Nine

 

Shannon awoke alone in Torin’s bed. She tried to leave the bed quickly but discovered herself pinned by the heavy coverlet. It was tucked beneath the mattress and her body, like a mother would tuck a blanket about a child. Her own body weight made it hard to loosen.

The man truly was part night specter, for he moved too silently and too gracefully. She should have awakened when he left the bed. A soft snarl crossed her lips when she made it out of the bed. It was a huge one, with large posts that supported the frame. Each of those posts was carved like a lion’s foot. She couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship. Her father didn’t have anything so fine.

The shutters were still open, and the morning air blew across her bare body. Her undergown was lain over a chair, and she reached for it, eager to cover her nudity. It wouldn’t be so simple to banish the other signs of her tumble into passion again.

Yet she would deal with her guilt once she was away from the chamber.

The stairs were mercifully empty when she peeked out of the chamber door. Her bare feet made no sound as she hurried toward her own chamber. Reaching for her comb, she began the process of bringing order to her hair. She craved a bath but refused to walk below looking like she had just been tumbled.

Even if that was the truth.

Her hand shook and tears stung her eyes because she could not deceive herself. She lacked the resolve to ignore Torin. Her well-thought-out reasons crumbled when he touched her.

Finishing with her hair, she dressed without stopping to consider what she’d done last night. The sun was rising along with her new thinking. If she could not resist the man, she’d have to see to her worry in another manner.

“There ye are.” Baeth looked slightly flustered, which was a surprise, for the head of house always seemed so sure of herself.

“The laird is waiting on ye.”

“Why?”

Baeth fixed her with a narrowed stare for answering her summons with a question. When the laird called, no one questioned his command. “I’m his head of house, nae his mother, lass. Come, and hurry.”

Torin was waiting for her on the front steps. Several of his retainers stood nearby. A smile curved his lips when she appeared, and he stretched out a hand toward her.

“There is still much merriment in the village. Let’s go and enjoy the music before spring becomes full of planting and chores.”

She hadn’t expected the invitation, certainly hadn’t expected the laird to spend his day with her.

“Ye don’t have to… to…”

“I want to, lass, so I hope ye’ll take a chance and see if ye enjoy my company as well.” He mounted his stallion and held out a hand for her. He lifted her easily up behind him.

“Besides, lass, I confess to enjoying the feeling of ye clinging to me, and this was the only way I could think to gain it again before nightfall.”

She smiled against his shoulder, unable to resist being charmed by the moment. His men followed them out of the courtyard, the clatter of the horses’ hooves on the bridge a happy one for a change. She held on to Torin and felt his heartbeat. She moved in unison with him and the stallion. In the distance, the maypole was still standing tall in the morning air. The bright streamers were interlaced from the top to the bottom of the pole; she suddenly felt a stab of regret for what she had missed yesterday.

But Torin had told the truth. There was still a bustling fair clustered about the maypole. Music and laughter drifted to her ears. There were scents of roasting meat in the air. A cheer went up when Torin rode closer, his people lifting their hands in welcome.

Torin pulled his horse up and patted the animal on the side of its neck. The horse lowered its head, obviously understanding what his master wanted. Torin swung his leg over the lowered head of the beast. He landed on the ground in almost the same moment, offering her a smile of enjoyment when he lifted his face toward her. He reached up and placed a hand on either side of her waist to lift her down.

“The ale is good, Laird!”

The music was louder here, and it was indeed merry. The pipers kept a lively rhythm while a couple of boys worked their hand drums. There was dancing around the maypole, with young and old all taking the time to enjoy the music. The girls still wore their hair loose and decorated with new spring greens. Even the boys had wreaths crowning their heads to welcome spring. The girls danced with enough passion to raise their skirts, and their partners happily encouraged them to dance even more.

“Here now, Shannon. It is not springtime without a bit of ale.” Torin sounded more relaxed than she could recall him being outside of his bed.

