Chapter Eleven #2
“Right,” he said, sliding to the ground. “Sorry, lass,” he whispered to his horse, stroking her thick mane. “Ye have to sit this one out. Ye must ken there are offers too sweet to refuse.”
He turned to look up at Alex. As usual, she met his gaze dead on, never resorting to the coy affectations so often used by the fairer sex.
Already his pulse began to race, and he hadn’t even touched her yet.
He reached up and grabbed the horn of the saddle, his fingers close to the apex of her thighs.
She sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes narrowed on him with an intensity that fueled his desire.
He swung up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
“Hold on tightly,” she breathed.
He nosed her hair to the side, bringing his forehead down on her shoulder. “Happily,” he said softly, savoring the feel of her strong, sleek body, hot against his.
“’Tis not far,” she said, her voice strained. He knew the fierce attraction that pulsed from their bodies, penetrating the other, intruded upon her every thought as it did his.
They trotted along the rocky pass, waves lapping against the ridged wall that tamed the frigid water on one side.
On the other, craggy, teeming cliffs renewed their stake on the land.
His fingers splayed wide against her stomach.
He could have held her for all eternity.
Up ahead the coastline curved, revealing the dark mouth of a cave, and he knew that all too soon he would have to relinquish his prize.
“Welcome to my secret armory,” she said, reining in her horse at the foot of the cave.
Rory slid to the ground and reached up to clasp her waist. She pressed her hands against his chest while he slowly lowered her to the ground.
“Trust me,” she said, the corner of her mouth lifting in a sideways smile. “Ye’re about to see something ye’ll want even more than a good ride.”
He cocked his brow at her. “I will be the judge of that.”
She turned and reached into one of her large saddlebags and withdrew a thick rope, a torch, and a chard of flint. “Follow me,” she said. “And bring my horse.”
The cave floor was smooth, the stone worn by rushing waves, but as they moved deeper into the stone hollow, jagged rocks emerged, untouched by salt or spray.
Firelight from the torch Alex had lit danced on the ceiling, casting flickering shadows on the craggy walls.
They continued forward, the tunnel worming to the right, and then the passage widened.
Off to the side, Rory spied a long, narrow wagon, and beyond that the path abruptly ended.
“But where are the weapons?” he asked, turning around to scan the tunnel. He crossed to the wagon for a closer look, but it, too, was empty.
“Come closer,” Alex said, sliding the torch into a waiting sconce.
He crossed to her side, his eyes following her downward gaze into a black pit, which preceded the tunnel’s end.
Eyes wide, he looked at her, a slew of questions on his tongue.
But then he noticed her hands busily tying one end of the rope around her waist.
“What are ye about?” Rory said, not liking the direction things were going.
“I’m going down there,” she said simply.
“Absolutely not,” he blurted, grasping her arm.
She jerked free from his hold. “Do ye honestly think I will heed yer refusal? I do what I wish, Rory MacVie. That is something ye should not soon forget.” She gave him the other end of the rope to hold. “Anyway, I lack the strength for what is to come. I need yer brawn up here.”
Before he could protest further, she knelt at the edge of the drop. “Ready yer stance,” she said.
He gripped the rope and anchored his foot behind him, preparing to bear her weight to the bottom of the pit.
He slowly lowered her down, her feet and legs first disappearing into shadow.
He stared hard into her eyes, while darkness overtook her waist and then her shoulders.
The instant before the black pit swallowed her unflinching eyes, he froze, battling with himself to keep from pulling her back to the surface.
“Alba gu bràth,” she said softly.
He nodded, took a deep breath, and lowered her the rest of the way. A moment later, the tension eased from the rope.
“I can feel yer worry from down here,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “Be at ease, Rory. This is hardly the most dangerous thing I’ve done for the cause.”
That he did not doubt.
The sound of clanging metal reached his ears the instant before she called up, “’Tis time to put yer strength to good use. Pull up the first crate.”
He yanked on the rope. Whatever was attached to the other end weighed significantly more than she.
He spread his legs and braced himself. Then he heaved back, crossing one hand over the other and hauled her treasure to the surface.
A large crate appeared, wrapped in hide, the sides of which were joined together by a thick metal ring tied to the rope.
“Go ahead and look at what’s inside,” she called up.
Rory untied the rope and sent it back down to her.
Then he pulled back the hide flaps. Even in the dim torchlight, metal blades gleamed.
A new hunger grew inside of him when he inspected one of the swords.
“Alba gu bràth,” he whispered solemnly. Then he called down to Alex, “Wait until Abbot Matthew sees these.”
There were seven crates in all. Rory could not believe his eyes as he loaded each one into the wagon. “There must be nearly two-hundred swords here.”
“Two-hundred and seven to be exact,” she called up.
His gaze returned, taking in the sight of Scotland’s swords.
“Ahem...I require yer assistance?”
He crossed back to the pit and lowered the rope. An instant later, he started to pull her up to the surface. The moment their eyes locked, he said, “Ye ken the last time ye said those words to me I undressed ye.”
She reached out for him when she was close enough. He took hold of her, lifting her the rest of the way.
“Before I left my chambers today, I promised Rosie my clothes would stay on.”
He shook his head to show his disapproval. “That’s very disappointing.” Then he gestured to the wagon. “That being said, I wouldn’t advise sewing one of those into yer tunic.”
Her eyes flashed with the same excitement that was coursing through his veins. “They are magnificent, are they not?” She crossed to her horse’s side and freed a large, thin oilcloth from one of her bags and spread it out over the weapons.
“Ye’re magnificent,” he said softly, coming up behind her.
She turned and faced him, placing her hands on his strong chest. Firelight set his black hair aflame while shadow obscured his features, making his deep-set eyes even more intense, more sinful.
She seized his tunic. “How do ye do this to me?” she rasped, closing her eyes against the sight of his full lips.
She cleared her throat and stepped free.
“Thank ye for coming to me,” she said, her voice shaky with need as she began to hitch her horse to the wagon. “For three years, Scotland’s weapons have waited at the bottom of that pit, protected by wood and hide. I never could have retrieved them on my own.”
Rory stood, forcing his feet to remain planted where they were when all he wanted to do was pull her back into his arms and never let go again.
Damn her title. Damn her duty to her people.
His fists clenched against the hunger that held his senses captive.
Never had he wanted a woman more, and yet he knew she could never be his.
He drew a deep breath before joining her near the shaft of the wagon. Wordlessly, they fitted the rein terret and adjusted the straps around her stallion, their movements hasty and rough. The beast snorted in protest.
“Whoa,” Alex said, stroking a soothing hand down his mane.
Rory watched her, thinking he was no better than a wound-up horse. By the Saints, he needed to regain control. Drawing another, deeper breath, he offered her his hand and helped her up into the wagon. Then he took hold of the reins and led them from the cave.