Chapter Twenty-Six

Darkness had fallen by the time Ian turned the team through the raised portcullis and drove across the bailey. He had meant to be home hours ago, but the cooper had learned of some used oak barrels available that were necessary to allow the whisky to mature. Since they would now be producing more casks, they’d need all they could get. Unfortunately, the barrels had been in a warehouse ten miles away.

He turned the weary horses over to Jamie and made his way to the castle. The evening meal had already passed, but folks were lingering over tankards in the Great Hall. Some of his kin were still seated on the dais, having obviously taken their meal there tonight. Just as well, he thought. Emily, in light of what she’d offered to do, should be seen more often joining the clan. Her seat was empty, although her sisters were still there. He glanced toward Carr, engaged in conversation with Rory. He definitely wanted to talk to him, but it could wait a few minutes.

“Where is Emily?” he asked as he approached the dais.

“She was not feeling well,” Lorelei replied.

The hairs at his nape prickled. Had someone tried to poison her again? “Did ye check on her?”

“She left a note for Maggie not to be disturbed.”

“But ye didna check?”

“My sister may seem a docile kitten most days,” Juliana said, “but when she is not feeling well, she is more like a lion with a thorn in its paw. Better to leave her alone.”

He’d never thought of Emily as docile nor a kitten for that matter. More like a she-wolf, protective of her sisters.

“Juliana is right. Emily does not get ill very often, but when she does, she just wants to be left alone.” Lorelei lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “Besides, she did say she wanted to take a nap.”

Something didn’t seem right. “When was this?”

“Earlier.”

Ian took a deep breath, willing himself not to raise his voice. “When, precisely?”

Juliana frowned at him. “It was just before Devon came to the solar to fetch Fiona.”

“For what?”

“He didn’t say.”

Ian glanced around for his brother. He wasn’t with Carr and Rory, and Ian didn’t see him anywhere. The hair at his nape prickled again. “Where is Fiona?”

“We have not seen her since she left the solar.”

Ian stared at both of them, then he turned and ran out of the hall toward the back of the castle where Emily’s chamber was. Not bothering to knock, he pushed open the door.

Her bed was empty.

It had not been slept in.

He looked around. Nothing seemed to be out of order. No signs of a struggle. Emily’s slippers lay on the floor by the wardrobe so she must have changed shoes. Then he noticed that her cloak was gone. He suddenly felt like Paden had kicked him with a well-placed hoof in his stomach. Had Devon—he didn’t want to think it—lured her out? And Fiona—Lucifer’s horns!—his sister could not be involved with any plot of Devon’s. Had she gone after them?

He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, not knowing what to do. Then he spotted the note lying on the dresser. He reached it in three strides and picked it up. A moment later he howled at the walls and went racing out.

…

Emily shivered. The night air had turned cold and she’d dropped her cloak when she first began to struggle. She didn’t dare try to reach for it now, since she was already near knee-deep in the sucking goop. Each time she moved, the mess shifted, pulling her down. The rocks couldn’t be more than ten or fifteen feet away, a safe haven. But it might as well have been miles.

A hysterical bubble rose in her throat and she fought the panic that was rising. How could she have miscalculated so badly? The boards—she looked again, trying to locate them but from her location now she couldn’t see them. Or…maybe they had sunk. She had no idea when they had been put into place or how long it took, although, where she had walked should have been dry. The note had said it was. Would Ian still be waiting for her? Or would he think she had decided not to come? He wouldn’t get home until morning. Would anyone think to look for her? She’d left the note for Maggie and her sisters knew to leave her alone… Oh, dear God. She had been such a fool to walk through a bog at night.

She froze suddenly and stopped breathing as the sound of water seeping from the overturned peat began to rise around her boots. For a moment, she stared at it, feeling the hysterical bubble rise in her throat once more.

And then she screamed.

