Scoundrel’s Redemption (Highlander’s Pact #3)

Chapter Twenty-Two

G reer was certain all the whisky in the world could not dull her senses to the feel of Teagan’s mouth against hers when he kissed her. Nor the rush of heat that pooled below when his kisses grew more insistent. Hungry in a way that made her knees go weak and the room tilt.

Nothing felt more erotic than his strong length against hers with naught but a thin chemise separating them. Nor anything more impactful than his hand trailing down the side of her neck so lightly every nerve ending sparked with awareness.

Eager to feel more of him, see more of him, she tugged on his tunic without realizing she did it. But then sensations came at her so fast it was impossible to control her own reactions. Her need to experience all he had to offer. All she suspected, knew he could make her feel. Wondrous things that had always felt so out of reach. So impossible in her world.

Understanding what she needed, he pulled his tunic off and tossed it aside, indeed giving her a remarkable wedding gift. She’d never seen a man with such well-defined muscles nor, sadly, one so scarred.

“Dear sweet Lord,” she whispered hoarsely, both aroused and heartbroken at the same time. “What did they do to you?” She tried to touch him but shook too badly. “What did my people do to you?”

“’Tis just part of warfare, lass.” He placed her trembling hand against his hard flesh. Over one of the more angry scars. “It no longer hurts.”

“It does me.” She blinked back tears. “I don’t understand why men do this to each other. Why…”

When she broke off, too emotional to continue, he wrapped her in his arms and simply held her. Though she managed to hold herself together, it wasn’t easy. His suffering triggered so much. Memories she’d long learned to suppress.

“Memories that have no place in this moment,” she swore Margery whispered. “This is your time, Greer. Love him rather than cry over him. Be here, now, rather than there.”

“I know,” she whispered against his chest, not worried about him thinking her mad. “I will try.”

She pulled back enough that she could see his scars again. This time she didn’t shy away but touched them gently, soothingly, grateful each was healed. That each had, in its own way, allowed him to keep going. To be here now with her.

Gooseflesh rose on his skin, but he didn’t stop her. Rather, he watched her as though wondering what she made of him. Not necessarily of the scars, either, but something deeper. Something she couldn’t see with her eyes but feel with her heart. In some ways, he struck her as a wounded animal. Fearful how she might treat his broken state while at the same time eager to be whole again. To be seen for the man he once was.

She, however, saw him for who he was then and who he was now.

“You are exceptional,” she whispered, meaning every word. “All of you, husband.”

His tortured gaze lingered on her face a moment longer before he cupped her cheeks and kissed her again. Kissed her with a new kind of passion. An intensity born of having his soul laid bare. Being accepted despite her not knowing his sins.

Fortunately, he scooped her up before her knees gave out and laid her down gently on the cot. When he removed his boots, her heart leapt with anticipation. She saw the thick ridge straining against his breeches. How aroused he was.

So had he changed his mind? Would he make love to her after all?

It just so happened he did, but not like she thought he would. Instead, he kept his breeches on and came over her, his gaze so full of desire her breath caught.

“Ye are so bloody beautiful, Greer,” he murmured, tracing her lips. “Yer mouth, so sweet.” He trailed his fingers from her lips down her neck. “Yer neck so delicate.”

Tingling pleasure uncurled everywhere at his light touch and impassioned words.

He brushed his lips across hers, then peppered kisses in the wake of his fingers, murmuring more endearments against her flesh. How soft her skin was, how perfect the slope of her shoulders. She stilled when his warm breath fanned her vulnerable skin, and he kissed the mounds of her cleavage.

Rather than pull down her chemise, his gaze returned to her face as his fingers wandered lower, exploring ever-so-slowly the curves of her breasts. She stopped breathing at the feel of him stroking and fondling her sensitive flesh while keeping their gazes locked. While letting her see the lust simmering in his eyes.

She arched into his touch when he pinched a nipple, then groaned when he used his mouth instead. When she began trembling, overwhelmed by sensation, he returned to her lips and kissed her all over again.

