Choosing the Highlander (29 page)

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Connie reclined on Wilhelm’s chest in the most decadent hot bath she’d ever taken. It wasn’t the most comfortable or the most fragrant or even the most relaxing bath she’d had, but it was decadent because Wilhelm had obviously gone to a lot of trouble to create this experience for her. She showed her appreciation by enjoying his gift to the full—and making sure he did too.

Feeling like an infatuated teenager, she stroked her fingers over his face. He hadn’t shaved since they’d left the abbey, and his whiskers scraped at her in a delicious reminder of his masculinity—as if the erection prodding at her hip or the hunger in his gaze weren’t proof enough.

She appreciated the play of muscles in his cheek when his jaw tensed and the way his eyes fluttered closed when she nuzzled the spot below his ear. She inhaled his scent of leather, soap, and hard-working man.

She ran her hands over the wet, bulging muscles of his arms and shoulders and trusted his long quadriceps to hold her up. Brushing her knuckles over his firm pectorals and abdominals made him suck in a breath. The sight and feel of those muscles contracting made her sex pulse with need.

His arms held her securely to him, sideways so they could gaze at each other—and so he could palm her breast and sweetly tease her nipple with one rubbing thumb.

Being this close to someone so powerful and beautiful was like being allowed into the tiger’s enclosure at the zoo and having a big cat curl up with her and revel in her petting. Her tame warrior.

After observing him at the monastery and here at Ewan’s tower, she understood that he used the strength of his sculpted body to serve others. Of all she had come to learn about him, this generosity of spirit was what enticed her most. He wanted to make a difference in the world. And he showed every promise of being able to do just that. As long as they could put that slime-ball Ruthven in his place.

She would work on that problem later. For now, she had an honest to goodness Highland warrior prepared to bring her pleasure. Never before had she anticipated sex with such eagerness. Only with Wilhelm.

The bath made it difficult to feel her own wetness, but there was no mistaking the swelling and throbbing low in her body. Biology was amazing. Her body recognized her mate and prepared the way for their coupling. Even if she were to fight this attraction with her intellect, her body would still belong to Wilhelm.

“It seems we have a little problem,” she said.

“Mmmmm. What might that be, love?”

“I want you inside of me, but I don’t think we can realistically do that in this glorious bath, you’ve drawn me.”

A harsh breath fanned over her lips, evidence she’d shocked and aroused him. Delightful, having power over the most powerful man she’d ever known.

“We could make an attempt all the same,” he purred, lips curling.

“It seems I’ve married an optimist.”

“You doona trust I can accomplish what I set my mind to?”

“Maybe I need to see in order to believe.” This had been generally true, until recently. If anyone could stretch her faith, it seemed it was Wilhelm.

He angled her head so he peered directly into her eyes. “Then watch this,” he said, and he took her mouth with a savage kiss.

Lifting her while keeping their mouths joined, he got up on his knees.

Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around him, locking her ankles over his buttocks. In this position, the water’s surface flirted with her intimate region and the edge of the tub nudged her bottom, adding to her arousal.

Wilhelm supported her with strong hands spanning her cheeks. The muscles in his arms and chest bulged as he positioned her for penetration. “I havena tested you, lass. Will I find your body welcoming, I wonder?”

Retreating the tiniest increment, he brought a whimper of frustration from her, but he wasn’t abandoning their game. Instead, he rocked himself against her with his cock trapped between them. The tiny motions resulted in erotic shocks radiating outward from her clit.

She bit her lip, breasts heaving against his chest with her desire. She didn’t know her own body well enough to be able to answer. With other lovers, she required plentiful foreplay. But the way Wilhelm’s intimate caresses ignited her nerve endings suggested she was ready after no more than a half hour of cuddling.

“Go slow,” she said, needing him inside her but anxious about whether she was lubricated enough. She’d never done this in water before. The newness combined with her uncertainty gave her an unexpected thrill.

With no more than a slight adjustment, he was back at her entrance.

“I’ll hold you” His voice was rough as sandpaper. “You take me as ye will.”

His arms caged her, their strength making her feel protected. His white-hot gaze filled her with a sense of being cherished. Needed.

