Page 12 of Chieftain’s Rebel (Chieftain #6)

Ainsel marvelled at how tall he was as she walked along the shore by Rory’s side. To be sure she had known that when she fought against him that afternoon, but then she’d had other matters on her mind such as showing him she had the skills needed to stay alive in the worst of melees. In some ways the struggle would have been easier had it been against one of the other men, or even the blasted enemy, as she had come to think of the Irish.

When she bathed Axel afore taking him up to the Great Hall, she had recognised frae where her son had inherited his long limbs and solid build. Rory’s long legs ate up the ground and sometimes she had to take two or three wee skips to his one in order to keep up when at last he espied another shadowy cutting in the trees that edged the beach. None of the earlier ones they had found were suitable, and this one too was fairly shallow. She could tell he was disappointed, and felt diffident about telling him they had reached the limit of their search, as frae there on the river spilled wide and fast into the Ness. “We’ve almost arrived at the river.”

Shaking his head, Rory groaned, “It would seem I’m far o’er confident for my own guid. I was certain that by the time they arrived I would have worked out a plan to help us overcome the Irish. Instead, I’m afraid I will have to disappoint ye Ainsel, ye and Olaf both.” His broad shoulders shook as he released a sigh. “I had this notion that I could make yer grandfather proud of me. I’ve heard tales of Olaf all of my life. First yer grandmother was abducted then my mother too was taken while she was carrying me in her belly. When ye begin to realise frae a young age that ye were part of something of great importance to both families, it makes ye want to prove yerself.”

She put her hand on his arm, tried to ignore the burn where they touched, and said, “I wish I knew what to do to help, Rory. I want ye to remember naught ye attempt will disappoint me. How would it when this fight is not of yer making, not yer fault? If anyone’s to blame it would be me.”

“What’s that ye say? So far I’ve met naebody in the settlement whau would blame ye.” He placed his hand atop hers and asked, “Why would they?”

Ainsel wished she had the courage to cover his hand with hers. She’d become aware of her grandfather and his finagling, trying to push them into a situation meant to draw them together and undoubtedly end with the pair of them in her bed making love. Olaf had a high regard for Rory’s father, and that respect had flowed down on to Rory. “It cannae be a secret that Nils—the man I married—has brought this war upon our people. Now with Nils dead they have nae one left to blame but me.” She chuckled, her laughter low and rough. Wry humour scraped painfully up the sides of her throat. Her heart shuddered deep in her chest, pummelled by all the injustices she had suffered by keeping the truth to herself.

“There are a guid few women in the settlement whau would simply delight in casting aspersions in my direction. There’s nae guid of me pretending that Nils was backward about spreading his sexual prowess around. The truth of the matter is I’ve ne’er been certain why he married me. It wasnae long afore I became more accustomed to the weight of his fist on my mouth than his kiss.”

Beside her Rory gulped in a swift mouthful of air that made her ask, almost pleading, “Does that shock ye? Mayhap it would. Yer not a man whau has come frae naught like Nils did. His wealth lay in his ability to charm the lasses. I can see now that I was one whau came with an extra prize, being that my grandfather was the Jarl. There were times when I thought Nils hated me because of just that—for growing up with everything he wanted.”

She stepped back, as if it was his nearness that had made her spill secrets nae one else knew. “Can ye understand why I’ve told ye a truth that belonged to me and me alone once Nils died? I need ye to know I wouldnae think less of ye if ye left us to the results of our own faults. My error was one of pride. I was too ashamed to tell anyone how he had used me, even after he died. Nils’ death didnae change aught, I still believed that harm would befall me if I dared speak out—dared tell the world what a cruel bastard I’d married. Even now I cannae believe that I’ve done what I’d told myself I’d ne’er do—confessed my sins. Ye must have seen for yer self how I once loved being a shield maiden. Finn and I used to practice together every free moment. Nils put a stop to that as soon as we married, but he wouldnae practice with me. Mayhap he was frightened I’d best him … or after a while, too scared to face me with a sword in my hand.”

She laughed softly at the thought, all her ire floating away with the mist gathering o’er the river, encouraged by the way Rory was looking at her, the warmth in his eyes.

If only she had met him afore Nils.

If only Axel had the right to claim Rory as his true father.