“Whisky!”

It was his retainers who shouted for stronger drink than ale. Torin lifted one eyebrow before tossing a coin toward them.

“If that’s what it takes to get ye to leave me alone with a pretty lass, so be it.”

His men laughed before walking off toward a tent with a table and chairs where the merchant was selling whisky. A pretty girl was bringing the strong liquor to the men, and Torin’s retainers sat down with grins on their faces. The girl offered them a saucy wink along with the whisky.

“That should give us an hour of peace.” He shrugged and rolled his shoulders.

“But I wonder if they will not be more vexing when they have drained their whisky cups.”

He began laughing. “Ye seem to be understanding McLerens, Shannon McBoyd.”

Two women nearby turned abruptly at the mention of her last name. Torin jerked his head around to stare at them, and they went back to what they’d been doing.

“Ye don’t need to do that.” Shannon kept her voice low. “I expect it.”

“I disagree.”

“Well, obviously ye do…” Shannon clamped her mouth shut. Her voice was rising, and Torin was enjoying it. He captured her hand and pulled her along the row of tents that housed merchants selling food and whisky. People nodded toward him with pleasant greetings, most of them reaching up to tug on the corner of their knit bonnets or inclining their heads.

They all looked at her with curiosity, but Torin kept her close. She couldn’t help but enjoy the moment. He was placing a great deal at risk by making it known that he sheltered her. Clan fighting was remembered for generations, yet he boldly strode through the market fair with her hand locked in his.

Just like everything the man did, he was attacking something he viewed as an obstacle.

“Ye have to be the only woman in Scotland who becomes annoyed when a man tries to share a bit of ale with her.” Torin lowered himself onto a bench and patted the spot next to him. “Come, Shannon. I dare ye to sit beside me.”

She was in the seat before she thought about it. Torin laughed at her, his chuckles drawing looks from those around them. Her lips twitched up because she couldn’t ignore the humor in the moment.

“Laugh if you like, but being the daughter of a laird has its price too. I was nae allowed to drink ale with men, and I’d think yer own sisters would be raised with the same rules to safeguard their virtue for marriages that would benefit the clan.”

Torin nodded, but there was a flash of something in his eyes that looked like compassion. “Aye, the world is demanding of a laird’s family, no question about that. We’re more alike than ye think, Shannon.”

Maybe… She couldn’t help but agree with him, at least silently, but she lowered her eyelashes because it felt as though the man were reading her thoughts.

A set of dice sat on the table, and she reached for them.

“At last, a chance to best ye,” Shannon announced.

Amusement suddenly surrounded her as men turned and pulled their chairs up to join them at the table. Two mugs of ale were delivered by an apple-cheeked girl while the newcomers rubbed their palms together. Shannon bit her lip, the dice frozen in her hand. Each person near her now had silver to bet on their roll, but she had nothing to wager.

“Go on, lass; let’s see if ye know anything about tossing dice.”

Torin tossed some silver on the tabletop, and the men eagerly chuckled.

It wasn’t her coin, but everyone was waiting on her to begin the game. She suddenly forced the lump in her throat down and rolled the dice. If she won, the money would be Torin’s, that was all.

The game began with fury. Women leaned in to see who was winning, cheering for their choice. But the dice played a wicked game with them all, bestowing victory once before moving on to another player the next throw. It kept the money evenly flowing around the table, with no one gaining too much over another. That set a jovial mood that took control of them all. Shannon never realized when she finished off the ale brought to her, or when it was replaced with a second measure.

“Enough, lass! I’ve shared ye long enough, and now I’m feeling selfish.” Torin scooped up their silver and dumped it back into his pouch before reaching for her hand.

She eagerly took it, no hesitation at all. They were suddenly just people intent on enjoying one another. Torin pulled her toward the dancing.

“Did ye ever dance at spring festival, lass?”

He didn’t wait for her reply but pulled her into the group of laughing couples around the maypole.

