full view of anyone and everyone. Luckily for her, she was the sister of the clan’s Chieftain.
“Please tell us what happened.” When Fia walked into the room, relief flooded Haven. The young woman's face lit up when she saw her guests, but Haven’s attention locked on Fia’s bandaged forearm.
“Are you
okay?”
“I be fine, but Marcus has been quite inhospitable to our guests. When he accused my dear friend of witchery and threw her and her handsome companion in the dungeon, I was beside myself with grief, especially when Iona claimed kinship with my husband.”
Blood rushed from Haven's head. She swayed, and Kirk caught her by the elbow. He helped her to a bench beside one of the heavy wood tables.
“Haven? ‘Tis it the child ye carry?” Kirk whispered. The concern evident in his furrowed brow filled her heart with love. How could she have ever considered leaving this man and returning to her own time?
“I'm fine, just surprised. I have a feeling I know who Marcus and Fia’s guests are, and you're not going to like it.” When Kirk's eyes widened, she cupped his cheek and brushed a lock of his dark red hair away from his face.
Kirk straightened and walked over to Marcus, his hand fisted around the hilt of his dirk. Her husband was a warrior. A Highlander. Without even knowing the names of the people in the dungeon, he would demand their release. Then again, if he was smart, he'd demand their names first.
“Who are these guests and why do ye claim them as witches?”
He's too damn smart.
Marcus smiled. “First, Kirk, tell me the reason for yer visit?”
Dorcas Swann had suggested they visit. She’d popped into their castle a few nights ago, suggested they travel back to Wick, then disappeared. Haven should've realized the woman did nothing without reason. She had obviously sent them here to help the jailed people. If she ever saw Dorcas Swann again, she'd have to ask her how she knew.
“A mutual friend recommended this be a good time to renew friendships, and to see how yer men handle the Keith holdings. Word has spread, and I hope no battles are on the horizon.” Kirk said, omitting any mention of Dorcas.
“Let us break open a barrel of ale and drink to peace, something long missing from the people of Castle Ruadh.”
The suggestion appeased Kirk, but Haven wasn't fooled. Marcus knew what Kirk would do the minute he found out Cameron Robeson was within reach of her. He'd kill Cameron without hesitation. Haven could not allow his slaughter.
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