Page 79 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

After she’d bade goodnight to Raven, Aileen changed into her nightshift and took a seat by the fire, dozing, waking, dreaming, wishing Maxwell was beside her. Shivering, she placed another log on the already blazing fire.

She gave a deep sigh. After all their desperate running and hiding and at last finding sanctuary at Kiessimul, it had come to this. An almost hopeless quest into the perilous depths of Sutherland’s territory. Yet there was no other way. A siege would put them all in grave danger and risk the lives of all who dwelled along the shore and across the Island of Barra.

Sutherland would never rest until he’d made them all pay the highest price for their defiance.

Her heart lightened at the thought of her father on the Isle of Canna. His home. Mayhap he’d already sent a message to his brother and his nephews and they would come to his aid if need be. She longed to see him again and to take his frail hand in hers.

She was wakened from a dreamy sleep by a soft kiss on her lips. Opening her eyes, her heart bounced at the sight of Maxwell standing before her in the firelight, his hair to his shoulders, his hands gripping his claymore, a smile dancing across his lips as he looked on her.

“Come tae bed lass. We’ve a few hours yet before we set sail.”

She sat up. “I’ll nae be lying wi’ ye in a soft feather bed until ye put down that wicked claymore of yers, MacNeil.”

He laughed, replacing the sword in its scabbard and leaving it on the table beside his buckler. He divested himself of his dirk in his leather belt and another smaller dagger from the top of his boot. His battle-axe he’d left propped against the wall by the door.

With that, he scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed, where he laid her on the covers. He unlaced his shirt and pulled it over his head and off, treating her to the sight of his muscular torso with its myriad inked stories. He unbuckled his kilt and let it drop to the floor.

Aileen looked at him. “Ye’re a tall, fearsome warrior, with those ink markings across yer broad chest and arms.” Her gaze travelled down to his granite-hard shaft. “Truly fearsome milord.”

He leaned over her placing his hands on either side of her head. “Are ye afeared?”

She chuckled. “Terrified.”

He snorted, disbelievingly.

She reached a hand to toy with the smattering of black hair on his chest. “Terrified that ye might find a lass ye like better than me.”

His face grew serious for a moment. “Nay, Aileen. That will never be.” He smiled. “Now, take off that wee smock ye’re wearing and let me gaze on her beauty.”

That night, there was a special tenderness in their lovemaking. Regardless of all the teasing, the giggles and the sighs, Aileen was all too aware that this could be their last time.

The poignancy in every kiss and every touch went straight to her heart. Her body reacted to his touch in ways she’d never experienced. It was almost as if she wanted to take all of him inside her. Not merely his tongue and his lips, his glorious hard shaft and his, calloused, clever fingers, but all of him, so that he was a part of her and they could never be separated.

He moaned and stroked her hair back from her face. “Ye’re all gold in the firelight Aileen MacAlpin. Are ye a real woman, or something I’ve dreamed? A fairy creature that will disappear under the waves when me back is turned? A selkie from the sea?”

“I am naught but flesh and blood as well ye ken. Flesh and blood that aches fer ye.”

She wound herself into his arms, opening herself to him, calling his name over and over as the joy and wonder of what they shared took her to heights of bliss she’d never known a mere mortal could experience.

At last, they slept, and when the rough hammering on the door and Arne’s shouts of “Wake up ye lazy pillocks,” brought them to a startled waking, it felt as if they’d not slept a wink.

Her stomach somersaulted, and an icy stone settled in her chest.

It was time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

It was dark, the moon hidden behind forbidding clouds, but Maxwell had sailed so many times to the Isle of Canna that his hands on the sail and the guiding oar almost knew their way without any assistance.

Aileen, Everard and Arne sat in silence, Arne and Everard at the oars, Aileen standing beside Maxwell by the sail.

The plan was firm in their minds. The rough map Séamus had drawn showed them the small inlet where they could land some distance from where the soldiers patrolled. He’d chuckled as he’d described their landing place.

“Sutherland’s so full of arrogance he and his men would never expect ye’d have the courage tae make a raid on his domain. He thinks ye’re cornered and all he needs tae dae is starve ye intae surrender. He’ll make short work of the MacLeods if they dare tae try and rescue ye.”

Maxwell prayed that Seamus’s words held true. They all well knew surprise was their chief ally if the mission was to succeed.

At one point Aileen grabbed Maxwell with one hand, pointing with the other. Almost alongside them was the dark shape of a birlinn, only its pinpoint lights giving away its position. He turned their little boat, steering to portside as the bigger ship passed them only feet away. They were buffeted by the birlinn’s wake but moved swiftly beyond it, all four breathing sighs of relief.

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