Chieftain's Rebel Read online

  Ghillie might be younger and shorter than she, yet he was better prepared than either of the Olafsen brother and sister. The difference training with Ghillie made was that he gave voice to the different sword strokes, telling as well as showing her the fastest way to kill yer opponent.

  By the time Rory put himself forward to teach her, Ainsel felt she had learned a thing or two or three and smiled smugly inside her head, determined not to be easily beaten for, barring an accident, there was nae chance she could kill or maim the likes of Rory. Then again, she knew she would have to work her hardest not to be the one likely to be killed.

  Rory’s voice sounded gruff as if slightly winded frae his earlier efforts. The way his chest rose and fell distracted her thoughts as he asked, “Do you want to take a wee rest afore we get started?”

  Her self-annoyance at letting his latent sexuality stir up feelings designed for mating, not fighting, made her sound sharper than she meant. “The enemy will not be inclined to let us stop for a rest to get our wind back.” She brought her shield up in front of her body until only her eyes would be seen by her foe, then adjusted her grip on her sword’s hilt.

  Looking into eyes the image of her son’s, she called out, “Have at me, Farquharson,” then laughed. “Do I get points for being able to pronounce yer name?”

  The smile he flashed in her direction created as much devastation in her breast as a bolt of lightning appearing out of a blue sky. One of his dark eyebrows lifted higher than the other as he acknowledged the hit, his gaze seeming to penetrate the shield she held. “Practise first, lass; the points we can discuss later.

  And so they began, their movements fitting together as they twisted and turned, winding around each other as if it were a dance of love instead of death, accompanied by the whistle of steel cutting the air and the sound of swords banging against shields to mark the rhythm. That was until the moment they came together, cross-guards locked, shields squashed tight. His breath sounded as throat-roughened as her own, as air exploded frae her lungs. She could smell his male sweat, taste the breath that left his mouth and danced o’er top her shield, tempting her as the moments passed and neither of them moved. Finally, Rory gasped, “Do ye give in?”

  Ainsel matched him stare for stare, lured deeper into the dark-blue depth of his eyes as if bespelled as the reply forced past lips she felt the need to lick. “Give in to what?”

  His nostrils flared as she finally gave answer and licked her dry lips. “So we’re calling it a draw?”

  Her heart was pounding so hard she wondered that he couldnae feel it reverberate through her shield and onto his. She sucked in a breath and swallowed the taste she hadnae forgotten, not in a twelve-month. “Win, draw or loss, mayhap we can settle it later once we have counted up the points.”

  Ainsel watched the way his mouth moved, the soft fullness that she remembered playing with her lips and tongue. Immediately she was as wet betwixt her upper thighs as her throat was dry and tight, husky. “Grand. I’m fairly equable to that notion, but later, when I’ve tended to my bairn. He comes first in my life.”

  “Yet yer still determined to take up yer sword and fight?”

  The afternoon sun cast a reddish glare behind Rory’s head as if single-minded in its attempts to hold her in her opponents shadow where she could see every handsome particle of him, blinded by his presence instead of the sun’s. “What kind of mother would I be if I didnae stand up for and do my best to protect my family.”

  Just when she believed she had forgotten about Nils, Rory questioned her motives. “Is that what yer late husband taught ye?”

  Ainsel stepped back, dragging his cross-guard with her, but unable to untangle the two, as if this was fate emphasising that because of Axel, she could nae more easily untangle her life frae Rory’s as she could move away without pulling him with her. Jaw clenched tight she looked straight into his eyes, hers like ice in the pretence that he would ne’er get the better of her. “What I learned frae my late husband was how to duck,” she said, sliding her sword up and away frae his, thinking to let him make what he liked of that.

  Taking a step to one side, she caught sight of Finn approaching. His hair was wringing wet with sweat, as was Rory’s, and his face red frae exertion, which her opponent’s wasnae. “I can think of better places to have a conversation,” her brother chivvied as he reached them. “Who won?”

  Rory’s lips lifted at one corner, a wry smile as he turned to Finn, giving her the opportunity to put a wee bit of distance betwixt them. “That’s exactly what we were trying to decide.”

