Highlander Undone (Highland Bound Book 5) (24 page)

“Where is my son?” he asked, feeling the darkness sweeping over him again.

“He is safe, locked in a tower chamber. He’s a guest Logan said.” Moira chewed her lip. “Ranulf curses your name from morning until night.”

Rory laughed. “As would I.”

“Ye’re a good man, Rory MacLeod. One day he will see that. Ye did not have to save his life. But ye did.”

“I am his father. I swore to protect him the day he was born, and I fell through on that duty once already.”

“Do not blame yourself.” She stroked his cheek. “In time he will understand.”

“I canna live without ye, Moira. Dinna leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” She cuddled up as close as she could to him without touching his wounds.

“I am the very luckiest man in all of time.”

Epilogue

Two months later
…

“We’re finally home.” Moira beamed at her new husband, seated behind her, as they rode through the gates of Dunleod Castle.

“Aye, love. Finally.” Rory pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“This is
my
home,” Ranulf grumbled.

Behind them, Ranulf was seated on his own horse, though his hands were tied at the wrists and he had two guards flanking him so he couldn’t escape or try to hurt anyone. He was still bent on killing Rory, but he said so less and less often, which the two of them took as a good sign that his hatred was ebbing. With every chance he got, Rory showed the lad kindness, and Moira found out all of his favorite foods and had them taken to his tower chamber. Logan had taken the lad out to the fields and Ewan had trained with him so his body didn’t shrivel to nothing. Overall, for a man who threatened bodily harm or death to everyone he saw, Ranulf was treated pretty darn well.

“Dinna let him spoil our homecoming,” Rory whispered. His arms tightened around her middle. “The people will be kind to ye.”

“Why should they? Are we not considered usurpers?” She said it quiet enough that no one could hear her.

Rory’s chin scraped the top of her head as he shook it. “Nay, love. They’ve known me since I was a bairn, and they know how much the old laird respected me. I had a letter from the clan elders while I was recovering, declaring their full support.”

“And what of Ranulf?”

“He is my son. My first-born. He shall inherit.”

Moira patted his arm and glanced up behind her. “That is exactly as it should be.”

The people of the clan gathered at the gates, shouting their welcome, the children tossing fresh spring flowers, one little girl coming forward with a crown of gillyflowers which Moira gratefully took and placed on her head. The little girl beamed excitement at seeing the lady of the castle wearing her creation.

As the days had continued to pass, the more she had become used to the sixteenth century. The thought of returning to present day rarely touched her mind, and never without her loved ones. She was going to be an auntie soon. When they’d left Castle Gealach, Shona had been about six months pregnant.

Rory reined in his mount, and dismounted from behind her, reaching up to take her down. She placed her hands on his shoulders and slid from the saddle, her legs weary from their journey to Skye.

“My laird, my lady,” an elder looking man with kind eyes approached.

“Tomas.” Rory’s smile widened. He obviously new this man. “Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Moira MacLeod, formerly Moira Wallace of Edinburgh.”

She smiled, a secret, knowing smile. They’d concocted the story of her birth, keeping the place she’d loved and called home, as well as tying her to the Bruce through Wallace, a reminder that she had Ayreshire blood running through her veins. But never would they admit that, in case MacDonald caught wind of it.

Tomas bowed before her, as did the rest of the clan. “We humbly pledge our loyalty and our lives to ye both.”

Each and every person present shouted the same and Moira felt such a huge weight lift from her shoulders. They were accepted. They were welcomed. She could not have asked for anything more.

“We thank ye for the warm welcome! We shall celebrate tonight! But for now, we’ve had a long journey and your mistress and I wish to rest.” Rory looked down at her and winked.

“We’ve a room prepared. The rider ye sent ahead gave us your instructions on how to prepare it.”

Moira raised a brow and Rory winked at her in return.

“Excellent. My thanks for seeing it done,” Rory said to Tomas.

They’d been married before leaving Castle Gealach, when Rory had finally healed, but they’d left in such a hurry, there’d not been time to actually consummate their marriage. Both of them were itching to get upstairs and close the door.

Rory swept her up, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I shall walk ye across our threshold.”

“I will allow it,” she teased.

“Ye’re a bossy wench.”

“I’m glad ye remembered.”

Rory jogged up the few stairs to the castle, sweeping through the entrance. Ahead of them was an arched door to the great hall and to the right of it was another leading to circular stairs. Rory took the steps two at a time until reaching the third floor. He didn’t stop until he was entering a chamber that smelled of sweet flowers and herbal spice.

“Oh my,” Moira breathed.

The entire room had been filled with blooms in vases and herb-scented candles, lit to glowing. ’Twas beautiful and romantic.

“We’ve not yet had a honeymoon, so I thought it best to give ye a small one here.”

“This is beautiful.” She pressed her mouth to his, savoring his scent and taste and the fact that she could actually do this. Have him in her arms. In her life. “Thank ye so much.”

“Ye need never thank me for treating ye the way I should.”

“But I will all the same, Rory. I’ve been to the other side, and I know how good I have it.”

He chuckled. “Love, I am the one thanking ye, every blessed day.”

He carried her to their bed, and laid her gently upon it. “Shall I get ye a glass of wine?”

Though she would have loved one any other time, she shook her head. “My only thirst is to feel your body on mine. It has been entirely too long.”

“More than five hundred years,” he teased.

She giggled. “My point exactly.”

“Then I’d best help ye to undress, because if I dinna feel my skin on yours, I just might go mad.”

She felt the very same way. Rory slid his fingers over her collarbones, and then to the center of her chest, untying the ribbons of her bodice and then the front of her chemise, baring her breasts to the scented air of their room. But she didn’t feel exposed, if anything, the hungry look in his eyes only made her body come more alive. Her nipples grew taut, and she sucked in a breath as he skimmed his palms over her flesh.

