Caird’s eyelashes, spiked from water, framed eyes swirling grey, then green. Eyes darkening with conflicting emotions far more dangerous than the flood. Then Mairead saw nothing as his mouth took hers.
Before, his kisses had coaxed and teased, delighted in the feel of her being with him. Even as his hands firmly caressed with need, he had only given a gentle pressure of his mouth, a faint touch of his tongue.
Now Caird’s mouth was pitiless against hers. Taking only, seizing her lips without asking for any response from her. Kisses punishing every word and deed since that night at the inn.
Her sodden gown chafed and abraded. Soil and pebbles prickled against her skin bared from rents in her clothes. Freezing rivulets of water pained as they flowed across her cheeks, her neck and cut down her body. She was cold to her very bones.
Yet she also felt the saturating heat of Caird’s body, the warmth of his breath and his hands tracing along her cheeks. Heated flurries from his calloused fingers roamed up and over her ears, down the sides of her neck and back again.
Furious kisses, tender touches.
His lips, wet from the water, slanted over hers and conquered with every touch. Kisses tasting of water, salt, sand. Tasting of him.
Her body did the only thing it could: respond.
Her gown, shrunken tight across her back, bound her arms. She could only caress along his shoulders, to the tops of his arms, but her hands flowed along every indent and cord she could reach, every sinew of muscle and bared skin.
Under the weight of her heavy gown and the press of his legs locked rigid with control, she restlessly moved her hips.
But she wanted more and could find no purchase. She was confined and restricted by her gown, and that hurt more than his kisses.
A sound emitted from deep inside his chest, a conflicting growl of anger and approval.
He raised his head and her eyes opened to find him watching her. A flare in those grey-green eyes framed by black. More heat. More cold, as his long darkened hair dripped icy water to her chest. Brow furrowed, breath deepening from need, he whispered, ‘Ah, Mairead, your response.’
‘Now, Colquhoun?’ she asked. ‘Now will you—?’
‘Do you want me still?’ he whispered and his lips hovered across her cheeks, and along the delicate shell of her ears.
She gave the only answer she wanted. ‘Aye.’
‘Then your clothes,’ he murmured as his fingers trailed along her bared left arm, the sleeve claimed by the flood, ‘they need to be removed.’
His fingers continued, further up, gentle caresses seeking and finding the slash across her chest, moving with such surety until her covered nipples ached.
His mouth returned to hers, his tongue tracing, tiny bites beginning and ending along her lower lip. She gasped at the sharpness felt there and instantly between her legs.
His hands moved across her body, gripping the fabric and trying to move it. His lips and tongue demanding her response, secure in the knowledge he would receive it.
She wanted to give, tried to reach more of him, barely registering the sound of tearing fabric before she could reach no more. He pulled away, even as her fingers sunk deep to keep him close.
‘Your clothes!’ he cursed. Releasing her hands, he kneeled. His frown was fierce as he fisted her heavy gown, lifting and dropping the fabric pinning her body down. The mist surrounded him, surrounded her like a cold heavy blanket. The air was becoming difficult to breathe with the storm waiting above.
She rose to lean back on her hands.
His eyes searched hers then searched her clothing, looking for an opening through the too-heavy fabric. His white tunic was transparent and stretched; his breeches ripped from the crossing. But his countenance was just as stretched, just as ragged as his clothing, when he gazed at the apex of her thighs. Her gown left no detail unveiled, and her legs were opened causing a sharp dip of fabric.
She ached as he looked, and as his eyes burned heat, she ached more.
Against her bared skin, drops of rain fell from above, tiny pinpoints, warmer than the river, hotter than her icy gown.
Caird cursed; his eyes were wild and unwavering.
More drops of rain, and Caird hurriedly pushed the hem of her gown above her legs to her waist and pulled her on to his lap. The fabric surrounded them, but bared her underneath, where neither of them could see, but she could feel.
Ah, how she felt as Caird’s thighs parted her own, and pressed against her. As his hands, supporting her waist, pulled her closer. As she felt what he couldn’t hide pressed within the stretch of his breeches. She leaned further into him and gasped.
At her sound his head lowered, his fingers kneaded, his eyes locked between their bodies, as if he coveted to see what she could feel.
