Highland Storm (20 page)

She cleared her throat softly. “Sir…”

He turned as if startled, despite her meek introduction. “Aye, lass? Is he awake?” His usual deep burr seemed a little dry, as if he could use a drink. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper than ever.

Isla wondered when he’d last drunk, eaten or slept. Coira was completely absorbed in caring for and weeping over Alpin, and Mrs Mary spent most of her time caring for his wounds, and Alexander’s, too. It seemed there was nobody free to force sustenance or sleep upon the master of the house, but judging by the look in his eyes, those were the last things he was thinking about. For the first time, Isla considered how he must feel, standing by while his only sons lay for two days on death’s door, sent to the threshold by each other’s hands. Her heart ached, but at least she had good news.

“Aye, he’s awake.”

Malcolm rose from the couch, a hint of eagerness visible on his tired face. No doubt this was the first positive report he’d heard since he’d been slammed with the news of Alpin’s treachery and the consequent duel two days before.

“He seems well,” Isla added.

“I willnae wait to speak with him, then,” Malcolm replied. “I’ve spent the past two days in thought, and though it is a hard decision I’ve reached, the sooner it’s known the better, I think.”

* * * *

“Must we go already?” Isla asked, reluctantly folding the last of her gowns in preparation for travel. “I worry for your wounds. They hae hardly even healed halfway yet.”

“I’ll be fine,” Alexander said, from where he lay propped on one elbow on the bed, eating the last of the scones Mrs Mary had brought up for them on a tray. “I told ye, my aunt’s place isnae but half a day’s ride from here.”

“Aye, but still…”

Five days had passed since the duel, three since Alexander had woken. On that day, his father had announced his intention to send Alexander and Isla to stay with one of Alexander’s aunts. She had a large home, and the situation would only be temporary. They’d return to Benstrath as soon as Alpin had recovered from his injuries. When naught but scars remained, he would leave the estate and Scotland indefinitely, to begin soldiering in France, where a rather distant cousin had been doing the same for over a year. There, everyone reckoned he’d be too far away and too busy to cause any trouble for Alexander and Isla. Isla pitied the cousin who would have to endure Alpin’s company, while Alexander said he couldn’t wait to bid ‘the bastard’
adieu
.

“Dinnae fash yourself,” Alexander said, brushing crumbs from his palms and eyeing the empty tray with a hint of regret. “I feel just fine. Come here and I’ll prove it to ye.”

Seeing the gleam in his eye and the way the sheets had tented over his crotch, Isla sidestepped around the bed as she fetched a few spare shifts from the wardrobe. His offer
was
tempting, but she wasn’t about to put him in danger of bursting his carefully-stitched wounds at the seams.

“I willnae come near ye until ye stop lookin’ at me that way. You’re in no condition for such…such behaviour,” she finished lamely. Whatever state the rest of his body was in, the size of the disturbance beneath the sheet seemed to indicate that he, at least, felt very ready. He wore nothing, and the hard outline of his swelling cock was easily visible through the linen. Even the nest of hair at the base of his erection showed dark against the pale fabric, teasing. The sight of it made her core clench. It had been five days since he’d taken her so urgently, in the same bed, and even during the exhaustion and misery of caring for him after the duel, her thoughts had often turned to that brief but fierce coupling. Now she longed for him to take her again, to show her his body really was still strong. To prove it to her, just as he’d said.

As she stood staring, he caught the hem of her skirt between his fingertips and tugged gently. She let him pull her to the bedside and sank onto the edge, sitting with her hip fitted snugly against his ribs. “It’s been five days,” he said, snaking a hand beneath her skirts and suggestively massaging her thigh.

Her body ached for more of his touch. Just the slow swirling of his callused fingertips against her hip sent waves of pleasure through her body, causing her nipples to tighten and strain against her bodice.

“Five days…that isnae exactly an eternity.”

Oh, but it was.

