Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“I know, not to mention that huge sword of yours.” She smiled again. “The one no one would notice.”
Jamie’s eyes widened as he stared at her and then he shook his head. “Och, ye mean my claymore.”
“Yes.” Mari frowned, wondering what had caused him to react like he was shocked.
As if anyone could miss that huge thing sticking up behind his shoulder.
She took a swallow of wine and then licked the corner of her mouth where several drops lingered.
“I do not know much about swords, but I have never seen an Englishman with such a large one.”
Jamie choked, sputtering on his own wine, and Mari leaned forward and put a hand on his arm. “Are you all right?” She felt the muscles of his forearm clench, and then he withdrew it slowly.
“I am fine,” he said and began digging in the saddlebag again. A look of relief spread over his face as he withdrew a small flask. “Bless ye, Bridget,” he murmured.
“What is that?” Mari asked as Jamie unscrewed the top and tipped the flask.
“Uisge-beatha,” he answered. “’Tis the water of life.”
“Can I try some?”
“Nae. ’Tis better ye stick to the wine. It is watered down.”
Was Jamie giving her orders again? Mari bristled, forgetting her recent resolve to be more tolerant. Just when they were having a nice conversation, Jamie had to spoil it by telling her what she was allowed to drink? “Did Bridget not send the whisky for both of us?”
“Nae,” Jamie said again as he took another swallow. “’Tis a mon’s fortification.”
“Really?” Truly, it was quite rude of him to drink something in front of her that he would not share. Mari eyed the flask as he put it down and then grabbed it quickly before he could stop her.
“Ye dinnae want to try that,” Jamie said and reached for it.
Mari scooted back and managed a deep drink before Jamie took the flask away. And then he stilled, his golden eyes watching her intently.
“Mmmm,” she said as the golden liquid slid down her throat, “it feels nice and warm—” She gasped for air as her stomach turned to a fiery pit. “Oh…” Mari doubled over, coughing and trying to breathe.
Jamie pulled her up against him, pressing her head to his shoulder while he held the wine cup to her lips. “Drink this. It will help put out the fire.”
Mari did not think she could swallow anything, but she was going to incinerate on the spot if she did not try.
She grasped the cup with both hands, thankful Jamie did not let go.
After the first cool swallow, the wine went down better, dousing the flames she was sure had dissolved half her insides.
She had just about drained the cup when Jamie set it down.
“’Tis enough for now, lass.”
She did not argue with him this time. She was still having trouble catching her breath. “How can you manage to drink that stuff?” she asked when she could finally speak again.
Jamie grinned and put the flask away. “I told ye it was a mon’s fortification. When will ye learn to trust me?”
“I do trust you.” Mari blinked at him, rather owlishly. He was a bit blurry. “I would not be here otherwise.”
He raised both brows questioningly. “And where would ye go? The storm is still blowing outside.”
The storm. Mari hiccupped. She had forgotten—for only a minute, she reminded herself—about the storm. “Well, never mind then.” She blinked again, narrowing her eyes to bring Jamie into better focus. “Can you not sit still?”
“I am nae moving.”
“Ye—you—are so. You are rocking back and forth.” Jamie grinned, his dimple showing. Had she never noticed before he had two dimples?
“I think the whisky has gone to yer brain, lass.”
“The whissh…whisshky?” She remembered the nice, warm feeling she’d had before her stomach caught on fire.
That glow was spreading all over her now.
“Ish quite warm in here, ish it not?” she asked and flung the tartan off, leaving her clad only in the thin chemise.
Jamie made a sound that was close to a growl.
“Did you shay shh…omething?”
His eyes travelled over her slowly, and then he closed them and rubbed his temples. “Ye had best cover yerself with the plaid.”
“Why? I am hoth.” She waggled an impish finger at him as he opened his eyes. “Do you not feel the heat?”
That funny sound came from him again, and Mari decided it was rather intriguing. She inched closer, tilting her head to study him—which would be easier if he held still—and then giggled.
He gave her a wary look. “What?”
“I wanth to kissch you.”
“Ye are verra drunk.”
“Perhaps.” Mari nodded—rather sagely, she thought—“but I still wanth to kissch you.”
She made a rather awkward lunge toward him. Jamie caught her, holding her arms tightly to her side with one of his while the other hand pressed her head against his shoulder, and he rocked her gently.
“Go to sleep,” he said.
When Mari woke, it took a moment to realize where she was. Embers of the banked fire glowed softly in the hearth, and the purplish haze of predawn hung in the air. The wind no longer howled like a furious pack of wolves, and she was cocooned in a blanket of warmth.
