Page 22 of Wild Highland Rose (Time After Time #4)

"The bitch has locked us out." Allen looked crestfallen. Cameron fought the urge to punch him. "Wait, all is no' lost, lads, there's a connecting door in Ewen's room." Allen smiled triumphantly.

The three of them were acting like little boys, but they were big little boys and Cameron didn't want to rile them. He moved down the hallway with a sigh, pulling open his door when he came to it.

The others pushed past into the room. Cameron entered slowly, wishing himself anywhere but here. He prayed that the connecting door would be locked, too, but before he could finish the thought, Allen had swung the door open on its heavy hinges.

Torcall gave Ewen a little push. "Remember, the sooner ye get her with child, the sooner ye'll be free o' her."

Cameron paused at the doorway, looking into the black room.

"Have no fear, son, 'twill be o'er afore ye ken it. I canna blame ye fer no' wanting to bed a Macpherson, but ye've done it afore, and 'tis fer the good o' yer clan. Think o' it as yer duty." He placed a heavy hand in the middle of Cameron's back and shoved him into the room.

The firelight was dim, but he could make out the shape of Marjory's body curled up on the bed. He reached behind him to close the door.

"Trying to rob us o' our fun, brother?" Allen's beefy hand closed around the edge of the door, preventing it from fully closing.

Cameron sighed and moved to the bed on silent feet.

He stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom.

He could barely make out Marjory's features.

She slept soundly, one hand tucked under her head, the other sprawled out across the bed.

She was so tiny, she barely covered one half of the massive bed.

He felt like a letch. Or worse. But the idea of facing the gang outside the door, drove him onward. It wasn't as if he was going to go through with it, just convince Marjory to give them a show.

Easily said. Not so easily done. And even if he could convince her, she'd probably never forgive him.

Still, anything less, and Torcall would see him as a traitor.

Far better to endure the sharpness of Marjory's tongue, than to feel a blade between his shoulders.

Not exactly his finest moment. He reached for the pin at his shoulder.

In the past few days, he had actually become fairly adept at removing his strange garments, and in less than a minute he stood by the bed in his woolen underwear.

The key was to keep her quiet long enough to explain things, while at the same time convincing Torcall and crew that he was ravishing her.

Drawing a deep breath, he placed a hand across Marjory's mouth and straddled her, using his body to pin her to the bed.

She came awake in an instant, her eyes wide with fear.

At that moment, he'd have gladly traded his life to erase the look on her face, but it was too late, the damage was done. She struggled beneath him, trying to free her hands, but he kept them pinned, one with his knee and the other with his free hand.

"Hold still," he whispered. "I'm not here to hurt you.

Torcall and crew are outside." He tilted his head in the direction of the other room.

At the sound of Torcall's name, she stopped struggling, her eyes still wary.

"They're waiting for a show. I think, if we give it to them, they'll go away, maybe even leave here altogether, but I need your cooperation. Nod if you understand."

She stared up at him, eyes narrowed in anger, her doubt evident even in the shadows.

"Look, Marjory, I know how this seems, but I haven't got time for long explanations. Just go along with me. Please? I promise I'll keep you safe. Okay?"

Again their eyes met and held, hers full of questions, but after what seemed an eternity, she nodded. Slowly, he removed his hand. She sucked in a breath, but made no other noise.

He rolled onto his side, his body shielding hers from the door, keeping one arm locked around her. A noise, that sounded suspiciously like a snicker rang out from behind the partially closed door.

Damned if his sex life was going to be a side show for a bunch of drunken Scottish yahoos.

With defiance singing through his veins, he left the bed and slammed the door.

A muffled curse rang out from the other side.

With a little luck, Allen's nose had been smashed.

He reached for the bar only to realize there wasn't one.

"I gave it to Grania." Marjory whispered. She was sitting up in bed, her expression still guarded.

"You what?"

"I gave it to her. She had need for a plank o' wood. She's always building something. I never use the thing, so I gave it to her." She shrugged. "I meant to get a new one. I just never did."

He looked around the room for something to prop against the door. There was nothing. "Great." He crossed back to the bed. "Move over."

