Page 23 of The Highlander’s Dangerous Desire (Kilted Kisses #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

E wan was relieved when the cart with the three women rolled into the courtyard in the late afternoon, with all three of its occupants unharmed and, as much as he could tell, happy. He’d never thought that Sorcha would hurt them physically, but she had the power to make anyone uneasy if she chose.

He’d never gotten over his worry regarding the witch woman who had cursed his elder brother, and he hadn’t known how she would react to Grace’s English heritage. He didn’t think Sorcha would hold a grudge on the matter - personal experience told him her grudges were always far more personal - but he hadn’t been sure what she thought of the English in general, and if she shared many Highlander’s casual dislike of English folk.

Grace appeared slightly pensive, and she scarcely met his eyes when he went to help Niamh down from the cart, but she didn’t seem to be unduly distressed. Instead, she seemed… thoughtful, if he was reading her mood aright. He wondered what Sorcha might have told her, to put her in such a frame of mind, then dismissed the thought with a shake of his head.

Grace’s concerns were none of his own. They’d recovered something of their previous amiability that morning, but that only meant that they were friends. Nothing more, no matter how he might have fantasized, there in the steaming bath after she’d gone away.

She’d made her preference and her feelings clear, and he would honor that.

Supper that evening was held in the same room as the night before, and Ewan found himself sitting next to Grace once more. She smiled softly at him but made no attempt at conversation. Ewan served them both bowls of the thick, hearty stew that was the main component of dinner before he made his own effort at speaking. “How was yer visit with the witch?”

“Sorcha.” Grace corrected him. Ewan blinked, surprised. He hadn’t thought she would be on familiar terms with the woman so easily, or so quickly. “And it went well, I believe. She is very… insightful.” She offered him another small smile. “She told us Niamh’s babe is well, healthy and strong and eager to come into the world.”

“That’s good.” Ewan paused to scoop up some of his stew. “An’ nay fuss nor fighting between the two o’ ye?”

“No. She was very kind to me. She gave me some advice, which I am still considering.” Ewan waited, but Grace didn’t seem inclined to say anything more on the matter.

He was still trying to think of something else to say when Alistair cleared his throat and addressed him. “Ewan, I’ve been thinkin’ on yer situation… an’ if yer serious about lookin’ fer a bride, mayhap we can find a lass fer ye.”

Beside him, Grace went still as a statue. Ewan swallowed hard. “Aye? What were ye thinkin’? I dinnae have a lot o’ time fer courting, ye ken.”

“Nay. But… Catriona, dae ye ken any who might suit Ewan? Ye ken a lot of people around these lands.”

“Surely, if there was a young woman who suited yer braither within the nearby population, he would already have found and wooed her.” The voice was so cold and sharp it took Ewan a moment to recognize it as Grace’s.

He blinked at her in surprise. She was focused on Alistair, however, and didn’t seem to notice the looks she was getting from Ewan, or from the other diners. Alistair, to his credit, only frowned slightly, as if in thought. Then he nodded. “Aye. Ye might have the right o’ it. In that case, we’ll need tae seek further afield.” He glanced in Ewan’s direction again. “Ye’ll nae complain if I dae some readin’, see if there are any lairds in neighborin’ clans with eligible daughters or nieces?”

“As long as ye dinnae send them proposal letters without speakin’ tae me,” Ewan nodded. He was relieved, actually. Alistair had been associating with the neighboring lairds for far longer than he had - he knew their families and their personalities better.

“I’m surprised you wouldn’t wish to do your own research.” Grace’s tone was sharp, and Ewan frowned. One outburst he could ignore, but two… something was wrong, but he’d no idea what. “You do have some definite opinions about the women you prefer.”

“I do. But Alistair kens much o’ what I’d need tae consider, personal preference aside.” Ewan’s brow furrowed. “If there’s somethin’ on yer mind…”

“There is nothing.” Grace then set her fork down and rose from her seat. “If you’ll excuse me, I find I am more fatigued than I thought. I believe I shall retire early.”