“Good god, your breasts are even better than I remembered.” He leaned forward, nuzzling the surface of each before breathing hotly on one taut peek. He slid his tongue around the edges of her nipple, teasing her, taunting her, making her gasp with need, but not quite satisfying her with what she really wanted. Instead of drawing one into his mouth to suck, he stood. “I need to get undressed.”

She groaned, but smiled at the same time. Rory only laughed.

“If there is one thing we’ve taught each other, it is that to tease only makes the pleasure all the more delicious,” he imparted.

That was definitely the truth.

So while he worked to remove his clothing, she climbed from the bed, sliding her fingers over his arms, his chest, and caressing the muscles that covered his ribs around to his back. She followed the trail of her hands, standing behind him and kissing his spine. His skin was smooth and rippled with strength.

Moira skimmed her lips across his back, nipping at his shoulder blade, relishing his quick, indrawn breath. He’d stilled when she stood, having not moved as she touched him, his kilt still in place.

“Are ye not going to remove this?” she asked, tugging his belt.

“Och, lass, but I can barely recall my own name when ye touch me.”

“Let me do it then.” She stepped in front of him, gripping his belt and yanking until it was unclasped and the fabric of his kilt fell to the floor at their feet. “That’s better,” she murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss against his skin, his heart pounding beneath her lips.

Her gaze was drawn down to the thickness of his erection that curved upward toward her. She slid her fingers beneath him, running them up the length of his thick cock, feeling him shiver, goose bumps rising on the skin of his arms.

“Now, I’m wearing too many clothes,” she mused.

“Aye. Let me help he with that.” His eyes were hooded, his grin wicked.

Moira loved that look. The gaze that said he was going to do incredible things to her body.

Nimble fingers removed the rest of her clothes. Velvet tongue skimmed over her heated skin. Teasing teeth scraped over sensitive flesh. Hard body glided up the length of hers. Touching. Tantalizing. Tempting.

Rory was not the only one who could play such games. As she devoured his mouth with her own, Moira massaged the muscles of his chest, rubbed her breasts against his skin, lifted her leg around his hip and ground her wet sex against the rigid length of his shaft until he, too, was panting and groaning with the need to bury himself inside her.

He threaded his fingers in her hair, yanked her head, gentle enough not to hurt, forceful enough to make her moan. His mouth scraped deliciously over the column of her throat, then her chin where he playfully bit her, and finally to her mouth where he claimed her as his own.

With swift possessiveness he thrust his tongue between her parted lips, tangled against hers. Tasted. Taunted. Took.

“Ye’re mine,” he growled.

“Yes,” she sighed.

“Forever.”

“And ever.”

Rory lifted her in the air and she wrapped her legs around his hips, her slick folds sliding over his unyielding cock, making her legs tremble. Frissons of heated desire and hunger raced through her veins.

“I want ye inside me,” she murmured against his mouth. “Now.”

“Love, ye have no idea.” He gripped her beneath her thighs, shifting her so she could feel the head of his cock at her entrance.

Moira deepened their kiss, wanting to own his mouth as much as he owned hers.

Rory laid her on the bed, kissing his way down to her breasts, flicking his tongue over one nipple and then the other. She gripped his hair, tugging, arching her back to get closer, yanking so that he would suck harder.

“And this, ye remember this?” He reached for a vial on the nightstand beside the bed.

“What is it?”

His grin widened. “A medieval version of what ye love.”

“Ye’re the medieval version of what I love,” she giggled.

Rory bit the cork, yanking it free and the scent of mint wafted toward her.

“Oh,” she sighed. “I do love that.”

He dripped a few drops onto one nipple, slowly rubbing the minty oil over her skin until she tingled. All over she trembled. Between her thighs was soaked with need. But still he took his time.

Rory loomed over her, bending low to graze his tongue over her nipple again, this time the coolness of the mint contrasted with the heat of his tongue and she gasped, not having felt such sensations since the last time she’d been with him. As he toyed with her breasts, he caressed his way down her body to between her thighs, bringing the cool-heat with him as he rubbed the oil over her clit.

She tilted her hips, all but begging him to enter inside her.

“Not so fast,” he murmured.

And then he was scooting down, licking a path from her breasts to her navel and lower. Her knees fell open, wider, her sex, cold, and hot, at the same time. She quivered, eyes wide as she watched him, and he watched her.

“Ye know ye want this.”

“Oh, yes, please.”

He breathed hotly over her clit, not quite touching, enough that she groaned in both frustration and pleasure. She reached down to grab hold of his hair.

“Nay, love…”

“Then let me pleasure ye at the same time.”

Rory’s grin widened. He flopped onto his back and tugged her over him. She readily straddled his face, her mouth falling just inches from his cock.

He massaged her arse, the backs of her thighs, and he parted her folds before diving forward, his tongue like soft fire lapping at her clit.

“Ohmygod…” She’d always loved the feel of his mouth on her, but there was something infinitely different in knowing that he was hers forever.

She reached for the minty vial, pouring a drop into her hand, and spilling more as she could barely concentrate on anything other than the intense pleasure scorching between her thighs.

Her head dropped to his hipbone, and she kissed him there, working her way back to his cock while her hand massaged the cool oil over his turgid flesh. Rory groaned his pleasure, a sound she mimicked against his skin as she took him deep into her mouth.

The medieval oil tasted better than the modern version. Non-synthetic. It was actually pretty good. She licked around the head of his cock, up and down the length of him, and then sucked him deep, bobbing her head in time with the pump of his hips.