Knight Everlasting (16 page)
Read Knight Everlasting Online
Authors: Jackie Ivie
Chapter 13
There was something to say about these Highlanders . . . something large. They truly knew how wonderful it would feel to be ensconced in a sturdy tent, with a lit wick in an oil bowl for light, fed a large bowl of stew created from a combination of their game meats, given a foam-topped tankard of ale that was refilled, washed off with a rag dipped in clear, cold water, and been directed to open the little trunk and fetch one of Aidan's clean shirts while the underdress she'd rinsed dried where it was laid out.
They'd crafted a very sturdy tent with what looked to be thin hemp strips, interwoven with wool. She couldn't be sure, since the ale made everything nice and blurred and unclear, but that was what it had appeared to be when she'd first been imprisoned in this small tent. The impression didn't fade or change as she ran her fingers along the side she leaned against. Such material woven as tightly as it was made a structure that was impervious to the elements, although it did look darker along the top edges where water must have been getting absorbed. She already knew light didn't penetrate easily, so rain must have had the same issue. Very sturdy and very well made. About the only thing the material couldn't withstand was their laird, Aidan, when he wanted out. But maybe cutting the holes in the fabric in order to lace the opening closed had weakened it.
She shrugged on her supposition and took another sip of ale, rubbing at the foam that tipped her nose.
Such a tent would be of great use in any season and in any clime. She wondered if the English had anything as finely worked and useful. She didn't remember the D'Aubenville family possessing any. Then again, she hadn't been involved with any of her father's weapons, including his siege tents. Nor would he have allowed her to. Machines of war meant men, and Juliana hadn't been allowed near them. As a lady of quality, she wasn't in any man's company without a chaperone.
She could see the wisdom in that.
Juliana looked over at the sleeping lump that was Aidan Niall MacKetryck and snorted. She took another sip of her second tankard, swallowed, and considered it. She wouldn't have met him if the castle hadn't been overtaken. And that meant she wouldn't know this love emotion or the sheer rapture he gave her. Sir Percy Dane certainly wouldn't have raised it in her, if the one time they'd met was any indication. Even if she accounted for her age at the betrothal ceremony, the man was tall, thin, and hawk-nosed, with beady blue eyes and a weak chin. Nothing about him had set her twelve-yearold heart to racing . . . but he did look good in his chain mail.
Juliana sighed. That future was gone. Any wedding with Sir Percy Dane was gone. She was ruined. She had been the moment she admitted she loved the laird of the MacKetryck clan. And then it was solidified when he'd taken her maidenhead. She might as well admit it and carve out another future . . . with him.
Juliana pulled another sip from her tankard. She didn't know much about it, but she was willing to be his woman . . . sharing his chamber and his bed. The old Juliana would have hung her head in shame, covered herself in sackcloth and ashes, and fought the idea with every fiber of her being. The Juliana that admitted loving Aidan MacKetryck was different. She'd take what he offered.
She moved the mug, watching the ale swirl with the oil wick behind it. She'd be his mistress . . . Her eyes narrowed. But she'd be the only one. Some mistresses had more power than wives. It was ever true. She stopped the mug's movement and watched the light waver and glow through the amber color. He'd better follow through on his promise to dismiss his other women, regardless of what position they claimed in his life. Juliana D'Aubenville wasn't sharing. Ever.
She looked over at Aidan atop his cot, since that was where he'd gone once he'd finished affixing the knife fastening, after giving Arran to the count of three to hie his arse back to his own tent before being sent there with a skean in his buttocks to make it memorable. That was her fault. She'd asked for more of this wonderful ale, and Arran had informed her, amid a smattering of stutters when he brought it, that this particular tankard was the last of it, and if they wanted more, they'd need stop by Killoran's croft. The others were already thinking to make it by eve. If they found the sporran easily. Or if Aidan forewent finding it. And that was what got the lad threatened.
Aidan hadn't looked interested in partaking of the stew. He hadn't wanted a drink. He hadn't even stayed awake to peek while Juliana bathed, and she'd looked for it.