If only she could tell Rory the truth.

If only he would kiss her.

Her heart pounded as if she had spoken the thought aloud. She looked up, eyes wide, and saw the answering heat in his.

But one step closer and it would be as she wanted, remembered. A fistful of reality thumped into her brain. How could she give into the desire that had haunted her frae the last solstice? Mayhap she fooled herself that another encounter would make him recall that night.

Nae, Ainsel realised she couldnae take the chance and immediately turned her head, watching swift flow of the river that began as nae more than a trickle amongst the hills. “Come with me up the riverbank. There’s something there I’d like to show ye,” she said and moved away frae Rory and temptation, swallowing the disappointment that was of her own making.

The sway of Ainsel’s hips did naught to cool the blood circling Rory’s brain and surging through his groin, and the caress of his worsted plaid against his hard prick was nae help whatsoever. He had wanted her and she hadnae been blind to his need. In a way he was glad she had been the one to break the tension, mayhap easier for her than for him.

God’s teeth! How had she borne it, and how blind had her family been not to notice what she was suffering at her husband’s hands—nae fists? She said she had felt shame, yet to him it showed strength, for there was nae getting away frae the truth that Olaf was auld. Nae so much weak as fragile after a lifetime of standing up to yon enemies whau coveted the Jarldom of Caithness.

Aye, he might have wanted her under him while he pounded into her, but though the look in her eyes said welcome, the lass had been brutalised by the man supposed to love her. After what she had just told him, a sexually motivated approach would show a lack of thought—a lack of care for tender feelings—a truth it surprised him to admit while his need for her still raged in his mind. He caught up with her as she walked through a tunnel of dark green overhanging pine branches to ask, “Tell me, what is so secret it needs to be hidden away frae the settlement?”

Her lips curved in a warm smile that made it difficult to keep his resolve not to touch her as its effect was like a punch to the heart. He felt in a quandary. He had come roaring up to Caithness like a stag in rut driven by the memory of one lass and within two days he was lusting after another, and all it took to make him forget was a smile.

“You’ll see in a moment,” she said, “we’re almost there.”

Ainsel didnae lie, the next pine branch she brushed aside revealed a fiercesome looking dragonhead richly decorated in bright colours that made him glance at her, puzzled. “Why is it hidden away frae the rest? What makes it special?”

Ainsel appeared to be enjoying his confusion. “I’ll show you.” She climbed higher up the bank, pulling herself up by grasping at branches until they stood above the dragon boat and could look into its depths at the bulky cargo covered frae top to bottom by a red sail. Here the river had carved out a small bay where the water eddied, less swift than the river. Frae that viewpoint he recognised that the wooden boat, though beautifully made and decorated with intricate carvings was a smaller version of the ones floating in the bay.

“This is Olaf’s dragon-boat. The one he will use to make his journey to Walhalla. He did all the work himself, even built the pyre beneath the sail ready to be lit as soon as he’s aboard.” She chuckled, “Finn says Grandfather wants to be remembered for the splendour of his departure rather than have the settlement watch all their work go up in flames. As if anyone would mind.”

All Rory saw were the possibilities, but those he kept to himself as his mind raced frae one to the other. “How long has it been docked on the river?”

“Longer than expected, Olaf was feeling a mite frail after a freezing winter when he ordered the hull built, but as ye saw for yerself he doesnae appear ready to leave. The carving and painting was done on the river, and Finn helped him with the pyre. The sail, as ye can imagine, is to keep the wood dry.” Ainsel glanced at him, a wry glint in her eyes. “Ye can see how swiftly the river flows into the Ness. It will take only a few wee nudges to send both Olaf and the boat out into the current where it should swoop into the Ness as if the dragonhead is alive and carrying him on its back to Walhalla and the halls of the gods. Once it reaches the middle of the Ness, Finn will shoot fire-arrows to set it alight.”

Rory perused the visual story in his mind, but he would make nae mention of it to Ainsel. Olaf was the one he needed to approach first, and do it in a way that wouldnae cause any offence. Aye, the auld Jarl hoped he would come up with a plan, and he had. That didnae mean to say it was one Olaf would like. His brain was buzzing with notions, as if a midgie had flow into his ear, but given that, he felt more light-hearted than he had since he started his journey to Caithness. So much so they were both laughing as they scrambled back down the bank, he grasping hold of a prickly needle sharp branch to reach the top. The next step he landed on a mossy patch that almost took his feet out frae under him.

