Chapter Thirteen
“Have ye gone mad?” Alex railed at Rory, pointing to Adam whose head rested in Mary’s lap, the hem of her tunic wadded to absorb the blood gushing from his nose.
Rory firmed his stance for battle. “We’ve already established that I’m mad.
In fact, I believe yer very words were ‘reckless knave.’” He took a step closer, not a bit sorry for having punched Adam in the face, likely breaking his perfect nose.
In fact, he felt better than he had in days.
And he would feel even better with Alex in his arms.
Her eyes flashed. “Ye didn’t have to punch him!”
“I ken,” he growled, wrapping his arm around her waist. “But I’ve a fire blazing within me, and I had to cool it down somehow.
” Then he pulled her against him. “I want to be alone,” he breathed.
His hand shook with restraint as he gently stroked the back of his fingers down her silky, pale cheek.
Then he cupped her face. “I am going to kiss ye, Alex, long and hard. Either I do it now in front of yer clan and precious suitors, or ye lead me to where we can be alone.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, pushing him away. “Ye read my letter!”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “Ye left it out in the open, then let me into yer solar, alone. Ye’re not a careless woman, Alex. Whether ye knew it at the time or not, ye wanted me to see it.”
“What?” she scoffed. “That makes no sense. Why would I want ye to see it?”
He crushed her against his chest. “To save ye from marrying someone ye don’t love.”
Her eyes bore into his with an intensity that belied her denials. Still, she shook her head while at the same time, putting her arms around his neck. “I must do what is proper,” she whispered, her voice growing increasingly desperate.
“Doing what’s proper is just about the worst thing a lassie like ye could do.”
Her stomach flipped. She gazed into his burning sky-blue eyes and grabbed his hand, leading him toward the outer wall to the secret passage that led to her chambers.
Beneath the ground it was musky and dark.
She removed the scorched torch from its sconce and felt for one of the chards of flint she kept on the ground.
Moments later, a fire, which mirrored her burning desire, chased away the darkness.
She turned around. The fire set his black hair aglow.
His eyes bored into hers. She stared at his full lips—lips that had been burned forever into her memory.
He continued to stare at her. She stared back, her heart pounding.
Then he grabbed her by the waist and thrust her against the wall, his lips seizing hers.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself into him.
Her hands moved to cup his rough, chiseled jaw and then caressed his strong shoulders.
He groaned and stepped back, raking his hand through his hair.
He stared at her swollen, parted lips. The pulse throbbed at her neck.
He burned for her as he had never done before.
His body ached. He fought against his pulsing need.
How could he resist? There was no other woman like Alex.
And the fire burning through his body was mirrored in her own hungry eyes and could be heard in her gasping breaths.
“It cannot be helped,” he growled, pulling her close once more.
His hands wove through her hair. Her soft, golden waves tangled around his fingers as he crushed her lips against his.
She clutched his face between her hands, her tongue plunging into his, caressing, teasing, stoking his passion to new heights.
With a groan, he tore his lips from hers and turned her around.
With quick, desperate motions, he began to untie the laces of her surcote.
The fabric gave way and dropped to the ground.
Then he whisked her tunic over her head.
She turned back into his arms. He stared hungrily at her full breasts, their taut peaks pressed against the thin fabric of her kirtle.
He moaned as she cupped her own breasts, her breathing hard and hungry.
Then she reached for the belt around his waist, tugging at his tunic at the same time.
“If ye were wearing a plaid, I would have ye naked in my arms by now,” she said, straining to free his body from his layers of clothing.
He pulled her against him, smiling wickedly.
“I vow to wear a plaid evermore,” he said, his voice husky.
He slowly leaned down and caught her bottom lip gently between his teeth.
Then he kissed her slowly, his tongue sweeping her mouth in languid strokes while he unclasped his belt.
He broke their kiss only to pull his tunic over his head.
Her hand splayed out against his rock-solid chest, dusted with a light sprinkling of crisp, black curls.
She raked her hands down his lean torso before she grabbed his muscled shoulders and pressed her body against his.
Her lips claimed his, then moved down his throat, pausing over his racing pulse.
The cords in his neck flexed as she continued her slow caress, savoring the salty taste of him.
She licked the soft place behind his ear, then continued down, kissing and laving the taut skin of his shoulders and across his chest. She had known sexual hunger before, but never had she experienced such need.
An ache, searing and hot burned between her legs.
Her heart pounded harder and harder, her breathing ragged as her hands swept down and felt the full, hard length of him.
Rory’s breath hitched when her palm rubbed against his swollen member.
With a growl, he grabbed her, pressing the heat of her against his hardness.
He backed her against the stone wall, dropped to his knees, and lifted the hem of her kirtle.
He kissed the soft skin of her thighs, parting her legs and raising her kirtle higher.
He could smell her desire, rich and hot.
With his mouth and tongue, he slowly coaxed her thighs open.
Then he buried his lips in her soft pillow of curls and found her sensitive nub, his tongue moving in gentle circles.
Slowly, he slid his finger inside her. God, she was tight... so tight.
He faltered.
She was too tight.
His body shuddered as he eased his finger from her slick warmth and rested his head against her quivering body.
“Please, don’t stop,” she cried, the same pain that was shooting through his body echoed in her cry.
He took a deep breath, fighting to bring his own body back under control. Then his touch returned to the heat of her, stroking her, savoring the renewed sound of her soft moans. When she cried out, her body shuddered in wave after sweet wave around his touch.
“Rory,” she cried as soft pants escaped her lips. “That was...I’ve never...”
“Hush, lass,” he crooned in her ear. “Catch yer breath.”
He held her close, savoring the feel of her body in his arms. His own body still throbbed with need. He fought the desire to lay her on the ground and bring her once again to the heights of passion, but then her hands came to life. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her full lips claiming his.
“Nay,” he said, setting her at arms-length. He took the torch from the sconce and gestured deeper into the cave. “Ye go that way, and I’ll return the way we came.”
“But Rory—”
“Nay,” he said. Then he kissed her once more before taking several steps back. “Ye’ve saved yer maidenhead for yer husband.” He took another step back. “It will be yer husband who takes it. Go now.”
She hesitated another moment before she turned and hastened toward the keep. He watched her until she dipped from sight around the bend.
“And yer husband will be me,” he whispered aloud.