"What?"

"I said move over. It's cold. I've absolutely no intention of freezing my ass off standing out here waiting for Torcall and Allen Cameron to decide we've given them enough of a show. Move over or I'm getting in on top of you."

She slid to the far side of the bed, looking at him with a mixture of anger and amazement.

He turned back the covers and crawled underneath. It was blessedly warm. He could feel where her body had been. The warmth encircled him.

"Ewen, what's going on in there? We canna hear a thing."

The door inched open, but only a little. Evidently, Torcall was being true to his word and allowing him some privacy, but it wouldn't last long if they didn't convince their audience there was a reason for giving them privacy.

"Look, we've got to at least pretend like something's going on in here. Can you moan or something?"

Moan? Marjory thought. What in the world did he mean by that? Her experience with mating, to date, had involved a little grunting on Ewen's part, but nothing that could even remotely be considered a moan.

"I'm no' going to moan." She hissed, determined to maintain the upper hand. Just because he was in bed with her didn't mean she had to follow his orders. "'Tis no' dignified."

"This isn't about dignity, your highness, it's about saving our butts.

I don't have to remember him to know that Torcall Cameron isn't a patient man.

He gets what he wants no matter the cost, and right now what he wants is you and me doing the horizontal mambo.

And that," his voice was so low she could barely hear it, but it was still impossible to miss the sarcasm there, " my dear , means moaning. "

She tried to contain a shiver, but couldn't. The cold combined with the emotions roiling through her had reduced her to shuddering uncontrollably. Gently, as if she were a precious thing, Ewen reached out to pull her close. "It's going to be all right ," he whispered. "I swear."

His kindness was her undoing, and despite her initial reluctance she allowed herself to settle into his warmth. It surrounded her, against all odds, soothing her.

She felt the ripple of his chest muscles against her arm as he shifted. She shivered, but not from cold. Damn the man. He'd never affected her like this before. Who'd have known a shave and a bath could incite such a riot of emotion?

"What, pray tell, is a mambo?" She stumbled over the word, wondering if she'd fallen into his madness. Lying here with him, speaking nonsensical words, dreaming of his hands on her body. "You canna expect me to do something I've never done before."

With a groan he pulled her so close his breathing stirred the hair around her face. "Don't you ever quit arguing, Marjory mine?"

She started to retort, but before a word could leave her lips, he covered her mouth with his, the touch threatening to suck the breath right out of her. His lips were hard and soft all at once, stroking, caressing.

She froze for a minute, not certain how to respond, then something deep inside her clenched and released, a wave of ecstasy shimmering through her body.

Pressing closer, she reached up until her hands tangled in his hair, her breasts pressed tightly against his chest. The kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the line of her lips, and she shivered with desire.

She'd never been this close to a man before, at least not by choice.

Before with Ewen it had always been over almost before it started.

Quick, and painful. As if she were a vessel not a human.

Something to be filled and then discarded.

This was completely different. A coming together, a mating.

His mouth dipped lower, his tongue finding the shell of her ear, rasping against the soft skin there, making her tremble with need. She wanted him to touch her—possess her.

And she wanted to touch him. Feel his skin beneath her fingers, memorize the hard planes of his body.

Acting on the thought, she reached out, fingers spread, her hand meeting velvety ridges of muscle.

She ran her fingers through the soft mat of hair curling across the broad part of his chest, her heart beating staccato against her ribs.

He nibbled at her earlobe, his hand covering her breast, his thumb brushing across her nipple sending lightning streaking through her.

Allowing her hand to trail lower, she circled his abdomen and hips, feeling his rigid hardness through the thin linen of her nightshift.

With a groan, he rolled on top of her, his mouth finding hers, his kiss demanding, intoxicating.

Sighing, she opened to him, his tongue thrusting forward, capturing hers, the heat inside her building to a fever pitch.

She arched against him, her need laid bare, her hands urging him to take more, to take her.

"I think yer having us on, brother. There's naught going on in here but blethering." Allen Cameron burst into the room, his presence like icy water from the loch.