…

Ian was nearly out of breath from running out of the castle to reach the bog when he heard the scream. Damnation! It was faint. He swiveled his head to attune his ears from the direction it had come. He could see nothing at this edge of the bog, but if Emily had wandered in past the boards…

He squinted in the dim light from the moon. The boards had been placed fairly close to the newly turned rows yesterday, since the mud had been like thick soup and it hadn’t been safe to go farther in. They were gone now, and he frowned. They’d been placed near the upturned peat and couldn’t have sunk under the turf. He peered out over the bog and felt his eyes widen as he saw the boards floating a good hundred feet away. How they had gotten that far out he didn’t know, but if Emily had taken them for a guideline and walked into the sodden mess…

Another scream rent the air. It sounded like it came from the far end and he sprinted toward the sound. Several times he slipped and nearly fell as he skirted along the edge. It would have been quicker to dart through, but not safe. The cry came again, ceasing suddenly. Dear God! Don’t let the muck have sucked her under!

He ran faster, charging through gorse scrubs that tore at his breeches and over rocky terrain until, as he rounded a set of boulders, he saw her, standing thigh deep in muck.

“Doona move! Doona thrash!”

She turned her head. “Ian! You came!”

“Aye. I’ll get ye out. Just doona move.”

“I…I won’t…”

Ian pondered for a moment. Luckily, Emily was close to solid land, but seeing how far she’d already been pulled down, he couldn’t wade out and get her or they’d both be stuck.

He calculated the distance and then began stripping. Pulling off his boots, he unlaced his breeches, then pulled his shirt over his head. Tying one of the sleeves to one leg of the pants, he formed a makeshift rope that was near eight feet in length, but would it reach?

Holding on to the free sleeve he swung the heavier end over the surface. Emily tried reaching for it, but it fell short and she whimpered as the oozy mess sucked at her.

“Doona move! I’ll come to ye.”

“You will get mired, too.”

“Nae if I am careful.” Ian edged his way down from the rocks and stepped onto the soaking ground. It moved but didn’t give way. He ventured another step, feeling how soft it might be before putting his weight down. Another step and he felt the pull at his foot. He stopped and considered the distance between him and Emily. His clothing rope might just reach her.

“Try nae to move yer legs, bend forward from yer waist,” he instructed as he did the same. “And grab hold.” He swung the rope out again. It landed with a muddy splash just in front of her and, as Emily tried reaching for it, she fell forward.

“Damnation!” Ian pulled his foot free, about to take another step, when he felt the cloth tighten. Emily had managed to grab onto it. “Hold on with both hands, mo cridhe.”

“I am.”

Her voice sounded weak and even in the moonlight, he could see her face was white. Carefully, he took one step back, then another, keeping the clothing line tight. When his foot struck solid ground, he dug in his heels and reeled Emily out of the mud with a steady pull. The goop made a loud, sucking pop as it released her from its grip. She stumbled and the sudden give on the rope tumbled him backward, pulling her down on top of him.

For a moment, they both lay there, panting and covered in mud.

“You saved my life,” Emily finally said, one small hand splayed against his bare chest. “I hoped you would come.”

He tightened his arms around her. “I dinna write the note, mo cridhe.”

She stilled, then raised her head. “Then who did?”

“I doona ken, but I will find out when we get back to the castle.” He sat up, raising her with him. For the first time, she seemed to realize he was naked, save for his small clothes. He thought he detected a blush. He untied his shirt. “I suppose I should get dressed.”

Her hand lingered a bit before she sighed and dropped it. “I wish you had written that note.”

He stopped halfway into his breeches, one leg lifted, and nearly fell over. He yanked them up. “Ye do?”

Emily nodded, watching as he fastened them. The awareness sent his cock to full attention. Her eyes grew big at the sudden bulge and he asked a tentative question, hardly daring to hope. “Why?”

“I… I wanted to make love with you.”

The words were nearly whispered and she suddenly bent down to pick up his shirt, but he suspected it was more a gesture to hide her face. He placed his fingers under her chin when she rose and tipped her head up. “I would like that more than anything.”