It must be as he'd said, then. He needed rest after . . . tupping. Juliana closed her eyes and suffered the shivers and heated blush at the repeated memory. She rocked back against the tent side while the fabric bowed slightly, but held. It seemed Highlanders not only knew how to make a tent, but knew how to anchor it. Juliana forced that thought into her consciousness, since reacting to Aidan's touch wasn't getting her much of anything except discomfort. She went back to her ponderings. And sipping at the ale they'd brought for her.
They'd anchored this tent well, but it was ever so. The sides were taut with tension from their mooring ropes, easily supporting any number of things . . . including her weight. Juliana turned slightly and flipped a finger into the material. It bounced back, answering that question. It was extremely well anchored.
The roof was pointed at the center, lifted with more rope, creating a slope for runoff. They'd have to position this tent near a taller structure like a tree . . . or one of the larger tents. This time, they'd placed Aidan's tent between the two larger ones, solving that problem and making it even more sheltered. If the storm that had ended their search was still raging outside, it was nearly impossible to tell. Except for the occasional whiff of air sent through where he'd locked the blades together again.
She looked that way for a moment, watched the bottom of his door flap slide along the ground, and when she looked back, Aidan was on the pallet in front of her . . . fully stretched out on his side. Naked. And she hadn't even heard him. Juliana gasped, the tankard in her hand trembled, and she ordered her eyes to stay focused entirely on his face. It wasn't easy. The oil bowl was on the little trunk behind him, putting a flickering gold glow to his outline and a mass of shadowed male everywhere else.
“Good eve,” Aidan said, putting a finger out to slide it in a circle on the mat. He didn't look to see it. He didn't move his eyes from hers.
“Uh . . .”
Her mind wasn't working. Her tongue was right with it. Juliana held the gaze for as long as she could without blinking. Then he started widening the circle circumference, moving muscle on his chest and dragging her attention, despite her effort. Juliana's glance dropped there, imprinting the amount of naked male behind his hypnotic movement, before blinking and returning to his gaze. It was nearly impossible to hold it, though, since he'd raised the one eyebrow and had what appeared to be a slight smile on his lips as well.
“You found my shirts,” he remarked.
Juliana's eyes dropped to the shirt that she'd tucked beneath her knees. It hadn't been onerous. The hem reached past her knees. The shirt was sewn from finely spun linen, making a flow of material that didn't crease much, especially as it had been rolled into a small bundle and then shoved into a trunk. He had four more of them, and a beautifully woven plaid in that trunk. As well as silver armbands and a brooch of the same metal. He had enough wardrobe with him he shouldn't have to go shirtless and half-naked all the time . . . most of the time, she corrected.
“Pity,” he said, bringing her glance back to his face.
“What?”
“I'll just have to remove it.”
Her gasp matched the twinge of her entire frame and the widening of her eyes. The slosh of ale in her tankard gave most of it away, too, as it was the only sound for a bit. He was definitely amused. The slight lines at the sides of his eyes matched the upward tilt to his pursed lips.
“Naked . . . ness . . .”
He put the word into existence, splitting it with a long pause, making little sense and yet too much of it at the same time. And that finger of his was at the edge of the pallet and nearly to her toes. Juliana fought the urge to look.
“Me.”
He didn't have to specify it! A rush of emotion flew through her, chasing the gooseflesh down each arm, tightening each nipple, and forcing a wellspring of warmth and want into existence at her core, and making her knees quake against the fine linen of his shirt.
“Awake. Readied. And naked.”
Breathing was going to be an issue. She couldn't gain enough air with the short pants her body cursed her with. She had to open her mouth to pull in and push out each one. Aidan hadn't moved, but it looked like he had, getting larger, and fuller, and creating a heat and awareness that had not only a warmth to it, but a sensual aroma afflicting her, too.
“Just . . . as you requested.”
He rolled onto his back, spreading both arms wide, while his head had swiveled to keep his gaze locked on her. The tankard dropped from nerveless fingers, spilling ale onto the dirt beside her. Both hands were atop her mouth, covering over the jaw drop as well as holding in the cry. Aidan was in a full grin now, while the one cocked eyebrow was daring her to ignore or argue, or do anything other than gape.