“How did ye know I went to festival?”

Torin hooked his arm with hers and spun her around to the beat of the drums. A bolt of excitement tore through her belly when they reversed direction, and her gowns flared out to show her ankles and calves for just a moment before she was moving back in the opposite direction to the beat of the music.

“I heard.”

She couldn’t keep track of the conversation because Torin grasped her hips and tossed her up into the air. It was called hefting, and all around her there was cheering as the men tossed their partners skyward. The dance ended with them clutching at one another while Torin turned backward in a tight circle and spun her around and around until she squealed.

“Enough, Torin! I beg ye.”

He stopped, but her gowns didn’t. The fabric wrapped around his legs while the longer pleats of his kilt hit her legs. For one wild moment they were a tangle of clothing and clung to one another breathlessly.

“Ye do nae need to beg, lass; I’ll take ye shopping happily.”

He was already pulling her toward the other side of the fair where fabric was displayed. In the sun there were colors that shimmered like jewels, thick winter wools and light summer weaves. There was the softest linen for undergowns and rare metal buttons. There were also tools for sewing, pins and needles. Such wares were normally the most exciting part of spring festival for her. It might be autumn before the chance to buy more cloth was hers.

If she were still alive in the fall.

That morbid thought sliced through the bubble of joy that she’d somehow become caught inside of.

“Baeth claims yer father sent ye out shamefully lacking. Find something ye like.”

That wouldn’t be hard. The merchant nearest her held up a bundle of soft linen that would make a fine undergown, one just perfect for the warming weather. Her fingers reached for it without thinking.

“I have no coin.”

Torin reached for the fabric and brought it toward her. “Ye won at the dice, so ye do.”

“But with yer coin, so nothing is mine but the enjoyment of playing, for which I thank ye.”

He wanted to argue with her but froze when her words of gratitude hit him. For a moment something flickered in his dark eyes that looked like happiness.

“Laird, ye must see my grandchild.” An old man had lifted his hand and was waving at Torin. His hair was silver with age, but his steps still had life in them. He led a girl forward.

“This is Malcolm, an elder of the clan.”

Malcolm inclined his head in greeting before waving the girl forward. “And this is my daughter, Amanda, she was our May queen last year. But look here, Laird; look at the fine little babe she ripened with.”

Malcolm looked proud enough to burst. His daughter held up her baby, just three months old but bright eyed. The child was wearing a robe that was decorated with fancy stitching in rich, costly thread. It looked as if every woman in the village had taken a turn, which only made sense. When the May queen conceived, it was considered good luck for the coming year. Somewhere there was a current May queen, and everyone would be watching her belly in the coming weeks to see if she grew round with child.

“And this here is my new son-in-law.”

Malcolm slapped the young lad on the back with more strength than Shannon would have suspected the elder had in him. It made a smacking sound that sent his new relation forward a half step. Malcolm chuckled.

“Got them married yesterday before the May dancing began.”

“Ye have my congratulations and my envy, Malcolm.” Torin offered his hand, and Malcolm clasped forearms with him.

“Would ye hold my babe, Miss? ’Twould be a blessing for him.”

The girl was already handing the baby to Shannon. She took him gently, because it was a delight to hold a baby. The infant stuck his fist into his mouth and sucked loudly. Those watching suddenly cheered, startling the baby. His face turned red, the fist popping out of his mouth as he began to wail.

“Would ye listen to that. Ye young men don’t know when to hush.” Malcolm grumbled as his daughter took her child and soothed him against her bosom. The baby hiccupped a final time before returning to sucking on his fist. Malcolm eyed Shannon with wrinkle-edged eyes.

“Ye look good with a babe in yer arms, lass.”

Shannon felt the color drain from her face. The bell in the church began to toll in the same moment, and Malcolm frowned.

“I guess there’s something that needs yer attention, Laird. I’m sorry to hear that bell.”

But it continued to ring insistently, and Torin’s retainers made their way through the crowd toward them. Torin sighed.

