by Mariah Stone
Amber hissed as cold water touched her behind. Owen kissed her while still walking, and she melted, forgetting everything. Then they were deep in the water, and he moved her so that her arms were wrapped around his shoulders and her legs around his waist.
The water was not cold anymore, and swimming in it with Owen felt wonderful.
“Now see what a nice fish I caught,” he said.
“Just don’t roast me over the fire.”
“Oh, nae. But I do have a spit I’d like to put ye on.”
His erection brushed against her butt cheeks, hot and hard.
“Well,” she murmured. “I don’t mind being put on that spit.”
She kissed him, and his lips were soft and giving, but also demanding, and she was more than happy to grant him whatever he wanted from her. Their tongues met, gliding, sliding, playing, and teasing until they were both breathless. Amber was burning with need, and the strange sensation of being weightless in the water added an edge to her excitement, a new sense of relaxation and softness.
“Gentle and slow?” he asked.
“Oh no, baby. Hard and fast. This water thing is amazing.”
She grinded her pelvis against his hips to show him she was ready, and he gently guided himself in her depths. In one hard plunge, he was deep within her, and she shifted her hips to meet him.
She gasped as he stretched her to the limit, his heat invading her. He was diving inside of her, his breath gusted hard against her throat. She welcomed him even deeper, taking him all the way to the root.
He began to move faster, gliding in and out, precisely and relentlessly, and yet smoothly and easily. Every rock-hard inch of him brought her pleasure. He whispered how good she felt to him, how he never wanted to stop, how beautiful she was.
In no time at all, she was coming. A violent wave came over her, and she yelped at its intensity. She bucked and tilted her head back as convulsions slammed through her.
He stiffened and cried out her name like he were unraveling and couldn’t stop. They shared a moan, breathing as one. When they both finally stilled, Owen simply held her in his arms, and she enjoyed the scent of him, the feel of him around her. She watched the unprecedented beauty of the nature around them. No noise of cars, no white stripes from airplanes in the sky, no smell of gasoline. No pollution.
The nature was pure and rough around them. And she felt as if she were part of it, dissolving in its beauty.
“I’m so blessed,” she said looking at him. “You are the highlight of my life, the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
He brought her closer to him. “I love ye, Amber.”
“I love you, too,” she whispered and kissed him.
They swam a little in the loch, then got out and ate some bread and cheese they had with them. It was already afternoon, and they wanted to reach Glenkeld before nightfall. The whole clan was gathered there to celebrate the official bestowment of Lorne to Neil Cambel, Owen’s uncle.
They arrived before sunset. When they entered the great hall of Glenkeld, Amber saw that the majority of Cambels had already arrived, and the room swarmed with people. The aromatic scents of roasted meat and freshly baked bread spread through the air.
Dougal and Chief Neil sat at the high table, and Amber looked through the crowd for Amy and Kate. She spotted both women sitting next to Craig and Ian and made her way to them.
“There you are!” Kate exclaimed, standing upright and extending her arms to Amber.
They hugged, Kate’s scent enveloping Amber. She always smelled like home and something like vanilla, although Amber knew it was impossible, because there was no vanilla in medieval Europe.
They’d met at Amber and Owen’s wedding and, like with Amy, they’d immediately understood each other well. Kate was different from anyone Amber had connected with in the twenty-first century. She was soft and sweet, but there was a hard core within her, and a strength of character that Amber admired right away.
Amy joined the hug.
“That’s right. Let’s give everyone a reason to stare,” Amber said.
“I don’t care,” Kate said. “I’m so happy to see you girls.” They broke off the hug, and Amber went to sit on the opposite side of the table next to Owen. “I was waiting for you to join us, because I made something special.”
There was a large plate on the table covered with a linen cloth. Amy leaned in a little and sniffed. “What did you make?”
Ian cocked his head and chuckled mysteriously. “She let me try it, just a little piece.” He looked around, and when no one was listening, he leaned forward and added in a low voice, “’tis a little piece of heaven from yer time.”
Amber said, “Oh my God, what is it? I’m dying to know now!”
Kate giggled and lifted the linen. The plate contained a significant pile of doughnuts.
“Doughnuts!” Amy and Amber cried in unison.
“Oh my, how I miss coffee…” Amy said through a mouthful of a doughnut. “These are divine, Katie!”
Amber bit a doughnut and closed her eyes in sheer bliss. It tasted as good as the ones she remembered. The men were also helping themselves, and everyone let out orgasmic sounds, moaning and humming in delight.
“How did you make these?” Amber said. “Can you even make them with the ingredients of medieval Scotland?”
“Yes! The ingredients are all the same, save sugar. But honey does the job perfectly. Also, wheat flour is a bit of a challenge, but Ian splurged a little for me. And here we are.”
“Katie, for ye… For this”—Ian gestured appreciatively with a piece of doughnut in his hand—“anything.”
Kate giggled. “You certainly inspire me to bake”—she winked to Amy and Amber—“some buns”—she waited—“in the oven.”
Amy got it first. “Oh! Congratulations, you two!” She clapped her hands and hugged Kate. Owen and Craig exchanged a puzzled gaze.