He was still laughing as Ainsel stepped on the same patch as he and slid after him. With his fingers curled around the branch for balance he caught her, pulled close—pulled her into his heat and the words ‘I wouldnae like ye to go for a swim in the river…’ meant as a jest stuttered to a halt.

She lifted her head to laugh with him and they both tumbled, though not literally until his fingers uncurled and they rolled back to the foot of the bank with her locked in his arms; but all laughter fled as they landed nae more than two arm-spans frae the water.

The air under the trees was soft and green-scented. He couldnae resist ducking his head to sniff at her neck, drawn irresistible by her scent. It smelled familiar, though not quite the same as the one he had followed to Caithness. Mayhap it was something the lasses at the settlement use to wash their hair, but at that moment he didnae care. With a gentle hand, he smoothed the swath of bright gold away frae her cheek and looked deep into her eyes, as unusual a blue as the waves tumbling into the beach frae the Ness. They made his heart tumble in his chest with his breath locked up in there with it until he felt giddy, hardly able to breath.

Was it a lack of air that made him dip his head until their lips touched and the gasp she released saved his life—became his breath. Her lips were so soft, full, a place his mouth wanted to land again and again. It took all his control to pull back, to look for an answer in her eyes again as he murmured, “I wouldnae hurt ye, lass.”

Ainsel’s whispered, “I ne’er believed ye would, Rory, ne’er in a lifetime.”

He ached as he watched her lips quiver, making his hands shake in response as he cupped her face betwixt them. Then their lips touched again and he was lost, spinning into a place to which he’d ne’er thought to return.

She would have had to be dead not to remember the feel of his weight pressing down on her body. He might be big, but not o’er-powering when it came to lovemaking. Aye, she still thought of this as lovemaking, for hadnae the last time they had come together rewarded her with the greatest love of her life, Axel?

At last Rory kissed–not just a brush of the lips but a full-blooded taking of her mouth—and she nae longer felt the twinge of annoyance at her grandfather and his attempt to throw her into the arms of a Scots Chieftain’s son. She didnae need throwing, both she and her heart leapt as his tongue pursued hers, deep, wet and hot inside her mouth.

Ainsel hadnae forgotten what it felt like, hadnae forgotten the o’er-whelming response of all her senses to Rory. She had simply been frightened to pull them out of that secret place at the back of her mind, thinking she would ne’er experience the almost spiritual mingling of their tastes again.

Their kisses deepened and she was panting, sucking down short quick breaths of air that instead of filling her lungs set her head spinning. Rory covered her face, cheeks, eyes and nose with small desperate kisses. Her head twisted under his palms, frantic for his mouth to return to her own. His hard erect male flesh thrummed against her belly, pressing close, wanting in. Betwixt her thighs her opening ran wet with need and when her hands slid around his waist searching for the buckle of the belt holding his plaid in place, the back of her knuckles brushed across the thick round head of his sex.

Rory groaned in her ear, a long drawn out sound fill with need and longing. “Do that again lass and I might not last. It’s been a while since I lay betwixt a lassie’s thighs.”

That was when she realised in her struggle to get closer her kirtle had ridden up and her heels were clamped against the softer skin behind his knees. “I want rid of yer plaid, want yer skin against mine and to do that I need to unfasten yer buckle.”

“I’m in full agreement with that. What say ye I deal with my buckle and plaid while ye drag yer kirtle o’er yer head. I’ll spread my plaid for us to lie on but first ye must release my legs lass. That’s a grand grip ye have.”

Her eyelids dipped, slightly embarrassed at her enthusiasm, and though she felt sure her face was already flushed she felt the blood rush to her cheeks, stinging where his bristle-roughed face had kissed her. As if he read her thoughts Rory told her, “Ye can tuck yer heels in behind my knees again later, I kind of like the feel of ye hanging on tight to me.”

She found her smile again. “I can manage to do that, nae bother. In return ye must take off yer shirt. I like the feel of yer muscles jumping under my palms…” she let her voice trail off believing for a moment she had given the truth away, for the last time his muscles jerked as she caressed a sensitive nerve had been almost a year ago.

