Page 92 of Highlander Lord Of Vengeance

Ryland grabbed her hand. “I’ll fill the cauldron with snow.”

He reluctantly left her, slipped on his cloak, then grabbed a large bucket and hurried to the door, saying, “I will be right back.”

Esme grabbed a basket of root vegetables off the lone shelf and set them on the table. A bucket of snow to melt and have ready to wash her hands would be good and she could grab that before Ryland returned. He would know enough to pick a clearing where the snow would be the purest which would take him further from the cottage. Besides, she could use a quick, private trip outside before they settled in for the night.

She grabbed the bucket and her cloak and hurried outside, staying close to the cottage, barely stepping around its side to get done quickly when Ryland emerged from the falling snow and entered the cottage.

He kept his head bent, shaking the snow off his cloak as he walked to the hearth to hang the cauldron on the hook and push the hook back over the flames.

“The snowfall grows worse. We may be—” his words ended abruptly after throwing his hood back and seeing the cottage was empty. He cast a quick glance at the peg by the door to see her cloak was gone. And he could not think of any sensible explanation for her to risk leaving the cottage. Then he thoughtof one and grew furious, she didn’t wait for him to go with her. She could easily get lost in the snowstorm, not find her way back.

Just then the door opened, and Esme entered, the bucket in her hand, and seeing Ryland sending there, fire in his eyes, she almost turned around and headed back into the fury of the snowstorm.

Instead, she reminded herself he was Ryland, not Torrance, who was upset, and she quickly offered an explanation. “I stepped around the side of the cottage. I thought for sure I would be back before you returned. I did not mean to upset you.”

Ryland had seen the panic in her eyes when she looked at him and he silently cursed himself, for he realized what she saw… Torrance.

“You could have gotten lost in the snowstorm,” he said more calmly than he felt.

“I made sure to keep my hand on the cottage wall and I truly needed to step outside for a moment,” she said, hoping he would understand.

“The next time wait for me. You frighten me when you disappear like that. Promise me you will not do it again.”

“I promise,” she said without hesitation, realizing how much it had upset him.

“Hurry and get the stew cooking,” he said, his anger slowly dissipating.

“Aye, it won’t take long,” she said, setting the bucket of snow near the hearth and after shedding her cloak, got busy chopping the root vegetables to add to the cauldron as soon as all the snow melted.

Ryland rid himself of his cloak and went and sat on the bed to watch her. She moved in a way that enticed, the gentle sway of her hips, the way her breasts bounced softly, the way her slender hands gathered the vegetables so tenderly in her hands, all had him eager to touch her and feel her touch.

Uncomfortable with the silence, Esme talked. “My grandmother insisted I learn to cook a few things, though my mother argued with her, insisting it was senseless that I would have servants to do that. But my grandmother told me that fate could be a fickle thing, and one never knew what it might do to them. I guess she was right, but then she was right about most things. Thanks to her, we won’t starve.”

“A wise woman,” Ryland said. “You take after her.”

She cast a glance at him, gone was his anger, though his eyes smoldered… with passion.

“Not yet, but I’m learning,” she said, and seeing how much he desired her spiked her own passion.

“Hurry, Esme, I cannot wait much longer. I want you badly,” he urged.

Her breath caught a moment, hearing a wicked passion in his voice, and she nodded, her desire for him soaring.

She no soon as dropped the last of the vegetables in the cauldron, then he summoned her with a firm command, “Come here.”

She could feel their passion crackle in the warm air, and she caught his manly scent as she got closer to him. It enticed and flared her own.

He spread his legs so she could step between them and his arms wrapped around her to draw her close. He pressed his face against her stomach as his hands slipped beneath her garments, stroking the back of her legs, then moving up over her soft backside and not able to resist squeezing it.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered, and she did, his hand slipping between them.

“I love the feel of you,” he said, his voice turning rough with passion.

She gasped and rested her hands on his shoulders as his fingers slipped into her to tease and excite. She was certain histouch held magic the way he enticed and drew repeated moans of pleasure from her.

She gasped again when he suddenly stopped, stood, scooped her up and dropped her on the bed, shoving her garments up. “I want you naked but there is no time for that, though there will be later.”

He tucked his garment out of the way, grabbed her legs, and pulled her to the end of the bed and gripped her backside, lifting it enough for him to slip into her with ease.

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