The Arrow: A Highland Guard Novel (The Highland Guard) (30 page)

Unbelievable. Maybe she was the one who should be called a sorcerer. How else could she have procured such a treasure?

She watched him with increasing anxiousness, her hands twisting in her ruby-colored, velvet dressing robe. “It’s a stave of yew,” she said, obviously worried by his silence.

He knew exactly what it was. It wasn’t just a stave of yew; it was a nearly flawless stave of yew. The kind of flawless that was perfect for making a bow and had been nearly impossible to find since the war broke out. With the demand for bows so high, much of the good yew had been felled in both Scotland and England.

His voice was low and full of awe that bordered on reverence. “Where did you get this?”

“From the merchant who brings your wines from Bordeaux.”

Gregor frowned. “He told me he couldn’t find anything like this.”

She grinned. “Well, I encouraged him to look a little harder.” Gregor knew better than to ask how. “The opening of the trade routes has helped. It comes from Spain and was cut last winter, so it will only need a bit more seasoning.”

He didn’t say anything. He was too overwhelmed to do anything other than stare at what had to be the most generous, thoughtful gift he’d ever received.

“Do you like it?”

The uncertainty in her voice knocked him from his stupor. “I love it. I don’t know what do say.”

She beamed. Lifting on her tiptoes, she slid her arms around his neck. “Perhaps you might think of another way to thank me?”

His arm slid around her waist, as if there was no other place it belonged. “I was trying to be good.”

Her dark eyes danced with golden sparks of mischief in the candlelight. “You are good.” Her hips rubbed teasingly against his. “Very,
very
good.”

“Naughty lass.” He gave her bottom a little swat. “What am I going to do with you?”

“I can think of a few things, and I’m sure you could help me think of a few more that I’ve never tried before.”

He groaned, feeling the heat swell in his groin. He sure as hell could. Would he shock her with his requests? Probably, but knowing Cate it would not be for long. He’d been fantasizing about her mouth on him for too long. Just the thought of it was enough to make him hard as a rock.

“You sure know how to shoot my good intentions to hell.”

Her eyes lit up excitedly. “I do?”

He nodded and kissed her again. “I used to have a little self-control.”

He slid his hands under the shoulders of her robe to slide
it off. She had already started to work the ties of his
cotun
but smiled up at him. “And you don’t now?”

“Apparently not where you are concerned.”

To prove it, he ripped the chemise she was wearing right off her. It was old, plain, and in his way.

“Gregor!” she screeched, still shy enough to try to cover herself. But the lass had absolutely nothing to hide—nothing. “Not another one,” she groaned. “I will have nothing left to wear.”

“What a pity. I suppose I will just have to keep you naked in my bed.”

He stopped further protests by jerking his tunic over his head, pulling off his boots, and quickly dispensing with his breeches.

She stared at him, taking in every inch of his nakedness. He’d never been self-conscious in his life, but standing there while she studied him came pretty damn close. He wanted her approval. When she eventually looked up at him, it was clear he had it—and more. She was looking at him as if she couldn’t wait to devour him. “Tell me what do to. Tell me how to please you.”

“You already do.”

Just standing there she brought him to his knees. She was adorable—small, compact, and strong, with the sleek grace of a wildcat. Outwardly unimposing but dangerous, with the raw instincts of a fighter. She made every other woman who’d come before her seem flimsy and insubstantial.

She blushed. “I know men prefer more curves, but your mother said I scared them all away on the practice yard, and I was doomed to be as thin as a bowstring.”

He chuckled. “Sweetheart, my mother didn’t have any idea what men prefer.” Her body was toned and sensual, and so damned arousing, he suspected that one day strength and firmness of flesh in women would become prized. “Besides, I have always preferred a bow.” He held
her gaze. “You are perfect. So perfect that I’m going to have to insist you spend much more time practicing all those hand-to-hand combat moves—although not on the practice yard.”

Her brows drew together. “Then wh—?”

She didn’t have a chance to finish her question before he catapulted her back on his bed and pinned her with his body.

She gasped with surprise, and then smiled. “There is one problem with your plan.”

