Page 91 of Highlander's Sinless Nymph
She shivered with anticipation as the strong Scotsman picked her up and sat her in his lap. She wrapped her legs around Edward’s waist, pulling her skirt up around her thighs as she settled on top of him.
“Did you mean what you said?” she asked him, as she managed to unfasten his belt and reached a hand into his breeches.
Edward gave a low, rumbling groan. “Did I mean what, Sassenach?” he asked.
“When you said that you loved me? On the battlefield?”
There was an exquisite instance—a truly perfect moment—as they came together and, ever so slowly and carefully, Charlotte began to rock backwards and forwards.
Edward reached up and stroked her cheek with his thumb.
“Aye, I meant it, Sassenach,” the Highlander said, in a low and earnest voice. “I’m more sure o’ that than I am of anythin’ else.”
30
The death of Adair Bolton acted as the lifting of a spell might have done, over the lands controlled by the MacQuarrie clan. Once the army had returned victorious, there was dancing and feasting in the streets that rivaled anything that Edward had ever seen within the castle walls or without.
The only person that abstained from the celebrations was Charlotte. Edward had had a suite of rooms in one of the castle’s eastern wings made ready for her—sending an errand rider ahead of the returning army—and had escorted her straight to them as soon as they got back to MacQuarrie Castle.
“I must leave ye again, just fer a little while,” he told her, when he had made sure that she was safely ensconced in her rooms. “I must see me faither about somethin’ right urgent.”
Charlotte gave him a wan smile. “Of course, but hurry back if you can. I have a feeling that, despite the demise of my father, I might not be the most welcomed guest.”
It is on that score that I’m goin’ to see the Laird.
“I will nae be long, Sassenach,” Edward said, and he kissed her on the forehead.
He left Charlotte in the care of her maid and with a guard at the door.
Edward found his father exactly where he thought he would be: his study. The Laird was in the middle of taking off his sword belt and boots when his son knocked and entered. In front of a welcoming fireplace—carved with beasts and birds of the Highlands—a huge copper bath was set. It was already filled with steaming water.
“Ah, lad,” he said, grunting a little as he pulled off one of his woolen stockings, “I do nae think there is anythin’ that encapsulates civilization more than a tub o’ steamin’ water.”
Edward looked quickly at the steaming copper tub. His bones seemed to ache at the very sight of it. He gave himself a mental shake.
“Faither,” he said, “I wish to make an announcement, in front o’ the castle.”
The Laird said nothing, but peeled off his other muddy stocking. Then he cocked his head at his son. “An announcement ye say? What kind of announcement would this be? I assume it has somethin’ to do with our guest?”
Edward nodded curtly. “Aye. It is. I think the entire MacQuarrie clan should ken just what she did fer them.”
“Whatshedid forthem?” the Laird asked incredulously.
“Aye.”
“And just what was that then?”
Edward looked his father square in the eye. Looked at him in the same way that his father had looked at him when he was a lad. It was a look that was meant to convey the weight of the words that were to follow.
Not that they need added emphasis.
“She killed her own faither, Faither,” he said. “Least ways, she stabbed him with a knife that I gave her, distracted him and I finished him off.”
The Laird looked dumbstruck. He raised a hand and pointed at the wall. “Ye mean to tell me that that wee lasskilledAdair Bolton.”
Edward sat himself down next to his father. He put a hand on the older man’s shoulder.
“Let me tell ye exactly what happened,” he said. “Then let me tell ye why the people should ken about it. The lass doesnae deserve to be some sort o’ pariah here.”
