by Cathy MacRae
He stretched beneath the covers, feeling warm and lazy, and more than a little aroused. He’d coaxed her out of that gown once, he was certain he could do it again. A wolfish grin spread across his face. Verra certain.
The contents in the pot bubbled and popped, reminding him he hadn’t eaten since the banquet the day before. Too concerned about getting Riona alone and naked, he’d let the prospect of food vanish from his list of priorities. Thank goodness his bride had a practical streak. Left to him, they’d have died hungry but happy. The odor of parritch reached his nostrils, and his stomach growled.
Riona faced him with a shy smile wreathing her face. “Are ye that hungry?”
Ranald chuckled. “Were ye still in this bed, I’d show ye hunger.”
Riona blushed prettily. “I thought perhaps ye’d need to build yer strength.”
He rose from the bed and crossed the room, completely unconcerned his wife eyed his naked form. He stooped and sniffed the gurgling pot. “Where did ye get the parritch?”
“I found the oats in a cabinet.” Riona arched a brow. “I can cook, ye know.”
“Verra little about ye surprises me anymore, Ree.” He nodded at the pot. “Can ye find a bowl or two? I’m beginning to feel faint with hunger.”
Riona laughed and swung a fist playfully at his shoulder. Ranald easily caught her wrist and exerted gentle pressure to pull her against him. The plaide slipped from Riona’s shoulders, baring the plunging neckline of her gown.
Ranald’s eyes crossed. Only yesterday he’d seen the same skin, the same shadowed valley between her breasts, teasing him from beneath delicate lace. But since then he’d explored every inch of the scented, sensual expanse with his fingers, his lips and tongue. Parritch could never be as satisfying.
His hands skimmed the gown from her shoulders and scooped her full breasts into his palms. He bent to kiss each nipple, pausing to plunge his tongue into the deep crevice between her breasts.
“I should move the pot away from the fire,” Riona murmured as she swayed toward him, her breath short and rapid. Ranald reached behind her and snatched up a piece of firewood. Hooking it behind the metal arm holding the pot above the flames, he pulled it away from the heat, splashing some of the contents onto the fire. The odor of burning oats filled the room.
Riona wrinkled her nose. She wanted to fuss at her hard work spilled on the hearth, even if it was just to pick fun at how easily she turned his attention back to the bed they had not left since the evening before. His hands stroking her breasts sent the witty words right out of her brain as heat pooled low in her stomach. Her legs trembled and she swayed against the hearth, inadvertently planting her hand on the pot of parritch, scorching her palm.
She sucked in a startled breath, curling her hand protectively against her chest. Ranald pulled her against him, whispering soothing words against her hair. She dashed tears of pain from her eyes, scrubbing them away with the back of her other hand.
“I’m sorry, Ree. Let me see yer hand, love.”
His words eased her pain as much as his touch, and she reluctantly allowed him to open her hand. He stared a moment at the angry pink skin then placed a feather-light kiss on the tips of her fingers.
“I’ll get ye some fresh water to bathe it in.” He found a square of linen near the ewer stand and soaked it, pressing the cold, wet fabric against her palm. Riona hissed at the flash of pain, but settled as the sting eased. He rinsed the towel again in the cold water, replacing the compress on the burn.
“It feels much better, Ranald. Thank ye.” She gave him a faint smile. “I’m sure Tavia has some burn salve around here.”
“Tell me where to look and I’ll get it for ye.”
Riona nodded at a shelf at the back of the room. “There. Out of the light, ye’ll see several jars of ointments and such.” Ranald moved to the row of jars. “The one on the end.” She motioned with a forefinger. “No, the other end.”
Ranald held up the jar in question.
Riona shrugged. “Let me smell it.”
He obligingly removed the lid and held it for her approval. Riona’s lips curved in a wry smile. “Och, aye. That’s it.”
Ranald carefully dabbed the pungent salve on her skin, then ripped the towel into narrow strips, using them as a bandage. He tied the ends in a knot under her knuckles. “Is that too tight?”