He lifted a brow challengingly. “What’s that?”

“What if I don’t want to get up? What if I like it exactly where I am?” She moved her hips so his erection fit snugly between her legs, the fat head nudging temptingly at her entrance. He rocked his hips a little, teasing her until her breath quickened with those throaty little gasps that drove him wild.

“Oh, I think you’ll want to get up, Caty.” He sunk in just a little, letting her take him in an inch or two before retreating. He felt her shudder with need, and it took every bit of his control not to sink in deep and give it all to her. “Weren’t you talking about learning new things? I didn’t think you were a quitter.”

He’d known she wouldn’t be able to resist that taunt. Just as he knew as soon as he gave her an opening he would be on his back.

He was—and more aroused than he could stand. The lass gave new meaning to the word “bedsport.” He had a feeling making love with Cate was going to be an entirely different experience—and one that would keep him on his toes for a while.

Maybe forever.

For once he did not push the thought away. He let it sit there, getting used to it.

“Now what?” she asked, looking down at him from her perch lying on top of him. His heartbeat jammed in his
chest. Everything seemed to stop. She looked so damned sweet and yet so unconsciously sensual, with her dark eyes fixed on him, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, and her small, pert breasts thrusting proudly in the air. He wanted to hold on to this moment forever.

He drew his hand up to tuck a lock of silky dark hair behind her ear. Cupping her cheek in his hand, he pulled her mouth toward his, kissing her gently, tenderly, with long, slow pulls of his tongue.

But they were both too eager to wait for long.

“Get on your knees and straddle me,” he said roughly—huskily.

She looked confused for a minute, but then comprehension dawned. A warm glimmer of understanding spread across her face in a slow smile.

Gregor didn’t know whether her quick grasp of the situation should make him curse or drop to his knees in gratitude. How long before she realized who held all the power here?

Not long, if her quick mastery of the position meant anything. She braced her hands on his chest as she moved her hips over him. “Like this?” she said with a slow bob over his erection, which was pounding against his stomach angrily and not in any mood to play games.

Her breasts were too tempting. He had to reach out and cup the firm mounds in his hands, his fingers lightly plying the dark pink tips until they were as hard as two tiny pebbles.

She moaned, arching into his hands, and bobbed over him again, sliding his length between her legs this time, where he could feel the sweet heat and dampness. He made a sound of agonized pleasure and lifted his hips toward the tight, hot glove that he wanted gripping him.

“What do I do?” she asked, her breath uneven.

He could have shown her, but he wanted to let her be in charge and in control of her passion. “Put me inside you.”

He groaned when her fingers came around him, and she lifted her hips into position. Every muscle in his body flexed to hold still as she rubbed the heavy head against her slickness, looking for …

Oh God, yes
. He groaned as she found it and started to lower her body on him, inch by inch. He was slick with sweat and near the end of his rope by the time she was fully impaled.

She drew her hands down the tight bands of his stomach and threw her head back, sinking deeper and savoring the pleasure of their bodies fully joined—connected. “You feel so good,” she said. “So big and thick—I love the way you fill me.”

He deserved a kingdom at least for not coming right there. The innocently erotic words sent hot bolts of pleasure from the base of his spine to the tip of his cock.

She moved a little and he nearly wept from the effort to stay still. From the effort not to take her hips and slide her up and down on top of him until they were both coming hard.

She was so tight …

“Ride me, Cate,” he gritted out. It wasn’t an order, but more of a plea.

And ride him she did. Slowly and tentatively at first, and then when she found the rhythm, hard and hell-bent for leather.

It felt too good. He could feel the pressure coiling and couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed her hips, digging his fingers into her taut backside, as his body seized. “Oh God, sweetheart, I’m going to—”

She cut him off with her cry, sinking down on him hard. He held her there tight, grounding her against him, letting the hard spasms of her release pull him right over the edge.

He came harder than he’d ever come in his life, shooting his seed deep inside her in a hot rush of blinding pleasure.

When she collapsed on top of him, he had only enough
energy left to roll her to the side and tuck her in against him. He wanted to say something, but all he could think of was a dazed and unimaginative “wow.”

