The Highlander’s Pirate Bride (Sparks and Tartans #10)

Chapter 15

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

C urled together, they snuggled down on Maxwell’s thick plaid cloak over the bed of bracken, with Aileen’s fur-lined cloak and the glowing embers of the fire keeping the cold at bay. This was the first time they’d been alone with each other, in comfort, since the gentle night they’d spent at the Flying Fish.

There she’d found the courage to discard the gloves she now understood had been a symbol of her captivity and her ownership by Sutherland. The moment she’d flung the discarded gloves into the fireplace had been her first taste of her freedom.

A freedom she owed to MacNeil.

She breathed in his smoky, earthy scent, feeling his breath on her cheek, reveling in the feel of him, big and powerful, holding her. Her fingers toyed with his long hair and then strayed down his strong neck and across his shoulder, outlining the inked feathers of the tattooed eagle wrapping his throat.

In response, he stroked her hand and the scars exposed on her arms, caressing her gently.

She lifted her chin and kissed his throat. With a soft moan he lowered his head to take her mouth in his in a leisurely kiss, long and unhurried, consuming her bit by bit, melding them closer. Her pulse beat faster, heating her blood and robbing her breath. The kiss deepened and she opened her lips, meeting his tongue with hers. She writhed closer into his warmth and hardness, their lips and tongues mingling with an urgent, spiraling, intensity.

Their rising sensuality flowed over her like warm syrup, igniting every part of her to his touch. He first kissed her lips until she moaned with wanting him. Then, as she lay back in his arms, willing him to take her, willing his arms to hold her, he layered kisses on her chin, the arch of her throat, and the sweet spot at the base of her neck.

Maxwell traced his fingers along her arm and across her shoulders, stretching the tabard so that her smooth skin was exposed.

“Mm, you feel like silk,” he mumbled into his kisses.

She held him close, pressing her breasts against his chest, aware of her pebbling nubs, needing his touch. As if sensing her need, he cupped her breast, working the nub with finger and thumb, sending ricochets of sweet, hot, sensation to the place between her legs. Now she ached for him to touch her there, and she wriggled against his thigh, signaling her desire.

His shaft was like an iron rod pressing against her and she stifled a giggle.

“What is it?” His voice was husky and deep, dark and rich like molasses.

“Ye’re as hard as that mighty ebony rod I belted ye with.”

“Oh, that flimsy thing?” He gave a soft laugh. “Surely I’m harder than that?”

She tweaked his nose with two fingers. “Oh, ye wish!”

He rolled over her, burying his face in the warmth of her breasts. “Is it nae ye who wish it lass?” came his muffled voice.

After that she could hardly think at all as he took hold of the hem of her gown and lifted it, so that her thighs were bare to his touch.

His big hands were surprisingly gentle. He brushed her thighs, then her mound, toying with the curly hairs there, making her gasp with pleasure. Then he raised her gown higher so that she felt the warm air on her heightened skin.

She groaned as he fondled the full, wet lips between her legs, stroking her until she raised her hips to meet his hand. He pushed with one finger, opening her, and slid a second finger between her folds.

“Aye. Ye’re good and wet. Are ye ready fer me, Aileen?”

Her only response was another groan as she bent her knees, drawing them higher, stretching her thighs further open beneath his hand.

Pushing aside his kilt, Maxwell moved over her so that his hips pressed her down and the tip of his shaft moved to her entrance.

She lifted her hips, pushing against him. He grunted, a soft tantalizing sound. “Nae quite yet lass, dinnae be so greedy. I wish tae savor this moment.” He moved a little deeper into her, still withholding himself.

She thrashed her head from side to side. “Dinnae torture me, Maxwell. I want all of ye inside me.” She lifted her hips, pushing fiercely, taking his hardness inside her up to the hilt.

Now it was his turn to groan. He drove into her, the full length of him sliding deep and then withdrawing to thrust into her again and again.

They found a rhythm for their thrusting. She clutched his shoulders, moving her hips to align with each one, meeting him with the same burning need and desire he displayed to her.

Her body rocked back and forth, seized with glorious sensations, each moment and each thrust taking her higher, until she felt as if she would fall apart with the pleasure of it. The world, with all its worries and fears, simply disappeared until she was aware of nothing other than the powerful body merging with hers, filling her, bending her with delight, so that she cried out again and again, in wordless moments of ecstasy.

Maxwell’s roar, signaling the nearness of his climax, tipped her over the edge of sensation. It came in waves of sheer, crazed pleasure that was unutterably intense, her body clenching around him in lengthy, rapturous spasms as they held each other, delighting in each moment.

It was some time before she regained her footing on earth.

Her passion left her weak, shattered. It was nothing like she’d ever experienced or imagined could have been possible before then. She remained in Maxwell’s encircling arms, her fingers locked in his hair, gazing deep into his eyes in the firelight. What she saw there was the same amazement and wonder that mirrored her own.