Riona flexed her fingers and shook her head. “Nae.”
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the bandaged palm. Numbness had already spread across the damaged area, thanks to the salve, and Riona felt no pain. His gaze hooked hers, and he placed kisses on her wrist, her forearm, and the crook of her elbow. She sucked in a breath as his lips tickled the sensitive skin in the bend of her arm. By the time his kisses reached the hollow of her neck, her burn was completely forgotten, her only heat coming from the fire raging elsewhere.
Within moments, the parritch forgotten, other hungers ignited, and Riona wrapped her arms about Ranald’s neck, arching her body against his. She’d awakened to a stranger in her bed, an unfamiliar soreness to her muscles, and a wonder at the change in herself. Ranald’s touch melted her like nothing she’d ever experienced before. She thirsted for him, for the feel of his skin against hers, for the thickness of him filling her until she cried out with the pleasure of it.
Ranald stepped away enough to shove her gown past her hips. Thus freed, it slithered to the floor, baring her to his gaze. Her hands sought him, found him, hard and pulsing in her hand. She stroked the length of his cock, rubbing her thumb across the tip, spreading the moisture beaded there.
Ranald groaned and Riona formed a secret smile to draw such a reaction from him. She knelt before him and nuzzled the inside of his thighs, nipping lightly at the skin above his knees. Ranald’s hands clenched in her hair. Taking her time, she thoroughly investigated the soft, hidden skin at the juncture of his thighs, breathing his musky scent.
She looked up and took note of how his eyes remained tightly closed. Judging from his intent expression, Riona assumed she must be doing something right. Remembering the way he’d caressed her the night before, she thought to turn the tables and stroked his staff, marveling at the satiny texture of his skin. Following where her fingers led, she showered him with hot kisses.
Ranald gripped her shoulders and hauled her against him. Scooping her up, he lifted her until she wrapped her legs about his waist. He carried her back to the bed and lowered her to the mattress. Reaching between them, he seated himself against her opening, rubbing his finger across the sensitive nub swelling at his touch. Riona tightened her legs around him, pulling him within as she fell apart at his first thrust, and he followed quickly.
He leaned over her, hands on either side, elbows locked. His breath came hot and hard as he shuddered from the aftereffects of their loving. Riona gripped the crumpled bed clothes in her fists, lingering waves of pleasure washing through her. Slowly she relaxed, her legs sliding to the bed as she released him.
“I think we should nap before we eat.” A smile warmed his words.
“Are ye sure we won’t do this again when we wake?”
Ranald chuckled. “Let’s see how hungry we are by then.”
Riona swatted a hand feebly at his chest. “I’m starving.”
He pushed his hips against her. “I thought ye felt fairly well satisfied.”
“Different appetite, my love.”
Ranald stilled. Riona sensed his eyes on her, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. Ranald slid to the bed beside her. He gently turned her face to his and kissed the tip of her nose.
“I’ve no’ heard ye say that before.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Did ye mean it?”
With a deep breath, she considered her answer. “Aye.”
Riona peered around the small cottage. Everything was in place, the crockery wa
shed and tucked away, the burned parritch cleaned from the hearth. She spied her bag of belongings, packed and leaning against the chair leg. Their two days alone had flown past, and she wasn’t sure if she knew how she would face everyone at the castle, certain they would understand the languid, satisfied movements of her body. The way her heart quickened every time she glanced at Ranald, heard his voice, anticipated his touch.
“Are ye ready, love?” Ranald ducked his head as he entered the cottage, blowing on his hands.
Her heart raced just to look upon him.
Cold air drifted through the door with him and Riona huddled closer to the banked fire, gaining little warmth from the graying embers.
“I’ll miss the cottage,” she sighed.
Ranald cupped her chin and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll miss having ye all to myself.” He smiled warmly at her. “We may have to move Tavia to the castle permanently.”
