His lips curled into a half smile, clearly puzzled by the way she looked at him.
“Malcolm, I am ready.” Her skin itched for the feel of his, She rocked her body slightly imaging their bodies entwined, rolling as one across the bed, her legs waving in the air as he thrust inside her until she exploded. Her heart hammered, she couldn’t think, her nether region throbbed and burned like a wild fire.
“To go to Scone?” His brows arched.
“To be yours. To share my bed with you.”
He didn't speak. His eyes grew wide and he took a deep breath. “Mayhaps you merely do not want to sleep alone this eve?”
“Sleep is not what I am thinking of.” Bethoc turned and bid Malcolm to follow.
Sounds of night birds and night bugs blended together into a gentle lull as she glided down the moonlit path. She sensed his heated gaze feasting on the subtle yet sensuous sway of her shoulder and hips.
“Bethoc,” Malcolm called in a ragged tone.
Turning, she gazed at him. They stood apart, but the raw hunger in his dark eyes told her all.
Bethoc parted her lips. Malcolm stepped up to her, reached out, and yanked her in his arms. She leaned her head to his. Bethoc's mouth melded with Malcolm's, a mergence of fire and water.
He squeezed her hand in his as they walked side by side to the rath. Bethoc released his hand and pulled the door open. Malcolm strode to the fire, lit a torch, and lighted candles posted around the room. The smell of burning wax filled the air.
She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his strong, solid shoulders.
He leaned his head down to Bethoc's and crushed her mouth with his. “You taste like a honey comb stolen from a high tree. Wild and dripping with thick sweetness.”
Malcolm lifted her into his arms; she wrapped her long, lithe legs around his waist. Their slick lips pressed, rubbed, slid, and pushed fervently against each other. Malcolm rolled the back of her skirt up to her waist, exposing her bare bottom.
With her arms tangled about his shoulders and her long legs rolled around his waist, Malcolm carried her to the kitchen. Bethoc gasped as he set her bare ass on the hard wooden table.
She grabbed the honey pot beside her, and dipped two fingers in the sticky sweetness. She rubbed her fingers, dripping with thick golden honey, across Malcolm's mouth.
Sliding her sticky fingers back and forth, she spread the succulent honey all over his full, wet lips, which he licked with the tip of his tongue. Malcolm poked his finger in the small clay pot and stirred the honey in a circular motion. He stroked her lips with the thick sweetness then thrust his finger into her mouth. Clamping her lips down, Bethoc moaned, greedily sucking the golden treat. Her moist, wet womanly center quivered, wanting to wrap around his flesh the way her mouth clamped down on his finger.
Malcolm's dark blue gaze stoked the spark in her to a blazing fire. Her pulse raced as she lay back on the table, her dark hair covering the wooden tabletop. Clutching the hem of her dress in both his hands, Malcolm ripped the cloth all the way up. The sight of him peering intensely at her breast and tight, erect nipples stole all thoughts from Bethoc's head.
Malcolm grabbed the honey pot and dipped his whole hand into the sweet smelling gel. He spread his fingers, dripping with honey, and as he painted both breasts with the gold syrup, the curved mounds thrust forward. Feeling a sensation of moistness between her legs, Bethoc knew she was getting wet. As she slid her legs further apart wanting him to take her now, she released a throaty groan.
Malcolm leaned down. His heavy breathing fell in time to her shallow gasps. He whirled his tongue across her nipple, lapping up the honey, then moved his lips to the other one, sucking all the nectar from the hard peak. He clamped his mouth down harder and tugged the sensitive flesh.
Though pressure coiled in her heated depths and she wanted him to fill her throbbing orifice with his hard flesh now, he continued this torture by cupping one breast as he took long licks of lush honey from the other. Then he brought his lips down full force on her nipple and nudged his teeth against it.
