Bending over, he settled his searing lips along her shoulder. “Ah, lass,” he murmured, taking a deep breath through his nose, savoring her scent. He tilted his hips forward, making her more aware of the rigidity of his shaft.
Then as if he had enough of playing, and was beginning to lose his patience, his hand gripped her skirt and tugged it up. She vaguely felt the cool breeze against her buttocks, although she was all but lost in the abyss of pleasure and bliss. She couldn’t comprehend exactly what was happening to her until she felt something hard, hot and throbbing brushing over her sex. The electric contact caused her to gasp. But her surprise receded as a wave of pleasure cascaded over her, softening her body, and flooding her core with the startling sensation.
She arched her head back, reveling in the wonderful feeling. Soon a strange throbbing began to grow inside of her. And as if he sensed her growing need, he began to move until she felt the unmistakable length of his erection rubbing along the slickness between her thighs. Bending his head, he dragged his hot tongue along the side of her neck. A haze of passion folded over her, and she moaned.
“Ye are sae wet,” he rasped, his eyes closed in pure rapture. He grasped his member, and guided it until it poised at her center. This was what her servant spoke of when she tried to explain about intercourse to Adrina. At the time the maid’s explanations were wholly inadequate. But now she would gain a full understanding of what occurred between a man and a woman. And her insides quivered in anticipation of acquiring the carnal knowledge.
But then a sudden blood-stirring bellow echoed loudly through the alder trees.
Duncan’s eyes flew open, and he looked down at her, a shocked expression frozen on his face.
“A stag in heat,” he said, a strangled laugh of disbelief bursting from his lips. He broke away from her. “I’m sorry, lass. That wasnae supposed tae happen.” His hand went down to cover his erection with his kilt. However his plaid did little to hide the force of his desire. When there was nothing to be done about his condition, he glanced up at her, a sheepish expression on his rugged features. “I hope ye will forgive me.”
Adrina nodded, the reality of what had almost happened robbing her of her speech. In all respects she had every right to be angry about the near seduction, yet she wasn’t. Instead she was left feeling disappointed and wanting more.
CHAPTER 9
Where in the hell was Adrina?
Fingal MacNauld let out a low growl of frustration, and slammed his fist on the table in front of him. The sudden crash disturbed the liquid in the earthen bowl, causing its contents to splash on the wooden surface. He had dipped the water out of the well, and left it to sit, absorbing the moon rays for an entire lunar cycle. But now it seemed all a waste of time and effort.
Looking over at the small window in the far end of the chamber, he was surprised to see that the sun was starting to set. He released a long sigh. How many hours had he spent trying to figure out how to scry?
As far as he could tell, there was no chanting or magic involved. But there were far too many thoughts racing through his mind, and he couldn’t still the chatter enough to concentrate on retrieving any divine information from the water surface.
Grabbing the candle from the holder, Fingal walked over to the hearth, where a small fire smoldered. The fire lit only one side of the chamber, the glow barely reaching the corner where he worked. If he was going to see something in the bowl, then he needed illumination. He knew that the Druids regularly used scrying for divination, so he perceived that it wasn’t an impossible feat to master. Of course he wasn’t interested in determining the past or the future. It was only the present that mattered. If only he could fathom how to make this method work, then he would be able to glean where Adrina was hiding.
He had to find her. There was no other option. Just leaving her to roam around in the heath proved to be too risky. There was a chance that she might appeal to a powerful clan, and convince them to investigate Dunnvie Castle. If one of the allies of Clan MacGill were to visit, Fingal would have a difficult time justifying the many changes that he implemented.
Before Adrina had run off, everything was running smoothly, and going according to his plan. He had worked far too hard to allow a mere lass, or anyone else for that matter, to jeopardize his future. He gritted his teeth. There was no way that he would return to a life of servitude and poverty. Since he was a lad, he had notions of grandeur. And now those ideals were almost realized.
Fingal tipped the candle to the flame, allowing the wick to catch, and then he made his way back to his workspace. But as soon as he sat back down, his frustration returned with a raging intensity. Why couldn’t he get this technique to work? He had stared into the earthen bowl for many, many hours, and what reflected back at him was his own ghastly face. Reaching behind his neck, he grabbed at the muscle, trying to massage away the tension that gathered there.
Perhaps there was another way. The book of spells that he had found six months ago sat a little to the side, almost beckoning him to open its pages once more. But he knew that there wasn’t anything in there that would be useful for his purposes. He had gone through the grimoire a multitude of times.But what if ye missed something useful?a nagging voice inside of him asked.
“Fine, I’ll look again,” he snarled.
He slid the book toward him. Out of all his possessions, the grimoire was the most valuable. But being able to read its contents made it priceless. To think that his parents wanted to stop him from furthering his education. They believed that reading was a nobleman’s pursuit, and was of no use to a farmer boy. It was fortunate he met a monk at the nearby monastery who was eager to teach him how to read and write. Of course it cost him more than one pretty coin, and he was severely punished for stealing his father’s money. But it was all worth it.
He stroked the cover of the leather-bound book. Part of the problem was that this book contained too many incantations. He flipped through the pages. Everything was written in Gaelic, and he spent many long hours studying the passages, trying to decipher the riddles and rhymes. He had successfully tried a handful of charms from the book, and even cast some with Adrina in mind. However she was unaffected by the spells, and he wondered if she was somehow protected from his wizardry.
Resting his chin on his hand, he let out another sigh. Even now, he couldn’t find what he wanted. The book was not organized in any way that he could comprehend. There had to be some sort of incantation that would help him pinpoint Adrina’s location. But as the room became even darker, he couldn’t find anything of significance.
Fingal pushed the grimoire away, and buried his head in his hands.
“This is a nightmare,” he muttered angrily. Almost a sennight had passed, and there was still no sign of the MacGill brat. In truth, he wasn’t concerned about whether she died, for he never cared for her inquisitiveness, or her position in life. So if she was laying somewhere close to death, his heart would sing with joy, because then the deed was already completed for him. But as things stood, he had no idea where she was, or what had happened to her. And if she was alive somewhere, he couldn’t have her returning with aid, and interfering with her claims to the chiefdom.
The raven in the corner made a deep, raspybrronk, startling him.
Fingal got up and walked over to the bird who sat on a wooden perch. The light from the candle reflected off its black feathers, causing it to have a glossy appearance.
“Sae ye want tae help, do ye?” he asked the beastie.
It ruffled its feathers, and let out another deep, guttural croak as if to answer his question.
He laughed and gently stroked the long, shaggy feathers along its throat. The bird was large with a slight curve on its stout beak and a small crack near its base. He couldn’t guess how old it was. All Fingal knew was that it was as hideous as him. When he was a young man, he had come across it in his travels. It appeared that some predator had mauled it. Its black wings were caked with dried blood, and it writhed on the ground in obvious pain. He had a mind to leave it for dead, but he paused. The creature was staring back at him, the beady orbs silently pleading for his help. It awed him to think that this thing wanted to live even though it was half dead. Then before he could change his mind, he unraveled his great kilt, wrapping the raven in it. In an act that amazed even himself, he nursed it back to health.
As the days went by, he recognized that the creature possessed more intelligence than anyone he knew. He was well aware that most people considered the bird a bad omen, and when they saw the animal, people stopped in their tracks and crossed themselves. Fingal was amazed and empowered by the unease that he detected on their faces. It was then that he began the habit of carrying the raven on his shoulder at all times. The people gave him a wide berth as he carried the harmless bird, and all the while, he reveled in their fright.