Riona bent to pick up her belongings, but Ranald proved quicker. He hefted the strings of both bags over his shoulder and curved a hand above the swell of her hip. Even the light, possessive touch sent shivers through her, and she released a longing breath.
“Ree.”
She halted at the doorway and turned. Ranald opened his arms and she fell against him. His mouth sought hers, and Riona met his desire. She arched, wanting to feel him again, to know how much she affected him. With a groan, Ranald ended the kiss, and buried his face in her hair. Wrapped in his arms, she put off the moment of leaving.
A knock sounded on the portal an instant before Finlay stuck his head inside. “Yer escort is ready, Laird Scott.” He nodded toward her. “Lady.”
Heat flamed in her cheeks. Riona picked up her skirts, moving toward the door.
“Ye look well, milady,” Finlay observed as she passed him.
“Thank ye,” she answered in a hushed voice, embarrassed to be caught entwined in Ranald’s arms.
“Gilda will be glad to see ye,” he added.
Riona’s lips curved happily at the mention of her daughter. “Thank ye for caring for her. Ye know she likes ye.”
“Aye. She’s a right sonsie lassie, she is.”
“I hope she hasnae caused any trouble.”
Finlay chuckled and reached for the bags Ranald held out for him. “Nae. But she now has a preference for Eaden’s storytelling.”
Ranald ushered Riona out the door, Finlay following. “Eaden?” he grunted. “I dinnae ken he could tell faerie tales.”
“Perhaps he’s been practicing for the wee bairn his wife soon expects.” Finlay closed the door behind him. “He seems quite taken with the idea.”
They rode the trail in silence, but the guard at the tower raised the alert as soon as they broke tree cover. Horns blared a welcoming tattoo and the gates swung open. The portcullis raised with the creak of heavy ropes and metal, but even this cacophony couldn’t hide the shrill piping voice rising with excitement.
“Ma!”
“Leave? Why would we leave?” Riona’s voice was high and tight.
“We could escort Eaden part of his journey home.” Ranald saw the confusion and rejection for the idea in Riona’s eyes. His plan to get her away from the castle and their responsibilities for another few days was slipping away. “We would be back in less than a sennight.”
Riona frowned and shook her head. He could almost see the word ‘nae’ forming on her lips.
“Perhaps less,” he added.
“What about Gilda?”
“She wouldnae come with us.”
“Why not?”
Ranald ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “Because she would be safer here, and I want ye to myself.”
Riona gave him a blank stare. “How would we be alone if we’re riding with Eaden and the soldiers? There will be Scotts and Macrorys filling the woods at night,” she pointed out.
“But no’ in our tent.”
“But close enough.”
“Och, Ree, dinnae ye want to go?”
Riona exhaled on a note of exasperation. “Ranald, I want to be alone with ye. But to leave again so soon, and to have so many around . . .”
“Gilda will be fine with Finlay and Tavia to care for her.”
“But she’s my daughter.”
“And I’m yer husband.”
“Are ye asking me to choose?”
Ranald blew out a breath, aware he sounded angry, unsure how the conversation had gotten so out of hand. “Nae. I only want ye to take this trip with me.” He longed to hold her and cuddle away her pique, but the stormy look in her eye didn’t bode well for such plans.
“Give me time to think. Ye’ve surprised me, is all. I want to help Gilda adjust before leaving her again.”
“Ree, Eaden is leaving in the morning. I swear Gilda will be fine here.”
“I know.” Riona appeared distinctly unhappy. “There is a part of me that doesnae want to leave her again so soon.” She closed the distance between them and laid a palm flat against Ranald’s chest. “When we were at the beach, we were still close. Now that Morgan MacEwen knows about her, I am reluctant to ride so far away.”
Ranald took her hand from his chest and turned it over, seeing the pinkish skin she no longer kept bandaged. He kissed each finger, feeling her relax as her attention shifted to the promise of his caress.
“Dearling, ye have my word. She will be safe here at Scaurness. I wouldnae leave otherwise.”
Riona sighed again, a hum in the back of her throat signaling her surrender. “I’ll see about packing a change of clothing and be sure Cook puts together some food for us.”