  Her distance gradually increased, as did her pace backward while Rory called after her, with a wolf-like show of teeth that made a mockery of his next statement, “We’ve decided to settle it tonight after this e’en’s meal.”

  She turned on her heel, showing him her back, his words echoing in her mind—a warning or a pledge?

  Calder stared at Rory, bemused by his friend’s show of caution. Of course her brother was standing next to him and, bonnie fighter or not, the lass had a bairn to tend to. He supposed it wouldnae do for Rory to insult their host by being obvious about tupping his granddaughter.

  He looked frae Rory to Finn and, though he could see he didnae have their full attention, he mentioned, “I’m thinking another swim wouldnae go amiss, how about joining me?”

  Rory curled his nose but shook his head, “I’m of a mind to settle for the water butt and some rain water. I’ve enough salt and sweat coating my skin.”

  Finn offered him another refusal, “I should attend my grandfather, and I’m sure he would like to hear what Rory has to say about our fighters. I felt they acquitted themselves well, but I’d rather he didnae accuse me of bias.”

  “What do ye think, Calder, should I mind his back?”

  Calder rolled his eyes at his friend. It was occasions like this he was happy not to be the son of a chieftain with its restrictions and obligations. He only had to think on the trouble Rory was likely to be in for going against his father’s wishes—rebelling—whereas being a mere Comlyn relative he could please himself.

  He waved them away. “Off ye go and dinnae try to pretend ye would refuse. I know ye better than that. I’ll see ye after my lonely swim, just save some supper for me.” It wasnae until he turned round that he saw Gilda. His heart hammered against his breastbone at the sight of her, and visions of how they had fitted together the night afore filled his head.

  He held out his hand, and when she gripped it he pulled her close, her soft murmur, “I’ll make sure yer not lonely,” did naught to quiet the drumming of his heart.

  He dipped his head suddenly aware the stench of sweat coming frae him was none too pleasant. “Can ye swim? I willnae be very grand company until I wash away this sweat.”

  Calder was taken aback when she sidled closer and rubbed the front of her linen kirtle against his chest. “What makes ye think I’d dislike the hot scent of yer skin. Cannae ye feel my breasts swell against ye and my nipples harden? I want ye, Calder. Naught can e’er change that.”

  He wanted her too, was hot for her. More than hot … if only he could find the words. He was simply aware that when he looked at her a warm thrill spread through him. It began low down in his gut and tingled all the way out to the tips of his fingers and toes—a feeling he didnae want to lose. Without hesitation, he cupped her face in his palms. Held it there in hands that moments afore had held a sword while he stared deep into her eyes. Then gently he lowered his mouth until their lips met.

  Aye, he wanted Gilda but he wanted more, wanted longer than a week, he wanted forever. That’s what had drawn him back here, but would he be able to convince—nae persuade—her she wanted the same? When he lifted his head, he still didnae speak, couldnae find the words, and he was relieved when Gilda did. “Have ye ever been on a dragon boat?”

  Not quite what he had been hoping to hear, but he had always been flexible, “Nae, we dinnae have much need for them in the Highlands.”
/>   “I was thinking of last time ye were at Caithness, but ne’er mind that. My aulder brother is on watch on one of the boats, not the dragon-boat closest to us but the next, the second in line. I asked if we could take his place while he had a meal—I told him I wanted to take you aboard—and he didnae mind.”

  Calder couldnae help but laugh, she looked so earnest. “He’s not worried we’ll sail away with it when his back’s turned?” She huffed down her nose and punched him in the shoulder. “All right, I was only teasing. Ye ken I’ll go anyplace ye want, even on a dragon-boat. Do we have to swim?”

  “Nae, there’s a wee boat ye will have to paddle though.” She smirked o’er her shoulder as she walked toward the water’s edge where the boats floated, tugging him by the hand after her.

  God’s teeth, he was glad he came to Caithness to find this woman, and when he returned to Dun Bhuird it was his earnest intention to take her with him. She hadnae mentioned mother or father. Was there anyone he would have to ask afore he took her to wife?