Sliding his sticky hand down the side of her body all the way to her thigh, he ran one finger across the blue curving lines pricked into her skin. He traced the horse, dolphin, wolf, boar, fox, swirling snake and then the houses of her own parents her father from the wolves and her mother of the bears, as well as each pair of connected circles. His arousal throbbed, pained him with the need for release as he painted each blue tattoo golden with the sweet honey.
He dipped his head back while his hands fumbled with his belt, untying it as fast as he could. His braies fell around his ankles. Malcolm grabbed hold of each of Bethoc's thighs, lifting and spreading her legs so she lay fully open to his gaze. “So ripe and wet.”
He dipped his fingers in the honey pot then slid them back and forth across each fold and into her red slit, painting her with the sticky gold substance. Leaning down, till his face hung over her exposed entrance, he slid his tongue across her slippery sweet skin licking her up and down as she moaned and whimpered until he wiped off every drop of honey. He slipped the tip of his tongue over her petal smooth center and pushed in and out. His lips closed down on her, greedily sucking. He withdrew his mouth from her drenched pussy and stood up straight. His smooth, warm fingers grasped her hips holding her steady as he aimed the tip of his large cock at her sensitive spot and rammed through her thin shield.
Bethoc moaned at the breach, a flash of pain shot through her and he remained still, unmoving inside her. She felt her body stretch around his engorged rock-hard flesh. Hot shivers replaced the pain and her orifice quivered, then plummeted into a pit of fire, as he pumped her fiery core. She shrieked with pleasure. He pulled out of her completely then slammed into her, cramming her full. He withdrew again, leaving her empty wanting, but for a moment then sunk deep into her. Quickening his pace, he hammered her in a pounding rhythm.
She arched her body into his, meeting each thrust. Bethoc felt lost in a haze of red, then black, next red, then black again as Malcolm drove higher and faster, churning her burning flesh into liquid heat. Her pussy clenched. Rippling waves washed over her until she was engulfed in a torrent of spasms. They erupted together.
“I am forever yours,” Bethoc said in a breathy whisper. She grabbed his firm arms with each hand and pulled up to a sitting position. Her hair fell in front of her face, but with a flick of her neck the long mane rippled down her back, unveiling her eyes.
His hot breath tickled her neck as he tilted his head to hers. Their lips met and melded together in a demanding kiss, which sent a dizzying current through her. Malcolm eased his mouth from hers, stepped out of his braies and kicked them aside.
He lifted Bethoc off the table and laid her on the bed. She stretched out on her side, with her head and shoulders raised, like a reclining feline. Malcolm sat down on the bed, yanked off his boots and peeled off his tunic. Naked, Malcolm slid down beside her.
With a tempting, teasing smile, Bethoc sat up. She pulled the ripped dress off and tossed it on the floor.
Malcolm wrapped his fingers around her chin and brushed his lips across hers. He rolled his arms around her and she laid her head on his chest. They fell asleep in that embrace.
* * * *
Snuggling up against Malcolm's chest, Bethoc breathed in his musky scent of sex mingled with the smell of sweat and horse.
Abruptly, he jerked awake and let out a yell.
“Bethoc.” Malcolm shook his head. “I was dreaming anew.”
Bethoc saw deep anger and pain reflected in his eyes. “Malcolm, what is amiss?”
“Naught but a bad dream. For now, let me hold you.” He crushed her body against his. “You feel so good in my arms.” Malcolm wound his hand in her hair.
“Then husband, I say we shall not rise from bed but snuggle like this all day.” The warmth of strong shoulders felt so male, so bracing. Whatever had upset him, he seemed all right now.
Malcolm moved his hand under Bethoc
's chin, turned her toward him, and kissed her forehead. “You must guard the Jewel of Destiny.”
“The sandstone has a spirit in it.” After a long pause she added, “It is a holy relic to be sure.”
“In truth.” Malcolm grinned. “You are pleased to be going to Scone, are you not?”
“Yes and I am more pleased to be returning to Scone with you.” Bethoc gave him a quick peck on his soft, salty lips.
