Page 47 of A Promise of Love

He stepped away long enough to pull off his sodden shirt and fling it to the floor. Bits of leaves and grass fell through the gaps in the roof and stuck to his skin. His trousers left nothing to the imagination, especially since the bulge there seemed to enlarge as she stared .

Her rain slicked breasts slid against his chest and the mat of his hair heightened the sensation. Judith moaned against his mouth; he encompassed the sound with his lips .

Rain splattered on her shoulders and dripped relentlessly down her skin.

Alisdair bent and licked each droplet that fell from her puckered nipples and felt her response in the sudden arching of her back.

He stood apart, disregarding her muffled protest and stripped off his remaining clothes.

He flung them into the corner, not noticing when they floated among the debris of the flooded hut .

He returned to her, pulled her close, then lifted her until her waist was level with his .

"Put your legs around me, sweet," he husked and she did, feeling herself open for him.

He lowered her until she was impaled, and then he turned.

The force of the rising water made it impossible to walk, but not impossible to move.

She hung onto him as he continued to turn in slow circles.

His motion made him move gently within her, hard and large and hot.

The rain pouring down her back was only an incidental sensation, inconsequential next to the feelings he was drawing from her.

He was the only warmth in the suddenly chilled, wet cottage.

She leaned against his shoulder and did not notice when her teeth grazed his skin.

He did and her abandon almost made him lose what control he had left.

But he vowed that he would not find his release first .

He held her by the waist while she clung to him.

His hands slipped upwards, the rain only aiding his passage.

They were both sheeted with water. No matter how he turned, he could not avoid the torrent.

His thumbs brushed her nipples, pushed in and rotated against them.

He shifted slowly around, the action thrusting her down upon him even further.

Each successive step intensified her pleasure, until she was whimpering against him .

He pushed her up against the earthen wall, transformed by the rain into a slick sheet of mud.

Judith didn’t protest as he ground against her.

It was as though she were a part of the earth and part of him.

He thrust again and she could only cling wetly to him as the shudders began.

When they peaked, the feeling was almost painful in its intensity.His climax came only seconds later .

Alisdair finally stirred, but only enough to cup her buttocks in his hand and move them carefully, inch by inch, onto the sodden cot.

The wooden frame sagged, as he deposited Judith into the middle of one large, cold, puddle.

He shifted beside her, placed his broad arm around her and pulled her closer to him.

They sat, watching the flotsam of the cottage floor float around their feet and through the partially open door of the hut .

Alisdair MacLeod, chief of the clan MacLeod and the last remaining heir of a long and distinguished warrior dynasty, sat on a sodden cot with his English wife and laughed aloud.

It had just occurred to him that his trousers had long ago joined the ranks of the leaves, twigs, and other debris that now floated through the ditch in the middle of the village .

Judith looked at him sideways. She could not help the answering smile on her face, his humor was so contagious. Besides, she felt too contented to be anything but amiable at this moment .

He smoothed the mud from her cheek. She smelled. Horribly. Alisdair thought it was a strange thing indeed, for him to have wanted her so, even covered with grayish mud and smelling of the barnyard. No, perhaps it was not so strange after all .

He leaned down and kissed her gently before he broke the news. "Do you remember when we walked back to Tynan naked ?"

She shuddered. "In full view of the clan? Perfectly, MacLeod, in glorious detail. Such a thing is not that easy to forget . “

"I'm afraid, Judith, that we must repeat the act," he said softly, a devilish smile wreathing his lips .

She looked wide eyed at him, and then to the corner where her clothing had been tossed. Granted, he had easily ripped the old wool gown, but she would have been partially covered had she worn it. It, however, had floated away, along with the MacLeod's trousers .

"I don't believe it," she moaned .

"Believe it, Judith," he said, chuckling. "And believe this, also. The storm has stopped. Prepare yourself for another audience ."

She hit him on the arm with her balled fist .

"It is very well for you to say, MacLeod, you have less to expose," she said, exasperation clouding her eyes .

His booming laugh could shake the roof down upon their heads, she thought .

"Ah, Judith," he said, still laughing, "what you have to learn about men." He stood, and she saw what he meant. The MacLeod was in a glorious state. She glanced up at him with a frown on her face .

"Cannot you comport yourself decently ?"

"It does not have a string, little general," he said, smiling .

"Well, do something about it ."

"There is, fortunately, only one thing to be done ."

In the spirit of human kindness, she allowed as how she could assist him.

Judith discovered that the MacLeod had marvelous powers of recuperation which were supplanted only by her own.

She also discovered, and it was knowledge that she tucked away for later, that he could make her forget the most outrageous circumstances, such as a puddle of muddy water at the small of her back, and a steady drip of water upon her face .

The MacLeod strolled naked through his village, with his exhausted English wife in his arms. He could not help the smile that broadened his face, or his cheerful nod at the memory tinged looks of the old men.

He only chuckled at the women, most of whom tossed their aprons over their faces and scurried back into their own cottages .

There was something to be said for having an English wife .