Warrior of the Highlands

Page 33

Haley wondered for a moment if he were an apparition. If this hadn't all been some fantasy, some figment of her imagination.
“Tiugainn learn” His voice was low, rough, meant for her alone. Come with me.
He reached to her, his fingers limned with the silvery light of the moon. She took his hand. Let those strong fingers twine with hers, clasp her warmly. She felt the brittle bend of hair under her fingertips, a light dusting at the back of his hand.
He had to cant his body at an awkward angle to fit down the stairs, but he didn't let go of her hand. They descended in silence. Slipped out of the cottage in silence.
The grass glittered, moonlight pricking the dew into millions of tiny jewels, making it seem a m agical path, cool and fresh under their feet.
They walked for a time, heading to the shore. Neither spoke, and the hushed wash of the waves on sand grew louder, floating to them on the night breeze.
Haley shivered, and he tucked her close under his arm. When he finally did speak, his voice was tentative, and she thought that perhaps MacColla was as nervous as she.
“There's a wee cove. We're not far now. I think… ” He stopped, tilted her chin up to him. Though his eyes were dark in shadow, she felt their intensity, gazing at her. Drinking her in.
Haley held her breath, yearning to hold onto that moment in time. To keep that feeling of his eyes on her, forever tucked close.
Clearing his throat, he stroked the hair from her brow and finished. “'Tis a pretty wee cove, leannan. I think you'll fancy it.” He stroked her cheek once with his thumb, then led them on.
They crested a small rise, and she saw it. Or rather, it was what she didn't see. The absence of land before them spoke to the sea. Her vision adjusted. The water was a glassy stretch, like black obsidian filling the horizon. A single white wash of moonlight streaked across the surface, spotlighting the low rolls of ever-moving water.
“Tread careful, lass.” Putting his hand at her waist, he guided Haley over a shallow ridge of rocks, stepping gingerly up and back down the black crags.
He jumped down the last bit, his feet landing with a quiet chuff onto the sand. The narrow slice of beach curved before them in the shape of a crescent moon, edged by atretch of wet sand looking like a stream of molten silver in the moonlight.
“A wee cove.” MacColla turned as if to lift her down, but he froze before her. The rock she stood on brought her just slightly taller than he, their faces mere inches apart. “Just for you, leannan.” he told her softly, his voice ragged with emotion. “All for you.”
She leaned into MacColla, reaching her arms around his neck, and he lifted her easily, guiding Haley's legs around his waist.
He stepped back and she had the sensation of gravity pulling her to him, grounding her to him, as if she were more connected to MacColla than to the earth itself.
She clung tight as he headed to a dry stretch of beach, his mouth grazing over her as he walked. He stopped and dug his feet into the sand, continuing to hold and kiss her. Along her neck, to her throat, tender kisses that grew heated, then devouring, down to skim along the top of her neckline.
Haley hooked her feet behind his back, writhing tight to him, and raked fingers through his hair, desperate to bring him closer still.
He raised his head then, and intensity blazed in eyes half-lidded from want. “A chiall mo chrìdhe” he whispered.
He dipped a kiss to her mouth, hungry and quick like a striking animal. MacColla pulled back again, met her gaze. “Tha gradh agam ort.”
I love you.
He leaned to her once more, his mouth slow and open, to kiss her deeply, his tongue roving, tasting, exploring every part of her.
Her whole body tingled, ushering to life an explosion of sensations. She filled her lungs deep with the scent of him, of musk and the brine of the sea. The thin skin of her breasts tugged to sharp peaks, and she felt a rush from between her thighs up into the core of her, as desire raged through her, leaving a throbbing heat in its wake.
MacColla knelt then, bringing them down gradually, laying Haley slowly onto her back.
He eased over her, bearing his weight on his elbows and knees. His thick black hair swept down, bringing his scent more brightly to her, but casting his face in shadows.
Something primal roiled through her as she felt him, large and insistent, grinding against the cleft between her legs. Demanding satisfaction.
“Leannan.” His voice was a sigh on the wind. “I want you, leannan.”
His mouth found hers again. He brought his hand to her breast, chafing and pinching her through the thin nightgown. Haley moaned, shutting her eyes.
She flinched as a shock of cold rushed up her legs, then realized the slide of fabric up her thighs.
She moaned again, louder, tilting her hips to rub closer to him.
His hand fumbled for a moment as he found his way under the rumpled hem. He reached the soft skin of her thigh. Squeezed her.