“I’m sorry, Shannon, but they’d only ring that bell if it were important.”

He was sorry, too. That touched her with a tenderness that shocked her.

“Of course.”

She choked out the words and felt herself fluttering her eyelashes as though they had been courting. Torin gripped her hand again and led her toward the horses. His people waved to him, for which Shannon discovered herself grateful. She turned to look back at the baby, still feeling his delicate body in her arms.

A baby. Such was not so unusual a result of having a lover. Thinking about the possibility was not the same as holding him in her arms. She suddenly felt sick with the possibility that she might blacken someone else with her father’s sin.

Torin deserved better than that.

***

It was the only correct thing to do.

Shannon watched the other McLeren women through her eyelashes, waiting for them to move away from the stillroom door frame. She moved her hands more slowly than usual, washing the dishes left from the morning meal. The other women cast her long looks but decided to leave her to the chore. Their footsteps receded up the stairs and into the great hall.

Shannon pulled her hands from the water and dried them on a length of toweling while moving toward the stillroom. She knew what she needed and didn’t want any other woman seeing her getting it. Every woman knew what certain herbs were used for, even if most of the men in the castle might not.

There were ways to fend off conception, ways that were passed down from generation to generation. The church forbid such knowledge, but it still remained. Even being kept a virgin under her father’s roof had not prevented her from hearing the methods employed by other girls to keep their bellies from swelling after a night of unbridled passion.

She had sampled that well and truly. Her belly had been tender this morning, and bathing the scent of her lover off her skin wouldn’t remove his seed from her womb. So she would have to mix up something to keep that seed from taking root. There wouldn’t be any proud father showing off her child next spring.

The stillroom held all the herbs. New green ones hung from the roof to dry, but there were many more bundles of dark brown ones that had been carefully gathered during the last spring. These would see the inhabitants of Donan Tower through sickness and aches. There were also herbs for seasoning and others for the making of soap, but what she sought were the more potent ones that could force her woman’s courses to come. Those herbs were kept at the far end of the room, where no one might take them by mistake. They were higher up so that younger girls would have to fetch a stool to stand on if they intended to touch them. They were even tied up in cloth to keep any small amount from dropping onto the worktable.

“There’s a danger to taking that witch weed, girl.”

Shannon turned too quickly, her gowns flaring out and betraying her guilt. Baeth stood in the door frame, her lips pressed into a disapproving line.

“Take that and ye might bleed too much. I’ve seen it; it is nae an easy death.” Baeth moved into the stillroom. “Leave it be. A babe is a blessing that ye should nae be in a hurry to reject.”

Shannon bit into her lower lip, indecision tearing at her. Baeth was the closest thing to a friend that she had at Donan Tower, but the woman owed her allegiance to Torin.

Baeth waved a hand at her. “I said come away. Do nae make me fetch Brockton.”

Shannon stiffened. “Ye would do that?”

Baeth considered her for a long moment.

“It’s a woman’s matter, not something for yer son to learn about. I’m preventing a problem. I’d think ye, of all women here, would be happy to see that I do nae plan to bind yer laird to me.”

The head of house shook her head. “Nay, lass, ye are wrong.”

Frustration made Shannon’s tone sharper. “Wrong? Bringing a child into this mess is what would be wrong. Will it cling to my skirts while I continue to roam this kitchen like an outcast without a place? Or worse still, will it be raised without a mother when a sentence is handed down on my father?”

“It would be the child of the laird, and it is time he had a child.”

“His bastard.”

Baeth snorted. “The laird is nae wed, nor is he contracted, so that is nae a certainty. Ye would nae be the first lass who gained marriage through birthing a son.”

“Yet the possibility is nae something I can ignore. No child should suffer being bastard born.” Shannon swallowed her pride. “Please, Baeth, turn yer back. I would nae stain a child with my own sin.”