Amber grinned. “They’re expecting a baby,” she explained to the two Highlanders, and smiles spread across their faces. She looked at Kate. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you.” Kate and Ian exchanged a gaze full of tenderness and love.
“Honestly, the doughnuts were more for me than for you guys. I’m craving carbs!” Kate giggled again
Amber thought she had a delightful, infectious laughter, and she laughed, too.
“’Tis a joy to see Ian so content,” Owen said to Amber quietly, a grin on his face. “He came back from Baghdad broken and desperate. Now look at him. A husband. A future father. Happy. Whole.”
Enjoying Ian and Kate’s happiness, she pressed herself against Owen’s side, and even the brush of his skin sent a charge of electricity through her. She’d gotten used to holding back on touching him in public, and she was actually enjoying the secret touches under the table, or the occasional brush of a hip, or a stolen kiss.
“Welcome to fatherhood,” Craig toasted. “May yer family grow, strengthen, and prosper. Happy for ye, Ian.”
The five of them, save Kate, clunked their cups of ale together.
“What about you two?” Amy winked. “Any news of more little Cambels to come?”
Amber exchanged a glance with Owen. They’d talked about it and decided they weren’t ready. Amber followed her cycle strictly for birth control. Although that method was not guaranteed, and they’d be happy if she got pregnant, for now they both wanted adventure.
“Not yet,” she said. “And there won’t be for a while.”
Amy threw her hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “All right. All right. Got it. No more questions.”
“Though I dinna mind practicing,” Owen said.
Amy closed her ears with her fingers. “Don’t even want to hear about practicing.”
The six of them laughed warmheartedly.
Dougal appeared behind Owen. “Son, I wanted to greet ye. How was the journey?”
Breaking all conventions, Own stood and hugged his father, both clapped each other on
their backs. “Good, Da, thank ye.”
“Amber”—he nodded to her—“ye look well.”
“Hello, Dougal.”
Dougal liked her, though there was a little awkwardness between them, but Amber was sure it was only because he didn’t know her very well.
“How are ye both?” he said.
“Well. We’re heading south to visit the Bruce.”
“Oh, aye. ’Tis good. He has the highest regard for ye. The war isna over yet, so be careful. King Edward still refuses to acknowledge Scotland as an independent kingdom, and the Bruce its king.”
“Aye.”
Dougal clapped Owen’s shoulder amicably. “Ye did well, son. I couldna be more proud.”
He walked away, and Amber saw Owen’s gaze follow, and that his eyes were wet.
He came back to sit next to her, and Amber tangled her fingers with his under the table. “I couldn’t be more proud of you, either,” she whispered. “Of us.”
“Oh, lass, ’tis I who is proud to be the husband of such a wonderful woman as ye. Ye’re my treasure.”
And even though people would stare, she leaned to him and kissed him. She couldn’t wait a second more without showing him how much she loved him.
Because the biggest treasure in her life was her Highlander’s love.
* * *
THE END
* * *
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed Owen and Amber’s story. Read Angus Mackenzie and Rogene Wakeley’s story in Highlander’s Desire
Also by Mariah Stone
Called by a Highlander series (time travel):
Sìneag (FREE short story)
Highlander’s Captive
Highlander’s Hope
Highlander’s Heart
Highlander’s Love
Highlander’s Christmas (novella)
Highlander’s Desire
Highlander’s Vow (release 2021)
Highlander’s Bride (release 2021)
More instalments coming in 2022
Called by a Viking series (time travel):
One Night with a Viking (prequel)—grab for free!
The Fortress of Time
The Jewel of Time
The Marriage of Time
The Surf of Time
The Tree of Time
Called by a Pirate series (time travel):
Pirate’s Treasure
Pirate’s Pleasure
A Christmas regency romance:
The Russian Prince’s Bride
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Scottish slang
aye – yes
bairn - baby
bastart - bastard
bonnie - pretty, beautiful.
canna- can not
couldna – couldn’t
didna- didn't ("Ah didna do that!")
dinna- don't ("Dinna do that!")
doesna – doesn’t
fash - fuss, worry ("Dinna fash yerself.")
feck - fuck
hasna – has not
havna - have not
hadna – had not
innit? - Isn't it?
isna- Is not
ken - to know
kent - knew
lad - boy
lass - girl
marrit – married
nae – no or not
shite - faeces
the morn - tomorrow
the morn's morn - tomorrow morning
uisge-beatha (uisge for short) – Scottish Gaelic for water or life / aquavitae, the distilled drink, predecessor of whiskey
verra – very
wasna - was not
wee - small
wilna - will not
wouldna - would not
ye - you
yer – your (also yerself)
About the Author
When time travel romance writer Mariah Stone isn't busy writing strong modern women falling back through time into the arms of hot Vikings, Highlanders, and pirates, she chases after her toddler and spends romantic nights on North Sea with her husband.
Mariah speaks six languages, loves Outlander, sushi and Thai food, and runs a local writer's group. Subscribe to Mariah's newsletter for a free time travel book today!