She didn’t sound fatigued. Nor did she look it as she swept from the room, her head held high and her back straight as a hunting arrow. She looked and sounded angry - and unless he was missing something, the focus of her vexation seemed to be himself. But Ewan had no idea why.

“Ye’d best go after her, if ye ever want tae get tae the heart o’ what’s upsettin’ her.” Catriona’s husband, Evan, spoke up. “There’s only two ways tae ken what angers a woman - ask her, or be prepared tae duck the crockery when she decides ‘tis time fer ye tae ken whether ye want tae or nae.”

“Och, I have never thrown crockery!” Catriona protested. “Nor has Niamh!”

“Ye threw pillows. And once a rock.” Her husband countered. He caught Ewan’s eye again. “Better tae ask, an’ spare yerself the grief ye’ll face if she has time tae worry over the matter in her mind.”

“He’s right. Niamh didnae throw things, but she tried tae get me dumped from my saddle once or twice when she was vexed with me.” Alistair stated. Beside him, Niamh blushed.

Ewan nodded and rose from the table. “Ye’re right.”

He wasn’t sure why Grace was angered by their discussion, or if there was something else on her mind, but they’d only just begun to mend their strained relationship. He wasn’t going to allow his pride to cause it to fray a second time. It was best to get to the heart of the matter.

He left the room and followed Grace.

She wasn’t in the hall when he emerged, but a quick query to one of the servants revealed that she’d returned to her rooms. Ewan followed, and knocked lightly on the closed door. He heard her speak, and took it as an invitation to enter.

Grace was pacing by the fire, her expression pensive. When she saw him, her jaw tightened. “I do not wish to speak to you.”

Ewan raised an eyebrow at the heat in her voice. “Ye let me in.”

“I thought you were Niamh. Or Catriona.”

“Well, I’m nae. An’ ye can talk tae me as well as either.” Ewan folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “Especially as ye seem tae be fair vexed with me, and I dinnae ken what I’ve done tae earn it.”

“Perhaps I did not care for the conversation.” Grace tossed her head.

“An’ what o’ it?” Ewan frowned. “’Twas only Alistair suggesting ways tae find me a spouse.”

Grace’s jaw clenched. “Do you know how often I have heard such talk? Do you think I enjoy listening to people arrange potential marriages for young women who are likely to be given little say in the matter?”

Ewan huffed. “Ye cannae think that I’d tak’ a woman against her will. I wouldnae wed a lass who didnae choose tae wed me.”

“Making a choice to wed is not the same as thing as having a desire to do so. We both know that Niamh had little desire when your brother claimed her as his bride.” Grace snapped.

Ewan did his best to stifle his own irritation. “’Tis nae the same. And me braither wouldnae have married her if she’d truly refused.”

“But he carried her from her home. And claimed her as his betrothed before they knew each other.”

“’Twas an emergency, and time was o’ the essence. I’d nae…” Ewan’s words stumbled to a stop as Grace cut him off.

“Is time not of the essence for you as well? Is that not why you asked that I pretend to be your betrothed?” Grace’s eyes flashed, anger snapping across her features. “And since the ruse cannot be continued forever - what then? Will you simply marry yourself off to the first woman your brother chooses for you? Or the first who seems ‘acceptable’ and willing?” The last word was laced with venom.

“’Tis nae an uncommon practice, in Scotland or England, lass. And I say it again… I’d nae wed a lass who didnae choose tae wed me. Ye ought tae ken that I’m nae so desperate as tae treat a lass dishonorably. Why are ye so…” Ewan trailed off as a possible explanation dawned. “Are ye jealous?”

Grace’s cheeks went red. “Why should I be?”

Ewan found himself relaxing, almost amused by her attempt. “Askin’ that’s nae the same as telling me yer nae.”

“I have no reason to be…”

“Still nae a denial.” Ewan stepped closer. “Are ye jealous that I might marry another?”

“Of course, I am not. It is not as if you have given me any reason, when you have already made it clear that you have no interest in me.”

