Seducing a Scottish Bride

by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

  Then, he spun around and crossed the room before his wits left him. He cracked the door just enough to peer into the darkened passage beyond.

  “Guard!” he called, knowing one would be lurking somewhere.

  Sure enough, the Dragon soon appeared. “Aye, sir?” The young man stood erect, the light of a handheld rush torch illuminating his pockmarked face.

  Ronan stepped closer to the door, making sure he blocked the guard’s view into the room. Then he leaned forward to whisper into the Dragon’s ear.

  “As you wish, sir.” The guard couldn’t quite hide his surprise. “I’ll be back with it anon.”

  Ronan kept his back to the room as he waited. Primed as he was, even one quick over-the-shoulder glance at the temptation behind him was too great a risk.

  It’d been too long since he’d lain in lust with a woman.

  And — he now knew — he’d never before lain in love with one.

  “Sir, I have it.” The Dragon’s voice came through the crack in the door.

  Ronan thrust a hand into the shadows, seizing the meat-bone. “I thank you — now see that my lady and I are no’ disturbed.”

  Before the guard could respond, he shut and bolted the door. Then he drew a great breath, put back his shoulders, and marched over to the hearth fire.

  “For you,” he announced, giving Buckie the bone. “Consider it a bribe.”

  “A bribe?” She stepped out of the window alcove. “For Buckie?”

  “ O-o-oh, aye, something to keep him occupied.” He started forward, pulling off his shirt as he went. “I’ll no’ have him watching what I’m about to do to you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  And what is that?”

  The sweet huskiness of his lady’s voice slid through Ronan like honeyed wine. He stepped closer to her, letting his gaze rake her up and down.

  He almost envied his plaid.

  Its soft woolen folds clung seductively to her lush, curvaceous body, the tartan — his very own — molding the generous swells of her breasts and the ripe sweep of her well-rounded hips in ways that were dangerous for a man.

  Especially a Highlander.

  “ So-o-o?” She tossed back her hair. “What are you going to do to me?”

  Ronan didn’t trust himself to speak.

  Not that she needed his answer anyway. The flash in her eyes and the way she bit her lower lip revealed that she already knew.

  She stood before him glowing and unafraid, her plaid-wrapped body gilded by firelight. His heart caught and the air around him ignited, his need to have her beneath him almost bringing him to his knees.

  “I do have an idea.” She pressed him, this time moistening her lips, letting him catch a quick look at the tip of her sweet, pink tongue. “Can it be what I hope?”

  Her eagerness pushed him over the edge and he tossed his shirt to the rushes, closing the space between them with three long strides.

  Reaching for the plaid, he hooked his fingers into its warmth and stared down at her, his blood alive and his heart thundering. His entire body burned and he craved every sweet inch of her, ached to run his hands all over her naked skin, kissing and licking her everywhere.

  “Well?” She wet her lips again.

  “Ach, lass,” he almost snarled, “I’m more of a mind to show than tell you.”

  With one swift flick of his wrists, he jerked the tartan off her and tossed it aside. “Do you know what it’s done to me, watching you prance about the room, naked in my colors?”

  “So it’s my own good self in your plaid that brought you around?” She twirled in a deliciously bare circle, her eyes lighting with delight. “And here I thought it would be my golden hip-belt and siren bauble that would sway you.”

  “You swayed me! And if you think otherwise, then you know naught of a Highlander’s passion!” He grabbed her by the shoulders, yanking her close for a hot, demanding kiss.

  “I burn for you,” he vowed, speaking the words against her cheek. “I have done since that first day I saw you — in mist on a slender sickle of shingled strand!”

  “Ronan . . .” She spoke his name like a benediction, her soul breaking on his need for her.

  She was falling into him, spiraling ever deeper into her love for him, losing herself while gaining so much. Her heart trembled and sweet belonging rippled through her, sealing their bond.

  “Lass.” The endearment made her shiver.