I have grown used to you, I have.” In the light of day she could not yet say the words that ran through her head. I care for you ... need you ... love you.
“I am fond of you, Bethoc,” Malcolm whispered, his breath hot against her ear.
Bethoc cuddled close to him and sighed, lost in her musings. Today she would be going home to Scone with a Scot. Malcolm. Whenever Bethoc was near him, she had to look at him. Once she was away from him, she saw his face in her head as clear as if he was with her. How had she come to care for him so? And what would her friends in Scone say when they learned she had married a Scot. They would tell her to leave him in a year and a day. And she'd tell them no.
Bethoc had made peace with the past. There was no ruthless massacre. Tempers and egos were to blame for the death of her father, not mac Alpin's treason. Bethoc knew that now, hard as it was to admit it. Just as she knew she had fallen in love with her Scot husband.
Malcolm interrupted her thoughts. “You will soon be a free woman.”
Bethoc cupped his chin and rubbed her fingers against the scratchy new growth of hair. “I am not held captive now.”
“No, but you are harnessed to me in marriage.”
“What say you?” She peered into his eyes, probing is soul. “Do you not know how I feel about you, after last eve?”
“There is much about me you cannot fathom.” Malcolm tilted his head closer to hers and claimed her lips. As he rubbed his lips against hers wave after wave of liquid fire rolled over her. As he raised his mouth from hers, he peered into her eyes. “I have many regrets, one is that I must now arise.”
He climbed out of bed and walked over to where his britches lay on the floor. “Another regret is I need to go somewhere.”
“Today?”
“No, after we reach Scone.” Malcolm pulled his braies on. “I will have to leave.”
“Leave? What do you mean? Kenneth is staying in Scone and your duty is to serve him.”
He stared off in the distance, he wouldn’t look at her. “Kenneth knows I will be leaving.”
“No.” Bethoc sat up in bed. “I gave myself to you last night. You cannot leave me.”
“I need to go back from whence I came.”
“You come from here, Dalriada.”
“Bethoc, I do not mean to leave you forever. I only need to go away for a little while.”
Bethoc's gaze fell on a lone clay beaker, discarded on the cupboard. She'd found a hole in the bottom. A cup forever empty. Unfulfilled. For it could no longer hold any drink. “There is another woman, is there not?”
“No, the place I go to has no women.” Malcolm walked over to the bed and picked up his tunic. “Do not ask me to explain. You would never deem it to be true. Trust me, it is best I return to my kind.” Malcolm slipped his tunic on.
“What say you, Malcolm? Your kind, long ago the Scots came here from Erin. Is that where you are going? Why?”
“No, not Erin.” He sat down on the bed beside Bethoc and caressed her cheek. “It is better left unsaid my long haired woman.”
Bethoc schooled her emotions, she could not let him see her weep. “You mean you will not say.”
“Bethoc, you are going back to Scone. If I leave and do not return, what is unjust in that? At last you have all you wanted for you can have a husband of your own choosing. A real man, a Pict.”
“You are the man I want.” She grabbed his hands by the wrist and held on to him.
“I am not all man.”
“Why do you speak in riddles?”
“Why do you query me when you know I can tell you naught.”
She flung his arms away from her then dropped hold of his wrist. “You want this? To leave me in Scone?”
He rose from the bed and stood before her. “It is where you belong. As for me, another life, another world beckons.”
“Another world?” Bethoc climbed off the bed. “Why do you tell me now?”
“For this is the day we leave for Scone. And once Kenneth is crowned there, I will return to whence I came.”
“How can another world await you? Dalriada is the only land you have ever known and you say it is not Ireland you speak of.”
He moved closer to her. “Bethoc, you are returning to Scone and soon you will be rid of your Scot husband.” Malcolm gently brushed a wayward strand of hair off her face. “You should be merry with our parting.”
“Well you are. You cannot wait to leave your Pict wife. Why do you not leave forthwith? Why wait until Kenneth is crowned?”
