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

Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

A ileen turned to liquid in the heaven of Maxwell’s arms. Her gaze took in every speck of his face as he leaned over her; from the tendrils of soot-black hair skimming his cheeks, his blue eyes with their long, dark lashes, the straight nose, the strong jawline with its stubbled beard, and the lips she’d been dreaming of forever.

What she saw in his steady gaze and the pale blue eyes turning midnight-dark as they roved over her, told her without a shadow of doubt he was hers. Just as she belonged, body and soul, to him.

Heat coursed through her, robbing her breath and causing her to reach up, eyes closed, for the blind touch of his lips.

He groaned as their greedy mouths met. He nibbled and teased her lower lip, and then his tongue found hers. All the cares and woes and the weariness in her bones fell away, until all that remained was her burning need for him. The pure and simple wanting of her body for his touch.

As they drew breath, she grinned up at him, raising a hand to brush a lock of his hair behind his ear. “I havenae forgotten yer promise, MacNeil.”

“What is that?” He seemed bemused.

“I recall that ye promised me something when we were sheltering near Loch Torridon.”

“Aye lass. I havenae forgotten. But let me hear from ye what it is.”

“Mm. I believe ye have forgotten after all.”

He laughed. “Then mayhap ye should refresh me memory.”

She huffed. “If ye cannae recall, then I dinnae wish ye tae remind ye.”

He bent and lifted the hem of her kirtle. “I cannae think. I need ye naked before I can recall me promises.”

She obligingly raised her hips so he could slide the gown higher.

“Ah.” He stroked a hand slowly over her bare thighs that were now exposed to his view, causing her to wriggle and lift her hips again. With the other hand he unlaced her kirtle.

She pressed against him, her pulse racing as she felt the hardness of his shaft beneath his kilt.

He slipped his hand between her thighs and she moved her knees apart, opening to him.

He chuckled softly. “Mayhap me memory is being restored. I am certain it will come tae me if ye lift up yer arms and let me take off this garment.”

He slipped the kirtle and her undershirt over her head and off so that she lay naked before him on the bed.

“Has yer memory come back tae ye now?”

The breath hitched in her throat as he dipped his head to suckle her breast. Speech was becoming difficult and she leaned back, letting the sensations take her, feeling his hand slipping between her folds, his lips, tongue and teeth on her puckered nipple driving her almost to desperation.

He lifted his head and grinned at her. “I dae believe I remember. Did I nae promise tae take ye tae heaven, just as ye’d taken me?”

She grunted, seizing him by the hair. “Dinnae stop, Maxwell, or I swear I’ll take me dirk and…”

He laughed, “and ye’ll what?” Then he lowered his head to the place where his fingers were toying with her slippery folds and used his tongue instead, silencing her.

He sipped and licked, his tongue circling and suckling her sensitive nub, his fingers slipping inside her and out again, slowly mimicking the way his shaft would work on her. She groaned at the pleasure of it, thrashing her head on the pillow, consumed by the building ecstasy of his touch.

“Aye. That is it …” Moaning and writhing under him, clutching his shoulders, his woolen shirt rough against her sensitized nipples she was conscious only of his weight, his strength, the sliding and slipping of his tongue and fingers, the musky man-scent of him filling her nostrils.

She cared for naught but this spiraling, intoxicating, voluptuous, pleasure, taking her to new heights, striving for some distant satisfaction that seemed forever beyond her grasp.

And then it came.

Waves that took her higher and higher with an indescribably pleasure, until she rode the crest, calling God and Maxwell , her nails raking his back screaming an incoherent message to the wind.

As he held her, gasping and groaning, she managed, “Ye… Now… Inside me.”

He needed no urging. Embracing her in his big arms, holding her as if she was made of Dresden china, he thrust his granite-shaft deep and rocked his hips in time with hers. It was quick. A few more thrusts and he roared, lifted his head, and shared in her ecstasy.

Much later, after they had slept awhile, jumbled in each other’s arms Aileen stroked his cheek, grinning.

“Ye did well, Maxwell. I ken ye recalled yer promise.” She shook her head. “But ye may have to refresh yer memory many times over. In case ye forget.”

He turned his head to the pillow and seized her in his arms again.

“I’ll nae forget, lass.”

They slept the sleep of lovers who, for the first time, were together in a large feather bed, covered with warm linen and fur quilts, with a blazing fire in the hearth to ensure when they awoke, naked, the chill of winter did not concern them.

They were finally awakened by a knock at the door and when called “Enter,” a cavalcade of scullery maids trooped in bearing covered containers of soups and stews, trays of oatbreads and bannocks, cheeses and nuts and flagons of mead to wash down their feast. These were laid on a table near the fire

After placing her urn on the table, the first maid dropped a curtsy.

“Lady MacLeod thought ye were tired from yer travels and would prefer tae rest in yer chamber and nae share their meal in the great hall.”

Maxwell nodded his thanks and the maids trooped out again.

Discovering they were ravenously hungry, Maxwell and Aileen wrapped themselves in their cloaks and took their seats by the groaning table, before the fire.

“Me sister is so thoughtful,” having savored every last mouthful of his serving of venison stew Maxwell licked his fingers and wiped them on an embroidered linen napkin.

Aileen, who was placing butter and jam on a bannock, took a sip of mead and smiled up at him. “I am almost able tae forget what it was like as we almost froze in the Torridon Hills in a dank cave.”