Only knowing she needed more, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled closer. ‘Oh!’
His head jerked up to watch her response. ‘Mairead?’ His eyes were swirling chips of need.
Rain fell, stinging her eyes, blurring her vision, making her colder still. She didn’t care. She couldn’t keep her breath; her body urged her to move again and she did.
His cheekbones sharpened as he pulsed against her. Taking in her every response, he seemed relieved, seemed agonised. ‘Not alone on the cliff,’ she thought he murmured.
Her breasts pressed against him, her arms stretched above his head. Shifting his thighs beneath her, he clenched her gown, her hips, her bottom, supported her as he now purposely moved her body against his.
His eyes watched hers. Again and again he rocked her and pressure built. Not enough.
‘Your arms,’ he urged. ‘Raise your arms. Clutch my shoulders, pull yourself up. That’s it.’
When she tilted forward, his fingers flexed as he pushed her down against him. ‘What is—?’ she gasped.
Pelting rain drowning out their sounds, their breaths. Smatterings of Caird’s words. Cruel rain falling harder, trying to separate them. Caird holding ever tighter to her gown at her hips, keeping her pinned to him, refusing to let the rain win. She could feel his shudders, his need, flexing against her, her own clenching response.
‘Mairead, let go,’ he pleaded as his eyes demanded.
He lifted her again, tilted, pressed her over him. She shuddered, feeling it, knowing she was almost where he wanted her to go. Her grip on his shoulders loosening, her arms and legs floating, as everything within her tightened. Rain now lashing against her back. His hot grip flexing, again, pressing, again, closer, again. There.
‘Caird!’ she said, using his name, as she released against him. Over and over, as the rain drove down.
He pulled away to release his breeches, to end his need.
Then the flood that had almost drowned them fell from the sky.
Caird clutched her against him, and kissed her unremittingly. But the rain insisted. Frustration built, as need was denied. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. Caird yelling at her, but she couldn’t understand, her hearing and her body no longer her own.
More words from Caird. One word breaking through: shelter.
Caird grabbed her hand and gathered the horse. Her gown impeded every step; she couldn’t find her balance. She was hot from his touch, cold from the rain.
Pulling her closer, he protected her from the worst of the wind. She tried to match his steady pace, knowing he wouldn’t be looking at her, that his determination was moving them forward until there was a solution. But she struggled with her clothes, with her hair, with the droplets sliding off her nose.
His long strides were defiant against the nature trying to break him. The elements battered against him, but like a mountain, he came to no harm.
For her, the assaulting rain taunted and reminded her. He was Colquhoun. Arrogant. She hated him. Must hate him. But he held her hand, radiating his warmth and strength. The contact was enough to keep her body tethered to him, and her errant thoughts were swept easily away with the rising wind.
The horizon changed, and darkened into hills. Walking faster, tugging the reins of the horse, until it bucked, Caird didn’t miss a step. He held a tension that was palatable even in the little visibility offered her. He knew where he was going. When he released her hand to pick up branches, and she wiped the hair from her face, she saw it: a cave.
When they reached it, he tossed the wood on the floor of the cave. It was dark, but dry and he pulled the horse in.
‘I need to care for the horse,’ he said, his eyes searching hers. He’d care for the horse, then come for her.
She understood, nodding at the inevitability and giving her acceptance before she turned away.
The cave was large, but too small for what had occurred to her. She had to move and the only direction was further into the cave. It was darker, but the entrance was wide enough to see a little, until she turned a curve and blackness engulfed her.
She made a sound and listened to the faint echo. Her body trembled from cold and Caird’s touch. If she didn’t find dry wood here, there would be no fire. It was still day, but unless the rain let up—
Her left foot hit a boulder and she fell. The jolt stunned her until she felt the slight pain of scrapes on her hands and knees.
The cave floor was wet, slimy and she wiped her hands against her gown, but they soaked up the cave floor and she felt the smear spread with the dirt.
It was wet here, but the entrance of the cave was dry. Suddenly embarrassed that she’d slipped in animal leavings, she groaned. At least she smelled no dung or urine, just an earthy smell. Since the rain still fell, she could walk outside and clean herself.
She used the boulder to push herself up and screamed.