He dipped his fingers between her thighs, and the intensity of her desire made it impossible to resist opening them to his touch. She sighed when he found her clitoris and began to rub the swollen nub, and wondered if the dampness that was creeping from her core would soak straight through her skirts.

“Five days is far too long.”

The deepness of his voice struck a nerve somewhere within her—a very sensitive one. A shiver of delight raced down her spine and her nipples went as hard as rocks.

“Especially when ye’ve grown used to having it every day,” he continued. “Sometimes twice a day. Even three, if ye count the time ye found me in the hayloft and wrapped your lips tight around my cock.”

She trembled in earnest as she remembered. She’d gone to the stable to take him lunch, and had found him in the loft tossing forkfuls of forage for the horses below. When she’d seen the erection straining against his kilt, it’d seemed natural to take advantage of the dim solitude amongst the rafters of the barn. She could still taste the saltiness of his release on her tongue when she thought about it, could still feel the heavy bluntness of his cock against the back of her throat. Better yet, he’d returned the favour, laying her down on a pile of hay, pushing up her skirts and pressing his mouth between her thighs. She’d writhed, and he’d had to help her to pick the hay out of her hair afterwards.

“I could do it again,” she said, reaching to grasp his cock through the bed sheets.

He caught her wrist neatly, just as her fingertips brushed his erection. “No. That was good at the time—very good—but I dinnae want that now. I intend to do this properly. Now, undress for me.” He released her wrist, setting it gently down on the mattress.

Undress for me
.

The words rang in her ears, and the pressure mounted in her core. When he’d stopped touching her and withdrew his hand from between her thighs, she had to fight not to beg him to continue. As appealing as the idea was, she knew it would be useless. The spark in his eyes as he watched, waiting for her to disrobe, was one of stubbornness.

“I dinnae want to cause ye harm,” she pleaded, her imagination plagued by vivid visions of his wounds reopening. What if the stitching that held the gashes across his arm and shoulder shut couldn’t withstand the pressure of supporting him while he thrust?

“I willnae be in any danger,” he said, caressing her breast through her dress.

His heat quickly warmed her through the bodice, and her nipple was reduced to a tiny, hard point against his palm.

“I amnae so blinded by want that I havnae thought this through.” He grinned. “I promise ye that. In fact, I’ve done little other than think about it since I woke three days ago, and my balls feel fit to burst from it. I would hae taken ye at night, as ye lay in bed with me, if I wasnae unable to turn over onto my side.”

Her core tightened at the thought of Alexander rolling onto his side, lifting her shift and taking her from behind. He’d done it before, and his cock had reached so deeply into her core that it had taken her breath away. She’d panted and gasped her way to a toe-curling climax. Now every last bit of her skin tingled beneath his burning gaze as she undressed, laying aside her clothes and promptly forgetting about them. The hunger in his eyes was unmistakable, and her core tightened again in anticipation as she let him pull her onto the bed. Gently, he guided one of her legs over his hips so that she straddled him, his stiff cock throbbing against her slippery folds. As she flexed her hips, grinding eagerly against the length of it, she realised that he was right. This position wouldn’t strain his arm or shoulder at all. She rose and slowly fell again, burying his cock slowly and completely in her core. The feeling of being filled and stretched so after five days of wanting was ecstasy. He matched her moan, wrapping his unhurt arm around her and pulling her close against his chest.

“I love ye,
mo chride
.”

He flexed his hips, eliciting a gasp from her.

“I love you too,” she managed to breathe between strokes.

She’d anticipated taking charge, but he apparently had different ideas. He moved with surprising strength, his muscles firm against her and his strokes deep. It seemed he really was fine. She relaxed against his chest, breathing a sigh of relief as the tension that had plagued her since their marriage left her, driven out by his words and strong body. Everything was fine—he drove that message home with every stroke. They’d weathered the storm together, and it had finally passed.

Epilogue

The air smelt of blood and sweat.