It was still dark when she woke, feeling an emptiness beside her where Maxwell had been lying. It was cold and the fire had almost died. A sudden unfamiliar sound made her sit up, her heart hammering.

“Who’s there?”

Maxwell’s voice came through the darkness. “Nay bother, lass. I didnae wish to wake ye. Our fire needs some stoking.” He blew loudly on the remaining embers, bringing the fire back to life. Once the flames leaped up, he loaded the remains of the branch he’d found earlier onto the stone hearth.

“This will stave off the cold and grant us a few hours before we freeze.”

She drew her cloak around her and joined him, luxuriating in the warmth and the moment of intimacy.

He reached for her and pulled her close. “Ye’re cold, lass. Let me warm ye.”

Laughing, she snuggled closer as he scattered kisses over her shoulder and along her neck.

“Methinks ye’d be more comfortable and I could warm ye easier if ye took off this tunic.”

“Mmm. Mayhap ye’re right.” She rolled over lifted her arms for him to pull up the tunic and ease it over her shoulders. She flinched, but he was gentle making sure he did not press on the still-tender wound in her shoulder.

“And ye, MacNeil, would ye be warmer without yer kilt?”

He grinned audaciously at her as he got to his feet. “I dae believe so.” He pulled off his shirt and undid his belt allowing, the length of his kilt to fall to the floor. She delighted in the glorious sight of him, his skin golden in the firelight as he stood naked before her, his shaft already standing to attention. He scooped up the plaid and eased himself back into their makeshift bed, pulling the plaid over her cloak for extra warmth.

It took only a few moments before he’d removed her tabard and the blue gown they’d purchased from the peddler, so that she was almost naked beside him save for her petticoat.

“This is so much warmer.”

She laughed as she set about untying the strings of her remaining garment, wriggling beneath him, arching herself so that he could more easily take it off.

She moaned softly as he pressed his lips against her skin. Finding her bare breast, he took the nub into his mouth, caressing it with his greedy tongue. His hand roamed freely over her shoulders, her back, her hips, stroking her smooth nakedness across her belly and down to her thighs, so that she quivered and whimpered with the bliss of his touch

As he lifted his head and locked his gaze with hers, she felt the now-familiar jolt of heat rush through her. His eyes were no longer the color of ice but more the dark blue of the deepest ocean.

“Ah, lass, if Sutherland’s men came storming through the door this moment, I’d scarce notice them. Fer the silk of yer skin and the smooth satin of yer thighs have me drunk wi’ the joy of ye.”

She reached a hand to track the rough stubble on his cheek, to run her finger across his lips, outlining their perfect shape, pushing a tangle of long black hair back from his broad forehead.

Maxwell leaned over her, tracing her throat with kisses. She arched her back, pressing her breasts with their hardened nubs against his chest. His kisses left her shoulders to pay homage to her breasts. He gave each pink nub their due of suckling and caressing, causing wild rivers of heat to flow like fever in her blood as Aileen moaned his name. He circled her navel with his tongue and layered kisses over her belly to her mound.

She gasped as his lips traced over her delicate folds making a path for his fingers to follow. His tongue made lazy circles, seeking out and finding her center, robbing her breath in a voluptuous, molten rush of sensation she was powerless to resist. His clever fingers slipped inside her, in and out, until she was dripping wet.

Maxwell took charge of pleasuring her, and she became his helpless slave. His coaxing tongue and fingers brought her higher and higher, yet he refused her release, holding her in check. Each stroke, each masterful caress, drew her closer and closer to the edge. It was as if she was a river eddying and flowing to the brink of a waterfall, almost tumbling, but remaining poised above the depths amid the surging, turbulent waters.

Only when she was indescribably sensitive and agonizing, begging him, crying, “please,” did he grant her the relief she craved. She threw back her head and screamed as the torrent took her crashing over the magnificent abyss, clutching his hair, raking his back, calling, “Maxwell,” as she went under.

Then, as she spasmed and moaned and sobbed in his arms, he took his turn with her.

He groaned, unable to hold back. He rose so that their hips were aligned and with one powerful thrust he entered her, plunging deep over and over, with a wild, all-consuming passion that took them to a place where neither had been before.

Much later, when at last they were spent and dozing in each other’s arm, she whispered, “I’d nae have noticed Sutherland’s soldiers. Nae one of them.”

He laughed sleepily, rewarding her with a chaste kiss on her lips.

They awoke to a silent world.

While Maxwell tended the fire, Aileen flung her cloak about her shoulders, pulled on her stockings and crept to the door. Opening it only a sliver she gazed out onto a snowy landscape. As she’d predicted, the sleet had turned to snow and, judging by the deep snowdrift covering the road, it had snowed all through the night.

She turned to Maxwell, her face wreathed in smiles. “Our pursuers will nae follow us through the snow this day.”

Smiling he took her hand, “And we’ll nae be making progress either… unless ye wish tae struggle up tae yer waist tae travel on and risk getting caught.”

