Page 130 of Laird of Flint
He laid out his plaid for a bed and stretched out beside her.
While Troye stared out at the storm and the rain made dull patter on the mossy timbers, they warmed each other in a dozen ways. With massaging fingers. And caressing hands. With tangling limbs. And loving lips. Finally, they merged in a molten mixture of fiery passion and steaming sensuality.
Their bodies joined in sublime bliss as they ascended to a place above the storm, above the clouds, a place where angels dwelt and love conquered all.
And when they fell back to earth, shuddering from their flighty brush with heaven, they clung to each other, holding onto the rapture they’d discovered.
Carenza opened her eyes and gasped at the sight. The rain had slowed now. Drops fell through the sunlight like precious crystals dripped from the dark clouds above. And beyond the trees, a rainbow arced across the sky, shimmering in vivid hues.
“’Tis a sign,” Hew decided.
Carenza agreed. A rainbow was good luck.
It meant the storm was over.
There was smooth sailing ahead.
And hope was on the horizon.
They dressed and returned to the castle, arm in arm. The rainbow followed them all the way home.
But the instant she entered the crowded hall of Dunlop, Carenza sensed something was wrong. She could see it in her father’s face. He looked…uneasy.
Her heart took a sharp dive. She extricated her arm from Hew’s and came forward to greet him.
“Father?”
The laird gave Hew a quick glance, but just as quickly averted his eyes. Then he ushered Carenza aside.
“I need to talk to ye. Alone.”
Hew nodded. Then he clasped his hands behind him, turning his back and walking away to speak with a group of clansmen drying their plaids near the hearth.
“What is it?” she asked.
“We’ve a missive from the king.”
“The king?”
A dozen horrible thoughts ran through her head.
Had Malcolm ordered the Dunlop clan to fight for the English in Toulouse?
Did he mean to quarter English soldiers at Dunlop castle?
Had he decided her father should take a third wife, perhaps an English noblewoman?
“What does he want?” she asked.
“It seems the Rivenloch clan has been speaking well o’ ye.”
“Me?” She blinked in surprise. “But I’ve never met them.”
“I believe Sir Hew has commended ye to his laird.”
She smiled. That warmed her to her toes.
But melancholy lingered in her father’s eyes.