Warmth not only came from the plaid that covered her.
As her senses awakened, she became aware of a strong arm around her waist, bracing her against a hard body that radiated its own heat.
Mari lay motionless, allowing herself to absorb the feeling.
Her head rested on Jamie’s other arm, and his breath was soft and warm near her ear.
One of his thighs was over hers as well, effectively pinning her to him.
She shifted slightly and felt something thick and hard stir against her backside.
Turning onto her back, she caught Jamie’s eyes, gleaming gold in the faint light from the embers, watching her intently. She smiled sleepily. “How long have you been awake?”
“Nae long.” Jamie brushed a tangled wisp of her hair aside and propped himself up on his elbow. “How is yer head?”
“Fine. Should it not be?”
Jamie chuckled. “For a lass nae used to uisge-beatha ye have a fine, hard head.”
“A hard head? Are you telling me I am stubborn?”
The chuckle deepened. “Ye are that, but I meant ye are handling the effects of the whisky well. Or, mayhap, ye are still drunk?”
“I am nae—I am not drunk. I did not have that much.” In the near darkness, she would have missed his raised eyebrow if his face had not been mere inches from hers. “I did not,” she emphasized.
“Nae? Do ye remember what ye said?”
Thank goodness dawn had not broken or Jamie would have seen the telltale blush she felt wash over her.
She remembered very well what she had said—and almost done.
What she still wanted to do. But if Jamie thought to bedevil her about it, she would turn the tables on him. “Perhaps you could tell me?”
His voice changed slightly, all trace of the chuckling gone. “Ye said ye wanted to kiss me.”
“I did?”
“Aye.”
“Did you take advantage of that?”
“Nae.”
“Why not?”
“I dinnae take advantage of drunk lasses.”
Mari took a deep breath and felt a slight tremor of anticipation in her tummy. “I am not drunk now.”
He looked momentarily confused, and then his eyes widened. “What are ye saying?”
Oh, Lord. Jamie was going to win this battle after all.
He was going to make her ask. Maybe she should not.
If she had any sense at all, she would crawl out from this precarious position on all fours, get dressed and demand to be taken home.
It really was what she should do. Already, she could hear Effie scolding her, and Aunt Agnes would probably swoon if she knew what Mari was contemplating.
And certainly, if she were in London, she would not even consider…
Mari looked at Jamie’s full, sensual mouth so close to hers and felt his body heat under the plaid that still covered most of them.
Her own body started tingling in strange places. “I want you to kiss me.”
He smiled and bent down to brush his lips across hers. “Like this?”
“No.”
“Nae?”
“No. More. I want more.”
Jamie hesitated, his eyes searching her face. “Do ye ken what ye are asking?”
Mari wasn’t sure she kenned at all, only that her body felt as though thousands of tiny needles were pricking her skin, making her itch and long to be touched. She had no words to explain it. Instead, she wrapped her hands around Jamie’s neck and tugged his head down.
He moved so suddenly, she scarce had time to draw breath before his mouth was on hers, lips firmly engaging hers while his tongue deepened the kiss, filling her mouth with his unique taste, then withdrawing to kiss her lightly, teasing her with mere brushes of his lips, causing her to mewl softly in want.
Mari felt his smile against her cheek as he rained butterfly kisses across her brow and eyelids and then along the other cheek.
Jamie brushed over her mouth again, then slid his tongue slowly along her upper lip and even more leisurely along her lower one before he sucked it into his mouth.
Dawn broke as Jamie continued playing with her, although Mari was hardly aware of it, too lost in all the marvelous sensations she was experiencing. A low moan escaped her as Jamie nibbled her ear, and she pressed her body against his, needing the closeness.
This time, the groan came from Jamie as he slid his hand down her neck, caressing her shoulder in slow strokes, and moved downward toward her breast. Cupping it in his palm, he kneaded gently, eliciting small whimpers of response that grew louder as he increased the pressure.
Mari gasped when his thumb flicked over her nipple, the thin material of the chemise causing delightful friction and causing it to tighten.
Jamie trailed kisses along her throat while his deft fingers made quick work of the chemise’s lacing, sliding it off one shoulder and exposing her small birthmark.
Mari felt the slightest swoosh of cool air against her bared breast before Jamie’s warm, wet mouth closed over the hardened peak, his tongue flicking the puckered nub back and forth until Mari was ready to scream in ecstasy, and then he began to suckle.
Instinctively, Mari arched her back to let him take more of her and ran her fingers through his hair, pressing him closer, never wanting this exquisite sensation to end.
And then she screamed as the door flew open.
Duncan and Broc stood in the doorway with several men behind them.