CHAPTER 18
Angry tears burned at the back of Margaret’s eyes, making her grateful for the darkness of the stables. She was horrified that she had lost control and revealed how upset she was.
“I shouldn’t have raised my voice,” she said.
“Ye can shout at me all ye like. I don’t mind,” Finn said in a soft voice as if he was calming a frenzied horse. “A little shouting is good for the soul.”
She did feel better for it, but she was not about to admit that. “Una will be here with Ella any moment. It would have upset Ella if she heard us arguing.”
“’Twould be good for that wee lassie to do a bit of shouting herself,” Finn said.
What was wrong with her today? Finn’s remark very nearly made her burst into tears, because he was right. Ella was far too quiet and careful. Margaret did not want her daughter to be like her, always protecting herself, afraid to cause trouble or make demands.
“Don’t worry about Curstag,” Finn said, resting his hands on her shoulders. “She’s just bored.”
From the way Curstag glared at her during the ride, Margaret suspected Finn was not sleeping with her—yet.
But as he had pointed out himself, he was no monk.
It was unreasonable for her to expect him to resist temptation for long, whether from Curstag or someone else.
The thought of him with another woman should not make her feel sick to her stomach.
Fortunately, the journey to Helmsdale was not long.
The rugged coastline was stunning, but the trail was rough and skirted steep cliffs that dropped to the sea.
Besides the family, only the earl’s personal guard of two dozen warriors and half the household servants traveled with them, while the rest were left behind at Dunrobin.
The hunting lodge turned out to be a small tower castle built on a hill overlooking the sea beside the mouth of a river. A wall enclosed the tower and a small courtyard, where Finn helped her and Ella down from their horse.
“We’ll have a cold supper tonight,” Helen announced once everyone had dismounted. “It will be ready soon, so don’t be long.”
Finn remained outside with the other men while Helen led the women inside and showed them to their chambers. Once again, Helen gave Margaret and Finn a chamber at the top of the tower—because newlyweds need their privacy—and Una and Ella had the other chamber on that floor.
While Margaret unpacked her and Ella’s meager belongings, a servant brought in a pitcher of water and a basin.
Margaret quickly washed the dirt from their hands and faces.
Before going downstairs, she peered out the arrow-slit window and caught sight of Finn waist-deep in the river, laughing and talking with the other men while they washed.
A small, high-pitched yelp escaped her lips when Finn dove under and then sprang up out of the water looking like a sea god from the old Norse tales, with water streaming from his shining black hair and down his muscular shoulders and chest.
As he climbed out of the river, she realized he was completely naked. Oh my. He was so far away that she had to lean forward, but then some bushes blocked her view. Only after Finn was dressed and climbing up the slope to the castle did she notice that other men on the shore were naked.
Ella tugged at her skirts, breaking her reverie. Good heavens, how long had she been staring at him?
“What is it, sweetling?” she asked.
“I’m hungry,” Ella said.
“’Tis good to speak up and tell me,” Margaret said, smiling at her. “Let’s find Una and go eat.”
Nearly everyone was seated by the time Margaret returned to the hall with Ella and Una.
“The bairn must sit with me,” Una said, and did not wait for Margaret’s approval before leading Ella to one of the trestle tables where the servants and members of the guard were seated.
Margaret had not figured out if Una was treated as one of the family or as a servant.
She seemed to choose whichever role suited her at the time.
Just now, Margaret wished she could do the same and sit with them.
One glance at the high table told her that meals at Helmsdale would be a more intimate affair than at Dunrobin, where the high table could accommodate thirty or forty people.
Here, the earl sat with his wife and son at one end of a small rectangular table, while Finn’s father sat at the other end flanked by Isabel and Curstag.
Margaret was about to sit next to Helen when Finn appeared at her side and, with a mischievous wink, guided her into the seat next to his mother before squeezing in between her and Helen.
“Isn’t this delightful?” Helen said, beaming at them. “I always enjoy getting away to Helmsdale with the family.”
Delightful. Margaret had Isabel beside her exuding hostility from every pore, and Curstag glaring at her from across the table. She took a large gulp of her wine.