Juliana had never seen what she was looking at now. God had been extremely heavy-handed in regards to Aidan MacKetryck. He was a beautiful male. He was in prime condition and in perfect physical stature. And well endowed. And he knew it. There was no stopping the urge to look and keep looking.
Then, he was moving the hand closest to her and pulling in the fingers, over and over in a rapid fashion, beckoning her. Juliana's mind told her not to allow such an arrogant gesture, but her body was already moving, shoving forward onto her hands, which put her so close to him, she didn't have to move another step.
And then he reached for her, wrapped both arms about her, and pulled her right atop him, locking her arms down at her sides, while her legs split to accommodate the bulk of his belly and hips, just as she would a horse. And then he took her lips, canceling every thought with emotion and sensation. Lips plied hers, breath touched her nose, raw and intensifying, and then his tongue reached the caverns of her mouth, sparking everywhere it touched.
Juliana writhed atop him, matching the movements of her moans, while his arms unlocked to accommodate it. Her hands slid along his sides, over massive pulse-pounding bulk to his shoulders . . . alternately wrapping about his neck and gripping into his hair so she could use the same kissing motion on him, slurping and sucking and licking. She felt his hands . . . moving along her back, her buttocks, to her knees, and then he pulled up the shirt hem, sliding it over her thighs, her hips . . . to her waist.
He had the shirt bunched at her back before letting it go, losing his objective to return to cupping and squeezing and maneuvering her buttocks, in order to push her down and pull her back up, sliding her against his rod. Over and over, liquefying her in place and sending shots of feeling down her legs and up through her belly, making an exquisite torment sensation of her nipples against him, with material still restricting.
Without warning, he pulled his lips from her, and shifted, locking her against him with an arm about her waist while she wasn't loosening her grip on his hair. He flipped, the move putting them on their sides. And with the next one, full out on her back. She wasn't given any time to assimilate it before he had his hands on both sides of her torso, right beneath her arms, and used that as a base for a shove up from her and onto his knees. The swiftness of the move unlatched her fingers from him as well as took all the warmth and heat and moisture away, and leaving a cold shiver in its place.
“Aidan?” Juliana whispered.
“Lift your arms.” He didn't give her time to comply since he was shoving the shirt to her neck and then reaching above her to pull it off. Leaving her complete open, defenseless . . . and naked. And covering her bosom with both crossed arms.
“Oh . . . nae. Na' now.”
The whiff of air accompanying the words riffled across her flesh, and Aidan had his fingers about each arm, coaxing her to remove them. Then he was adding to it with his kiss, draining her fears and canceling out her shyness. The exquisite sensation followed his mouth when he trailed along her chin to an ear, breathing shivers of reckless desire and shameless need into existence the entire way. She was covered in them, being tormented by them, enduring them. And Aidan was the conductor, lapping more of them into existence at her throat. Juliana started lifting her hips and that was the beginning of the undulation that heaved her from the pallet and against him, time and time again.
And his chuckle made the entire tension of sensation worse!
Juliana barely felt his warm, hard fingers sliding along her body, roving her flesh, before locking on to her waist in order to hold her in place while he propelled his entire body down her . . . taking his heavy bulk and fitting it between her knees. Where he was touching was igniting a thousand fires and even more shivers. And the sensation just kept building as Aidan slid his tongue from her throat . . . down the center of her . . . stalling time and her breathing and her heartbeat as he went.
Other books
Could This Be Love? by Lee Kilraine
E.N.D.A.Y.S. by Lee Isserow
Pages for You by Sylvia Brownrigg
B0038M1ADS EBOK by Charles W. Hoge M.D.
Imitation of Death by Cheryl Crane
The Face by R.L. Stine, Bill Schmidt
Fat Tuesday Fricassee by J. J. Cook
Magnolia Square by Margaret Pemberton
The Restoration Artist by Lewis Desoto
Kill Cupid: Internet dating just got dangerous by Best, J. Brandon
