Amanda Scott (35 page)

The tide was in, but one of his men waited in a rowboat, evidently expecting to row them across to the mainland, but Kintail
dismissed him and, keeping sword and dirk near at hand, took up the oars himself. Away to the west, the sun was dipping below
the tops of the hills, and the last glittering pink and orange paths along the water’s surface were already fading to silver.

On the other side, after tying the boat, they walked through the village and beyond. When they reached the shore again, Kintail
said, “We’re on Loch Long now. My childhood spot is about a half hour’s walk from here.”

It proved to be a sheltered, curving inlet, surrounded by woodland. The dusky light turned the calm water into a flat, gray,
oblong mirror. At the east end of it, the rocky bed of a burn marked the head of the inlet. Molly guessed that at snowmelt,
the burn tumbled noisily into the loch, but now it trickled. Between the woods and the edge of the loch, a narrow, curving,
sandy beach girded the slender inlet. Birds still twittered in nearby trees, oblivious to the visitors.

Kintail spread his mantle on the sand and set Mauri’s bundle on it. Then he turned toward Molly, the hungry look back in his
eyes.

Suddenly nervous and unsure of herself, and feeling vulnerable, she said, “Why did we come here, sir? Shall we eat our supper
now? Is it safe? What happened last night? I own, I do not remember everything that happened, but what I do remember was very
pleasant. Did I do something to displease you?” She knew she was babbling, but she could not seem to help it.

“We are safe here, lass, and what happened last night had naught to do with you,” he said. “I just want to be alone with you
in a place where I can be more certain that no one will interrupt us.”

“But what happened to make you so angry today?”

“A man gets angry when his body behaves strangely and he cannot control it. Mine did that last night, and I cannot explain
why. I heard voices, but no one was there, and that put me off. I remember holding you close to me, still hearing them, and
then I seem to have fallen asleep. All I know now is that I do not want anything to distract me when I make love to my wife
tonight.”

“I fell asleep, too,” she said. “It seems odd for us both to have done that.”

“We were overtired, I expect, but Mauri told me that you had a good sleep.”

“And you had a long walk today,” she reminded him. “I’ll wager that you must be tired again.”

“Aye, perhaps,” he said. “But if we swim, I’ll wake up, I promise you.”

“But it is still light enough for someone to see us!”

“Not for long, and what if they do?” he added with a teasing grin. “Did you worry about that when you swam on Skye?”

“No, but I never saw anyone else when I did.”

“You must have had a teacher.”

“I was a child then and swam in my shift.”

He frowned. “It is exactly as I have said, then, and Mackinnon granted you far too much freedom for safety. Don’t try that
with me, lass. I’d be angry if aught happened to you through your defiance or even through careless disobedience.”

A little shiver shot up her spine at his tone. “What would you do?”

“We needn’t discuss that now,” he said. “As to watchers, I have never seen anyone else when I’ve come here, and it will be
dark soon. Moreover, I doubt that anyone would disturb us even if they did chance to see us. Come here.”

She hesitated, but when he quirked an eyebrow at her, as if he were mocking her hesitation, she stepped forward to stand before
him.

His eyes looked black, and his voice sounded deeper than usual when he said, “You may help me remove this shirt of mail.”

She had never done such a thing before, but he showed her how to work the fastenings, and when they were undone, he pulled
off the heavy garment by himself. It clinked like coins when he dropped it near one edge of the spread mantle.

He continued to instruct her until he stood clad in only his long shirt and netherstocks. Then, reaching for her lacing, he
said softly, “Now, it is my turn.”

As his hand brushed bare skin at her throat, her body tensed in wary anticipation of what was to come.

Although his fingers moved lightly over her, they seemed to leave trails of fire wherever they touched her even before he
removed her bodice and undid her skirt and petticoat. When the latter two garments fell to the sand, she stood in her thin
shift. She could still hear a bird or two in the woods, so she could be confident that no watchers lurked nearby unless someone
had come earlier and lay hidden and still. Nevertheless, she felt exposed, as if there were eyes in every tree.