On her other side, Finn’s thigh rubbed against hers, and his black hair was still wet from his swim, making it impossible to get the image of him rising out of the river out of her head.
She took another gulp of her wine.
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That night, Margaret was too restless to sleep. When she turned on her side, the moonlight streaming through the window illuminated Finn, who appeared to be sleeping like a rock.
She propped her head up, leaning on her elbow.
Though she felt a wee bit sinful taking advantage of his sound sleep to examine him closely, that did not deter her.
There was not a thing she would change about Finn’s face.
She ran her gaze over the dark slash eyebrows, square jaw shadowed with dark stubble, the strong planes of his cheekbones, and his full lips that were so often curved up in amusement.
A sigh escaped her as she recalled how soft and warm those lips felt on hers.
Though the chamber was chilly, Finn had kicked the bedding half off in his sleep, leaving his chest, the side of one hip—she paused there and swallowed—and one long leg free of the bedclothes.
He was long and lean and all hard muscle.
When he was awake, she had to be on her guard to resist the desire that radiated from him.
But asleep, even his powerful frame did not intimidate her. In fact, she was tempted to touch him.
Finn was sleeping so soundly, she could surely risk a small touch.
She bit her lip and watched his face to be sure he did not awaken as she ran her fingertip ever so softly down his arm.
It felt so different from hers, from the rippling muscle of his upper arm to the masculine hair on his forearm to his hand with its calluses from so many hours of swinging a claymore.
She smiled, recalling how safe she felt when this big hand encompassed hers.
Her desire to touch him surprised her. She had never felt this yearning to feel a man’s bare skin beneath her hands before. Though she had touched her husband countless times, she never once wanted to.
After trailing her finger down Finn’s arm did not wake him, she grew more daring.
She sat up and ran her hand lightly over his broad chest, a wall of solid muscle.
When her fingertip dipped into a scar, she bit her lip at the thought of how often he fought in battles and risked death. Unlike her, he seemed utterly fearless.
The hair on his chest tickled her palm, sending tendrils of pleasurable sensation up her arm and down to her belly. She should stop now, but her fingers seemed to move on their own, drifting down to his flat, hard-muscled belly.
Well, there was one part of him that was not asleep. His shaft pushed the sheet up as if begging for her notice. She was tempted to pull the sheet off the rest of the way, but that was far too bold. Instead, she ran her finger along the surprisingly soft skin on the side of his bare hip.
She gave in to temptation and very carefully began to pull on the sheet. Her breathing grew shallow as she dragged it down inch by inch.
“Jesu, are ye trying to kill me, lass?”
“Oh my God, you’re awake!” she said. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t say that.” Finn sat up and pulled against his chest. “Don’t even think it.”
He covered her face with kisses, ran more down the side of her throat, and pushed her night shift aside to kiss her shoulder as well. Then his mouth was on hers in a kiss filled with so much hunger it stole her breath away.
As he deepened the kiss, she felt as if he was unlocking something inside her.
She had always been so careful, so afraid of offending and being hurt.
Tonight, she could not make herself pull back.
And she did not want to. Instead, she wrapped her arms around Finn’s neck and kissed him back with a desperation that matched his own.
As they rolled across the bed, his hands moved over her body, caressing, squeezing, possessing. She let a wild and mindless passion take her. There was no tomorrow, no consequences. There was only now and this raging fire consuming them and melding her body into his.
Sparks flew off her skin as he ran his tongue and hot mouth along her throat.
Between frantic kisses, he pulled her shift over her head, and suddenly, they were skin to skin.
She reveled in the feel of his hard muscles beneath her hands, his chest against her breasts, and the taste of his skin on her tongue when she kissed his neck.
When he cupped her breasts, she tensed for a moment with the memory of William complaining that her breasts were too small.
“By the saints, ye feel so good,” Finn said, his breath hot against her skin, banishing her fear.
When Finn began rubbing her nipples between his thumbs and fingers, she heard herself moan.
Finn moved down her throat with his lips and tongue until his mouth replaced his hand on her breast. Oh God!
His tongue teased her nipple, sending rivulets of pleasure all the way to her toes.
William had never touched her like this, never filled her with this wanton desire.