A tilt of her pelvis brought him inside of her the merest fraction of an inch. No bite of pain accompanied the smooth glide. She bit her lip as pleasure sang through her.

No one else had ever triggered such strong arousal. If she’d needed reassurance this man was meant exclusively for her, this was it. Biology didn’t lie.

Slowly, inch by inch, she sank down and welcomed her husband into her body, holding his gaze all the while. There was power in this moment. She’d never been one to put stock in spirituality, but recent events had taught her to believe in the unexplainable. The feeling of being bonded transcended emotion. It was a truth under her skin.

“Lass.” A harsh sigh. Wilhelm’s jaw clenched as if he were in pain, but she knew she wasn’t hurting him. It was pleasure bringing him to this edge, this place between helplessness and ecstasy.

Pride and wonder spurred her to tighten her grip on him. Arms, legs, sex. Everything clenched to hold onto this love.

“I need more,” he bit out. Planting one foot, he stood smoothly, as if his thighs barely registered her added weight. Swift steps brought their dripping bodies to the bed, where he laid atop her without leaving her body.

Fusing his mouth with hers, he lifted her bottom with one hand and drove deeper. Pleasure surged as he set a slow, powerful rhythm and rode it unwaveringly until she cried out with release. He followed soon after, but was apparently not done with her.

Good. She wasn’t done with him either. Never would be.

While her heart rate returned to normal, he raised up on his arms and took his time observing her damp skin.

“All mine,” he said, and he began running his hands all over her. “You’ll not leave this bed until I’ve imprinted myself on you. You’ll be feeling me tomorrow,
mo luaidh.
”

“I’ll be feeling you for always.”

“Aye.”

Wilhelm made love to her a second time. True to his word, he’d made sure she could still feel him even as they lay tangled together afterward. The sensation wasn’t exactly soreness, but that of being well used—in the best possible way. Maybe he’d left more than sensations behind. Maybe he’d left a trace of himself that would grow inside her and strengthen their bond even more.

As the fire faded, Wilhelm drifted to sleep. Taking pride in the smile she’d put on his face, she lit a candle from the last of the peat flames in the hearth and pulled her travel guide from her backpack.

Before arriving at the peel tower, she’d considered consulting the book to learn whether there might be a large town nearby where they might find an official to perform a wedding. That point was moot now, but the little book still called to her—probably because it was the only source of information she had about Scotland. Instead of being an outdated reference, though, as books in the library often were when she had something to research, it was a predated reference. Still, she couldn’t help thinking she might find something useful in its pages.

Snuggled in the blankets beside her sleeping husband, she began her reading with the pages on Dornoch. She would learn everything she could about Wilhelm’s home and the surrounding territory. Knowledge was power. She refused to go to Inverness powerless to help clear her husband’s name.

Chapter 25

Wilhelm’s bride had done the lion’s share of the talking yesterday, so while they rode he shared stories about his family. As they made their way north at a brisk walk and oft at a canter, when the road allowed, he described his parents, Alpin and Gormlaith. He told her of Dornoch and the farming his clan was known for since Dornoch was home to some of the most fertile soil in all Scotia.

The story of when Terran and his younger cousins released a dozen new lambs into the keep had Constance laughing so hard she emitted a distinctively porcine snort. Endearing herself to him even more, she made light of the unladylike chortle rather than exhibit shame.

Recovering herself, she beamed at him, his rosy-cheeked bride. By all that was holy, he loved her.

Her eyes twinkled in the weak sunlight of the morning. They rode their own horses today, needing to travel swiftly if they were to make Inverness by nightfall. “Gosh, I haven’t laughed that hard since—” Her good humor came to an abrupt halt.

He lusted to have her in his arms. Contenting himself with bringing Justice alongside her, he guessed, “Your sister?”

She nodded.

He gave her the time to have what thoughts she would. Time would ease the pain she must be feeling, but ’twould never completely heal. He’d lost a sister as well.

“When I was a boy of twelve, I watched helplessly while my sister died of fever. Marianne. She’d been seven. She, Terran, and I were thick as thieves.”

Constance reached across the space between them to hold his hand. “I’m sorry.”