Emily smiled. “When we get back to the castle, I want to take you to my bed. After I get cleaned up, of course.”

He laughed outright at that. Emily would always be practical. “I doona ken why we have to wait to get back.”

Her eyes widened. “You want to make love…here?”

He shook his head. “I’ll nae take ye lying on rocks out in the cold, lass. I was thinking that Old Gwendolyn’s cottage will be empty.”

“She would not mind if we used it?”

“In the Highlands, an empty cottage always has a welcome sign. We will leave it as we found it, but there is a bed and hot water to be had for a bath first.” He tilted his head. “What say ye?”

“I say yes.” Emily smiled at him. “I mean…aye.”

…

The fright—and very real peril—of the danger that had just passed should have exhausted her, but Emily felt exhilarated. Perhaps it was one of those nonsensical reactions like laughing hysterically when you want to cry. Or, perhaps, it was anticipation of what was to come. Either way, the bog incident seemed a distant memory. At least, for now.

The cottage was dark when they arrived, but unlocked, and they removed their muddied boots and socks before entering. Gwendolyn had left several small logs in the hearth, kindling already stuck between them. Ian soon had a fire blazing and kettles hanging from an iron pole placed between yokes above it, heating water.

Emily pulled a large copper tub out from its corner niche and found two linen towels that she remembered the healer spreading over some bushes to dry that morning. They still smelled of fresh air. A cake of heather soap lay in a pewter dish near a wash basin. Within minutes, steam was rising as Ian poured the water into the tub.

He turned toward the door. “I will leave ye to your bath.”

“You will need one, too,” Emily said, “since I spattered mud all over you.”

“I’ll use the water when ye are through.”

Emily wrinkled her nose. “It will be cold by then, not to mention dirty.”

He paused with his hand on the doorknob and lifted an eyebrow. “What are ye suggesting?”

She swallowed hard and looked at the floor. She’d never been in the position of seducing a man before. She’d never wanted to. Goodness, she’d always waited to take her bath until her husband had been well in his opium haze and even then had locked her door to thwart his unwelcome intrusion.

And now, all she could think of was that she wanted Ian to stay. She swallowed again and looked up. “Since we’re both filthy, we could share the bath.”

His mouth quirked at that. “Is that the only reason? Because we’re both dirty?”

She felt herself blush, hoping he’d mistake it for the heat in the room. Her reasoning sounded inane, even to her. More like suggesting two children get cleaned up rather than being seductive. “I…do not know…”

“I ken.” In three strides he was at her side, cradling her face in his hands. “Do ye trust me?”

She looked into his eyes. “Yes.”

“Then let me show ye what else a bath can be used for.”

With those words, he tugged at the bedraggled ribbons lacing up the front of her gown. It was a simple garment meant for working in and didn’t require petticoats or stays. It took only a moment or two for his deft fingers to undo the ties, and he slid the gown off her shoulders, letting it fall to the ground. That left only her chemise, which, as water-soaked as it was, clung to her, leaving little to the imagination.

Ian’s eyes widened as he looked down, and she felt her nipples harden under his gaze. He brushed his fingers lightly over one breast and a sound, suspiciously like a growl, came from him.

“I want to see ye naked.”

He gave her a quick glance, then took both hands and ripped the chemise in half. Instinctively, she raised both arms to cover herself, but he stayed her. “Doona.”

She dropped her hands, feeling a moment of mortification at standing completely nude in front of him, but the feeling turned to something else when she noticed the large bulge in his breeches that strained for release even as it grew. An odd tingling sensation began in her belly.

“Ye are beautiful,” he said and quickly stripped off his own clothing.

She barely had time to register how very large his member was—Good heavens! He was at least twice the size of Albert!—before Ian was lifting her and placing her in the tub. Water lapped over the side as he climbed in beside her. His broad shoulders nearly touched the edges of the tub, and she saw a dusting of dark hair across his hard chest, a thin line of which ran down his belly and below the surface of the water.

