Return Of The Highlanders: The Guardian Part 27

He took Sileas's face in his hands as they stood beside the bed. When he made love to her for the first time in Stirling, his pent-up l.u.s.t for her had made their coupling frantic, intense. If he were honest with himself, there was an edge of anger to his need to possess her that first time-until the wonder of it took hold of him and shook him to his soul.

On their way home to Skye, they had made love every night in the dark, under his plaid on the cold, damp ground. Each time, there was still the frantic need, the sense that there could never be time enough.

But tonight they were home, in their own bed for the first time as man and wife. Looking into her eyes, he felt an overwhelming tenderness for her.

"I want to make love to you slowly tonight." He rubbed his thumb across her cheek.

When he leaned down to kiss her, she tilted her head back to meet him. Her lips were soft and warm. Desire stirred in him, but he could take his time to savor her. She would be here always. She was his.

He ran his hands down the slope of her back to the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips. When she put her arms around his neck, he deepened the kiss. For long minutes, they stood by the bed, lost in deep, lingering kisses.

She pulled away to rest her head against his chest and gave a long, contented sigh that made him smile.

"Ye have such lovely hair." He ran his hand through the long strands, watching the colors slide over his fingers in the candlelight. It had every color of red in it, from gold to ginger to copper and wine.

"Will ye unhook my gown for me?" she asked.

As he reached around her and unfastened the hooks running down her back, it pleased him to think he would be doing this every night. He pushed the gown off her shoulder and kissed her warm, milky skin. When she leaned back to look at him, he could see tiny flecks of gold in the green of her eyes.

The desire he saw in them sent a jolt of l.u.s.t through him.

"Let's go to bed, Ian."

He swallowed as she let her gown fall to the floor and stepped out of it. Before he could get his breath, her chemise followed it.

Apparently, his wife had decided to set a tone for the nights of their marriage. It seemed like a fine one to him. And he was pleased that she'd ceased to fret over her scars as well.

He let his gaze travel over her, from her s.h.i.+ning ma.s.s of wavy hair, which fell over her bare shoulders and b.r.e.a.s.t.s like a wood nymph, to the tight curls that covered her secret place, and then down her long legs, all the way to her slender ankles and feet.

"Ach, ye are beautiful, Sileas."

"Your clothes now." When he sat down on the bed and reached for his boot, she pushed him back. "I'll do it."

He never knew how provocative it could be to have a naked woman at his feet pulling his boots off. The glimpse of heaven she gave him had his c.o.c.k standing straight. When she knelt between his legs and ran her hands up his thighs, he unfastened his belt and tossed it aside without looking to see where it fell.

He was breathing hard as her hands moved up his legs, under his long s.h.i.+rt. Of course, he wore nothing under it. His c.o.c.k pushed up the cloth calling attention to itself.

Please, Sil. He bit his lip to keep from begging her to touch him.

She locked eyes with him as she ran her hands up the sides of his hips. "Your s.h.i.+rt?"

"Aye!" He rose up enough to pull it out from under him and whipped it off.

This time, she tortured him by running her hands over the tops of his legs, along the sides of his hips, and then over his chest. Finally, she wrapped her hand around his c.o.c.k.

As she moved her hand up and down his shaft, he gripped her shoulders and kissed her with all the pa.s.sion he felt. It was long moments before he remembered he had meant to make love to her slowly. When she broke the kiss, it came back to him... but it was hard to hold on to the thought. Her hair brushed his thighs and belly as she kissed his chest.

When her kisses drifted lower, his mind stopped working altogether.

"Ahh!" The air went out of him when he felt the soft touch of her lips on the tip of his shaft.

"Is that how it's done?" she asked.

He couldn't answer, but she must have taken his groan as encouragement for she continued her efforts. They were quite good, but finally, he was able to get the words out to offer a suggestion. "Ye can use your whole mouth, love."