Thankfully, Rory was o’er busy to pay heed to her mistake. When she set him free, he sat back on his heels and unfastened the big silver buckle on his leather belt. His plaid slid down across his thighs and she lay mesmerised as he roughly hauled his fine linen shirt off his back and tossed it aside as if the high quality of his garments didnae matter, a sign that he had nae need to worry where his next meal or shirt came frae, like she had during the dark years while she was married to Nils.

Her grandfather was a canny man.

Nae matter that this night wouldnae be happening if she wasnae aware how wonderful their coming together could be. Rory wasnae the stranger he had been when she came up behind him last year, wrapping her arms around his waist atop the buckle he had that moment dropped to the ground, sprawled atop his shirt. Last solstice was like another country, another life, when she dared to take hers in her hands in a moment of vengeance against her husband while he rutted with some other poor lassie whau had nae notion of the de’il that dwelt inside Nils.

Tonight? Tonight was for her, she decided.

Rory stood up and took her bonnie blue kirtle out of her hands. Now she was nae long covered, lying back on her elbow, naked, as she gazed up at him. He tossed her kirtle atop his shirt then stepped out of the roll of plaid around his feet. His eyes travelled o’er her naked skin frae head to toe, leaving a lick of fire in its wake. She fixed her view on his prick. Long and hard, it bobbed as if beckoning, waving her to come closer and get it, and each time it moved, his sack drew up tight betwixt his thighs, the balls nestling inside showing at their best.

She discovered more to cogitate upon as he folded the long length of his plaid a few times then spread it out next to her. Obviously she would have to roll onto it from where she lay, and she wasnae right sure about giving him such an unfettered view of her behind, aware that childbirth and the lack of shield training o’er the last few years had increased the width of her hips. “Dinnae look at me when I roll across to the plaid, I’ve a notion it might not be a bonnie sight.”

“I can take care of that,” he told her and knelt on one knee, slipping both arms beneath her while he lifted her o’er onto the plaid. “Take it frae me lass, I have nae problem looking at an arse that sways the way yours does when ye walk. I was hard frae the moment I began walking behind ye, and I’d be lying if I didnae say I enjoy something I can get a grip on.” A bit of information, which might have sounded a deal more complimentary if Rory hadnae happened to be chortling while he spoke.

However, she was left nae time to ponder, for as soon as he laid her down and spread her thighs so that he could get down on his knees betwixt them, staring down at her mons as if he liked what he saw, with a gaze that made her burn in response, his hands skimmed the tender skin of her inner thighs with a gentleness that made them tremble. “Ye look so bonnie I could just kiss ye, lass.” His fingers stroked her. “Is that something ye would find offensive?” he asked. Ainsel shook her head, meaning that she wouldnae mind, somewhat surprised to find that for all his need was obvious—his sex jutting hard frae his groin—he was keeping his word not to hurt her.

How could she object to that most personal of kisses when he was the only man to share a touch of his lips down there, to give her a pleasure she hadnae known existed.

That’s why she was surprised when he bent over her and gathered her into his arms and began kissing her lips as if nae pause in his effort had occurred and to tell the truth it didnae feel as if it had. As soon as his mouth covered hers she fell back in thrall with the heated taste of his lips and tongue as they played with hers. Needing to be closer, she coiled her arms around his strong neck and climbed higher, nearer, wrapping her legs around his waist to trap his hard length betwixt their bodies and still the kiss went on.

She slanted her mouth across Rory’s, breathing in through her nose air that smelled of him, a mix of sweat and sea salt combined with a scent that was completely male—all Rory. As she sank into his kiss, every breath she took grew shorter, shallower. Suddenly Ainsel’s world turned dark. So dark she had to wrench her mouth away frae Rory’s lips, searching for space—for air.

Shudders wracked her body and soon she was quivering in Rory’s arms, clinging to him, desperate for an easy breath, then he was smoothing the hair back frae her face, lifting brow away the long strands that stuck to her damp brow. “Lass, lass, slow down. We’ve all night.” He lowered her down until his hands disappeared and the tightly woven worsted grazed her skin.

