by Jackie Ivie
There was a bit of rapid-fire applause coming from the five pairs of hands about them, and then Vincent was pulling her into a berth in his arms and striding down the steps as if they weren’t littered with ailing bodies and slick with noxious fluids and spilled ale. Then he was leaping over the sprawled body of the MacHugh laird.
“You’re just going to let him lie there?” Sybil asked.
“Aye.”
“What of your revenge?”
He rolled a snort through his lips, much as a horse might. “There is nae such thing,” he replied, and then he broke into a jog.
“You said the same thing of love. You seem to say that oft.”
He grinned and looked down at her for a moment before looking back to the path he was taking.
“True,” he replied. “I was wrong afore. I could be wrong now.” He was huffing, probably more due to the storm swirling the air about them than to the exertion of running with her. “But I doona’ think so.”
“Why?”
They didn’t notice all the men and horses filing into the courtyard. Nor that his sister, Mary Elizabeth MacHugh, was with them. Neither of them heard her cry of outrage and concern. They’d reached the stables, and warmth and security enveloped them with almost as much fervor as the feeling of being in each other’s arms was doing.
“Because MacHugh nae longer has you. I do. He lost. What better vengeance is there? Can you ride?”
Sybil was glowing. She had to be. “Why couldn’t I?” she asked.
Vincent looked down at where she was pressed against him, pushing her increased breasts to the neckline of the dress she was wearing. Then he was shuddering before he tightened the arms beneath her legs and behind her back, rolling her as close to his chest as possible and then he was whispering in her ear.
“The…bairn.” He lost his voice on the word.
Sybil squirmed. “The bairn will come to nae harm from a bit of riding, my love. Any kind of riding.”
“I’ve been spelled, bewitched, enthralled, and brought to my knees. And I want more. Endless amounts more. You ken?”
She nodded.
“Then hold to me. We’ll ride together. But promise me you’ll keep your hands to yourself.”
Sybil giggled. “Nae,” she replied and reached out to lick his earlobe.
Vincent swore. “Then your lips. Keep them to yourself. At least until we reach a forest.”
“Nae,” Sybil replied again and started sucking on the skin of his throat.
“Sybil, we are in danger.”
“I ken…as much.”
Her words were mumbled and indistinct since she wasn’t removing her lips from him long enough to make them. She felt the reaction all along the skin she touched as little goose bumps tickled her tongue.
“Sybil.” Vincent had her on her buttocks atop a wagon bench and was looking across at her and trying to be stern. She’d never seen anything as adorable. “I have to get a horse saddled and ready for the trek. I doona’ have time for what you desire.”
Sybil glanced down at where the hacked-off dress of his wasn’t doing much to disguise his own condition. Then she looked back at him.
“What I desire?” she remarked.
Vincent flushed, darkening to where his forehead met his hairline. She’d never seen anything as becoming on a man. He’d been too gifted. In every sense. And he was hers. For all time. All hers.
“Fine. Use my desire against me. ’Tis all a wench is good for.”
“What about a wife?” she asked and reached out with a toe to touch where his hardness was trying to part the skirts he’d swathed about himself. And then she was giggling as he danced backward and trembled in place.
“You’ll be on your own horse if you doona’ cease this,” he warned.
Sybil put her head to one side. “For how long?” she asked.
He sighed in an exasperated fashion, put both hands on the sides of his hips, and rolled his head on his shoulder before bringing his gaze back to her. And then it was done with his chin at a downward slant so he could look at her through his lashes.
“I am trying to rescue you, Wife.” He growled the words at her.
“And a fine job you have done of it. Until now.” she replied, and then she licked her lips. And watched his entire body pulse.
“Sybil.” He was using a gruff tone now.
“What?” she replied.
“We have two leagues to travel a-a-afore we’re safe.”
He was still trying to be stern, and failing. If he wished to sound unmoved, he had to keep his voice at an even keel and not go up an octave midway through his sentence. He could try to keep from stuttering as well. All of which was probably her fault, since she’d been toying with the neckline of her gown, and once it was opened enough, she was sliding it down onto her shoulders and creating a valley of cleavage as she did so.
“Do you always do what’s safe?” she asked.
“Sybil.” This time he sounded like he was pleading.
“What?” she asked innocently.
“We have to escape.”
She huffed out a sigh and jumped to the ground beside him. “Then saddle us a horse, but doona’ expect me to be as willing when you feel it’s safe.”
And that had her swiveled, lifted, and leaned over the wagon seat while Vincent shoved her skirts to her waist and filled her with what she wanted.
Myles Donal shut the stable door behind him and turned to put his back to it with his arms crossed. He’d known not to trust his cousin to handle it alone, which was why he’d followed. He hadn’t needed Mary Elizabeth and the clansman, Sinclair, to tell him of it. Nor did Myles believe that the feud would be ending the moment Mary Elizabeth was back at her husband’s side, despite her assurances.
Myles didn’t believe it, but he had to admit Mary Elizabeth certainly looked like she was in love. Who was Myles to stand in the way of love? If Hugo MacHugh was what Mary Elizabeth loved, then Myles was all for granting her wish. He just hoped she knew what she was doing once the laird of the MacHughs recovered.
Myles sighed and leaned against the wood at his back.
He definitely hadn’t counted on it being the little lass, Sybil, to be the one putting a snarl into the escape plan, though. He nodded to his grouping of handpicked men atop their horses in the downpour, all standing about and waiting to escort Vincent and his wife back to his own castle when they finished. From the sounds in the building behind him, it might be some time yet.
Myles’s lips twitched, and then he was openly grinning. He couldn’t wait to see his cousin’s face when he finally came out of the stable.
Epilogue
Analise Danzel was going to be a beautiful lass, from the thick golden hair she seemed to begin growing within days of her birth, to the deep, mysterious silver color of her eyes. She had her father enslaved with every look she gave and every sound she made. And he was a happy slave.
She bore only a passing resemblance to her first cousin, Nelson Hugo MacHugh, and that was in the shade of their hair. Born within hours of each other, both sets of parents swore it was an omen of great things to come, in a world where MacHugh and Danzel were cousins and no longer feuded.
No one noticed how much Nelson took after Vincent’s closest man, Sinclair. He was diligent about keeping it that way. It was enough. Sinclair could watch the MacHugh heir from afar and keep the pleasure inside. Where no one ever looked.
He had his revenge.
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Copyright © 2009 by Jacquelyn Ivie Goforth
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ISBN: 1-4201-1300-3
Jackie Ivie, Once Upon a Knight