Page 76 of Her Highland Prophecy
A few minutes later she was sitting on the edge of the bed in one of the private chambers, grateful that Gordain had insisted they have their own room. She knew from her research that it wasn’t entirely unusual for people to share a bed with perfect strangers in that century but she didn’t think she could do it.
Although there were many things that she had thought she would never do, like cooking and gardening, and yet she had found that more interesting when faced with the actual task.
She didn’t think she would ever be comfortable eating rabbit again, though.
She smiled in remembering that night and Gordain looked over at her curiously.
“I was just remembering the first morning after we met. I had eaten rabbit often enough back home, but after seeing it like that I doubt I ever will again.”
Gordain chuckled.
“Och, me Sassenach Princess is back,” he said. “Is the room to yer liking, yer Highness?”
He was teasing her and she swatted him on the shoulder in response, laughing as well.
“I am much better now than I was when I first arrived and you know it!” she exclaimed. He nodded.
“Aye, it’s true, but ye are still a Princess,” he said, lightly wrapping his arms around her, his mouth dropping to hers in a small kiss.
She wrapped her arms back around him completely, reaching up to touch her mouth to his in a much deeper kiss than the one he had given her.
Slowly, the feeling between them changed. Electricity crackled in the air, the bed sitting a few feet away from them looming large in the otherwise Spartan space.
Gordain looked at her, an eyebrow raised in question. She bit her lip and after a moment of questioning silence, she reached to the laces of her dress.
He beat her to it, his deft fingers lazily undoing her dress and pushing it off her as he kissed her deeply, but she was not passively accepting it this time. Her own hands pulled at his shirt, pulling it out of his plaid first and then over his shoulders, breaking their kiss as she did so.
Devoid of their clothing, they fell into the bed together, with him naturally finding his place between her legs. She could feel his hardness rubbing against her belly, but he made no move to enter her. Instead, he moved his entire body against her, the friction of him against her exquisite.
It was nothing like the fierce passion that had exploded out of them the previous evening, but as she crested into that feeling of ecstasy that he was so good in providing she reflected that it didn’t always have to be.
After, she lay in his arms, each of them clinging to the other. The desperation that she had been keeping at bay was slowly starting to catch up with her as her hands curled around him. He scarcely seemed better. His arms were twin bands of iron that clutched her with possessive strength.
She gently laid her head on his chest, listening as his heartbeat slowed, the exhaustion of the trip slowly taking over. She closed her eyes and let sleep take her.
It was mid-afternoon when she woke again, her hand automatically reaching out to find Gordain on the bed only to find it empty. She leaned up, the blanket wrapped around her and spotted him already dressed in his shirt and kilt.
“Where are you going?” she asked. She had thought that they would search the fair for someone to help her find her way back together.
“I have some business of me own at the fair,” he said, and she nodded even though she was disappointed.
“All right,” she said, and he left the room hurriedly.
She took her time getting ready, half dreading the information she would be receiving, half hoping she would quickly find her answers. She dressed carefully and then removed the medallion from the small pouch that she had kept it in, placing it in the pocket of her dress.
The fair was quieter than it had been that morning. She assumed most people had returned home for the day or had already finished their business and were resting in the tavern which had been notably busier as she passed through it.
She thought it would make it easier to find someone to help her that way. The vendors were less busy and more likely to indulge her with conversation, and they would be easier to spot in the sparser crowd.
Nevertheless, just because there were gypsies at the fair didn’t mean that they also knew or wanted to help her.
“Do you recognize this?” she asked an older woman with snow white hair under her hat and beady black eyes.
“Nay, Lass. ‘Tis a pretty trinket though. Are ye selling it?” she asked. Diana declined and moved away from their greedy eyes quickly.
The next five people she asked produced the same response. A calculating look at the medallion she was holding and a denial that they recognized it.
The problem was that she believed them. All of them had seemed genuinely interested in it as a possible item to sell or barter, but she had not seen a speck of recognition on their face when they saw it.