Unnaturally nervous and suddenly wanting to delay things, if only for a moment, she said, “What did those voices you heard
last night sound like?”

Kintail smiled.

He was still too near and she wanted to step back, to give herself room to breathe, but she did not think he would let her.
At the same time, in response to his crackling vitality, heat sizzled through her, urging her to draw him closer. She had
to struggle to look interested in his reply to her question.

“I don’t know what they sounded like,” he murmured, untying her coif and casting it aside. “Like people, I suppose, but as
if they were floating near us. I’ve never heard their like before.”

“Do you believe in spirits, sir?”

“You can call me Fin when we’re alone, lass. I’m your husband now.”

“Aye, well, do you believe in them?”

“I think you know the answer to that. Were you not present when Ranald MacVinish tried to persuade me that he’d killed a cow
at fairies’ urging?”

She nodded. “It was the wicked Host, he said. Folks do say that Highland spirits—fairies and the like—are mischievous, even
wicked.”

He reached to stroke her cheek, his touch setting nerves dancing in parts of her body far from her face. “And what do folks
say about your Border spirits?”

Trying to think but finding it hard now to concentrate on anything beyond the sensations surging through her body, she said,
“That… that they are different, more practical and… and more helpful. Perhaps if you would listen to those voices you hear,
you might learn more about them,” she added in a rush. “Perhaps you need only let yourself see and hear what stands before
you.”

“I don’t want to talk about fantastical nonsense, lass. Let’s swim.” He bent to remove his netherstocks.

Instantly diverted, she said, “Are… are you going to take off
everything
?”

He grinned over his shoulder at her, then cast his shirt aside. “I already have,” he said, standing proudly bare on the sand.
“So will you if you are wise. You won’t relish walking home in a wet shift.”

Without waiting for her to make up her mind, he bent and caught the hem of her shift in both hands, and stripped it off over
her head. When she hastily covered her breasts with an arm and the private place at the fork of her legs with the other hand,
he reached for the plaited coil of hair at the nape of her neck and freed it, using his hands as combs until her hair spilled
down her back in a thick, loose curtain.

“By heaven, you’re beautiful,” he said, gently moving her arm aside and stroking her breast. “I like the way just touching
you makes me feel.”

She wanted to say something similar to him, but she could think of nothing suitable, other than to say that his touch made
her feel good, too. She could not think at all. Her body felt like a mass of flames, but he took her hand and drew her into
the water. Its icy chill banished the other feelings in a trice.

“Ohh, but it’s cold!”

“Just a wee bit cooler than the air,” he said. “Wait till you’re in. You’ll see.”

She knew he was right, and realizing that in the water she would not feel so exposed to those eyes hanging from every tree
limb, she pulled away from him and splashed forward, grateful to discover that the sand continued under the water for some
distance. At her swimming place on Skye, one had to creep over sharp rocks, and if one were not careful, some were sharp enough
to cut a foot.

Hearing him splash behind her, she sprang forward in a shallow dive. Using her hands to pull herself deeper, where she hoped
he could not see her in the fast failing light, she swam away from the shore with wide, sweeping arm strokes.

She was congratulating herself on a deft maneuver when a large hand clamped around her right ankle and pulled, startling her
so that she breathed in a mouthful of water. Fighting upward, she broke the surface, gasping and coughing.

Kintail surfaced right beside her. “Still cold?” There was laughter in his voice, but one large hand moved to cup her elbow,
holding her steady so that she could concentrate on catching her breath again.

She was certainly no longer cold. Indeed, the flames had returned, but the water felt warmer now and caressed her body sensuously.
Drawing a deep breath, she let it out again and said, “You can let go of me. You need not hold me now.”

“I want to hold you,” he murmured. “Lean back against me.”

It was as if no other people inhabited the world but the two of them, floating, and as if nothing else existed in the world
but the sensations flowing through her, the water lapping gently against her, and Kintail floating with her, barely moving.

Even the birds’ twittering had ceased, leaving them in silence to savor the sensual caress of the water.