“I have a duty to him and to you.”
“Me?”
“I thought all night of the footprint. Someone spied on you at the creek and it does not bode well.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“We speak too much.” Malcolm absently waved his hand in the air. “Bethoc, get dressed.”
“Yes, we must go. But, we shall talk of this later.” Bethoc bent down to the chest and pulled out a soft, woolen garment. She threw the tunic-dress on, then ran a comb down her hair.
It felt like tiny bubbles were popping inside her chest. What a dark secret it must be. His words were all a riddle. A place with no women? Another world? She slammed her foot and threw the comb down. “Tell me, Malcolm.”
“Later, Kenneth awaits.”
Bethoc slipped on her boots as Malcolm did the same. As they exited the rath and silently walked down the dirt path to the inner yard of the Dalriada Castle, she wondered if the mystery had something to do with the nightmare Malcolm had. He wouldn't talk about that either. He woke up, yelling in his sleep. Yet, he had said it was naught. Something was going on. Malcolm would soon find he could not keep secrets from her.
Chapter Ten
There was a chill in the air, though the sun shone bright on the crowd of wives, soldiers, and squirming children preparing to move to the capital of Caledonia. Scone would have a king again. Kenneth the son of Alpin. Son of the Scot king whose head once hung from a pike on the gate of the city.
Kenneth would soon enter that same gate and lay claim to his right to rule both the Picts and the Scots. So much had changed. The Scots would now be in Scone, but whether Bethoc lived with Scots or Picts no longer mattered. She just wanted to live with Malcolm, anywhere with him, but his secret stood in their way.
Bethoc vowed to make Malcolm forget about this other world, but to do that she had to find out what it was. Uncovering his secret was her only chance.
Bethoc ran her hand over the hard hilt of her sword and gazed at Malcolm as he and Donald harnessed the wagon.
“I see the guardian of the stone is prepared.” Malcolm left Donald to his work and walked over to Bethoc. “You look fair today m'lady.”
“My thanks.” Bethoc looked Malcolm in the eye. It will take more than that to make me to forget about your secrets. And your plan to leave me in Scone.
Their gaze was broken by the jingling of the silver harness Donald fastened on a stout horse. Bethoc felt someone looking at her and turned around.
Father Degnan nodded to them as he approached. “Good day.”
“Greetings Father.” Malcolm pointed his head to the doorway of the palace where Kenneth stood. As he held his gaze on the king, Malcolm mumbled to Bethoc, “He beckons.”
“When the king calls, you must go.” Bethoc reached out and clasped Malcolm's forearm then let go. “I will be waiting.” Do not think I have forgiven and forgotten your words last eve.
* * * *
As Malcolm walked up, Kenneth stood under the oaken lintel of the entrance to the castle,
gazing around as if to memorize each detail.
“Saying farewell to the stronghold?”
The king turned and smiled at Malcolm. “The long road has come to an end. I will enter the gate where my sire's severed head hung. And there I will be crowned king of all Alba.” Kenneth's tone lowered as he said, “This world we live in is strange and wonderful.”
“You live a life of magic and legends. Kenneth mac Alpin, king of all Scots and Picts.”
“It is you who is of a legend.”
“Not without my pelt.”
“As soon as I am crowned, you will have what is yours.”
“I wonder sometimes which world is mine, the land or the sea?” Malcolm glanced toward Bethoc saddling the white stallion as she talked to Father Degnan. So different than any woman he’d ever known, what he had with her was more than a tryst. Curse the sea, bound to the land now, he needed what the land offered. Malcolm needed this wild Pict princess.
“You are not ready to leave her, are you?” Kenneth nodded his head toward Bethoc. “Have you told her?”
“It is not yet time.” How will he ever tell her? She clearly thought Scots were as low as animals. What would happen when she found out he actually was an animal? He had to wait until he had his skin, then he would tell her. That way, he would only face her wrath for a little while. After that, he could simply run away and live evermore with his own kind.
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