Epilogue
Vrogul
Callor had offered us a place to stay in his village, but I’d turned him down. Being there, especially knowing none of them had any reason to love me or mine, caused my neck to itch.
Aye, we’d won the battle, but this negotiation had been necessary.
My Mate had joined me as a show of support and strength, and having Rowena at my side with her gleaming weapons and haughty attitude—especially since I knew Callor had recognized she was part of our salvation—had made my Kteer crow.
It hadn’t been a pleasant meeting, but worth it. I had Callor’s ungraciously given word that my clan would remain safe. We would be his allies, but not his sept. And I trusted him, because I had to. He was as honorable as I was, and had kept to the agreement his grandson had made.
After I’d clasped forearms with the scowling male, he’d begrudgingly invited me to a feast. Having seen what kinds of feasts he held—and the entertainment he and his Mate frequently offered—I turned him down as politely as I could.
I wanted to get Rowena out of there, keep her safe.
She might already be carrying my heir, after all.
So, we rode hard for home, surrounded by my men. This time, she rode in my lap, her arms around my middle, her face buried in the crook of my neck. Maardok was at my side, his warriors spread around us.
Keeping her safe.
We reached the coast, and the sun had sunk long before we stopped.
I was itching to reach our island but knew ‘twas foolish to risk the crossing in the dark.
So instead, I slid off my horse and held Rowena cradled in my arms while my friends bustled around me, starting cookfires and beginning to make a meal.
But I was tired and needed to retreat with my Mate who was already asleep in my arms.
My brother stepped up beside me to watch his men.
“Ye did well today,” he murmured. “Ye kept us safe.”
His praise made my chest expand and I nodded my thanks. “‘Twas yer warriors’ strength that convinced Callor of our threat—”
“Nay, ‘twas yer words.”
He tipped his chin toward the female in my arms.
“And those of yer Mate. She’s a good match for ye, D’malk. The Battleborn of Islay will go far under yer combined leadership.”
I knew ‘twas the truth, and I grinned softly.
“Aye. I will lead the clan, and she will lead me.”
He chuckled. “As it should be.”
Thinking of Issa and our mother, my grin grew. But I sobered quickly as I remembered what we’d had to give up. Our promises to Callor.
“We will no’ be forced to raid for him any longer—”
“Aye,” Maardok interrupted. “We’ll only raid for ourselves. And Issa’s cheese obsession.”
“We could steal a few goats and learn to make cheeses, ye ken,” I reminded him dryly, even as I shifted Rowena in my arms. “Be more self-sufficient.”
His shoulder nudged mine.
“And take the fun out of life? We’ll keep what we steal, brother.”
“Aye, but Sevren…”
I could sense my brother’s wince.
It had been Callor’s suggestion and, although I hated to agree, a good one. By matching my younger brother with one of Callor’s granddaughters, our clans would be connected by alliance, if not oath.
But ‘twould not be a Mating.
Maardok blew out a breath and tapped his scarred cheek.
“‘Twould have been me, brother, had Callor no’ thought me too hideous for one of his wee flowers. Sevren’s reputation is kenned throughout the Highlands, apparently. But if it had been me…”
When he took a deep breath, his shoulders expanded wearily.
“I would have accepted it. For the safety and future of the clan.”
I knew what such an admission cost him.
Orc males grew up in a world that celebrated our females because there were so few of them compared to us.
We dreamed of one day finding our Mates, but not all of us were as lucky as I had been, as our father had been.
I knew that my brothers dreamed of one day finding their Mates…
but that opportunity was being stolen now from Sevren.
“I hate agreeing to it without speaking to him first,” I admitted quietly, not wanting to wake Rowena.
“He’ll agree,” Maardok said instantly. “He will do his part for the clan.”
“I’ll no’ force him. Even if it means another war.”
“He’ll pledge to her, and fook her, to prevent another war,” Maardok vowed. “And if he is lucky enough to find his Mate later, well…’twill no’ be the first time a male has broken his pledge for such reasons.”
He was right. And he was right that Sevren would do it, even if he didn’t like it.
Poor bastard.
