Aghast, Trick dropped back onto the hard wooden bench. "When did you leave?"
"Two days after your own departure. We were already planning a visit to Leslie, and Kendra talked us into tagging along. I can see we made better time than you did. Was your journey unpleasant?"
"It went well." He just hadn't been in a particular hurry. The closer he got to Duncraven, the less he looked forward to a reunion with his mother. Half of him was afraid to hope for a reconciliation—afraid she'd disappoint him again. The other half was hoping too much.
"Finding you here is a timely stroke of luck," Jason added.
Perching her wet cloak on a rack beside Kendra's, Caithren aimed a coquettish glance over her shoulder. "Does this mean we get our own room at an inn tonight?"
Jason's green eyes sparkled down at her. "Just like old times, sweet," he said, referring to their own madcap courtship, conducted mainly on the road.
His wife went on tiptoe to press a kiss to his lips.
"Delicious," he declared, pulling back with a grin. "Speaking of which, I'm going to get us something to eat."
He took Cait's hand and drew her toward the bar.
Kendra slid onto the bench next to Trick.
"How long have they been married?" he asked, moving close.
She smiled. "Almost a year."
"Newlyweds," he murmured.
"We're newlyweds, too," she reminded him. As though he could have forgotten. He moved closer still.
Unbelievably, she leaned against him.
This wasn't the Kendra he remembered—the one who always shied away from his advances. To convince himself she really was here, he ran a hand through her dark, rain-soaked hair. It felt as real as it looked. "I still like it this way best."
She pulled something from her pocket and glanced up at him. "What?"
"Your hair. Wild and streaming down your back. And wet isn't bad, either. I'd like to see all of you wet."
She blushed, then removed his hand from her head and put a letter into it. "I came all the way to bring you this. Read it."
"What could be so important?" Pushing his soup bowl aside, he spread the paper on the table and dragged a candle near. The letter was wrinkled and the ink a wee bit runny, but still readable.
"Dear Patrick Iain," he said under his breath, then scanned the page and whistled.
"It's a good thing I brought it, no?"
He nodded thoughtfully. "It could mean nothing. My mother might have asked him to write it just in case I'd decided not to come. A last ditch effort, if you will. But it's difficult to tell. I'm left to wonder what I'll be walking into."
"What
we'll
be walking into."
He nodded again, not at all sure he was happy about that.
But he was happy to have her here tonight. Wondering what could have happened to change her attitude, he tentatively laced his fingers with hers, smiling when she didn't pull away.
Conversation buzzed around them, mixing with the sounds of eating and drinking. "Do you remember this Mr. Munroe?" she asked.
"Aye. He was a jolly type, always hanging around, it seemed. A very old friend of my mother's—they grew up together." His other hand gripped his tankard, and beneath the table, he slid his foot against hers. "From what I remember seeing through the eyes of a lad, I wouldn't be surprised to learn he was sweet on her."
"Did that not bother your father?"
"He was never home. In any case, I'm sure nothing ever came of it. Of course, Father accused Mother of all sorts of things..."
Musing, he took a long sip. He didn't like to think of his mother as an adulteress, no matter what his father had said.
Something brushed his boot, and regardless that Edinburgh was teeming with rats, he'd lay odds it wasn't one. It was, incredibly, his wife's shoe. Looking toward her, he gulped more ale.
A faint smile curved her lips. "Now that your father is dead, what's become of her home, then?"
The question jarred him back to his senses. "Why, it belongs to me," he said, surprised at that sudden realization. For most of his adult life, he'd done his fighting best to banish all thoughts of home from his mind. "The castle was her dowry. So it belonged to my father, which means it's now mine. But I won't be selling it out from under her. She may have been an appalling mother, but I won't put her out on the streets."
He drained the rest of his ale, wondering whether to be annoyed or pleased that his wife had materialized in Scotland. Experimentally, he tried to draw his hand from hers, feeling his body quicken in response when she held it tight.
He was pleased, he decided. A long abstinence did much to sway a man's emotions.