The head of house snorted. “I’ll do nothing of the sort. Ye’ll take yerself away from that poison and stay away from this room, lass. That’s my word on the matter.”

“Baeth—”

“Get ye gone and do some thinking. Ye’re no’ so young that ye can argue with fate about when she blesses ye with a babe. There’s a reason ye and the laird are drawn to each other.”

Shannon laughed. “The reason is that fate is cruel. Taunting me with a captor whom I lack the discipline to stay away from.”

A hint of a smile curved Baeth’s lips. “Well, at least ye’re honest and no’ set to accuse the laird of forcing ye.”

Shannon stiffened. “I do nae lie.”

“Which is why I like ye. Now do nae be changing my thinking with this bit of nonsense.”

“It is prudent, nae nonsense.”

Baeth blew out a long breath that sounded somewhat like a growl. She lifted one hand and pointed a weathered finger at her.

“This talking has nae changed me mind. There will be no unchristian use of these herbs. Get ye to the upper floor, where there is work to be done.”

There was the ring of authority in Baeth’s voice now. Shannon felt bitterness rising up to choke her, but she turned toward the doorway.

“Do nae think me too harsh, lass; the laird has no children, and that is a shame, something that makes every McLeren worry about the future.”

“That does nae mean my child would be good for the McLeren. My father is a traitor.”

Baeth’s face became set as hard as stone. “Aye, but that is none of yer doing. Mark my words, if his seed is meant to take root in ye, I’ll set my son to making sure ye do naught to interfere.”

***

Harsh? Shannon did think the head of house an unrelenting woman. Brockton appeared and dodged her steps for the remainder of the day. The hours dragged on endlessly, but it wasn’t the time that bothered her; it was the loneliness. Baeth had been the closest thing to a friend she had. The woman’s displeasure sat heavy upon her shoulders. That made her miss Torin. Which was ridiculous, because men and women did not console one another. They were set apart by their genders; everyone knew that.

But he’d been so tender during the night… and he took her to festival…

Her mind took her back to those hours when Torin had pulled her close and kept her there. He seemed to like to stroke her, his hands moving over her in long motions that sent soft pleasure through her. She’d have said such was absurd too, except that she had experienced it. Torin was in contradiction with everything she knew of men.

Baeth kept her busy, but it was far past the normal time for remaking the bed in Torin’s chamber when the sheets were finally given to her. It was late afternoon, but Shannon took them, wanting to be above stairs so late in the day. Torin’s men had begun to filter in from the yard, their hair slick with sweat from training. Most of them would bathe before the evening meal, and their laird did the same.

Climbing the stairs, Shannon took a glance over her shoulder to see where Brockton was, but there was no sign of him. At least Baeth had not altered the privacy Shannon gained by being above stairs.

Relief flooded her. She suddenly noticed how much her neck ached. Rolling her head, she tried to loosen the muscles before taking a deep breath and forcing herself to walk into Torin’s chamber. It wasn’t that she dreaded the place; quite the opposite. She’d found such comfort here that she feared becoming too dependent on it. Torin was laird. He would be expected to marry. If her father were branded a traitor, she would not be a candidate for that position.

She might remain his leman. The idea was not unpleasant, but her pride refused. There would be plenty who would tell her that becoming Torin’s lesser woman would be a higher station than any other she might hope to gain, being the daughter of a traitor, but even knowing that did not soften her resolve.

All the shutters were open now, the breeze blowing through the chamber and making it fresh. The bed curtains were tied up around each thick bedpost so that she might remake the bed. Shannon shook out the first sheet and walked around the bed, tucking it in. She stopped once it was finished, a snapping sound from the window gaining her attention.

Turning her head, she looked toward the open window. The sound persisted, drawing her toward the opening in the wall. Just a hint of ivory linen was peeking up at the corners where the hinges were set into the stone. One more step and she could see that whatever was snapping in the wind was hanging down the outside of the tower.