Stroked higher.
His hand found her, wet and aching for him, and she gasped. MacColla rubbed his thumb in steady circles over her, and her kisses grew frenzied as she thought she might die with want for him.
He stilled for a heartbeat, then slid his finger into her as he continued to stroke her with his thumb. He crooked his finger gently, and that merest gesture made her cry out as she came in sudden thudding waves over his hand.
A growl sounded from deep within him. He ripped the gown from her, and she heard the tiny crackle of threads as he pulled the delicate fabric free. And then he pushed roughly at his own clothing, wriggling from shirt and plaid.
Haley saw him then, and she drew in her breath. He was huge. His body was angry, ready, the full mass of him heavy on her belly.
“We” - she hesitated, her voice breathy, unsure - “you need to go slow.”
“Leannan.” MacColla stilled. “Mo leannan.” A look of immeasurable tenderness swept his features, softening his brow, his mouth.
His fingers and thumb found her once more and stroked her softly. “Have you ever done this, leannan?”
This. He watched her. This man. Alasdair MacColla, strong and fierce, lying over her, caressing her. Adoring her.
Never this.
No man before him had brought her to the edge, stolen Haley from herself in that way, sweeping her into such ecstasy.
She wanted more of him. Wanted all of him.
“Not like this,” she whispered. “Nothing like this.”
“Are you ready for me?”
He was so grave, so earnest, she had to give him a tender smile. “I've been ready, MacColla.”
The sound came from low in his throat, half laugh, half moan, and he eased himself closer to her. Touched his lips to hers. Brought himself to her, slick and full.
He eased in, and her body stretched tight around him. She shivered, pleasure rippling through her. Unfamiliar, unexpected waves of it roused every nerve, bringing them singing to life.
He moved slowly at first, his mouth and hands roving hungrily, and her body startled her, as once again her muscles began to clench and coil beyond her control.
Haley panted, caught her breath, came again. This time fuller, longer, her vision wavering with each pulse of her body.
She felt his name rip from her throat then, only dimly aware of how she moved, what she did. She was pure feeling, kissing him. Sucking him. Writhing beneath him.
He plowed harder. They moved in frantic unison, as if their satisfaction were something they could chase and catch.
He shouted then. “Leannan.” And the word tore one last climax from her, from him.
Lover.
And, as Haley tucked close, her body's final spasms trembling through her, she thought, Yes, MacColla. I am your leannan.
* * *
MacColla combed the sand from her hair, working his fingers gently through the coarse, black waves.
She was a miracle to him. Haley. Such a strange name, to match the woman. She was a revelation. A gift.
He'd never experienced such a thing as what they'd just shared. Had never experienced such a passion as hers.
He shifted his weight to let the moonlight hit her beautiful face full-on. So lovely, she was. Strong, fearless. Bonny and deadly. That was his leannan.
He smiled. He'd need to rouse her soon. It would do no good to return after dawn, to be considered by his family over kippers and porridge.
But first MacColla thought he'd smooth the sand from her hair.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Really, Jean.” Haley shuddered. She pushed the fish heads back under the boiling water with her wooden spoon. “What have you got against fish bodies? I'm sure they'd make a fine soup.”
“You hush.” The rare good humor lighting Jean's face belied the terseness of her voice. “That would be a waste of good fish. The heads make a fine skink. Stop your carping, or I'll make you the one to strain them out.”
Haley had to look away from the pot. The steam made her eyes water, and those hideous heads kept glaring at her with glassy eyes and grim little half-open mouths that seemed poised to accuse her of something.
She watched Jean instead.
She'd seen the girl muster such backbone against her father and brother, and Haley thought her first impressionsmight've been off the mark. It struck her that they had more in common than she'd first thought. They both were only daughters who'd grown up in a houseful of boys. And then there was MacColla. The girl adores her brother, Haley thought with a smile, so she can't be all bad.
Using her upper arm to brush wisps of hair from her eyes. Jean finished rinsing blood from the last of the haddock heads. She caught Haley's eyes on her and tsked.
“Keep stirring now.” Jean nodded. “That's the way. I'm about done with this one. Next we add the neeps and carrots. There's not so much of either” - she sighed and studied the modest pile of turnips on the butcher block “but 'twill have to do. We've milk enough on hand, thanks to John.”
Haley was certain that this time she hadn't imagined the look she saw flickering across Jean's face. She knew it. The girl had a crush on Scrymgeour.
“And does John like fish soup?” Haley asked innocently.