Ian pushed his legs under hers, and his biceps flexed as he lifted her thighs to spread them around his hips. It was an intimate position, and she wondered if he’d simply impale her. He certainly looked ready. Instead, he traced her cheek with his thumb.

“Lie back and let me wash ye.”

She gave him a startled look, but he was already pressing her down gently. As small as the tub was—at least with both of them in it—she could lean her head against the rim quite easily. She was quite comfortably inclined as well, although her position had her breasts poking up from the surface. Ian’s golden eyes darkened at the sight, and she suddenly felt quite wanton.

“I like when you look at me like that.”

He grinned. “I am planning to do more than look, lass.”

Her whole body tingled, although she didn’t know what he actually planned to do. Albert had not been one to linger at bed sport, for which she had always been grateful. Now, however, it seemed that every nerve ending awaited Ian’s touch.

Ian lathered a washcloth and began stroking one of her arms with it. Slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. Although he wasn’t doing anything more than getting rid of the grime, the sensation was amazing. He lifted her arm, bringing the cloth down along her ribs, just grazing the side of her breast. Her breathing shallowed and her breast suddenly felt heavy and achy with need. He smiled—did he know what she was feeling?—and did the same with the other arm, this time his knuckles brushing alongside the other breast.

Emily’s breathing hitched. She wanted him to touch her. Really touch her. Instead, he dipped the cloth and squeezed water over her collarbone and dribbled it across her nipples, which peaked immediately.

“Please…” She broke off.

“Please what?” He dragged the washcloth lightly over her again. “What do ye want me to do?”

“I…want…you…to touch me,” she whispered.

“Like this?” He lightly traced around one breast with a finger.

A moan escaped her. “M…more.”

He dropped the cloth and cupped both breasts, kneading them. “Like this?”

“Y-yes.”

He grinned again and rubbed a nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Or like this?”

“Ahhh!”

“Or maybe this.” Ian leaned forward and laved the other nipple with his tongue, circling the areola.

A squeak emerged from her as she closed her eyes in bliss. How could this feel so wonderful? She was lost in heady sensation as he covered her nipple with his mouth and began to suck while pinching and pulling the other one.

And then she felt his free hand slide down her belly to the apex of her thighs, which were brazenly splayed open under the water. His fingers separated her folds, stroking them in rhythm to the suckling of her breast. A strange pulsing began between her legs as her body responded. She felt herself rising as though riding a wave, then plunging into a trough, only to rise higher with each of his strokes. Something was building inside her like a sea building in a storm. Some aching need she’d never felt before. Something… She wanted…whatever was gathering inside her…

And then his thumb pressed against that little nub that had been throbbing, and for a second the world went black as a rogue wave crested, washing over her.

She opened her eyes to find Ian watching her, his whisky-colored eyes darkened with his own desire. Almost before she had time to recover her breath, he lifted her against him, pulled her legs tight around his waist, and took her mouth with his, tongue delving deep inside while his manhood penetrated her.

The initial shock of his filling her, stretching her wide, quickly changed to more want and more need. She whimpered as the odd tension built again, the waves rising higher this time, the troughs plunging deeper as his hips undulated against her, his thrusts deep and hard. She met those thrusts with her own, not caring at the moment whether she was being rent in two, knowing only that she wanted him deeper, harder… Their tongues did battle as their bodies strove to become one.

And then his hands were around her waist, lifting her, his shaft nearly leaving her. She cried out her displeasure and he slammed her down on him, his manhood pounding into her before the wave crested once more.

For long minutes, she lay against him, her body weightless as she floated in her own sea of pleasure and contentment. The metaphors were all true. The sea just crashed, the earth had moved, the volcano erupted… All the times she’d listened to other women speaking of bed sport as though it were actually enjoyable and laughed at them. Ha. The joke was definitely on her, because bed sport was all of that and more. Much, much more.

Finally, she roused herself enough to lift her head and gaze at him.

A corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “I told ye I was going to do more than look…”