Since she had the sheets, it could not be one of them set out to air, and the piece she could see was too thin to be a blanket. One last step and she was able to peer outside.

A startled gasp broke through her lips. In the fading sun, her underrobe was lying against the lighter stone of the tower, the dark bloodstain clear as a mark of shame. Shock held her still for only a moment before she reached for one corner.

A hard hand captured her wrist, preventing her from grasping the garment.

“Leave it.” Torin had appeared without a sound, sending another bolt of surprise through her, but it was not enough to keep her from hearing the snap of the undergown in the breeze. The sound cut into her ears like a knife.

“I will nae.” Shannon struggled against Torin. “Ye have no right to shame me in such a fashion.”

His grip never gave, not even a tiny amount. “Ye gifted me with yer purity, Shannon. Ye have the right to be honored for that. I told Baeth to hang it there.”

“Ye… ye…” She sputtered, unable to pull enough breath into her lungs to complete her thought. “I am not yer wife.”

But he’d taken her through the village on his arm, sure enough. As laird, she belonged to him now. At least his people would see it that way.

One of his dark eyebrows rose. “’Tis a simple enough matter to change, woman.”

Shannon felt the color drain from her face. She froze, ceasing to pull against the hold he had on her wrist. Torin allowed her to be loose but stood in front of the window, blocking the path to her undergown.

“Ye do nae care for that, sweet Shannon? Why is that? Because I am McLeren?” He chuckled, but it was not a nice sound. It was dark and edged with warning such as she recalled from their first meeting. He stepped toward her, looming large and forbidding once again. “You lay with me of yer own free will. It will nae take more than that admission to get the priest to wed us.”

“Yer people will hate us both for it.”

Her voice was quiet because she didn’t want him to hear the disappointment in it. The emotion threatened to send tears into her eyes, and she fought against them. She didn’t want to admit how much she longed to have him and have the sweet knowledge that there was hope in her future of something other than ending up with her throat slit in retaliation for her father’s deeds.

“That is my worry, and this morning they didna hate it. They will adjust.”

Shannon lifted her chin. “I disagree. A marriage is a union of two names. My children would be sneered at for their McBoyd blood. For the sin of their… grandfather.” Her voice did falter, bringing color to her cheeks in shame. But she kept her chin steady, refusing to duck her head. “Besides, ye are not interested in wedding me for anything more than yer sense of honor. I care nae for the pity. That has never been something I sought.”

“So ye would risk yer life to make sure my seed does nae take root in ye?” His face darkened with rage. “I swear to heaven I do want to wed ye, if for no other reason than I’ll have the right to spank yer arse for thinking to take such a risk, Shannon McBoyd.”

“Ye would nae dare.”

She didn’t care if the priests in the church heard her screeching. She refused to care that the church said a husband had the right to spank his wife. No man was going to lay his hand across her bottom.

“Oh, I’d dare, Shannon McBoyd. Ye should know that, since I tied ye around me and brought ye here like the barbarian that ye said I am. I assure ye, I will dare to do what I please with ye.”

“Quit with yer excuse that my words are the ones that make ye act like a brute. You behave as ye please, Torin McLeren. So unless ye are a coward, stop saying I am the one who prompts ye to action.” She tossed her head and propped her hands onto her hips. His eyes flashed with challenge a moment before he snatched her clean off her feet. His arms closed around her, imprisoning her when she tried to push her way to freedom. He tossed her across his bed, and her gowns fluttered up in wild disarray. Shannon bounced in a tangle of fabric and limbs. Her face brightened even more when she realized that her bottom was facing up. With a sputter, she jerked her head off the surface of the bed and pushed her hands against the soft bedding beneath her.

Her actions came too slowly. Torin caught the ties at the back of her overgown and leaned over her to keep her in place while he worked the knot loose. Her skirts were already raised above her knees, and once he’d finished with the tie, he pulled both garments straight up her body.

Shannon snarled with outrage, but she was dropped back onto the bed in nothing but her stockings and shoes.

