Page 129 of Laird of Flint
He arched a chiding brow at her. “Do you think?”
She sidled up to him and walked her fingers slowly up the middle of his leine. “I do. And furthermore, I think I have just the thing to—”
Her words were interrupting by a sharp crack of thunder.
She gasped and clung tight to him.
In the next instant, the heavens opened. Fat drops of rain cascaded down over them.
She shrieked.
He seized her hand and pulled her along with him toward the abandoned byre. Troye dropped his stick and frolicked after them, thinking this was a new game.
By the time they ducked under the moss-covered timbers, they were already soaked. They huddled together at the open side of the byre while Troye ranged back and forth, barking at the rain.
The Laird of Rivenloch wore a Thor’s hammer pendant to show her Viking bloodright. But at the moment, for Hew, the god of thunder seemed like a nemesis.
He hadn’t had a moment alone with Carenza for days. Not since he’d made love to her in the moonlit shadows of the solar at midnight, nearly a sennight ago. And now the storm was conspiring against him, raising its wicked head to hamper his courting.
Their coupling that night had been magical. They’d soared through the heavens together, beating the air on silent wings of angels, singing a song only God could hear.
And afterwards, as they’d lain in each other’s arms, gazing up at the jeweled firmament, one of the sparkling stars had happened to break free to streak across the sky like destiny’s messenger.
They’d held their breath. He’d made a wish. And without uttering a word, he’d known. She’d wished for the same thing.
A lifetime together.
He’d written the missives that very night. Sent one to his cousin Feiyan and one to his aunt, Laird Deirdre. He no longer had the patience to wait for King Malcolm. He would obtain permission for the match from the Laird of Rivenloch instead and leave it in her capable hands to secure the king’s approval.
The king could hardly refuse her, after all. The Rivenloch clan was the king’s most powerful border ally. He would wish to keep such valuable vassals happy. And the fact that Dunlop himself was in favor of the match would surely work in everyone’s favor.
But how could Hew explain that he’d fallen truly in love once and for all? Would anyone believe him? The best he could do was describe Carenza.
That had been nigh impossible to do in the space of a missive. Her qualities were infinite. Her beauty was inexpressible. Her character and charm and kindness were limitless. He could have spent a lifetime, writing tome after tome in tribute to Lady Carenza of Dunlop. Yet he dared not waste precious time trying to capture all of her on a single page.
Instead, he settled for a few heartfelt lines. They would have to suffice to convince Laird Deirdre that Carenza was The One. That Hew intended to make her his bride. That he expected the laird to procure the king’s permission for the wedding.
She is beautiful and clever,he wrote,wise and sweet, helpful and generous. She has a gentle nature and a ready smile. A man could hope for no more perfect a wife.
Though it seemed early for a response, Hew couldn’t help but hope that the missive that had arrived for Carenza was an approval of their match. And now he’d have to wait out the storm to find out.
Carenza was not going to let a good storm go to waste. No one would venture out in such a downpour. And until the rain stopped, they were essentially trapped here. Alone. Together. In an isolated, forgotten, abandoned shelter.
“I’m cold.” She shivered and snuggled closer.
“I would build you a fire,” he said, looking askance at the crumbling beams overhead, “but I fear ’twould burn down our shelter.”
She shrugged. “There’s more than one way to get warm.”
His mouth melted then into a sultry grin. “Is that so?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Tell me more.”
She did. She whispered a few suggestions involving the removal of their clothing. Then she murmured something she’d heard about the benefits of lying together, skin to skin. Then she mentioned various practices they might try in order to get their blood pumping more efficiently.
By the time she breathed the last idea into his ear—one about warming him with her mouth—he had picked her up and carried her off to the driest corner of the byre.
