Page 47 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

“And who’d be the winner.” He leaned in and kissed her lips. “Mm. I like yer taste. I’m partial tae a berry tart myself.”

She huffed. “Ye’re too cheeky fer yer own good, MacNeil.”

“So, who’d be the winner, myself or a berry tart?”

She laughed and refused to say another word on the matter.

As they continued, the road grew steeper and by the time the daylight was fading they found themselves on a pine-covered ridge. Discovering a fallen log they sat and consumed their venison pies, saving a berry tart each and the loaf of bread for the next day.

“We’ll likely come upon a bothy along this road. In this rough, Highland country, there’s always a need fer shelter, whether ye be a traveler, a shepherd or…” He looked Aileen up and down with a wicked grin, “… a respectable lowland merchant and his good wife wandering far from their merchandise.”

“Oh, Mister Turnbull.” She laughed.

He was right. By the time dark had fallen and the cold was beginning to pierce their bones, they spied a small shack up ahead. It was a much leaner shelter than the cottage they’d stayed in the night before. Another abandoned crofter’s cottage, this was little more than four walls and what had once been a roof. It would provide them with shelter from the wind, but the rain or snow could still fall through the roof.

“’Tis nae as fine a residence as we had these past nights, but it offers shelter, a place fer a fire and a speck of dry floor.”

Aileen shrugged. “Nay bother, Maxwell, we can keep each other warm, and with a belly full of pie and tart, I’ll nae complain.”

He put his arm around her and drew her close. “Aye. We’ll dae well here. Tomorrow will likely see us tae Torridon.”

Footsore and weary, after building a small fire on the hearth, they did their best to make themselves comfortable on the rough earthen floor. Within a short space of time, Maxwell registered Aileen’s deep, steady breathing as she lay snuggled in his arms. But sleep wouldn’t come for him.

He lay still, not wishing to wake her, but his head was swarming with problems and their resolutions. He was familiar enough with the village of Torridon and how to get from there to the Loch. He figured that if Andrew Sutherland was no friend to the Mackenzie, his men would be wary of going ashore. Especially ina notable village such as Torridon. They’d be even less likely to attack Maxwell and Aileen on land.

But, once they’d left the land, they would be vulnerable and at the mercy of a party of seasoned soldiers.

How to outwit them? This question occupied most of his thoughts for the rest of the night. That is, apart from his thoughts about Aileen, breathing the sleep of an angel in his arms. If they made it back to the islands, he wanted her with him. She planned on going back to her home island of Canna, where she had grown up. But that would be the first place Sutherland would look for her. No, it made sense for her to return with him to Barra, where they could both be under the protection of his brother.

Eventually, shortly before the dawn came with its slashes of grey light, he fell asleep.

They awoke, shivering, and although Maxwell considered how much warmer he’d be making love to Aileen, he resisted his body’s urging. They had no time to waste. There was still some distance between them and Loch Torridon. If the plan he had mapped out in his mind had even half a chance of working, time needed to be with them.

Aileen grumbled. The floor was too lumpy. It was cold. She didn’t have enough kisses to lull her to sleep. It was still dark and too early to face the day.

“Would ye wish me tae sing tae ye tae help chase ye from yer bed?”

She laughed and rolled over. He was sitting, so she took the opportunity of planting a kiss on his bare leg. She rang wicked fingers along his inner thigh, coming to rest on the hardening shaft between his legs.

“Hmm, inviting,” she breathed.

He groaned as she curled her fingers around his manhood, coaxing it to a proud erection. “Nay lass. We need to be up and away. Mayhap our lives depend on it.”

She took him in her mouth, her tongue licking and flicking his tip. Then she supped on him and suckled. Maxwell groaned again, more loudly this time, and lay back, his head resting on his cloak.

“I surrender,” he growled, the words coming from deep in his throat.

Oh, me Lord, is this woman a witch who’d enchanted me from the first moment I set eyes on her?

She used her hands and mouth to slide the length of him, squeezing and sucking. She paused for only a heartbeat and he called out, “Dear God in heaven woman. Dinnae stop now unless ye wish me tae die of wanting ye.”

She laughed, taking her fingers and lips to a heightened pace that made him groan and buck his hips.

He was finding it difficult to breathe. “Ye’re enjoying yer power over me, ye vixen,” he managed to grind out, a second before he lost all contact with anything other than the sheer ecstasy she was dealing him.

She took him deeper into her mouth and he was lost.

Despite the all too pleasant diversion from Maxwell’s plans, they were on their way again well before dawn. They climbed again and found themselves on a ridge where the road was hardly more than a track. Maxwell found this to his liking. They had diverted from the main thoroughfare leading them into the town and were heading west on a route that would surely bring them, sooner or later, to either the sea or the loch, bypassing the village of Torridon altogether.

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