He kissed a trail down her neck and plucked at her nipple through the material again. She whimpered and arched her back. He would have this wretched garment off her.

Stroking a hand up her thigh, he pushed the linen upward to expose her hips. She lifted her upper body, and he pulled the smock over her head.

So much silky, bare skin. The allure near made him dizzy. He didn’t know where he wanted to touch her first, so he touched her everywhere, smoothing his palms along her feminine curves. She purred against his lips. When he grazed his fingertips between her legs, he found her wet. She moaned, and he ached to plunge to her depths.

She was the most eager lover he’d ever had. Surely, she craved him as much as he craved her, by simple touch or look. After he unfastened his trews and pushed them off, he parted her legs and rolled between them.

Maybe if he got her with child, she would be forced to marry him because of her blessed conscience. It was not trickery because she well knew the risks of lovemaking.

He suckled her breasts and rubbed his shaft lightly against her mound. With delirious moans, she arched and tugged at him.

“Alasdair?” she begged in a breathy tone.

“Aye.” He could wait no longer to join his body with hers. Savoring every delightful inch, he slowly slid into her tight, wet heat and growled at the euphoria that dazzled him.

Gwyneth uttered beautiful quiet groans and pants. He kissed her mouth, flicked his tongue in and out as he mimicked the motion of his shaft. Locking her legs around the back of his and meeting his hips, she shoved him to the brink of release too soon. Though it had been only a day since their last encounter, he hungered for her hourly.

Holding his weight up off her slight frame, he thrust himself into her, gently over and over. And then faster with more urgency.

She tilted her hips and met his thrusts just as her climax grasped hold of her. She squeezed him and near took his sanity. With his kisses, he tried to muffle the cries coming from her mouth so she wouldn’t wake the others. At the same time, his own impending release charged in on him, replacing his rationality with a pleasure so sharp it stole his breath.

Though he tried to stifle his own moans, he was too far drowned under the influence of ecstasy to control anything.

When his reasoning ability returned, he sucked in deep breaths.

He placed soft, lingering kisses to her mouth. Nay, he could never let her go.

***

Gwyneth awoke sometime later, feeling a rough, hot hand stroking up her leg, over her derriere, across her belly and up to her breasts. She immediately remembered where she was. And what they’d done. Sweet heavens! She had not meant for this to happen.

Well, maybe she had.

She had but wanted someone to hold onto, someone to talk to. Alasdair. She was not strong like he’d said, but weak, especially in his presence. He was her weakness, but at the same time, her strength. He made her believe anything was possible, indeed, that he could accomplish anything.

With him lying close behind her, she snuggled her naked bottom to his hard body. He felt delectable. His erection prodded her. A warm tingling swirled through her belly and moved downward in a wet, itching sensation. She was his puppet.

“Gwyneth,” he breathed into her ear and suckled her earlobe.

“Mmm, yes.”

He lifted her leg back over his and spread her thighs in a most unusual way. With his fingers, he teased her, stroking between her legs. The pleasure was so immobilizing, all she could do was slide her hand backward around his neck, into his hair and hold on.

Then he did something she didn’t expect—positioned himself and thrust into her. Surely this was a scandalous and forbidden way to make love. She had not even imagined it would be possible. This was the way animals mated. And at the moment, she felt like an animal—she wanted to bite him.

“Shh,” he whispered in her ear, and she realized she’d cried out. His clansmen slept outside. She was momentarily shocked at herself. With a fingertip, he continued to rub her in a scandalously erogenous spot while he glided into her depths, slowly at first. Then with more demanding insistence.

The magical tingles centered there. She arched her back and pushed her rump against him. Wanting more, wanting him deeper, wanting all he would give her with his forceful body and powerful movements. She shoved the wadded up plaid into her mouth and bit into it to muffle her cries as rapture claimed her. Oh, her body wanted to hold onto his and never let him go.

He grasped her to him tight and slid to the hilt. There he shuddered into her and moaned.

“I want all of you,” he breathed into her ear. “Tha gràdh agam ort.”

She knew what those Gaelic words meant—I love you.

Conflicting emotions besieged her. Instantaneous joy, overshadowed by deep sadness. Rage and helplessness.

Dear God, I love you too, Alasdair. But too many things prevented her saying the words.

Their love could never be.

Chapter Fourteen

When next Alasdair became aware, men’s voices echoed back at him from some distance. He opened his eyes to firelight and early dawn glowing through the tent. God’s bones, summer nights were too short. He had not wanted to be caught in Gwyneth’s tent, for her sake. He had meant to return to his own bedroll long before now, but he’d found it nigh impossible to leave her.

Gwyneth lay sleeping, cradled in his arms, her nose pressed to his chest and her soft breaths tickling his skin.

She was still naked, as was he. Closing his eyes, he savored this moment as one that neared perfection. If he could but wake every morn ensnared in her arms, he would be a happy man.

Would she ever consent to marry him? He would not ask her again until he was sure. She had cried last night after they’d made love the second time. Perhaps she had understood his words spoken in Gaelic. One part of him wanted her to know he loved her, but another part didn’t, because she might not feel the same.

It wasn’t over yet. He was nothing if not determined. Once he rescued Rory, Alasdair was certain Gwyneth would agree to marry him. He would somehow convince her Rory would be safe growing up in the Highlands. And if he could achieve peace, once Donald MacIrwin was arrested, there would be no more feuds and skirmishes between the MacIrwins and MacGraths.

His clansmen talking and laughing outside drew Alasdair’s attention once more. They had to be on their way soon if they intended to catch Southwick. Alasdair gently disentangled his limbs from Gwyneth’s, stroking his hand over her silky skin in the process. Such temptation. If he didn’t stop touching her, he would emerge from the tent with an erection his trews couldn’t hide.

He turned to his back, found his trews beside him and struggled into them. After kissing Gwyneth’s forehead, he braced himself to face his men.

He crawled from the tent, stood and closed the flap behind him.

When he turned, the gazes of the five men gathered around the fire locked on him. Tomas, Boyd and Sweeney smirked. But Angus and Padraig scowled at him.

“Good morrow.”

They murmured greetings in response.

He didn’t care whether they approved or not. Ignoring them, he strolled toward the bushes to relieve himself, then to the stream to wash his hands and face in the cold water. That brought him awake with refreshing clarity. Upon returning to the campsite, he found his gear on the ground near his bedroll and dug through his possessions for a shirt.

He slipped the garment on and sauntered toward the fire. Angus handed him a pewter cup of ale and a warm oat bannock.

“I thank you.” He sat on a rock by the fire, while the others stared anywhere but at him. “A fine morn, aye, lads?”