He repeated his slow sensual assault on her several times, arousing her so much, she was barely aware of him traveling lower until she felt his warm hand on her thigh. Until she felt his lips press against her belly. He slowly pushed her chemise up her legs, peppering kisses all the while.

When she began trembling again, he started all over at her lips, then her neck and breasts until she found herself pressing her hips against him in need. Eager for whatever he intended. Desperate for him to assuage the deep ache that had formed below. When, at last, his kisses made their way up her inner thighs, and his hot breath fanned her core, she nearly came off the bed.

In turn, he pushed her chemise around her waist and held her hips gently, keeping her in place. Giving her no time to think or feel embarrassed, he flicked his tongue deep into her soft folds. Her groan tangled with his at the sheer sensation that shot through her. The undulation of exquisite pleasure.

After that, there was no more trembling.

At least, not at first.

Rather, she melted beneath his ministrations.

He licked, kissed, and suckled. His fingers worked her sensitive, swollen flesh, touching and stroking, building her up. Then up some more. She fisted the blanket and struggled for air when he pressed first one, then two fingers into her while using his tongue in all sorts of creative ways.

She’d never felt anything like it. Ecstasy ebbed and flowed through her, building, and building. Higher and higher. Though frightening in its intensity, she couldn’t fight it if she tried. Whatever it was came swiftly, ferociously, crawling through her veins. A delicious indescribable heat.

Fast, faster, so close, almost there.

She cried out and seized up when it crashed over her like a tidal wave, rushing from her center out to her fingertips. Frozen in limbo, she tried to breathe, speak, anything, but it was impossible. Rather, her body trembled again, before her muscles clenched and unclenched and she let go altogether.

Meanwhile, Teagan continued licking and stroking her softly, drawing out the wonderful sensations washing over her. Eventually, when she was well beyond satiated, he rested beside her and wrapped her in his arms. Lost, afloat somewhere she’d never been before, she nuzzled closer and inhaled the scent of his skin, never more content. Satisfied and relaxed in a way she didn’t think possible.

At some point, she must have drifted off because the next thing she knew, a knock came at the door, and sunlight shone in the window. Teagan was on his feet in an instant with a dagger in hand.

“Who goes there?” he said without opening the door.

“’Tis me, brother,” Malcolm replied. “’Tis time.”

Teagan opened the door. “What word have ye?”

“Only that they draw closer quickly, and we best ready ourselves.”

“Aye.” He nodded. “We will be right down.”

“Oh, Lord,” she whispered, trying not to panic. Moreover, trying to be as collected as those in her tales during times of distress.

“’Tis all right, lass.” He shouldered into a tunic, calm as could be. “We willnae let anything happen to ye and yer friends.”

“I’m more worried about you,” she replied, yanking on a dress.

“All will be well.” He cupped her shoulders and held her gaze. “Not only are Malcolm and I seasoned fighters, but the MacLomains are nae the sort to be defeated.” He shook his head. “Not ever.”

“Be that as it may.” She tried to bank her fear. To be the brave heroine in her own tale. To make him proud. “I still worry.”

“’Tis natural.” He sat her on the bed, chatting away whilst putting on her hose and boots. A means, she realized, to distract her. “’Twill be over soon enough, then ye will have more confidence.”

She nodded, hoping so, trying not to overthink things as he pulled on his boots and strapped on his weapons. Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder. Would he gain more scars? Or would this be the day, defending her honor, that he received his mortal wound?

“Impossible,” Margery would say. “If he’s defending your honor, nothing will take him down. Surely you see that? Feel it in the way he looks at you?”

“’Tis fanciful indeed to think I alone would keep him safe,” she countered.

“Then fanciful it is,” Margery would exclaim. “For surely, you will.” Her eyes would narrow at him in contemplation. “Honestly, based on his evident anticipation, I would say he’s eager to battle Bartholomew.” She’d shake her head. “And, quite frankly, I don’t blame him. ”

As it turned out, she was right.

Greer could never have foreseen the horror that would come of that anticipation.