  The thought leapt into his mind without volition, shook and surprised him, made him pause in in motion as well as mind, pulling on her fingers until she stopped and turned. She said naught, nae more was needed than the quirk of fair brows the shape of angels wings above eyes as blue as the sky and as deep and unending. He wanted to tell her, but it was too soon. The time would come but it wasnae tonight, so he settled for asking, “And what will we do when we get out there?”

  Her smile would have been enough but so far Gilda had yet to hold aught back and made certain, saying, “What e’er we want.”

  Chapter 9

  Was this how it felt to be invisible? Ghillie wondered as everyone went in different directions, leaving him on his own. Not that he e’er was truly alone, with his raven, Heimdall, a mere lift of his hand away. Observation was all part of drawing on his gift, the bits and pieces that expanded on his original notion of what lay ahead for his friends and the truth of why they were all here in Caithness.

  Calder had made nae secret of his motive for the journey; few could be blind to the way he and Gilda had flown to each other the moment the trio had reached the settlement. Rory on the other hand had been close-mouthed, unwilling to impart his need to come back here, his desire to experience the Gathering once more, the way he had last year. One couldnae be blamed for thinking that Rory was too busy looking for what he had lost, to see what was right afore his eyes. That said, Ghillie’s gift wasnae given so he might push folk in a direction they had nae desire to take. His was merely the gift of knowing. It was for the gods to map the way.

  He’d watched Ainsel practise with Rory, and even though there was a lot in life he was too young to have experienced, he was nae dunce. The tension betwixt his cousin and Ainsel was like a living thing, shimmering frae one to the other in much the same way the lights danced in the night sky, flowing like a curtain that could be cut through by a knife.

  Ghillie wouldnae pretend he could read Ainsel’s mind, but while Rory appeared oblivious to their previous connection, she wasnae. Ghillie supposed that was the difference betwixt male and female. He couldnae understand why she hadnae simply told Rory he was a father. However, it could be said that in the history of the McArthur clan, their story wasnae what he’d call unique. His father had told him about the way Rob and Euan McArthur hadnae had one skerrick of suspicion that they were father and son—a type of blindness he found strange when he looked at them now since they were so alike.

  He had asked Rowena about it, his mother being the wisest person in his life, and she had said, “Think on what could Morag hae done. She couldnae have written it down in case it fell into the wrong hands, and as for messengers, who did she hae that she could she trust?”

  Remembering yon circumstances put what he now thought of as Ainsel’s dilemma, into perspective. How could she have confessed the truth when everyone believed her dead husband to be the bairn’s father?

  If only Ghillie had been with them last year, everything would be a lot clearer.

  When they were boys, Calder and Rory had messed about in a coracle on the lochan below the waterfall. It had felt unstable, but naught like trying to walk straight inside a dragon boat with the deck coming up to meet him. Gilda laughed at him. “It’s only the tide coming in, rocking the boat. You’ll soon get used to the motion.” The mooring stone anchored the boat near the bow, the dragon facing out into the ness. She patted the bench where she sat in the stern, out of sight frae the beach. “Come sit here by me. It will be interesting, I promise.”

  Gilda did interesting very well indeed, as he was aware, and the rise and fall of the boat didnae hamper his progress to the bench, or the speed with which he took her in his arms. Tilting her chin towards him, he made short work of taking her mouth, then slowed down, adding a bit of anticipation while he traced the shape of her lips with his tongue afore sucking the fullness of her bottom lip into his mouth. The humming sound she made in response tingled against his tongue and put paid to his control. While he fed on her taste, her sweetness, her fingers quickly unfastened the buckle at his waist, loosening his shirt, allowing her hands to explore underneath.

  Once they pulled apart, gasping for air. “This shirt … it has to come off. I want to get closer, need to get closer,” she panted, pushing the linen higher, until he removed it frae her fingers and whipped it off o’er his head, letting it fall onto the wooden deck.

  “It is nae use only one of us being naked, lass. Ye have to join me,” he growled, shifting on the bench until his plaid went the way of his shirt, leaving his hardened state more than obvious.