  He thrust his hands into her hair and kissed her again, deeper this time, all the desire in him plundering and devouring her lips. She cried out and opened her mouth beneath his, her tongue tangling wildly with his. Leaning into him, she melted with her sighs, let him drink his fill of her breath and intoxicate himself on the taste of her.

  “You have no need of adornments,” he panted, breaking away to drop to his knees before her on the discarded plaid. “Leave such gee-gaws for a man unable to appreciate a woman’s sleek, hot flesh and all her lively allures. It is you, lass, and you alone, who stirs me.”

  He slid his hands around her hips, digging his fingers into her curves and drawing her close. “Your siren bauble is fine,” he assured her, rubbing his face against the softness of her belly, “but it is this I couldn’t resist!” He looked up at her, his gaze smoldering as he pressed his lips to her naked skin then dragged his mouth lower, raining kisses across her fragrant female curls.

  “Sweet lass — forgive me, but I canna resist you.” He tightened his grip on her, grinding his face against her heat. “I tried, I swear, but —”

  “ No-o-o!” Gelis twined her fingers in his hair, pressing him to her. “ ’Tis right and good, I say you! Everything between us.”

  “Then dinna deny me . . .” He ran his hands up and down her legs, kissed and nipped the inside of her thighs, circling ever higher until his tongue teased round her most sensitive spot, that one heated swirl splitting her.

  “Ach, gods!” she cried, her back arching when he continued to flick his tongue there. “What are you doing?”

  “Naught that I willna be enjoying the whole night through!” He licked her then, a long-broad-tongued sweep the full tingling length of her.

  Looking up at her, he held her gaze, his own smoldering. “All that I’d heard of you did you no justice,” he breathed, the words warm silk against her flesh. “I dinna think I’ll e’er be able to sate myself on you.”

  “Then . . .” Gelis couldn’t speak. Just seeing his face poised so close to her feminine ache sent threads of delicious golden warmth spinning through her.

  Desire thrummed the air and he leaned closer again, his mouth less than a whisper away, but she could feel his tongue on her even without touching, the sensation making her heart beat faster.

  “You taste like molten honey.” He eased her thighs wider apart, licked her more fully. “I canna breathe for wanting you, need your taste on the back of my tongue, your scent branded into my skin.”

  “ Then — ach dia!” She jumped when his tongue parted her, its hot velvety tip slipping inside her.

  He swept his hands up her sides to knead and plump her breasts, his thumbs sliding back and forth over her nipples as he licked her center again, once more swirling his tongue over and around that sweet wee place that made such intense pleasure pulse between her legs.

  “Then what, lass?”

  His voice a deep, sensual growl, he pulled back to peer up at her, his hand replacing his tongue, caressing and rubbing her intimately. “I’ve told you — I am lost. Tell me your desire, and it is yours, I swear it.”

  “Then make me yours.” She rushed the words, blurting them before his stroking fingers made her burst and shatter into thousands of tiny, mind-numbing pieces.

  Already she was spinning, the whole of her world whirling tighter and tighter until nothing remained but that bright, hot-throbbing pulse at her core.

  But her heart beat just as fiercely, and even through such blinding pleasure, she wanted more.

  “Take me now, this night
.” She pushed to her feet while she still could. “Unless” — she reached for his hand, the gesture pleading — “unless you fear sealing our handfast?”

  “I fear naught but losing you!” He grabbed her hand and upturned it, kissing the soft warmth of her palm. “That, and . . . hurting you.”

  “I know there will be discomfort.” She reached for him, curling her fingers around his need. “The greater pain would be missing it,” she said, squeezing.

  It was more than he could bear.

  “Then so be it!”

  He made to gather her in his arms, meaning to carry her to the bed, but she dropped onto the spread plaid, lying back and opening her arms to him.

  “Here, on your plaid.” She looked up at him, her eyes glittering in the candlelight. “I’d have you love me in the old way — in honor of our hills and the ancients so that they might bless our union.”