My brother suddenly clapped my shoulder.
“Are ye hungry, D’malk?”
Mutely, I shook my head, lifting my Mate higher against my chest.
“I would keep my Mate warm.”
“Aye.”
Maardok pointed to the tent which had been made from a spare plaid draped over the limb of a tree some way from the others who were wrapping themselves in their plaids around the fires.
“Yer bed awaits, brother.”
He’d ordered that set up for me? For us. I nodded my thanks.
“Ye honor me.”
“I honor Rowena, D’malk,” Maardok smirked as he faded into the shadows. “Ye’re lucky to have her.”
I was, indeed.
Feeling the tightness in my chest finally easing, I headed toward the little private tent.
My people were safe, my Mate was in my arms, and our future was secure.
All would be well.
Rowena
I woke when Vrogul laid me on the ground. Missing the warmth of his arms, I reached for him, pulling him down beside me until I could roll atop him, stealing his heat. I felt him chuckle at my boldness.
“Mmmm.”
I snuggled closer.
“Where are we?”
“Safe.”
He kissed the top of my head.
“Tomorrow morning we’ll board the birlinn, and ye’ll be sleeping in our bed by tomorrow night.”
That sounded lovely.
“Home,” I sighed.
“Aye, Mate. Home.”
I smiled against his chest, especially when his hand fell to my arse, squeezing one round globe.
The last few days had moved quickly. In the aftermath of the battle for Islay, he’d introduced me to the clan as his Mate, and the welcome had been overwhelming.
I’d cried, standing there in front of them and receiving their respect…
and that seemed to endear me to them even more.
I’d cried that night again, when Vrogul had made love to me so gently I thought I might suffocate on my love for him.
“I love ye, Mate,” he murmured, kneading my arse. “Ye did so well today. I was proud to have ye at my side.”
When I shifted against him, I could feel his hardness beneath his kilt.
“Not as proud as I was of you, Mate.”
My fingers caressed his side, loving the way he shuddered—from my touch, or the way I claimed him? S“You were magnificent.”
“Lass,” he growled, clamping a hand over mine. “If ye keep that up, ye’ll no’ be able to go to sleep for a long while.”
Grinning wickedly, I slid one leg over his, knowing from experience this last fortnight how easily a set of skirts or a kilt could be flipped up for fooking.
His hand squeezed my arse again and I felt his cock throb against my hip through the wool of his kilt. I shifted, pressing my body more fully against his, letting him feel my heat, my need.
“Rowena,” he breathed, my name a prayer on his lips.
His hands moved to the laces of my bodice, working them loose with practiced ease. The fabric loosened, and he gently tugged it down, scooping my breasts free from their confines. The cool air hit my skin, tightening my nipples, and I shivered.
“So beautiful,” he murmured, his hands cupping my breasts reverently. His thumbs brushed over the peaks, circling them, teasing them until I arched into his touch.
“Every part of ye is perfect, Mate. Perfect for me.”
He shifted beneath me, rolling us so I was on my back and he was propped on one elbow beside me.
His mouth descended to my breast, his tongue flicking over one nipple before he drew it into his mouth.
The suction was gentle, worshipful, and I gasped, my fingers tangling in his braids, acutely aware of the males murmuring outside our little haven.
Vrogul’s tusks pressed against the soft flesh of my breast as he lavished attention on one peak, then the other. He took his time, as if we had all the hours in the world, as if naught existed beyond this tent and our bodies.
“I love the sounds ye make,” he whispered against my skin. “The way ye gasp when I touch ye here.”
His teeth grazed my nipple gently.
“The way ye moan when I do this.”
He sucked harder, and I did moan, unable to hold back the sound.
His free hand skimmed down my side, over my hip, catching the hem of my gown and pushing it up my thigh. His palm was warm and rough as it slid higher, caressing the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. When he reached the apex of my legs, cupping my core, I was already wet for him.
“Always so ready,” he praised, his fingers stroking through my folds. “My perfect dkaar. My Rowena.”
He circled my clitoris with his thumb, applying gentle pressure that made my hips lift off the ground. His fingers explored me, sliding through my arousal, dipping inside me just enough to make me whimper for more.