Sileas had good instincts and needed no more instruction. Ian lay back on the bed, panting. Vaguely, the thought came to him that he should stop her and make love to her properly, but he couldn't make himself. What she was doing felt too d.a.m.ned good.

He came in an explosion that nearly killed him-and left him grateful. He pulled her up on the bed and wrapped his arms around her. "Ah, love, that was... that was... verra, verra nice..."

He fought the weight of his eyelids, but he hadn't slept much for close to a fortnight.

He awoke to the smell of the summer heather in her hair. When he opened his eyes, she was sitting up, leaning on one arm and watching him with a smile on her face. She looked pleased with herself.

"Tell me I didn't sleep long."

"No. Just a wee doze."

Judging from the height of the candles, she was telling him the truth. Still, he must have dreamed of her, because he woke up wanting her. He rested a hand on her thigh.

"How did ye know to do that?" Thinking of her mouth on him made him harder.

"I heard the married women talking about how men liked it."

He'd never appreciated women's gossip before.

"They were laughing, so I wasn't sure if they were joking." She gave him a crooked smile. "I guess they weren't."

The candlelight played across her skin. Her nipples were rosy and peaked, and her eyes went dark when he cupped her breast and rubbed his thumb over the hardened nipple.

"I did like it," he said.

He pulled her down into a deep kiss and slid his hand between her thighs. She was hot and wet for him. From the way she was kissing him, she didn't want to wait.

Next time, for certain. Next time, he would take her slowly.

He did. And the time after that as well. They dozed between bouts of lovemaking.

When he awoke for the last time, the candles were gone, and the first light of dawn was coming through the window. He propped himself up on one elbow to watch her sleep. Though her tangled hair looked like a wild storm across the pillow, her face was peaceful.

Ian felt so much tenderness for her that it was like an ache inside him.

Though he'd told her in Stirling he would let her choose another man if she didn't want him, he knew that now for the lie that it was. He could never have let her go.

He loved her. He didn't know when it happened, but he suspected it was long before he realized it. With the back of his hand, he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

Sileas didn't know her own value. He loved her strength, her good heart, her curiosity, and her courage. Though she didn't like to hear it, he also loved her for her devotion to his family, for there was such goodness in it.

He liked that she said her mind and stood up for herself. And that she gave herself to him without holding back. When she was a wee thing, she trusted him to rescue her from mishaps. And now that she was a woman, she trusted him with her heart.

He would do his best to deserve it, now and always.

When he smelled porridge and heard the murmur of male voices coming from downstairs, he knew he had to get up. Still, he let himself watch Sileas's face and the steady rise and fall of her chest for a few moments more. It was hard to make himself leave her, even though he knew he would sleep with her again tonight-and most nights for the rest of his life.

But Ian needed to talk with his father before Connor and the others left. A suspicion too horrible to believe at first had taken root in Ian's mind about what really happened at Flodden. He hoped his father's memory had improved with his health.

CHAPTER 31.

Sileas hummed to herself as she washed up at the basin and dressed. How late had she slept? It was quiet downstairs, giving her hope she would find Ian alone. Her face grew warm at the thought of facing Beitris and Payton after last night. What if they had heard her through the walls?

Her limbs were so loose that her legs wobbled as she went down the stairs.

Her foot had barely touched the bottom step when Alex banged through the front door, holding his side. She blinked, unable to take in what was happening for a moment.

Good G.o.d, that was blood dripping through his fingers! As Ian and Niall helped Alex to a chair, she bolted for the kitchen to get a cloth and basin of water. By the time she returned, Ian had removed Alex's plaid and cut his s.h.i.+rt open, revealing a deep red gash down Alex's side and another on his thigh.

"Ian, ye must go for Connor and Duncan," Alex said, speaking in short bursts between gasps for air. "They're hurt far worse than me."

Alex winced as Sileas began to clean the wound on his side with the wet cloth.

"Where will I find them?" Ian said.

"We were ambushed on the path, less than a mile north of here," Alex said. "But they're in no shape to walk."

"Let's go," Ian said to Niall. "We'll take the horses."