  “You bless us, sweetness.” Ronan bent to tug off his boots, then shoved down his hose, kicking them aside. He stretched out alongside her, certain she was indeed his blessing.

  He only hoped he could be hers as well.

  But then she circled her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her and all thought fled. Only his need to bury himself deep inside her remained. Burning with it, he shifted, covering her body with his. He kissed her long and hard, almost spilling when she lifted her knees and clamped her legs tightly around him.

  She rocked her hips, moving so that his hardness slid across her, the length of him pressing hotly against her slick, wet heat.

  He reached down between them, seeking that place again, rubbing and circling until she began to tremble and gasp with pleasure. And always, he kissed her, slanting his mouth over hers and kissing her deeply, sharing breath and letting his tongue tangle with hers until he could wait no more and a great shudder rolled through him, driving him dangerously close to losing control.

  “Now, Ronan!” she gasped as if she knew.

  “I must, lass.” He lifted up to look into her eyes. “I can stop no more.”

  And then he plunged into her, her sharp cry muffled by his kisses. He froze, holding still for a few tight, agonizingly beautiful moments, then began moving slowly, filling her inch by inch until he’d buried himself so deeply inside her he was sure he’d brushed her soul.

  “My Raven . . .” She raised her hips, intensifying their joining, then cried out when he lowered his head and began suckling her nipples as he started moving in and out of her.

  Slow smooth glides, long and deep.

  And still he kept a hand just there, his finger circling faster now, in sweet hot rhythm with his pumping hips. His strokes came harder and faster now, plunging deep, while the exquisite tingles streaming out from that other place dampened the dull pain inside her, spinning her closer and closer to a brilliant edge looming ever nearer each time his finger swirled over her.

  Then his finger stopped circling and he cried out, a great stinging heat flooding her even as she sped over that glittering edge, shattering and spinning, her own cry blending with his as she slowly drifted back down onto his plaid and the night-darkened room once again took shape and form around them.

  “Oh, dear saints,” she gasped when she could speak.

  “Sweet lass . . . you are magnificent.” He’d stilled on top of her, but he rolled off her now, gently drawing her into his arms to cradle her against him. “But I am sorry for the hurt —”

  “The wonder of it more than made up for the pain.” She twisted around to kiss him. “And I . . . I knew what to expect,” she added, sighing when he smoothed a hand down over her hip to toy softly with her damp maiden curls.

  But then his fingers stilled and the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing let her know he’d fallen asleep. Unfortunately, her arm had, too.

  She frowned.

  The sharp prickles jabbing up and down from her shoulder to her fingertips made it impossible for her to join him in his slumber.

  Nor could she move, for her arm had somehow slipped beneath him and he looked so dear in his sleep, she couldn’t bear the thought of disturbing him.

  So she lay as still and quiet as she could, her gaze on the moon-silvered window arch not far from where they lay on his plaid on the floor.

  The only open window in the room, it let in a draught of icy air, the night cold chilling her and raising gooseflesh on her skin. But if she craned her neck just a tiny bit, she could see the moon through the arch.

  Mostly hidden by wispy, wind-torn clouds, it sailed into view every once in a while and some strange something made her watch it.

  The same something — she suddenly knew with surety — that was lifting the fine hairs on her nape and causing her gooseflesh.

  It wasn’t the night cold at all.

  Her Raven’s naked body warmed her through and through, and the heat of her pleasure in him still pulsed and throbbed inside her.

  The chill came from within.

  And — she also knew — from whoever or whatever was out in that moonlight and wanting her attention.

  She shivered.

  The moon slid behind another cloud, its sudden disappearance plunging the bedchamber into darkness save for the faintly glowing embers of the hearth fire.

  Looking that way, her heart plummeted, for there could be no denying that Buckie had noticed the someone or something out there, too.

  The old dog’s head was raised, his alert stare fixed on the open window.

  Until he realized he’d been seen.