Ewan stopped, torn between amusement and anger. “Ye cannae be serious?”

“You were quick to pull away from me, after that night.” Grace’s cheeks were dark crimson in the firelight, the flush creeping over her collarbone in a manner Ewan would have been enticed by at any other time.

Ewan snorted, bitterness overcoming any hint of amusement. “Ye were the one who said I was just the largest item on yer ‘list o’ sins’.”

Grace stared at him. “I spoke in jest. In good humor, as I often speak to Niamh!”

Ewan stared back. “Ye cannae mean… ye acted like ye were ashamed o’ bein’ with me, the way ye pulled away.”

“I pulled away, as you say, because you acted as if you hated the fact that you’d been with an Englishwoman. I thought you had decided you regretted indulging my desire.”

Grace’s eyes were blazing bright as the fire, her hair sparkling all shades of red and gold in the glow of the flames. Ewan’s jaw clenched. “I thought ye were the one who regretted our… evening taegether.”

Grace stepped forward into his space, gazing up at him with those diamond-bright, angry eyes. “I have never regretted anything that was on my ‘list of sins’.”

Ewan felt his anger fading, his mood softening as he considered her words. “Nay? Naething?”

“Nothing.”

“Then yer distance…”

“Was because I thought you had no more desire to interact with me. At least, not in that manner.” Then anger in Grace’s eyes faltered, her voice slipping from irritation to uncertainty as her gaze held his. Underneath the uncertainty, Ewan thought he saw something more. Hope, perhaps, or desire.

Scarcely daring to believe what his eyes and his thoughts were telling him, Ewan lifted one hand, carefully, gently, and cupped her cheek. “I’m nae the sort o’ man who regrets such encounters. An’ certainly nae with a beautiful woman such as yerself.”

Grace made a soft, hopeful sound and leaned into his hand. Her hands came up to clutch at his shirt.

Hesitant, still uncertain, Ewan bent to kiss her. Her mouth was just as soft as it had been before, tasting of wine and stew. Her mouth opened eagerly to his, her tongue darting out to dance together with his as the kiss deepened.

His hand slid to her shoulder, then the bodice of her dress. His touch stilled. “Tell me what ye want.”

“You.” The word was breathless, whispered against his lips as Grace tugged the laces loose of his shirt, then dropped her hands to the belt of his kilt.

Ewan kissed her again, more deeply, feeling the heat building in his blood to rival the fire inside the hearth. His manhood began to stiffen against the fabric of his kilt.

Grace stepped back, toward her bedroom, loosening the bodice of her dress as she went. Ewan followed, watching her movements and her eyes for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty. There was none. None as she slipped into the bedroom ahead of him, as the two of them stripped off their clothing. Naked, Ewan stepped closer and kissed her again, long and slow and sweet, his thigh pressing gently against her sex and feeling the dampness of her arousal.

He swept her into his arms, and into the bed. “Lie back fer me.”

He drew his hands down her arms, then back up, caressing, mapping the lines of her body as Grace shifted against him and kissed him with deeper urgency. His knee slid between her legs, his manhood stiff and hot against her thigh as he slid his hand down to fondle and tease her breast into a taut peak.

Grace shuddered, her legs parting wider for him. Ewan slid his hand lower, tracing a slow line down her core. His thumb teased her navel. His fingers danced across her ribs, eliciting gasps and shivers with every touch, as he retraced the sensitive spots that he’d found before.

His blood was burning, his shaft stiff and aching with the need to bury himself in her warmth, but Ewan controlled himself, let himself revel in the pleasure of touching her. He could feel her desire, her need for him, and it went to his head like Alistair’s best whisky, a burn of heat and pleasure like being drunk, but in the best ways.

He slid his hand lower, into the soft hairs that covered the mound of her sex. They were damp, her arousal already coating them and moistening his fingers as he caressed her, touched her until she was moaning under his hand. Then he stilled his hand, palm still covering her, and lowered his mouth to suckle on her breast.

