Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
“We could stay another few days,” Mary said, running her fingers down Arran’s chest and then following with her lips. Beneath her cheek his heartbeat accelerated—because of her touch. Because of her. It was intoxicating.
“Your father’ll double back if he doesnae catch our scent. And we’ve been here nearly three days already. We cannae risk more.”
“But Sarah and Sean will be here when my father returns. I can’t leave them to his cruelty when I’ve already seen what he’ll do.”
“I’ve an idea that might help them some.” Arran slid his free hand around her waist and pulled her squarely atop him.
“What idea?” she asked, trying to concentrate on the conversation rather than on where his hands were now roving.
“Just a way to make it look fer certain like they had naught to do with us.” He cupped her face in his hands. “Now. We’ve an hour before nightfall, my lass. Do ye want to keep chatting aboot our plans fer tonight, or do ye think we might do someaught aboot this terrible swelling I seem to have?”
She laughed. “Again?” Mary drew her hand down between them to curl her fingers around his terrible swelling. “I thought we just dealt with this.”
Arran lifted his head a little to nibble at her exposed throat. “Ye keep encouraging the lad. Perhaps if ye put yer legs aroond my hips,” he said, nudging her legs apart so she straddled him.
With her on top of him, her legs spread, she felt very wanton. Keen need flashed through her, heady and arousing. “Well, let’s take care of that, then,” she breathed.
“Kiss me first.”
Lowering her face, her bottom up in the air, she kissed him hot and openmouthed.
His cock brushed the inside of her thighs, and she moaned.
Arran reached up, opening her with his fingers, and guided her down over him.
Mary sat up, sinking down around him. Oh, this was exquisite.
He’d been in control before, but this way it was her leading them.
She could tease him, coax him, drive him as mad as he drove her.
Planting her palms against his chest, she lifted up and slowly lowered herself again, then repeated the motion as he looked up at her, an aroused smile on his face.
“Are ye trying to torment me, Mary?” Arran murmured, catching her breasts in his hands and gently pinching her nipples. “Come fer me, lass.”
He pushed his hips up, filling her completely. With a gasping moan she shattered, flinging herself against him as he rocked up into her, holding her hips to deepen his upward thrusts. Good heavens.
As she regained control of her muscles she straightened again, bouncing up and down on his hard cock until he threw his head back and surged up into her. Then with a satisfied sigh she collapsed on his chest again. “You’re very good at this, you know,” she panted.
“Ye drive me mad, lass,” he said, putting his arms around her. “I want to be inside ye all day and all night, but I lose myself with wanting ye.”
If he was admitting to a lack of finesse or some such thing, she decided that him being in complete control of himself would likely kill her. She kissed his shoulder. “I’m never letting you go, Arran. Never.”
His grip around her tightened. Legs and arms entwined, with him still inside her, ever leaving this bed would be the worst sin she could imagine. Ever leaving his side, being separated from him, would kill her. She knew that with as much certainty as she knew her own name.
“I changed my mind,” he murmured. “We should stay here. I’m nae letting ye oot of this bed.”
Mary chuckled. “What about my father doubling back to find us?”
He shrugged beneath her. “They’ve likely forgotten all aboot us by now. I say we take our chances and make our stand here.”
“In this bedchamber?”
“In this bed. I told ye we’re nae leaving.”
“Excellent. History will record it as the battle of the feather bed.”
His lean body shook with laughter. “‘They’d thought the bed mended, but by the end feathers flew once more.’ Ye know, I’d wager we could split this mattress open again with just the two of us.”
She deliberately rocked her hips, feeling his cock move inside her. “What are we waiting for, then?”
By the time they did leave the bed she was fairly certain feathers had begun drifting out of the knife hole she and Sarah had sewn shut the day before. Because it was growing dark and they didn’t dare light a lamp, though, she couldn’t be certain.
“I’ll button ye,” Arran said, moving around behind her and pulling her simple green muslin up over her shoulders. He kissed one bare shoulder blade, then closed the fastenings up her back. “Are ye ready fer what comes next?”
“I’m ready. As long as everything is where Uncle Sean says it will be, I have the easy task.”
Arran turned her around and kissed her softly. “Nae. Ye’ll have Howard Howard with ye,” he drawled, running a finger down her cheek. “Only three eyes between ye.”
Mary took a deep, slow breath. “We should be going.”
“Aye.” He gazed into her eyes for a long moment, then visibly shook himself. “Aye. Give me yer hand, then.”