“Death is part of life. Unfortunately, kenning that does not a thing to ease the pain when it strikes close to the heart.”

He squeezed her hand. How much more devastating would it be to lose a sister one had shared a womb with, especially after living well into adulthood together?

“Leslie was the one who sent me here,” Constance said, releasing his hand. She stared ahead as though looking into the past.

He held his breath, desperate to hear more but hesitant to speak. He sensed she needed to set her own pace in recounting the magic that brought her to him.

“She didn’t mean to.” She smiled to herself, and the affection in it warmed his heart. This smile was for her sister. “It was dawn on summer solstice. I’d just arrived in Scotland the evening before. I was exhausted—I’d slept on the plane, but still, something about air travel does that to you. Makes you so weary.” She shook her head. “Traveling through time was less draining, if you can believe it.” She bit her lip, as if nervous about putting such things into words.

“Go on, lass. ’Tis only you and me here.”

“And the horses.”

“They won’t tell.”

She looked at him for the first time in several minutes. A thrill of connection tugged on his viscera. This woman was part of him now. She was his to care for. His to cherish. He would protect her secrets with his life.

The worry smoothed from her face. “In the future, people love visiting ancient sites. I don’t know if it’s that way here, but in my time, there’s something so whimsical and exciting about seeing a castle up close and getting to go inside. And the stone formations—they’re even older than the castles and ruins tourists pay to see. Maybe it’s a desire to connect with humanity’s past. Or the fantasy of wondering why our ancestors constructed such places.

“You see, my country isn’t very old. The land existed, of course, but Europeans didn’t come to it until…well, at the moment, right now, the only people there are the natives, and to my knowledge, they didn’t build castles. I think there are some examples of stone formations in North America, but I’ve never been to one. They’re certainly not as prominent as the ones in Europe.”

He longed to ask more about her country and when Europeans would begin traveling there, but he made himself hold his tongue. She was telling him of her last moments in the future. This story was precious to her, and therefore it was precious to him. Her choosing to share it honored him greatly.

“At any rate, I was looking forward to seeing structures and ruins built so long ago. Leslie had been here—in Scotland—for several weeks already. The novelty of the historic feel had long worn off for her. But she was positively giddy over going to Druid’s Temple on the morning of the solstice and not because it’s one of the oldest stone circles in Europe.”

She sighed. “Leslie is—well, I suppose in this day she would be called a witch.”

Shock made his hands tense on the reins.

“She isn’t one,” she hurried to add. “I mean, it’s different in my time. What Leslie’s doing—exploring Wicca—it’s a fad, a trend that will fade. She’s just like that—you know, an explorer. She tries different fads and ingratiates herself with others who share the same inclinations. She’s a free spirit. I don’t think she’s ever actually done anything magical. In my time, at least for Leslie, it was more about appreciating the Earth and nature, in using herbs for health and living naturally. In loving others. There was no malice in it.”

Her tone leaned towards defensiveness, as if she expected him to condemn her sister, when in fact, the “free spirit” she described reminded him of his mother. Gormlaith loved nature. She spent more time outdoors than in, tending her gardens, walking the hills, riding her beloved mare, and visiting with the villagers. She often delivered fresh herbs and tea mixes to the sick among their clan. Constance would like her, Wilhelm suspected. He had no doubt his mother would welcome Constance and love her like a daughter.

“I find naught offensive about what ye describe, lass. I am not one of those men quick to condemn a woman of witchcraft simply because she finds pleasure in the bounties of the Earth. I believe God gave us the Earth and is pleased when we enjoy it.”

She released a pent-up breath. “You’re so level-headed. I wasn’t sure what you’d think of Leslie if I told you about the Wicca, but I’m relieved you aren’t flinging Scripture at me.”

“Of course not. I would have liked to meet your sister.”

“I would have liked that too.”

They rode for a while in silence before she picked up her story. “Leslie had been to a shop in Inverness,” she said, and the words held a weight he’d not noticed in the rest of her tale. “She told me about the shopkeeper while we waited for the sunrise that morning. He was French, she said, and she sensed something magical about him. He gave her this necklace with a stone on it. Leslie called it a witch’s stone.”