She’d brought him to his knees, all right. And it was a damned good place to be.

Cate thought she probably should be embarrassed by her wantonness, but she was too warm and contented—and too wonderfully exhausted—to muster any enthusiasm for the effort. Besides, if she were honest with herself, she wasn’t embarrassed at all. She didn’t need experience to know that Gregor liked her brazenness and her passion for him.

Ride me
. Heat spread over her skin when she thought of how she’d done exactly that. She’d never imagined that kind of freedom—that kind of wildness. It had been incredible. With him inside her, she’d felt powerful enough to storm castles or conquer kingdoms.

She smiled against his chest as her finger absently traced the markings on his arm. It was so different being with him like this. She’d never imagined he could be so light-hearted and playful. He didn’t seem remote and untouchable at all, but rather quite wonderfully touchable. She’d never felt closer to anyone in her life.

“What’s so amusing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, a little embarrassed by how happy she was. “I’ve never seen a tattoo before. What does it signify? I understand the two crossed arrows behind the shield, but I thought the badge of the MacGregors was a lion’s head? The Lion Rampant is the standard of the king.” He might have tensed, but she was too busy staring at it. “And what is this design that goes around your arm? It looks like a spiderweb.”

He enfolded her hand in his and moved it from his arm to his chest. “So many questions, little one. Aren’t you sleepy?”

She propped her chin up on his chest and frowned. “Why do I have the feeling you are trying to avoid my question?”

He held her gaze for a moment in the soft candlelight. He seemed to be debating with himself about something. “You are right; it doesn’t have to do with the MacGregors. It’s just something I did a while back with some friends of mine.”

He tried to dismiss it, but for some reason she sensed it was important to him. “Does it have to do with your role in the king’s army?” He looked surprised. “I know you don’t like to say anything, but I gather what you do is important.”

“I’m a bowman, Cate.”

“Aye, but I’d warrant an important one. What exactly
do
you do?”

He paused for so long, she didn’t think he was going to answer her. When he spoke, it was carefully. “Sometimes the king needs important targets eliminated. A good marksman can come in handy for that.”

She frowned, and then suddenly her eyes widened. “Targets? You mean people?”

He held her gaze, as if steeling himself for her reaction. “Aye. I’m trained to kill, Cate. It’s what I do.”

He stated it as a fact and without apology, but somehow she knew it wasn’t easy for him to admit. “And I’m sure every one of them has been necessary, although I’m sure it doesn’t make it any easier.”

He looked surprised, as if he’d expected condemnation. He shrugged. “You get used to it.”

She suspected he never got used to it at all. But he undoubtedly saw his compassion as a weakness for a warrior, when in fact it only emphasized his humanity. Caring was nothing to be ashamed of.

She’d guessed how much the deaths affected him when she’d realized what the rocks were for. They were his
atonement, his acknowledgment of every life that had been taken in the pursuit of Robert the Bruce’s ambition.

She thought for a minute. “But what does the tattoo have to do with all of this?”

He sighed and shook his head, smiling. “You are as unrelenting as some warriors I know. I will explain everything to you when we are married.”

She liked hearing him say that. “And when will that be?”

“I hope by Twelfth Night. I wrote the king and asked him to help me procure a dispensation.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “I wish I could be there to see his reaction. I think Bruce was convinced I’d never find my way willingly to the altar. He’ll be disappointed not to be here for the wedding, but I’m sure once Perth is taken he will arrange a great feast at Dunstaffnage.”

Cate stiffened. “A
what
?
”

He tipped her chin to look at him. “I know you blame the king for what happened, Cate, but that blame is misplaced. He was as devastated by the massacre of your village as he was when news that his wife, daughter, sister, and the Countess of Buchan had been taken reached him. He disappeared into the forest and didn’t talk to anyone for days.”

Cate refused to allow herself to feel pity for him. She hardened her heart. “Any guilt Robert Bruce felt is deserved. We are all just pawns to a nobleman’s ambition. What are the lives of a few villagers in the name of a throne? What is a daughter?” She paused, and quickly added, “Or a wife.”