She clapped her hands, shaking her head. “Nay. I havenae wish tae test me chilblains.” The fire had kept the tiny cottage cozy, her bed of bracken-ferns was comfortable enough and there were still two apples apiece for them to break their fast.

“Aye. This wee place will dae nicely fer another night.”

He had pleated and wound on his kilt and was doing up his belt. “I’ll go out and set a snare or two. I might bag us a rabbit fer our supper.”

“I’ll join ye. I’ve set many a snare in me day.”

They wasted no time setting off. The snow was deep and the dark clouds overhead signaled there was yet more snow to fall. “At this rate we might be here more than a day.” He studied the clouds. “Another night at least.”

She sighed. “Aye, another night we may steal.”

“If we’re to make it to the loch before Sutherland’s men we mustnae tarry longer. We’ve yet another day or two before we can reach Torridon. We cannae let the weather slow us down fer too long.” He reached over and ruffled her hair. “Nay matter how long I wish tae remain in this wee paradise.”

With that, they donned their boots and wound themselves deep into their cloaks before setting out into the white, untouched landscape. They headed for the small thicket of trees where Maxwell had found the wood for their fire.

They’d not gone far before they saw a large number of small footprints crisscrossing the snow.

“Looks like there’s a warren nay far. Around here will be a good place tae catch a wee rabbit fer our pot.”

They each set three snares before the cold overtook them and they plodded back to the cottage. On the way they collected another branch that had been brought down by the weight of the snow.

“It seems the crofters are in fer a long, hard winter.” Maxwell said. “Let’s hope they’ve filled their larders and gathered enough hay fer their animals.”

Aileen gave this some thought. Life at sea was full of hardship, but there’d always been enough to eat for herself and the crew. “Mayhap the crofters’ lives are tougher than ours, fer we’ve the sea at our doorstep tae provide us with fish all year round.”

“Aye. ’Twas one of the lessons I learned growing up on the island.”

She smiled up at him, her thoughts flying to their shared experience as people of the isles.

After thoroughly exploring every nook and cranny of the tiny house, Aileen came up with a handful of dried mushrooms and a braid of onions hanging in one corner, along with a bunch of dried herbs. She gave a delighted cry. “If we’ve a rabbit I’ll make a good stew in the old pot with these.”

Darkness came early at this time of year and especially that day, with the snow-filled clouds darkening the sky. Dusk was not far off as they set out to check their snares.

Much to their amazement they found a large buck rabbit in one of them.

“I have me dirk, so ye head back into the warm place and I’ll skin and gut this fellow and make him ready fer the pot.”

“Ye’re a man of many talents, Maxwell. Fer all my skill wi’ a dirk, I’ve little skill with the wifely arts. Mayhap I can manage a rabbit stew but I’d be clumsy in the butchering. I’ll happily leave it tae ye.”

Once he’d returned with the rabbit for the pot and warmed himself by the fire, Maxwell ventured outside again to climb on the roof and see if he could repair some of the crumbling peat. This would keep the interior dry, now the snow was coming again.

He was all but frozen when he returned but he grinned at her in satisfaction. “‘Tis nae a bad job I’ve done. ‘Twill keep out the cold wind and the snow fer a day or two.” He rubbed his hands over the flames and stamped his feet, shaking the snow out of his hair.

While he was gone Aileen had loaded the old iron pot with pieces of rabbit, chopped onions and herbs and water from the rainwater cistern outside. It was not long before a mouth-watering aroma filled the air.

While they waited for their supper to cook, they stayed close by the fire, Maxwell on the bench, his long legs stretched in front of him while Aileen sat cross-legged beside the hearth. They drank tea she made from some dried chamomile and exchanged stories about their childhoods growing up on neighboring islands.

Aileen noticed Maxwell’s forehead creasing.

“What ails ye?”

He shook his head. “’Tis naught I have any control over, lass. The weather has ruined me hopes of making it tae Torridon before Sutherland could intercept us there. I hoped we’d be away at sea tomorrow or the next day at the latest. But it will be slow going through the snow from here on. Especially when we reach the Torridon Hills.

“And ye think his men will be waiting fer us there?” Her stomach lurched. For the past day she’d been blissfully able to erase Sutherland and his soldiers from her thoughts.

“Me guess is that he’ll have a couple of men at the points where he’d expect us to be. Torridon is one of the obvious places. But our chief worry will be once we’re at sea. I daresay his men will be prowling the waters between the mainland and our islands, aware that we’ll make fer safety at either of the isles of Canna or Barra.”

She clicked her tongue. “If we can find another small birlinn and keep our sailing fer the night, we’ve a good chance of sneaking past any patrols he might have sent fer us.”

“Indeed. That’s me hope.” He ran a distracted hand through his hair. “He’ll be in bigger boats than ours, with more men. But they’ll nae be as swift.”

“Then our chances of beating them are good. So…” She grinned up at him. “Fer now, we’ve the joys of our bed, the warmth of the fire and a fine rabbit stew tae look forward tae.”