In all his years of experience, nae female had near fallen apart in his arms. Ainsel was special, she didnae shiver frae cauld but through an excess of emotion. As her back touched the protection of the plaid his mother had ordered woven for him, he slid his hands up until they brushed the sides of her breasts. Wearing the plaid had always brought comfort, thoughts of Dun Bhuird his family, safety if naught else.

The next time he kilted it into pleats around his waist it would be Ainsel he thought of as she lay back, all smooth, fair skin against the dark-coloured squares—colours that his mother and her mother afore her had wrung out of the plants of the Cairngorms: home. And now he would be able to see Ainsel there laid out afore him like a feast. He began by plumping her breasts up give him better access to the pretty pink crowns of her breasts.

Fool , he cursed himself as her breast milk began to flow, then he looked down and saw the light spread of hair on his chest was damp.

She watched the direction of his glance and began to apologise. “I’m sorry—“

“Nae, it’s for me to be sorry. It was thoughtless of me not to take Axel into account.”

“Usually I wear a linen band around my breasts, but he’d been fed and I suppose my own vanity made me abandon it tonight,” she confessed, making him smile as he wondered if it was vanity that kept her hands at shoulder level where he had placed them with her breasts pouting at him waiting to be kissed, tempting.

“Would it bother ye if I…?” he dipped his head toward her nipples and licked his lips.

She hesitated, her eyes sending him as clear a message as her words. “It doesnae repulse ye?”

His chest swelled with desire. How could he explain the emotions the thought of truly tasting her stirred in his chest and his loins. “Naught about ye repulses me, Ainsel. To my mind yer the perfect image of womanhood and I want to make love with ye so badly.”

Smiles could say so much, and with Ainsel’s lips deep red and swollen frae the rough usage by his mouth, the curve of hers was pure temptation, and she soon confirmed that. “Then it would seem we both want the same thing.”

There was nae need for a second bidding. He leaned closer, elbows bent, weight supported by his hands as he touched the tip of his tongue to her breast and tasted. Ainsel whimpered. Her nipples were dark and tight; Rory swooped in and sucked gently but his eyes werenae on the prize, it was Ainsel’s reaction he watched for, lifting his mouth when she bit her lip. “Am I hurting ye?”

“Nae, it’s thrills I feel shooting through me. Wonderful. It may seem an awful comparison but its Axel’s hunger that makes him seek out my breast, with you it’s naught but pleasure.”

A hoarse bark of laughter burst frae his lips, surprised by her honesty. “Ye can be certain it’s not a mother I’m looking for.” He stretched his neck, his mouth poised o’er her other breast and sucked there in case it was feeling left out, but it was definitely not Kathryn he thought of while he ran the tip of his tongue about the circle of bonnie pink guarding her nipple, happy to feel her skin quiver. This time he spoke past a wee sly smile hoping she would appreciate the jest. “I’ve found the lands of milk and honey, supped of one and I’m about to taste the other.”

He dropped a kiss betwixt her ample breasts, placing another then another on her skin until he reached her navel, pausing a moment to draw a hot wet circle round its indent that made Ainsel’s back bow, bringing her hips closer. “Are ye getting impatient, my wee lamb? Dinnae worry I’ll get there soon but ye cannae blame a man for sampling other flavours on the way.”

The hair secreting her entrance was bright gold, shining even in the shade of the trees as he parted it to look upon the source of the honey he sought. On his knees, he stroked her entrance with but one finger, trying to control his impatience, to be gentle yet still make her squirm with need for him. And squirm she did as he put that finger in his mouth and sucked then said, “I’ve found the honey.”

After he had lifted her legs to rest on his shoulders he leant in and sniffed. There was a familiarity to her scent, one he couldnae place, one he forgot all about the moment he tasted her and discovered how much she enjoyed his endeavours.

Aye it was grand to hear her moans, which he took as encouragement and worked his tongue with a will until her moans segued into screams and he knew his work there was done. Smiling with knowing he’d brought her pleasure, Rory lowered her legs to his hips and thrust into the empty space left by his tongue and froze. Was there any better sensation than a woman caressing his eager prick with her hot wet core? Again he was struck by the notion of familiarity. That he had been there afore. Nae, he could remember only one other whau had felt so grand, but it hadnae been Ainsel. Mayhap it was something to do with the lasses of Caithness, yet how could that be when Calder’s lassie didnae attract him at in the slightest and he had wanted Ainsel frae the moment he saw her outside her grandfather’s Longhouse, an impulse that hadnae dulled in the slightest that day by the sight of the bairn she carried in her arms.