“Dinnae push just yet,” the midwife said, keeping a trained eye fixed between Isla’s open thighs. “Just a wee moment longer and…”

Isla sighed through her teeth, seizing fistfuls of the linen sheets and wringing them desperately. Her belly was as tight and hard as a rock, gripped by a contraction that made her want to scream at the top of her lungs. She had already, many times. Now she was dead tired, her throat raw and stinging. She wasn’t even sure if she still had a voice, but those sensations were nothing compared to the burn between her thighs. The child was on the verge of being born, and she’d laboured hard every moment of the way, thinking this moment would never come. Desperate for the ordeal to be over, she’d been pushing with all her might. Moments ago the midwife had urged her to pause in the name of stopping a tear. She did her best to resist the urge to push as the woman applied a warm towel to her strained flesh. It was perhaps the most difficult thing she’d ever done.

“The babe’s got dark hair, just like its da!” Mrs Mary cried in tones of excitement.

She and Coira were gathered tight at either side of the midwife, watching the proceedings with wide, gleaming eyes. They were practically rubbing their hands together in anticipation of holding the babe. Isla, on the other hand, could think of nothing past delivering it from her body. Her head had been filled with visions of holding her babe at first, of kissing its rounded cheek. Those thoughts had faded as the contractions had intensified and the pain had demanded all of her attention.

“Now! Push!” the midwife cried, finally lifting the warm towel from Isla.

Isla took a deep, ragged breath. The air was pungent and too warm. A bead of sweat trickled down her brow and into her eye, stinging. She gritted her teeth and pushed for all she was worth, collapsing against the pillows after the child slipped at last from her body.

“It’s a boy—a fine wee laddie!” The midwife’s words drifted to Isla’s ears through a haze of pain and relief.

She lay back, breathing hard, her head lolling against the pillows.

“Och, if he isn’t the handsomest wee fellow I’ve ever seen!” Mrs Mary crowed, hunched excitedly over the midwife’s practiced hands.

Isla blinked, opening her eyes just as a warm weight was pressed into her arms. Her son. She wasn’t sure she’d call such a round, tiny thing handsome—but beautiful, definitely. He did indeed have his father’s dark hair, and it fell over his forehead in a wispy forelock. He blinked up at her with large, dark eyes—would they turn blue like his father’s, or green like hers?—and let out a hearty wail.

“Aye, he’s bonny,” Coira agreed, beaming down at the babe. She’d stuck by Isla’s side since the first of the contractions had started, and the rapturous expression she wore now smacked of grandmotherly pride. Step-grandmother or no, Isla had no doubt she’d embrace the role.

Isla cradled the bairn as the midwife bustled, and hardly noticed anything that happened until someone mentioned Alexander’s name.

“Will ye fetch him now?” she asked, turning tiredly to look into Mrs Mary’s eyes.

The event was finally over, and the midwife had draped her with blankets after the afterbirth had been delivered. She supposed she looked as presentable as anyone could, under the circumstances. She couldn’t wait to feel Alexander’s arms around her, to show him their son. Pride welled up in her at the thought, taking the edge off her fatigue.

“Aye, I’ll be back in a moment,” Mrs Mary replied, casting one last glance over her shoulder at the infant as she left the room.

Scarcely a moment later, footsteps sounded on the stairs, fast and heavy. The door creaked faintly on its hinges as Alexander pushed it open and stared around wildly, his eyes wide. He breathed a long sigh of relief when his gaze settled on Isla and the child she held in her arms.

“Ye have a son,” she said, as he settled onto the edge of the bed beside her.

He pressed a kiss against her temple and pushed a stray strand of sweat-matted hair from her brow, eyeing her with apparent concern. “You’re well, then?”

She nodded, suppressing a yawn.

He sighed again. “I heard ye screamin’ all the way downstairs. I thought…”

“Aye, well, it wasnae easy…”

 
He smoothed her hair again, though it was unnecessary.

“But it’s done,” she continued, “and I amnae harmed.”