Grace gasped, arching into his mouth as he scraped her nipple lightly with his teeth, then stroked it with his tongue until it was a hard peak that he could tug gently. Her hips pressed into his hand, the soft hair slick with her desire. His own felt tight and hot against her, driving him mad as he slid his hand lower, across the seam of her sex.

Grace shuddered, trembling under his touch, her thighs parting to give him greater access as he caressed her entrance. He stroked her, feeling her quiver and squirm beneath his touch, then added a little more pressure, stroking firmly down to the seam of her buttocks before he slid his hand slowly back up, his finger teasing the lips of her sex, opening him to her touch just the smallest bit.

“Ewan… please…”

“Tell me what ye need.”

“I need you to touch me… deeper… please…” Grace stared at him, breathless and shivering with desire. Ewan bent and kissed her again, then slid his finger between the lips of her sex to stroke the inner walls. Grace gasped and arched into his touch drawing him deeper. Ewan caressed the lips of her sex until they were slick and dripping with moisture, then pressed a finger slowly, deeply, into her channel.

Grace whimpered, clinging to him, rocking into his hand as he pumped his finger into her, then added a second finger, stretching her around his hand. His thumb found her pleasure center and pressed against it, stroking her in time to the movements of his fingers.

Grace gasped crying out as she pressed herself against him. Desire soaked his fingers, sparking heat within his own core, pulsing down the length of his shaft until he feared he would climax right then.

Ewan pulled his hand away, panting with his own need, his own desire. No other woman had ever made him feel like this - this raw, pounding heat that made thinking, made seduction impossible.

He slid himself between her legs, his shaft against her entrance, and Grace welcomed him. He slid himself into her, careful and slow, knowing this was only her second time making love, and felt her hot, slick, velvety walls clench around his manhood like a sheath of flame and silk. Ewan groaned, barely able to keep himself under control while Grace writhed around him, arched upward to take him more deeply.

Inch by inch, he pressed inside her, until he was fully sheathed, his bollocks against the soft, rounded globes of her buttocks. The feel of her against him, around him, was almost more than he could bear. Ewan felt as if he were burning, inside and out. Grace’s heat scorching him from around his member, while his own desire burned him from within.

He breathed, rocked back, then forward, setting up a steady rhythm. Grace moved with him, so in tune with his movements that it felt as if they’d always been lovers. Always been together. It was bliss, and it was perfect, in a way he’d never known love-making could be, and Ewan cherished each thrust.

Every shift sent sparks dancing through him, waves of heat and pleasure that made his bollocks tighten and his whole body strain for his release. Ewan lost himself to the sensations, and to the sight of Grace, underneath him, around him, watching him with her brilliant sapphire eyes, her whole face alight with passion and desire.

Desire for him. The desire he’d thought he’d only imagined, a few days before. It was real, and she was there, with him. Nothing had ever been better.

Heat and pleasure. Pleasure bordering on pain, carrying him higher. He was going to burn up if he didn’t find his release. He was going to die of pleasure. Everything felt almost unbearably hot, unbearably tight. He needed…

He bent to kiss Grace again, kissed her like a man dying of thirst who’d found a spring in the desert. Grace kissed him back, just as urgently. Rising with him, burning with him.

Ewan moved one hand, reached up to tweak a nipple. Grace shuddered, arching against him with a cry as she convulsed with her release. Her body clenched around his, muscles tight around his shaft as she shuddered.

Ewan’s vision exploded with light and heat as her release drew his own from him with the force of a firestorm sweeping over the moors. He stiffened, his body buried to the hilt within Grace as his seed pumped deep into her welcoming channel, as her velvet sheath milked every drop of his release from his shaft.

They shuddered together as one, Ewan gasping as a second wave swept over Grace and over him as well. His mind was filled with stars, his muscles weak as water as he rode through the second climax. He barely had the strength to slide himself free and to one side, to cradle Grace in his arms, before the warm glow of love-making caught him up, and carried him gently into oblivion.