Aye, he had wanted her then and now he had her. Why was he dawdling? He thrust again, a feeling so intense it would take all his control not to pound into and find all the wonders of the world he was certain awaited him with Ainsel under him. Nae sense of havering o’er the decision, for his heart knew she was the only one.

Ainsel’s ears still clamoured with her own wild release as Rory thrust inside her, his tongue now a pale imitation of the real thing—unmatchable. She had forgotten how his thickness could fill her, make her fight for breath, air. Her lungs quaking inside her chest showed her what a pitiful sham her marriage had been.

Slowly Rory withdrew his cock then filled her again, over and over, as if he were in nae rush, simply a man determined to draw the most pleasure out of their joining. A different experience frae the last time they came together. Rory felt the same, yet more of everything she’d experienced the last time.

She had discovered a man whau made love when all she had known afore him was an animal ready to fuck aught that walked on two legs.

Her eyes rolled back in her head as he filled her once more, made her groan. A strange moment to reach the conclusion that her fortunes had changed for the better frae the moment she wrapped her arms around Rory last solstice. On the back of that thought, she slipped her hands up o’er his shoulders and fought her way into his hair, at the same time tightening the legs he had earlier arranged about his narrow hips. Not satisfied, she dug her heels into his buttocks, lifting her hips in what she hoped was an explicit act of encouragement. She loved the springy feel of his thick hair sliding through her fingers as she discovered the shape of his scalp, and as a final piece of encouragement, Ainsel cupped his strong jaws in both hands, pressing her open mouth to his like a baby bird seeking sustenance.

Heart pounding in her throat, she moaned as Rory gripped her hips, tilting them, bringing their fit even closer without missing a beat, keeping the same driving rhythm without building higher into the speed she needed to reach that place to which he had taken her afore. A shower of tiny sparks floated behind her eyes—anticipation combined with frustration—feelings she abated by biting into Rory’s stubbornly shaped bottom lip. Held it clamped betwixt her teeth even as the broad head of his cock rubbed along the sensitive wall of her core, making her tremble through being ill prepared for the intense sensation leaping frae her belly into her throat as the tip scraped across a place inside her she hadnae known existed.

She began screaming his name, “Ro—” afore he cut off the sound with his hot mouth. The palms she had pressed to his face felt him swallow, felt him take her release inside him without missing a stroke as he kept up the same interminable rhythm matching her sated cries. Her body shuddered against his as she fell back to earth frae the place he had taken her and, just when she felt he might take her back up there again, he dragged his mouth away, his breath harsh in her ears as, with nae more than two huge thrusts, spilled his seed inside her, yelling like the warrior she knew he was. Chest heaving, he rolled to the side, his big hands clamped to her hips as if he would ne’er let her go, even though it was obvious that his intention was to keep his weight off her smaller frame.

Tenderly holding her face in his hands, Rory rained kisses all o’er her face finishing with her eyes, making her lashes flutter in response. “Ach, bonnie lass, I’m sorry I was too much in thrall to pull back and I spilled my seed in ye. It wasnae deliberate, but I was so caught up in the pleasure of our coupling I didnae withdraw. I promise it willnae happen again,” he murmured against her ear as if such a thing was inevitable.

He huffed out a sigh that she added to the numerous scents and tastes she had discovered while making love with Rory. Getting mixed up with a Scot was the wrong thing to do when there was a muckle peck of danger about to fall on Caithness.

A warning thought spun through her head, comparing the last time they had made love and the unintentional bairn he had left inside her. The hastily made excuse she gave was as much for her own peace of mind as for Rory’s, “I wouldnae let it worry ye. I’m told breast feeding makes it difficult to plant a bairn in the womb.”

As if to sooth, he smoothed the palm of one hand across her skin, beginning at her hip and ending above the small, soft spot behind her knee, which he gave a wee squeeze, presumably ready to start again, thinking they had all night. “Yon auld wives tales are all well and good, but should aught happen ye must send me word, presuming we’ll both still be alive by the time the Irish leave.”