He slid a lock of her hair behind her shoulder. “It wasnae all bad though, me sweetness. There were moments…”

She sighed. “Aye many moments where I was happier than I’d ever been. Despite an empty belly and me feet and hands near frozen off.”

He took her hand. “I say the same, Aileen. Fer all the hardship, and the thought we may nae have lived another day, ‘twas a happy time.” He pressed her hand to his lips. “Thanks tae yer company.” A chuckled bubbled up. “Although there were times ye were more trouble than a hatfull of mice.”

She swiped him with her napkin. “Me. Trouble? Ye’re the most difficult of men.”

“Because I dinnae obey yer every whim?”

She laughed. “Mayhap.” Then she reached up and kissed him.

Next morning, they were wakened by the housekeeper, Mildred. Aileen shrugged on her cape and went to the door.

“Milady.” She curtseyed. “The lassies will be here wi’ something fer ye tae break yer fast.” She craned her neck, casting her eyes beyond Aileen where Maxwell had risen from the bed and was fastening his kilt.

“I thank ye, Mildred.” Aileen went to close the door but Mildred raised a hand. “The Lady and milord MacLeod are wishing ye to join them in the solar as soon as ye are able. There’s news they wish tae discuss.”

Aileen’s stomach plummeted. She thanked Mildred and once the door had closed behind her she turned to Maxwell, bile rising in her throat.

“The news must be bad if your sister and Arne are wishing tae meet wi’ us.”

He shook his head, seemingly unperturbed. Yet she knew he would be every bit as concerned as she was.

She hurried across to the garderobe and busied herself with dressing with one of the gowns Raven had mentioned the day before. Donning a dark green velvet kirtle, she combed out her hair and braided it before joining him by the fire.

“Me appetite has fled,” she said, as a kitchen maid entered with a tray. Nevertheless, Maxwell offered her a bannock, taking one for himself.

“Well then, let us make haste to the solar so we can find whether the news is good or bad.”

He seemed unbothered and Aileen wondered if he really wasn’t worried or just pretending to be calm for her sake. He brushed off the crumbs, ran fingers through his dark hair and reached a hand to help her to her feet.

When they entered the solar Arne was standing with his back to the fire and Raven was in the armchair. One look at Arne’s frowning face was enough to tell Aileen that her fears were correct. There was bad news in store.

“Sit down, sit down.” Arne joined them as they took their seats. Raven did not look up but kept her gaze on the fire.

“I take it the messengers we sent yesterday have returned with news from the Isle of Canna?”

Arne nodded. “Aye.” He turned to Raven. “It’s fer ye tae pass on the word that’s been brought from Canna.”

Raven finally looked up. It was clear to Aileen that Raven was afraid. Her eyes were wide, and her lower lip trembled. Her hands were wringing the fabric of her gown as if to somehow rid herself of something odious.

“’Tis worse than we feared.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “Sutherland is at Canna.”

Aileen sucked in a breath, feeling a stabbing pain in her belly. This could only mean one thing: Sutherland was planning an attack on Barra. He would never have left his own domain if he was not intending to make war.

She glanced at Maxwell, who was rubbing his chin, saying nothing.

“What other tidings did our messengers bring?”

Arne went on. “He is assembling his fleet of birlinns and he has many men who have sailed with him.” He shook his head. “There’s more. He demands we hand the lady Aileen to him, and from what our men could gather, he wishes tae take Everard and Maxwell as his prisoners.”

Maxwell pshawed. “There are nay surprises there. I’d expect nothing less from the swine. He’s been thwarted nae once, nae twice, but three times. His fury would ken nae bounds.”

Raven spoke again. “Aye. Ye’re right, his actions are what we anticipated. There is one bright spark in this, however.”

Aileen looked up. Her head was reeling with this grim news. It was, indeed, unheard of for Sutherland to leave his own lands. Clearly, his need for vengeance was outweighing his usual caution.

“If he is vowing to make a prisoner of Everard and Maxwell, we can be certain he has nae succeeded in capturing Everard and believes the laird is here wi’ us at Kiessimul. That gives me hope our braither will be with us again before long.”

It was only now that Aileen spoke. “Aye. Ye’re correct in yer deduction, milady. If he had already captured Everard yer men would surely have heard tell of it. If he is vowing vengeance on both yer braithers, it can only mean Everard has evaded him. And that his anger I making him throw caution tae the wind.”

Maxwell folded his arms. “I say we begin preparing fer Sutherland’s men. Our castle has met sieges before this day. Bring in supplies, alert the fisherfolk tae be on watch fer any strangers that may enter our waters.” He gave an impatient huff. “One thing we can be certain of is that Sutherland is nay yet ready to attack. If his fleet were already assembled and all his men on the Isle of Canna, he wouldnae wait. We would be under attack even as we speak.”

Arne spoke up. “Braither, can ye come tae the study where ye can lay out for me all ye ken about Sutherland’s strength.”

Maxwell glanced at Aileen. “I believe the lass can tell us more. She kens Andrew Sutherland’s ways as well as anyone.”

Nodding her head, Aileen got to her feet. “I’ll gladly tell ye what I ken about the man. But, will ye pardon me awhile. This news has made my head swim and I would like tae walk alone tae clear me thoughts.” Glancing at Maxwell she saw he was frowning, yet she needed to think over the news on her own.

Maxell nodded. “Aye, lass. I understand.” His voice was gentle. Indeed, Maxwell alone understood her fears for her father and for her friends.