But this wasn’t about his pleasure.
This was about her.
His bonnie, kind, golden goddess from the future. Broken, like him.
He slid his hand between her thighs and found her sex again. She shuddered as he spread her folds gently and rubbed her while biting her at the same time.
“Ye like that, lass?”
“Oh God, yes,” she breathed.
“Ye will like this even more,” he promised.
He stood on his knees and placed his throbbing erection at the entrance to her sleek, wet sex. She gasped softly and made a circular movement with her arse, rubbing against him, and sent a lightning bolt of bliss through him.
He made a sound that was similar to a bear’s roar, then guided himself into her.
Oh dear lord. She was tight and sleek and took him in as if made for him. With one hand, he grabbed a handful of her hair, careful not to hurt her. With the other he held a handful of her hip. She was gorgeous, all his, and he all hers.
Oh, how he wished this was not the last time. But he would make it one to remember for a lifetime. A memory he could hold on to in the nights spent without her.
He moved out of her, then came back with a thrash, bursts of sunlight spreading through him. Then another thrust, and another. He bent and began fondling her engorged little bud. Kate whimpered, letting out small noises that made him drive into her even more wildly.
He sped up, the need to have her, the need to own her and be owned by her burned through him like a wildfire. She squeezed him, and he knew she was right there, on the thin blade of the orgasm.
He tightened, her excitement always spurring his own. With a violent wave of ecstasy that pulled him under like a storm surge, he spilled into her. He grabbed her hips to steady himself, thrusting over and over, wanting to give himself to her whole.
Till his last drop.
Her body shuddered, rocked by waves of delight as she cried his name again and again.
Then they both stilled, panting.
Kate flopped forward, then turned over and lay on her back, pulling him on top of her. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, meeting his lips in the most gentle kiss. They lay like that and breathed together, being one.
Even if just for a few moments.
She looked at him after a while. “I don’t want to go,” she said. “I also don’t want you to go to war. I want this to last forever.”
Ian brushed her head with his palm. “I wish this, too, lass. I wish this, too.”
And as he squeezed her tighter to himself, willing the borders between their bodies to dissolve, he knew that his whole life was worth it, just because of today. Just because of this night.
But as time passed, as the first sunrays illuminated the room, he knew that the fairy tale was over and that when Kate left he’d be back to his old destiny.
The destiny of a broken man.
Chapter 27
In the darkness of the night, the MacFilib farm was quiet. Tents stood around the house and in the oat fields that spread like giant silver blankets on the ground. Two campfires burned, and Ian guessed they were where the watchmen would be. The rest must be sleeping.
Arrogant bastarts. Must be so sure they wouldn’t meet any opposition.
Craig and Owen hadn’t shown up. Mayhap, Craig didn’t get the message or he wasn’t able to come because he was dealing with his own issues. But Ian just couldn’t afford to wait any longer or he’d have to deal with the English reinforcements as well.
“Is Frangean ready?” Alan asked, crouching next to Ian behind a boulder.
“As soon as I give him the signal,” Ian said.
“Aye.”
The troops stood hidden in the woods around the farm, swords and bows at the ready.
Ian looked back into the forest. Somewhere there, Kate hid. She’d refused to stay behind in Dundail, sure that she could be useful, too, somehow. She’d take care of the wounded, at least give them water and bandage them, as well as steer the horse-drawn carriage with the wounded if need be. Ian had taught her how to do that.
Ian’s heart thumped in his chest. This wouldn’t be a straightforward battle. Nor a fair one. The English were a stronger force, battle-honed and armored, whereas most of the Highlanders lacked armor and experience. Attacking in the darkness and using their cunning was their way to even the chances.
Was Ian truly going to kill again? So cold-bloodedly, cutting the throats of distracted men?
Yes, he was. Because they’d come for his land and the land of his people. They’d come to kill.
Because they were about to take Ian’s freedom and the freedom of many more Highlanders. And Ian wouldn’t let that happen.
If he was going to be a monster, freedom was one thing he was ready to go to the depths of darkness for.
His stomach as hard as rock, his blood pulsing in his temples, he murmured the prayer for victory:
All-seeing God,
Satisfy and strengthen me;
Blind, deaf, and dumb, ever, ever be
My contemners and my mockers…
Alan’s voice joined him, then more and more men echoed, until everyone whispered together:
The tongue of Columba in my head,
The eloquence of Columba in my speech;
The composure of the Victorious Son of grace
Be mine before the enemy.1
They finished as one. One clan. One prayer. United like one sword. Silence hung over the woods. Only the wind rustled the leaves and the branches, which seemed to carry the last words and pass them to one another.
It felt like the verra land was on their side. The trees, the rocks, the sky watched over the farm, waiting, ready.
And so was Ian.
He curved his hands around his mouth and hooted like an owl. “Hoo-hoo. Hoo-hoo. Hoo-hoo.”
He counted the six hoots in his head, then repeated the call.
The Highlanders around Ian rose from their crouched positions. Ian narrowed his