Not to mention the apparent change of heart on Kendra's part. Mystifying, to say the least. But he'd be insane not to take advantage. "Are you hungry?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Only tired." Her gaze flew over to Jason and Cait, heads leaned close at another table as they talked while Jason shoveled meat pie into his mouth. "We ate but a couple of hours ago." She yawned, meeting his eyes. "We're too far from Duncraven to travel there tonight in the darkness, I presume?"
"Aye. It's a good day's ride."
"Then will we stay here?" she asked, the words threaded with husky curiosity.
Sweet Mary, she wanted to sleep with him. He could hear it in her honeyed voice, see it in her darkened green glance.
It was too good to be true.
"I've already taken a room," he said, amazed at this new good fortune. He rose, nearly stumbling over his own feet. "Shall we go up?"
Trick stopped only for a stack of towels before he rushed Kendra to the room he'd rented. Once inside, he dropped them on the polished wood floor, paused a fleeting moment to set down the candle he was carrying, and dragged her into his arms.
His mouth on hers was hot and needy, and she responded in kind. She found it amazing how much she'd missed him. How much she'd missed
this
.
His tongue swept into her mouth, meeting hers with a thrilling urgency. Craving his solid warmth, she plastered herself against his body, reveling in the heated kiss, his arms around her, the feel of his hard muscles against her softness.
A long time later they pulled apart, and she leaned back in his embrace, gazing up into his seductive amber eyes.
How could she have put him off so long? Just the scent of him made her head swim.
She swayed in his grasp.
"Are you too tired?" he asked.
She was exhausted, but, "God, no."
His smile was blinding. "You missed me, aye?" Her heart flip-flopped at the sound of the low, throaty words, and when she nodded, he kissed her all over again, his mouth even more demanding, if that were possible.
Her breath was ragged by the time he stepped back. "You're soaking," he said.
Her gaze slid down his now-damp form, and her hands went to her drenched skirts. "I'm sorry."
"I told you, I like you wet." Lazy and persuasive, his grin seemed to touch a place inside her. A warm, melting place. "Come,
leannan
, let's get you out of these clothes."
She only nodded as, with practiced fingers, he detached the tabs on her stomacher and unlaced her bodice, then drew it down to her waist. His palms reached out and fitted themselves to her breasts. Puckering in response, her nipples strained against the thin fabric of her chemise.
He sucked in a breath. "I've wanted to touch you like this," he said huskily.
A little mewling sound rose from her throat. She'd wanted him to touch her like this, too. He hadn't done so since the night they were wed, and goodness, she'd craved his hands on her body.
If only she'd believed him when he'd said it wouldn't hurt.
She licked her lips, and his eyes darkened. He bent his head, taking the peak of one breast in his mouth, suckling through her gossamer chemise. Her breath caught, and she plowed her fingers into his hair, holding him closer still.
"Trick." His name hung in the air, not a protest this time, but an entreaty. He raised his head, measuring her and apparently liking what he saw. In the next moment, he dropped to his knees, and one hand found its way beneath her wet skirts.
He worked it up, up, and before she knew what was happening, he'd plunged a finger into a place that was wetter still.
Dear God. Her knees felt about as substantial as jellied fruit. Slowly, seductively, he worked his finger in and out, holding her gaze with his. It was shocking and probably wicked, but she couldn't focus on any of that, because something was happening to her. She started tingling and shaking all over.
Just when she knew she would collapse to the floor, he drew away and rose to his feet. "Let's get you dry."
Her breath came out in a rush. She nodded wordlessly, the only response she could manage—but it seemed to be enough for him.
In no time at all he had her stripped, her hair wrapped in one towel while he briskly rubbed her with another. The rough strokes sent her blood coursing like a spring flood. When he was finished, her skin was dry and warm and sensitive beyond whatever she could remember. At his lightest touch, she felt pleasure spiraling through her.
He raised one of her limp hands and ran his fingers over the amber stones that circled her wrist. "You're wearing it," he murmured.
"I—it matched my dress."
He glanced down to the gown on the floor. "Aye. Purple and amber—they go together so well."