She did so, and he clasped it in his. Together they left the room and headed downstairs to find her aunt and uncle together with Peter and Howard all beginning a light supper in the small drawing room and going over their plans for the night once more.
As she took her seat she wondered if their hosts knew what she and Arran had been doing upstairs.
As Arran had noted previously, it was a very small, very quiet house. Oh, dear.
“Good evening,” she announced, too cheerily, as she sat.
“Good evening, my dear.” Aunt Sarah exchanged a look with her husband. “Sean says we’ll have a late moon tonight. That should help you, shouldn’t it?”
“Aye,” Arran answered, taking the one remaining seat at the foot of the table. “It will. And the two of ye will have yer excuse fer not seeing anything amiss with our spy until morning.”
“I still don’t like the idea of coming to his aid at all.” Sean passed a basket of hot bread down the table.
“If ye help him oot, Fendarrow willnae have any reason to disbelieve yer story. We’ll nae cause ye more harm than we already have. I’ll feed the fellow a tale. Ye just go along with it.”
Peter, seated beside Mary, handed her a platter of roasted chicken. “Ye’d best eat generous, my lady,” he said. “Ye’ll need yer strength, and ye didnae get much rest upstairs.”
Uncle Sean stifled a cough, while Aunt Sarah made a choking sound. At her left elbow Arran threw a piece of bread, which slapped Peter in the side of the head. “Ye idiot,” he said, without heat. “Dunnae embarrass my bonny lass or I’ll leave ye here to walk back to Scotland.”
“I apologize, my lady,” Peter said dutifully.
“That isn’t necessary.” Mary took a large piece of chicken and passed the platter on to Arran. “I’m quite famished, actually.” She favored the footman with a grin.
They reviewed the plan Arran had set out once more, though Mary didn’t think she would feel any calmer after a hundred rehearsals. She just wanted it to be over with—and she wanted not to have to go through it at all. Or rather, she wanted Arran not to have to go through with his part.
“I know you need to leave,” Sarah commented, “and I know why, but part of me still wishes you could stay.”
“I wish that, too,” Mary returned. “Perhaps when we’re settled there will be some way you can come and stay with us.”
Sean nodded. “I would like that. And I know Sarah would. We have our friends here, but it’s good to have family again.”
Mary knew what he meant. And even under the very best possible scenario, neither she nor Arran was likely to have any more contact with their families.
They’d both turned their backs on arranged marriages and destroyed potential alliances, and they’d more than likely shattered a very delicate, flimsy truce.
Sarah and Sean could well be all they had.
And the odds of the two couples ever seeing each other again were actually very small.
But since tonight they all seemed to be pretending that everything would be perfect and splendid at the end of this journey, she supposed she could say they would all spend Christmas together and everyone would agree.
At the end of the meal Susan came and cleared the dishes while Peter and Howard retrieved their luggage and brought it down to the kitchen by the back door. Nervous anticipation ran through Mary. It was time to go.
Arran shrugged into his heavy coat, pulled a pistol from the pocket and checked it, then returned it again.
He’d said he meant to do his utmost not to kill anyone, and she certainly believed him.
But her father and Charles and the rest of them were beyond angry, and she’d heard with her own ears that they meant to kill Arran.
No matter what, that was not allowed to happen.
“I’d be happy to lend you a hand, Arran,” her uncle said slowly. “Waiting here and doing nothing doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Ye’ll nae be doing naught,” Arran returned, bending down to loosen the knife in his boot. “Ye’ll make certain the lad on the hill sees ye down here so he knows it wasnae ye up there.”
“I understand. I still don’t like it.”
“I ken yer meaning, Sean. But this is best fer all of us.” With a grimace he offered his hand. Sean shook it. “And ye, Mòrag. We cannae thank ye enough.”
Aunt Sarah smiled, then stepped forward to embrace the big Highlander. “Don’t you dare thank me. When you find somewhere to stay, just send us your address. Please.”
“We will.”
With that, Arran and Peter headed to the back of the house. Mary followed; she couldn’t not do so. “Arran.”
He stopped in the middle of the kitchen, then took a long step back to her. “Give me ten minutes,” he said, leaning down to kiss her. “Within five after that ye’ll know if we got hold of him or nae.”
“How will I know if you didn’t get hold of him?”
“He’ll be bellowing fer help.”
She forced a smile. “Just please be careful.”