Moving slowly but with a deftness at odds with Molly’ s languorous mood, Kintail grasped her around the waist with both hands
and turned her to face him.

Accusingly, she exclaimed, “You can touch the bottom!”

“Aye,” he said. “Put your hands on my shoulders.”

His shoulders—the greater part of them, at least—were out of the water, and he held her so that now the two of them looked
eye-to-eye, her breasts touching his chest. He drew her closer until his lips met hers and kissed her lightly, then more firmly.
His lips were warm.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he said, and the command sent a bolt of lightning through her body.

Without a word, she obeyed him, savoring each new sensation, amazed that she had never imagined such intense feelings could
exist.

“Now, kiss me.”

Again, she obeyed, touching his lips with hers, but when she would have drawn back, his arms slipped around her, crushing
her to him. His lips felt hot against hers, and demanding. She could feel the tip of his tongue then, as if he tasted her.
Then it slipped between her lips and into her mouth, finding her tongue and teasing it.

She squirmed against him, and her arms slid around his neck. Every nerve reacted now as if her body had plans of its own.
His hands, freed of the need to hold her, moved upward to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed her nipples, making her gasp
and squirm even more. Then one hand moved to her waist and around to her bottom, shifting her a little. She heard him groan,
deep in his throat.

His other hand moved gently between her legs, touching her where no one had touched her since her infancy, and then it seemed
as if his hands were everywhere, moving with more urgency. His whole body seemed to be moving. Disoriented, realizing that
she had shut her eyes, she opened them and saw that they were much nearer shore than she had thought. The shadows had blackened.
It was dark. She no longer cared if eyes dotted the trees, not even when she realized that he was carrying her out of the
water.

He strode to the mantle he had spread on the sand and, kneeling, laid her gently upon it. Then he straightened and reached
for her mantle but did not attempt to dry her or himself with it. He just pulled it over them. It was enough.

Her moved slowly, taking his time. His kisses warmed her, for he kissed her everywhere and stroked her with his hands, moving
one between her legs again, caressing her there, and using his fingers to stimulate and prepare her, until she ached and moaned
for him to claim her. When he moved over her at last, she gasped again but this time in anticipation, and as he slowly entered
her, she felt an ache, then more pain, but she nearly cried aloud when he stopped.

He grew still, his senses clearly on alert, and she remembered the eyes in the trees—and what had happened the previous night.

Speaking low, she said, “Not voices again!”

“Not voices, lass, a ship—a galley or birlinn.” He eased himself out of her.

Turning her head, she saw the dense shadow on the water. It was perhaps as large as the boats Mackinnon had transported her
baggage in. A thrill of fear shot through her, but she said with forced calm, “Did you ask someone to fetch us?”

“I did not.” His voice was grim, and she felt him reach for his sword and drag his mail shirt toward them. “Now, hush and
be still,” he said. “I do not think they can see us. The sand is light, but with the mantle covering us, we should look like
just another shadow. It is too dark for them to see what color anything is.”

In the stillness, she could hear water lapping gently on the sand and, distantly, the creak of oars in their rowlocks.

Then another sound came across the water—a low-pitched, warbling whistle.

She felt Kintail relax and let out a breath. “It’s Patrick with the birlinn,” he murmured. Then, in a low but carrying voice,
he called, “Here, on the sand.”

To Molly, he said, “Move quickly, lass. He cannot have come merely to speak to me. Something’s amiss. Can you dress yourself
if I do up your laces?”

“Aye,” she said, taking the shift he handed her and slipping it quickly over her head. Realizing then that, besides Sir Patrick,
there had to be other men in the boat, she added anxiously, “Where are the rest of my clothes?”

“Here.” He shoved her things toward her.

Scrambling into her skirt, she said, “How did he know where to find us?”

“He knows my ways as well as I know his, lass, but he would not disturb us without good cause.”

He spent more time helping her than dressing himself, with the result that the boat beached nearby before he had donned more
than his shirt and netherstocks. She was still trying to twist her wet hair into a braid when Sir Patrick’s tall, broad-shouldered
figure leaped from the boat and strode toward them.