  At once, he dropped his head back down on his paws and, she suspected, feigned sleep. Just as she, too, meant to do, not wishing to alarm Ronan if he happened to waken and sense her ill ease.

  And she was concerned.

  More worried than she’d ever been since coming to Dare.

  Now she had far too much to lose.

  So she closed her eyes and summoned all her willpower to keep from glancing at the window arch again. Whoever or whatever wanted something from her would just have to wait.

  She’d deal with them on the morrow.

  She just hoped she could.

  She could do it.

  Standing on a high promontory on the distant Isle of Doon, Devorgilla tightened her knotty fists and scrunched her eyes to better peer down at the long line of breakers rolling toward the cliffs.

  But the night winds were fresh and the seas too choppy for her to see more than the white-crested swells and the little bay of rocks and sand far below her.

  “Ill limmer!” She resisted the urge to hobble back the way she’d come and then rummage through her spelling goods until she’d gathered enough of her more potent treasures to blast the long-nosed, white-bearded he-goat responsible for her present plight.

  He alone was the reason she stood shivering in the night wind.

  If he — whoever he’d been — hadn’t made it prudent for her to avoid using her cauldron steam to do her scrying, she’d be sleeping soundly on her pallet about now.

  Instead, she shuffled as close to the cliff edge as she dared and tried again to see what she needed on the surface of the dark, tossing waters.

  Somewhere on the moorland behind her, a night-bird called, breaking her concentration even as the moon suddenly rode high above the clouds. At once, a wide band of glittering silver stars lit the water, stretching toward her from the horizon, the moon’s bright light joining the white-foaming waves to ruin all chance of success.

  She needed a shining black surface, smooth and unrippled.

  Seeing no choice but to reach for deeper magic, she lifted her somewhat bristly chin and held out her arms, palms downward toward the sea.

  Then she started to chant, lifting her voice until bit by bit the twinkling silver swath of moonlight began to draw back toward the horizon.

  Encouraged, she splayed her fingers, curling just the tips so that all her power poured down the steep cliffside and into the water, her entire strength then flowing out over reef and rock to quiet the churning w
aves.

  Her arms began to tremble and she couldn’t stand very straight in the racing wind, but she remained where she was, mumbling her spelling words more softly now that the black water was stilling.

  And then she saw them.

  The crone hooted and hopped with glee, her incantations forgotten.

  Naked but for the plaid wrapped round them, her charges lay tightly entwined in intimate embrace. The maid’s tresses spilled bright across the man’s broad chest, and although she couldn’t tell for sure because of the tartan covering them, it appeared the girl had flung one leg across her slumbering lover.

  The man’s arms cradled her, holding her close, and the expression on his sleeping face left no doubt that the girl had finally claimed his heart.

  Her own heart tripping wildly, Devorgilla rubbed her hands together. She leaned a bit forward, peering even deeper now, trying to see past them.

  She needed to know the rest.

  She started chanting again, just a few special words this time, and — lo, her powers still humming — the sleeping couple and their plaid faded away, slowly replaced by tall stone walls, dark and forbidding.

  Her little friend sat on a tree stump not far away, his deep russet coat gleaming in a patch of moonlight, his bright yellow eyes fixed on a certain window arch.

  The crone’s heart swelled and she cackled her relief, more pleased than was good for her that the little dog fox had found his way safely to the blighted glen.

  And she could tell from the direction of his stare that his task would soon be completed.

  As if he sensed her, the fox blinked and lifted a paw in greeting. But before she could nod benevolently back at him, a great swirl of dark mist whirled across the water, blotting her view.

  “Did I not warn you not to meddle, woman?”

  “Gah!” Devorgilla jumped, nearly toppling over the cliff edge.

  “Shall I take your fool wits if you do not make use of them?” The familiar voice roared in her ears, deep, rumbling, and thunderous.

  And then he was there, glaring at her from the mist-cloud hovering somewhere between her and the sea. He raised an arm to point a bony finger at her, his long white hair and beard lifting on the wind.