Ranald moved his kisses to her neck and upward, trailing his tongue along the curve of her ear. “Later,” he whispered.
Chapter 22
Riona smoothed Gilda’s hair from her forehead and brushed a kiss to her cheek. Her daughter snuggled against her pillow, a faint smile on her lips.
“I willnae wake her,” Riona whispered to Tavia. “‘Twould only upset her again.”
The old woman nodded. “Aye.”
Riona sighed. “I know my responsibilities have changed. But it seems as though I’m abandoning her.”
“Nae. Ye dinnae have time to be with her all the time any more. She’s old enough to play with the other bairns, and ye need to be free to spend time with yer new husband.” She patted Riona’s shoulder with a gnarled hand. “Come, now. ‘Tis time to leave.”
Riona nodded, casting a final look over her shoulder at Gilda’s sleeping form as Tavia ushered her out the door.
Ranald met them in the hall. “We need to be on our way. Eaden wants to be ready to cross the firth to Grainaig by nightfall.”
“‘Twill be a long day.”
“Aye. And a hard one. Are ye ready?”
Riona nodded and led the way down the stairs and into the misty morning light.
The horses’ harnesses jingled merrily as they chomped their bits and stamped their metal-shod hooves. Steam rose from their nostrils as their warm breath met the cold morning air. Waiting for their journey to begin, reluctant excitement began to form in Riona as her guilt at leaving Gilda behind faded to anticipation at the prospect of spending more time with Ranald. She rose in her stirrups, surveying the other riders as they finished gearing up before the long ride.
With a creak of leather and a murmur of low voices, the soldiers mounted their horses and turned to the castle gates. Ropes groaned and the metal portcullis rattled as it lifted in the air. Banners carried by the standard-bearers clung to their staffs, heavy morning fog dampening them so they could not rise.
Ranald clasped Finlay’s arm. “Keep the dogs for protection and to warn ye if there is trouble. Watch the wee lass closely. She’ll have ye carrying her cubbie to the beach if ye’re n
o’ careful.”
Finlay nodded and Riona ignored the tightening in her chest as they prepared to leave Gilda behind.
At a silent signal, the retinue rode forward, Eaden and Ranald at their head and Riona, on her sturdy gelding, between them. They skirted the coastline inland, picking the simplest route around lochs cutting deep fingers from the mountains to the firth. By the end of the day, they would cross the bay on boats to Grainaig.
Wind off the firth lifted tendrils of her hair, teasing it from its braid. She shifted her arisaid over her head, fastening it securely beneath her chin. Gulls screamed overhead, and the mists fled into the foothills as the sun crept higher. To the south, birlinns broke from their moorings, heading to the sea, their colorful sails unfurling to catch the wind. Riona idly noted each one. A dark red sail snapped on the breeze.
“Ranald.”
He reined Hearn in, allowing Riona’s gelding to come alongside. “Aye?”
She laid her palm against Ranald’s knee and nodded to the boats, on their way to the open sea. “Yon birlinn has a red sail.”
Ranald squinted, shielding his eyes against the morning sun with one hand. “It might.”
Her hand tightened on Ranald’s leg in sudden urgency. “The MacEwen birlinn has a red sail.”
“‘Tis no’ the MacEwen’s birlinn, laird.”
Ranald didn’t like the twist in his gut telling him he shouldn’t doubt the Macrory soldier before him. He glanced at Riona, also not liking the paleness to her face, her too-wide eyes as she waited anxiously for his decision. He jerked his head in Eaden’s direction, waving him to a private area beyond the ears of the rest.
“I dinnae know what to think. I want to be able to trust the Macrorys as much as I do the Scott soldiers I brought with me,” he said as soon as Eaden pulled alongside him.
“Ye have reason to doubt, for the lack of respect Manus showed ye. But when ye sent a Macrory to do yer bidding, ye made yer decision to trust him. If ye dinnae, ye should have sent others.”