Page 53 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

Heart pounding, Aileen nodded. She’d led pursuers on more than one merry dance along this stretch of the Scottish coastline and there was a rare excitement in outwitting and outsailing them. She turned to Maxwell and kissed his lips. “I’ll dae me best tae takes us through. But we’ll be depending just as much on yer brawn and yer strong arms pulling the oars tae give us the speed we’ll be needing.”

He pulled her into his arms. “Strong? Like this?” He held her tight, taking her mouth, rolling her under him. With one hand he undid the string holding her britches together and wrenched them below her knees. She groaned, kicking one leg out of the fabric so she could open to him.

“Like this, lad. Hold me tight and let me feel ye inside me. I’ll be needing some of yer strength this night.”

Maxwell needed no further urging, so he kissed her again. An urgent, greedy kiss, consuming her with tongue, teeth, and lips. It robbed her breath blotting out every sense save for the sound of his breath, his moans, his touch, his taste of the sea and the wind and his dark man-scent.

This time she ground her hips against his and pulled aside his kilt. “Ye’re hard already.”

“Aye. Fer ye, it seems I’m hard most of the time.” Then he bent his head to take her hardened nub into his mouth. Cupping her other breast with his hand he rolled the sensitive nub between his finger and thumb.

She gasped as the white heat plunged between her thighs and she lifted her hips to feel him against her. She was mad for him, desperate. “I want ye, Maxwell. Dinnae wait. Take me now on this wild headland, under the stars that will guide us on our way.”

He met her need with his own wanting, driving his shaft into her so that she cried a hoarse, harsh cry from her depths that she muffled with her arm, until she grabbed his buttocks with two hands, sliding him deeper, urging him higher, faster, her desire like a fire that was burning out of control.

They found their rhythm, and she tangled her hands in his long hair, holding him, kissing his mouth, compelled by the beauty and ferocity of what she’d come to feel toward him.Her man.

She screamed his name, once again muffling it for fear of it being carried by the wind. “Maxwell,” and then the breaking waves took her, washing over her, until there was nothing left of herfor she was joined as one with Maxwell.

Slowly they sank into the peace of each other’s arms. He kissed her forehead, holding her close so that they breathed in time and her heartbeat slowed with his.

“I forgot I was meant to whisper.” She laughed. “How could I?” She was about to tell him that, with him, she forgot everything, and that nothing else mattered but being with him, being held and that she had never made love before. But those were words she could never get her tongue to speak.

Does he feel as I dae?

He gave nothing away.

It was already dusk when they at last disentangled their limbs, separated the strands of their hair that had entwined, and made their way down from the cliff to the place where they’d concealed the skiff.

Once night had fallen, with only a sliver of new moon to light their way, they uncovered the boat and slid it into the loch from the pebbled shore making as little noise as was possible. They clamored on board, and Aileen unfurled the sail. Once it was up, she took the oar beside Maxwell. The job of steering the craft would fall to her, as she was the self-appointed navigator.

“We’ll keep close to shore,” she whispered. “And nae venture beyond the loch until ye’re satisfied the prowling birlinn has sailed across tae the other side.

With that, they set off as silently as possible, dipping the oars long and slow with scarcely a splash. They rowed against the tide and it took all their strength to keep to the direction they’d set. Once they had moved well beyond the protection of the shore the sail filled, and the boat gathered speed.

By the time they neared the open sea their eyes had become accustomed to the darkness and they could see the dim lights of the birlinn way to the north. They steered to the south, feeling the pull of the deep water as they left the loch. Their tiny boat leaped like a deer into the swell.

But, they’d all but forgotten the other small skiff they’d observed from their position atop the cliff. As they rounded the headland, they heard a yell from the base of the cliff and the sound of a wooden hull rattling across pebbles.

Aileen’s stomach lurched. Their sail had been sighted and the small boat they suspected had been lying in wait for them was about to give chase.

“Row,” she commanded, handing her oar to Maxwell. She scampered up to attend to the sail, making sure it was positioned to catch the wind now they’d changed direction.

Although they had a head start on the other boat, it was a slightly bigger boat than theirs and she guessed from its bulk, had two sets of oars. That meant possibly four men rowing to their one.

She reached into their small bundle of possessions and removed their weapons. Handing over his claymore to Maxwell shewhispered. “Pray ye dinnae need this.” He grunted his assent as she laid the big sword at his feet.

Her heart was in her mouth. Maxwell was strong and a great warrior, and she would fight with all the fierceness of a wildcat, but they were only two against four or five on the other boat. Their best chance for escape was to stay ahead.

Inevitably, the other boat slowly ate up their lead and despite their best efforts the gap between them was shrinking.

“If we can hold them off until Kyle, we’ll have a good chance of making it.” She held the sail steady, capturing the wind so that they could keep well ahead of their pursuers. “The tide is high now, and if we are in the Kyle strait at the dead-low tide, there are many rocks and treacherous eddies in the shallows that make it too dangerous fer the birlinn tae pass through. They’ll have tae wait until the tide turns and by then we’ll be halfway to Barra.” She gave a crisp little laugh. “All this depends on the weather, the tides and yer strong back, MacNeil.”

Already bent and straining at the oars, he snorted. “And the weather?” He lifted his head; the wind was blowing fiercely. “Thanks be tae heaven there is nae rain tae dampen me cold flesh. If this wind holds, we may well maintain our lead after all.

“I cannae predict the weather. ‘Tis Scotland, so by morning it could be blowing a gale with a blizzard of snow descending on us. Or it could be fine and still. Me hope is a half-hearted gale that will fly us down the coast and leave those poxy sailors tae drown in our wake.”

“I pray ye’re right, Aileen. By me calculations, if our luck holds, we’ll be in the strait at dawn.”

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