She blushed, but he only laughed, a warm sound that rippled right into her.
He started ripping his own clothes off, his gaze on hers commanding her to watch. She backed away and sat on the edge of the bed, unwrapping her hair to towel it dry. Her eyes widened at the sight of him, tall, rangy and lean, with long, ropy muscles.
When his breeches slid down, her gaze slid down along with them. He was still as big as ever. Bigger, even, she would swear. Her breath caught as a tremor of panic took her by surprise.
What if Cait were wrong? What if it worked for most people, but in this case...what if he really wouldn't fit? She remembered the pain, and her lids slid closed.
"Kendra?"
He sounded so concerned. Trying to smile, she opened her eyes. But despite herself, she couldn't help where her anxious gaze was fastened.
His own gaze followed. "I promise you, it won't hurt."
"I know. Caithren told me."
His eyes snapped back up to meet hers. "When?"
"After you left." She bit her lip.
"You didn't believe her, though, did you?"
"Yes." She nodded frantically. "Yes, I did. And I came here wanting..."
"But then..." he prompted, waiting expectantly.
When she didn't continue, he sighed. "I knew this was too good to be true." His eyes slid closed momentarily, then opened and burned into hers. "Listen," he said, reaching to draw her up to stand before him. "The night before I left, you wanted me to touch you, aye?"
Like a simpleton, she stood there with her arms dangling loose by her sides. "Yes, but—"
"I wanted more than that. You know I did. I've thought of nothing but you since the moment I rode away."
Heat rushed to her cheeks—and other parts of her body. She'd thought of him, too, and how he could make her feel. She wanted to feel that again. This fear was irrational, and she had to overcome it.
But that was easier said than done.
"Trick—"
"Look at me."
When she did, he wrapped his arms around her waist. "I've told you I won't take you against your will, and I meant every word. But I'm finished playing games."
Her heart skipped a beat at that, then began racing in her chest. "Trick—"
"Nay. Hear me out." He tossed his head, clearing the hair from his eyes, and his arms tightened around her middle, arching her back, bringing her hips snug against him.
She could feel how much he wanted her.
"I'm done expecting you to beg," he said low. "I still want to take you, but I can wait until you're ready. In the meantime, there are other ways we can pleasure each other, without me entering your body."
She flinched at the frank words, the mental picture. But relief flowed through her veins. And the idea he proposed was intriguing.
"What sorts of ways?"
"I'll show you, lass." His eyes darkened. "Like this."
Her pulse skittered as he moved his hands to her shoulders, then eased her back until she tumbled onto the bed. He came down over her, settling his weight on his elbows. Against her melting softness, his body felt warm and hard as his lips descended to meet hers.
With calculated skill, he kissed her breathless. Senseless. Her world tilted when he rolled to his side and began tracing his fingertips along her heated skin.
"Like this,
leannan
," he murmured huskily. "We can make each other happy like this." And his mouth followed where his fingers had gone, over her breasts and down her arms and across her waist in a warm, damp dance.
She heard little moans, and they were hers. She reached for his shoulders, tracing her fingers in a way that mimicked his, trying to pull him up so she could touch more of his body.
He raised his head, his breath warm against her belly. "No, lass. Tonight just feel. Lie back and feel what I can do for you." As he talked, his hands caressed their way up her sides. "Then tomorrow," he said, "tomorrow, you'll learn what to do for me." He flicked his thumbs over her nipples, and a jolt of excitement streaked through her. "This can be good for us both."
Rich as velvet, his voice was a sensuous promise, a heady invitation that made her emotions whirl. And while she was still reacting to that, he lifted her knees and moved between them.
He kissed and licked and bit the tender skin of her inner thighs, and her fists clenched, bunching the sheets in her hands. A little cry escaped her lips when his tongue traced the crease where her legs met her body. Then it plunged into that place that was hot and aching, and she let out a gasp of stunned pleasure.
Something was happening to her—something confusing and marvelous. As his tongue continued a rhythmic, sensual assault, every nerve in her body came alight with fiery sensations, sprinting throughout her until she thought she would scream unless something happened—