“Brute. Highland barbarian.”

He laughed at her. Shannon flipped over, curling upward to launch herself at him. Torin caught her easily, clamping her squirming body against his.

“And ye are a Lowland wildcat in need of taming. A task I’m finding I have an appetite for.”

He bent his face toward her, but she flattened one hand against his mouth.

“I am no shrew. I was ever a gentle daughter, obedient as the church tells me to be, and look what that gained me.”

He shook his head, gaining freedom from her hand. A moment later they both landed on the bed, but he caught his weight on his hands, controlling the amount that pressed her down onto her back beneath him.

“It brought you to me, Shannon. Something I am happy about, which is why I will nae see ye taking a risk with yer life. Promise me ye’ll take what fate gives ye without complaint.”

Torin didn’t give her the opportunity to agree or argue. He pressed his mouth down on top of hers, forcing a hard kiss on her. Yet she lacked the will to truly resist. Her lips parted for his demand, moving beneath his and welcoming the sure thrust of his tongue. Hunger swept aside her anger, transforming it into a passion that refused to be quiet or submissive. She pulled on his shirt, seeking the ties that secured it at the front. Torin refused to lift his head away from hers, kissing her while she struggled to rid him of his shirt. She was acutely aware of the fabric between them, and it annoyed her. Her skin longed to be free.

She strained against his hold, determined to find the last tie on his shirt. A deep rumble of male approval was her response.

“If that’s what ye crave, sweet Shannon, I will be happy to give it to ye.” His voice dipped down into a low tone that made her shiver. “Very happy indeed.”

The bed rocked, and she was suddenly alone. Torin stood next to the bed, pulling his shirt over his head with one powerful motion. His eyes glittered with hunger when she could look into them once more, but her attention didn’t remain on his face. It slid down his bare torso, across the ridges of hard muscle, to where he yanked back the end of his wide leather belt until the metal prong holding it secure about his waist popped free. The folds of his kilt slithered down, unveiling his lean hips and thighs. His cock sprang up into view, the head ruby and swollen. Her mouth went dry, instantly this time. There was no building of desire. Her body felt like it was suspended over a fire, and all she could do was twist while the flames licked at her flesh.

Torin watched her, studying her with his dark eyes. “I enjoy the sight of ye in my bed.”

His tone was dark with need, even if there was still sunlight illuminating the chamber. She enjoyed being able to see him but suddenly felt too much on display herself. Her thighs closed, trying to keep that most intimate part of her concealed.

“Do nae hide from me, Shannon. The sight of ye is more pleasing than I can say.”

He lay down beside her, his warm skin soothing her when it pressed against her own. It felt so very right, nothing between them but the desire to share the pleasures their bodies might give one another. His hands smoothed along her sides and up to cup each of her breasts.

“I swear I cannae stand the sight of ye doing anything but being eager while in my bed.”

“I am eager.” Her voice had somehow become husky. She shivered as his thumbs began to toy with her nipples. Each one was drawn into a hard peak that was more sensitive, more needy of his touch.

“Not nearly enough for my taste.”

There was dark promise in his tone. He leaned down to capture one nipple between his lips. Hot pulses raced down her, raising gooseflesh across her skin. Delight rippled through her, and she reached for him, her fingers hungry for the touch of his skin. Torin sent the tip of his tongue over the top of her nipple while his lips drew on it. The heat licking over her made her squirm as soft little sounds of enjoyment escaped from her parted lips, gaining her another deep chuckle from her lover.

“Better.”

His hand left her breast to trail down the center of her body, his fingers touching off more delight as they stroked their way toward her mons. Her pearl throbbed with anticipation, her passage suddenly feeling even emptier as she felt him teasing her damp curls.

“Still, ye might yet be more eager.”