"Ian." Alex's voice stopped him at the door. "They left us for dead, so I don't think they'll be back. But keep a sharp eye, all the same."

"How many men?" Ian asked.

"Twenty when they attacked us," Alex said. "A few less now."

Beitris had come into the room in the midst of this exchange and immediately set to helping Sileas staunch the blood from Alex's wounds.

After the door slammed behind Ian and Niall, Sileas said, "We'll need ye to lie down, Alex, so we can sew up that cut on your face. It looks deep."

"There's no need," Alex said, but he let them help him to the floor by the fire.

"Careful now," she said, "I think ye may have broken a rib or two."

Sileas built up the fire while Beitris went to get needle and thread.

"We'll need to work fast," Beitris said when she returned, "so we're ready when they bring in Connor and Duncan."

Fear hammered at Sileas's heart as she washed blood and dirt from the wound on Alex's cheek. If Alex was the least hurt, what must the other two look like?

"Can ye tell me what happened?" she asked to divert him from what she was doing.

"They were looking for us." Alex sucked in his breath as she took the first st.i.tch to close the gash. "I'm guessing someone saw us crossing the water yesterday."

"Was it Hugh?" she asked.

"No." Alex winced as she drew the needle through again. "It was the MacKinnons and a few of their good friends, the MacLeods."

Sileas's fingers froze. "Are ye sure? What would they be doing here, so far into MacDonald territory?"

"That's a verra good question," Alex said. "Your step-da Murdoc was with them. And that ugly ox Angus as well."

Sileas swallowed back the panic rising in her throat and forced herself to keep her hand steady as she finished up the st.i.tches. Then she took the salve Beitris handed her and rubbed it gently over the wound.

"There ye go," she said, wiping her hands. "Ye might have a scar, but that will just make ye more interesting to the la.s.ses."

They worked quickly to clean and bind his other wounds.

"Lie still," Beitris told Alex, as she got up from her knees. "Now we'd best get clean water and blankets for the others."

No sooner had they gathered the blankets than Ian burst through the door carrying Duncan. The huge, red-haired man's head lolled against Ian's arm, as if he were a sleeping child. Sileas spread a blanket on the floor by the hearth where Alex had lain a few moments before. Ian dropped to his knees and gently laid Duncan down between them.

"I need to help Niall with Connor." Ian met her eyes. "He's verra bad."

The blood from Duncan's wounds was already soaking the flagstones of the hearth.

"G.o.d help us," she whispered, as Beitris took Ian's place on the other side of the moaning man.

"He's trying to wake," Beitris said. " 'Tis a good sign."

Sileas suspected Beitris was saying that to give them hope. Taking the knife her mother-in-law had brought in from the kitchen, she began cutting away Duncan's blood-soaked s.h.i.+rt. She swallowed back bile when she saw the wound beneath.

"Oh G.o.d, no," she said, covering her mouth.

"Let me do that." Alex hobbled over and pushed her aside. "I've tended wounds like this before."

Before she could argue with Alex, Ian backed through the door with Connor. He was supporting Connor's head and shoulders, while Niall followed carrying his legs.

Mary, Mother of G.o.d! No wonder the MacKinnons had left him for dead. If it weren't for the straight black hair that was so like Ian's, Sileas would not have known this broken man was Connor.

Ian laid him on the blanket she spread for him. Using his dirk, he cut Connor's clothes off, tossing the pieces of blood-soaked cloth into the fire as he worked. Connor was covered with so much blood, Sileas could not tell where his wounds were. But the shallowness of his breathing frightened her more than all the blood.

Like Alex, Ian worked with a brisk efficiency that bespoke experience. She knew they had fought in France-and in the Borders before that-but the dangers they faced had never seemed real to her before.

"Can ye get the whiskey?" Alex called out to her from where he and Beitris worked over Duncan.

"There's a good la.s.s," Alex said when she got it down from the shelf. "Now pour it onto a couple of cloths for us."