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“Because it will do you no good,” she said and tenderly pressed her lips to his and sighed with pleasure.
“Keep that up and you know what will happen.”
“I’m counting on it,” she whispered before kissing him with a firmness that left no doubt she wanted more from him.
“You need to rest,” he said, concerned after ending the fiery kiss.
“I will sleep better if you make love to me and—” Her hand drifted beneath his plaid, settling around his hardness, and she smiled. “It’s obvious you want me.”
“I always want you, you witch,” he said teasingly. “I look at you and I grow hard.”
“And you touch me and I grow wet,” she murmured and stroked the length of him.
“Damn,” he muttered. “You make me lose my senses.”
“I’d rather you lose control.”
“It’s not nice to challenge me.”
“I don’t feel like being nice. I feel like—” She whispered in explicit detail what she wanted from him.
He claimed a forceful kiss from her as his hands took firm hold of her waist and hurried her to the bed. Neither bothered removing clothes, both much too eager and ready for the other to bother with such nonsense.
With a quick altering of garments, Alyce was soon guiding him inside her. She loved to feel the silky length of him throb in her hand and know that soon he would rest deep inside her and bring her the most exquisite pleasure over and over.
He groaned when she squeezed him and he in turn nipped at her hard nipple beneath her linen blouse. She groaned, his mouth refusing to let go as he suckled until she thought she would go mad.
She released him and arched up to greet his thrust, crying out in sheer delight. He rose over her, his hands on either side of her head and the passion she saw in his dark eyes excited her all the more.
“Are you all right?” he asked. “I’m not hurting you.”
She sighed, grinned, and splayed her hands on his solid chest. “You could never hurt me. You love me too much, as I do you.”
“Damn it, wife, I didn’t think you could make me any harder and here you go and do it.”
She wiggled beneath him. “And oh, does it ever feel so good.”
He shook his head with a smile. “Damn, I’m a lucky man to have found you.”
She wrapped her legs around him driving him in deeper and with a moan she said, “I claimed you Lachlan Sinclare, and I won’t let you go.”
Neither spoke after that, they loved hard over and over and over until their bodies were spent and breathless and all they could do was lie beside each other, hands clasped and utterly content.
Lachlan entered the great hall hours later, refreshed not only from lovemaking, but the nap he took with his wife and from a quick wash and a change to a fresh white linen shirt beneath his plaid. He had left Alyce with Zia, who had stopped by their bedchamber to see if she could be of any help. He hurriedly took his leave when Honora arrived shortly after Zia and the three began talking of women things.
Cavan was with Artair in the great hall, which was ready to greet their guests. Tables were crowded with pitchers of ale, wine, and an assortment of foods that would tempt any appetite. It was already tempting his.
He reached for a piece of roasted fowl, his favorite.
“Don’t touch that,” his mother yelled. “You know your father’s rules not to eat before the feast begins.” With that she disappeared into the kitchen.
His two brothers grinned as he approached.
“We got the same when we tried to pinch a bite,” Artair said.
“You’re laird now, Cavan, can’t you change the rules?” Lachlan asked, his stomach growling for the roasted fowl.
“Do you want to be the one to tell Mother that Father’s rules are no more?” Cavan asked.
“No,” Lachlan answered quickly enough and suffered his hunger pains.
“You will do well with Septimus tonight?” Cavan asked Lachlan.
Oddly enough Lachlan didn’t smile. “He proves a challenge, since I wonder why he felt the need to rescue my wife.”
“I need you to hold your temper,” Cavan said.
Lachlan laughed. “Since when do I have a temper?”
“Since you got married,” Cavan said.
“No,” Artair objected. “It’s since he realized just how deeply in love he is with his wife.”
Lachlan smiled. “I always knew I was in love with my wife. It was making certain she knew she felt just as strongly about me.”
“And does she?” Artair asked.
“Of course she does,” Lachlan said, annoyed that his brother should question the obvious.
Artair rested his hand on Lachlan’s shoulder. “You’ll never truly know for sure unless you free her to make her own decision.”
“She is free,” Lachlan argued. “She does as she wishes.”
“But was it her choice to wed you and make her home here at Caithness?” Artair asked.