“Please,” I breathed, my hands gripping his shoulders. “Vrogul, please.”
“Aye, love. I’ll give ye what ye need.”
He settled between my legs, his weight braced on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush me. I kicked my gown out of the way, needing naught between us, and wrapped my legs around his hips, pulling him closer.
The head of his cock pressed against my entrance, and he looked down at me, his eyes glowing softly in the darkness of the tent.
“I love ye, Rowena. More than my own life.”
“I love you too,” I whispered, reaching up to cup his face.
As he lowered his mouth to claim mine, he pushed forward, sliding into me in one smooth thrust. The sensation of being filled by him, stretched around his ridged cock, never failed to overwhelm me.
And true to orcish nature, the moment he was fully seated inside me, my orgasm crashed over me.
I cried out, my back arching, but he swallowed down my sounds. His tongue slid against mine as my body convulsed beneath him, my inner walls clenching around his cock. He kissed me deeply, reverently, his body still as he let me ride out the waves of pleasure.
But before the climax had fully subsided, while my body was still trembling and sensitive, my inner muscles throbbing, he began to move.
He withdrew slowly, each ridge of his cock dragging against my inner walls, then pushed back in with the same deliberate pace.
The sensation was exquisite torture, prolonging my orgasm, stretching it out until I couldn’t tell where one peak ended and another began.
“That’s it, dkaar,” he murmured against my lips. “Let me love ye. Let me worship ye.”
We made love softly, quietly. Not because I was concerned about the Battleborn of Islay who might be listening, but because it seemed like an appropriate time to reaffirm our love for one another.
His thrusts were slow, deep, reverent. Each movement was calculated to bring me pleasure, to show me how much he cherished me. His hips rolled against mine, grinding his pelvis against my clitoris with each inward thrust, sending sparks of sensation through my body.
I could feel the pleasure building again—or mayhap it had never truly crested. My body was alight with sensation, every nerve ending singing. I clung to him, my nails digging into his shoulders, my legs tightening around his waist.
“Beautiful,” he breathed, his forehead pressed to mine. “So beautiful when ye come for me. I could watch ye like this forever.”
His pace increased slightly, his control beginning to slip. I could feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles trembled with the effort of holding back. His cock throbbed inside me, and I knew he was close.
“Come with me,” I whispered, my hands sliding down to grip his arse, pulling him deeper. “Please, Vrogul. I want to feel you.”
That was all it took. His rhythm faltered, becoming more urgent, more desperate. He thrust into me once, twice more, and then I felt him swell inside me, felt the hot rush of his seed filling me as he came with a quiet grunt against my neck.
The sensation pushed me over the edge again, and I peaked with him, my body clenching around his cock, milking him, taking everything he had to give. We stayed locked together, both of us trembling, our breath mingling in the small space between our faces.
He didn’t withdraw. Instead, he carefully shifted his weight to the side, keeping us joined as he settled more comfortably against me. My legs remained wrapped around him, my arms holding him close.
We drifted like that, suspended between waking and sleep. His cock softened inside me gradually, but neither of us moved to separate. His hand stroked lazy patterns on my hip, my side, my arm. I traced the line of his jaw, his neck, feeling the steady beat of his pulse beneath my fingertips.
Time became meaningless. The sounds of the camp outside the tent faded away until there was naught but the sound of our breathing, the warmth of our bodies, the perfect rightness of being together.
Finally, with a soft exhale, he slipped free of my body and rolled us again, pulling me to stretch out on top of him, so I could sleep pillowed by his body.
I settled against his chest, my head tucked beneath his chin, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms wrapped around me, holding me secure, and he kissed the top of my head.
“I love ye, Mate,” he murmured into my hair, his voice rough with emotion and satisfaction.
“I love you too,” I whispered back, already feeling sleep pulling me under.
His hand stroked down my spine, a soothing rhythm that made my eyes grow heavy. Safe in his arms, claimed and cherished, I let myself drift off to sleep.
This was home.
Not a place, but a person.
My Mate.