He whispered against her ear, his breath making her shiver. Or perhaps it was his words coupled with the feeling of his fingers beginning to penetrate the folds of her sex. She whimpered, the anticipation becoming too intense. Torin made a soft male sound that drew her eyes to his. Hard need glittered in his dark eyes, but his lips were set into a smile.

“I enjoy knowing that I can make ye more willing for my cock.”

Shannon gasped. “Ye shouldn’t say such things.”

One dark eyebrow rose, but her attention was snared by the first touch of his finger against her pearl. It slipped easily over the sensitive bud, threatening to drive her insane.

“Shouldn’t speak the blunt truth that I can feel how slick yer sex is and that it excites me to know ye’ll take my cock easily, even readily?”

“Words like that aren’t meant to be spoken.” But her tone was husky and rough with excitement. Hearing him say such things in his deep voice made her more keenly aware of how much she wanted them. The images played across her mind, tightening the sensation inside her belly. Beneath his finger, her flesh throbbed more insistently, her hips jerking upward without any thought. She was too tantalized by his words to resist any longer.

He leaned down until the crisp hair on his chest teased her nipples and the soft skin of her breasts.

“But lovers say such things, just as a lover has the right to ride atop instead of lying docile on her back.” He rubbed her little passion pearl harder, drawing a deep moan from her lips.

“But I admit that at the moment, I like ye on yer back.” He rolled over her, pressing his knee between her thighs. He pressed his hands on either side of her body and rose above her.

“Spread yer thighs for me, sweet lover. I’ve a craving to be buried deep inside ye that will nae wait.”

His words were wicked, but she adored the sound of them. Somehow she did not feel submissive while complying either. His attention was completely on her. He sat back on his haunches while she pressed her elbows into the bed and leaned on them.

“But am I eager enough for ye?” Her tone was still husky, and it added to her teasing. There was a deep intimacy to the moment, something else that she was beginning to crave from him.

“Yer hard nipples tell me ye are.”

He hooked his hands under each of her knees and lifted them, obviously finished with waiting for her to spread her legs for him. His eyes flashed with triumph as she felt the folds of her slit opening wide.

“But I will have to make very sure, else ye’ll label me a brute for rutting on ye before I’ve stoked yer passions.” His eyes hardened. “We cannae be having that.”

“What of yer reputation as a Highlander?”

His fingers began teasing her sex, slipping easily along the slick folds.

He smiled large and arrogantly, with his finger, began teasing her sex once again. “That is exactly what I am thinking of, lass. A Highlander is known for his way at winning the favors of his lovers. Those English lords have naught but their weeping brides because they lack the skill to stroke their sweet flesh just right.”

He slid his fingers down to the opening of her body, fingering the entire entrance before thrusting deep inside her. Pleasure spiked through her, sending her back onto the bed as she lost the will to toy with him. Her body demanded more than that finger. He was too far away, and she sat up again, reaching for him.

“Aye, lass, ye have the right idea.”

He growled his words through clenched teeth, his body easily coming with her demanding hands, falling down to cover her while the head of his cock pressed against the opening of her passage.

He didn’t make her wait but thrust hard and smoothly into her. A hard grunt teased her ear as his hands captured the sides of her face.

“Sweet Christ…”

His words echoed her feelings. Being filled by his hard flesh sent her mind into a state of bliss. There was no thought outside of the need to lift her hips so that she might capture every last bit of his length. He pulled loose but sent his cock back into her with a powerful motion that sent a moan up and out of her body. Pleasure was tightening deep in her belly already, refusing to wait another moment. His cock was so hard, too large to resist allowing it to push her over the edge of reason and into rapture. Torin snarled something next to her ear that made no sense because she was caught in the grip of a pleasure so intense, it ruled her completely.

There was only one thing she wanted to notice, and that was the hard thrusting of her partner, the feeling of his length plunging deep inside her over and over, until his body went rigid and she felt the hot spurt of his seed against her womb again. He unleashed another burst of pleasure in her, this one deeper and longer than the first. Her hips curled up, determined to keep every last drop inside her.