Page 150 of Bride of Mist
Relieved laughter erupted all around. Once Dougal understood the jest, he joined in. But it was Adam’s grin that was the widest as he lifted a cup in Feiyan’s honor.
Laird Deirdre’s words, however, touched her most of all. “’Twill be an enormous loss to us,” she said. “Feiyan is one of our most skilled warriors. A wee lass with a gigantic impact. A quiet fighter with a bold heart. But it gives me enormous satisfaction to spread the legacy of Rivenloch, and I know she will sow the seeds of greatness across Scotland.” As the clan cheered, she gave Feiyan a wink and murmured to Dougal, “And for each seed you sow, I shall replace one of the gems lost in that dagger of yours.”
To Feiyan’s delight, Dougal blushed. But she grinned and winked back at her aunt.
Laird Deirdre’s message stayed with her as she took Dougal’s hand much later that night, grabbing an armful of furs and leading him down to the gaol at the foot of the castle. If they were going to sow seeds, they might as well start tonight.
This time when they locked the gate, they took the keys with them, navigating by torchlight to the far end of the cave.
Feiyan had never seen anything quite like the silvery ribbon of light that rippled across the limitless expanse of black as the moon began to sink toward the sea. Even framed by the crude iron grate, it was a breathtaking sight.
They spread out the furs on the soft sand while the torch flickered nearby, illuminating the naked longing on Dougal’s face, which she was certain mirrored her own.
She had to be careful. Dougal’s injury was still bandaged, and he winced with a twinge of pain as he removed his leine.
When he was undressed, Feiyan pressed him back on the furs to remove her own garments, relishing the smoldering in his eyes and his body’s eagerness to mate.
As the sea kissed the shore, so did she brush her lips against his flesh, grazing his brow, his neck, his shoulder, and moving lower.
He shivered as she gently lapped her way across his chest and down his abdomen. But he groaned as she neared that part of him that hardened with desire. And when she would go farther, he grunted with primal need, rolling her over onto her back, rising above her like the breaker of an incoming tide.
With her head on the fur-covered sand, she felt the strength of the sea thundering beneath her. And yet it was not as powerful as the love she felt for the Westlander. The savage she’d nearly killed. The man she intended to cherish for the rest of her days.
When they joined at last, it was with a sigh that echoed the lovely whisper of foam on the sand. They drew apart and together, their movement as natural as the moon tugging on the current.
When they crested together, it was with a crashing of waves that drowned their breathless cries. A splintering of stars that rivaled the bright scattering across the dark heavens.
Like the surging sea beyond, waves of pleasure lapped at her again and again, pounding her into welcome submission and leaving her sapped upon the shore like stranded seaweed.
Afterward, as they snuggled together in the furs, gazing out at the moon, which danced now upon the edge of the endless firth, she thought she would never tire of making love in this lovely land beside the sea.
“’Tis beautiful,” she whispered.
“Beautiful and dangerous.”
“Aye.”
Only a week had passed since the Fortanachs—or rather the mac Girics who had been exiled by Morgan’s father—had met their end in this very harbor. No one would ever be sure whether they were swallowed by the firth or burned alive by the missiles of Greek fire Hallie had launched onto their boat, but she had claimed credit for their demise.
After witnessing the terrible substance that burned on water and could not be extinguished, Laird Deirdre had proclaimed that her inventive nephew Ian was no longer allowed to make the stuff. She’d decided it was too destructive and too inhumane to use in civil warfare.
“Where are your thoughts?” Dougal suddenly murmured, tipping his forehead to hers.
She didn’t want to tell him she was thinking of murder and mayhem. Instead, she said, “I was wondering how long my cousin Gellir can keep that orange-haired maidservant at bay.”
He chuckled. “He doesn’t seem quite certain what to make o’ her.”
“The lovesick lass cleaves to the practice field fence all morn, watching him.”
“Well, he won’t be here fore’er. He’s already makin’ good progress, trainin’ my army.”
She nodded. “Maybe he’ll stay till winter.”
“By then he’ll have fallen out o’ favor, and she’ll be showerin’ her affections on someone else. She’s young. Her heart is as variable as the currents.” He nuzzled her neck. “Not like mine.”
“Nay?”
“My love is steadfast,” he confirmed. “There’s only one lass for me.”