  “Ach, ye have nae need to ask twice.” She skimmed the back of her fingers down the vein pulsing along the length of his prick. “Is all that for me?”

  “There’s nae one else it wants, only Gilda—only ye, lass.” He groaned as she stood and pulled her kirtle o’er her head and revealed herself to him. The sun gilded her skin, a golden angel presented for his appreciation. Calder reached. He touched, skimmed his palms frae ribs to hips finding pleasure in both—his. He leaned forward and nipped at the curve of her pelvis, sucked, leaving his mark. It was nae great stretch to carry on once he’d started, so he licked his way across to her navel. She quivered, he raised his head and liked what he saw in her eyes.

  A golden cage hid her mons, which he parted with his thumbs revealing soft pink folds, tempting. He had to taste. One long wet stroke and she moaned, her fingers fisting in his hair as he drew her into his mouth. He chuckled, his breath teasing her tender entrance the way his tongue had. He gripped her thighs as her knees gave way. “Did ye enjoy that lass? Would ye like more?”

  “As pleasurable as that is, I do want more, want all of ye. I want ye inside me. Dinnae make me wait Calder. I’ve been thinking of this all day.” Her voice was low, heated, impatient, and he had a mind to give her exactly what she wanted, but her taste coating his lips made his prick swell bigger, as if it might burst out of its skin, and he worried if he gave her what she wanted he would hurt her.

  “In a moment. I too want that more than anything. I’ve been thinking about it for a year, but let me make sure yer ready lass.” She was wet. He slid one finger inside her, then two, ach aye, nae need to wait.

  She caught his cheeks betwixt her palms and turned his face up to stare into his eyes, catching his gaze up in a sea of rimmed with pure gold. “Ye have been thinking about me for a whole year?”

  “Frae the moment we walked up the hills bordering the settlement until I rode back in and saw ye again.” Nae point in lying, he realised, when the truth served ye much better. “How do ye feel about straddling me?” He patted her buttocks with the flat of his hand. “Better that getting splinters in yer braw wee arse.”

  Gilda rolled her eyes, and the corner of her lips quirked. “I’ve always dreamed of finding myself a bonnie gallant knight.”

  Calder smoothed his palms o’er the curve of yon braw buttocks. “Gallant, mayhap a rough one. I can tell ye that yer
skin feels like silk, soft as the water that flows into the lochan at Dun Bhuird, and I wouldnae like to harm it,” he said lifting her as he spoke, spreading her legs until they were wrapped round his hips and her honeyed core balanced above him. “Do ye want this, Gilda? Do ye want me inside ye?”

  In reply she gradually slid down, taking him into her heat. He stopped breathing, didnae care, for wouldnae he die happy having experienced this, experienced Gilda? His heart felt it would burst as he held still, listening to her hum in his ear until finally a groan ripped frae his chest and he dragged in air knowing he filled her. Knowing this is why he had come back to Caithness—Gilda—and he refused to go without her again. For long moments they didnae move, didnae speak, simply breathed and held each other. Neither of them was responsible for the rocking sensation as the tide came in and the water deepened beneath the hull making them sway together.

  He became aware of a slight cooling breeze off the land on his back and the warmth of Gilda’s skin, her breasts against his chest, hard nipples rubbing. “Much as I love holding ye sweeting, I have to move,” he told her, hips flexing in demonstration, penetrating farther than he’d believed possible. Gilda planted her feet on the bench either side of his hips and suddenly they were in a race, both striving to reach that place, that moment of extreme wonder that surely was meant only for the gods.

  Calder thrust upward as Gilda clenched around him, her fingernails biting into his shoulders and harsh breath shuddering frae betwixt her lips scraped across his skin like the blade of a dull knife, signalling that the end of this race they were running was closing in fast. He reached up, gripped her face as if it was the only thing keeping him from floating away. He covered her mouth with his own and tangled his tongue with hers—sweet, necessary, like breathing. He prided himself on his control, but with Gilda it would be so easy to let go, and when he felt her sex flutter around him he lifted his mouth and let her scream out his name: “Ca-alder!” It was like permission to let go and fly away. To follow her into the sky where the sun awaited them.