Must Love Kilts (29 page)

“I am ravenous for you.” He flicked his tongue over her clit, then again and again. Glancing up at her, he slid the tip of one finger along up her center, light as a butterfly touch, and then back down again. He stroked her gently, up and down the very heart of her, as he teased her with his tongue.

Margo twined her fingers in his hair, twisting the thick strands around her wrist, holding tight, needing something to balance her.

He turned his head and nuzzled her inner thigh, nipping the tender flesh there before he returned to her center, his tongue probing and explorative.

Delicious.

“O-o-oh, don’t stop. ...” Margo couldn’t stand it. Any moment she was going to shatter.

Waves of erotic sensation whirled inside her, spreading from her core, then circling back again as exquisite pleasure danced between her legs. She rocked her hips and squirmed, his swirling tongue bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

Need burned in her.

“Magnus . . .” She reached for his hands, threading their fingers, as she dropped to her knees. She knelt face-to-face with him on the cold, hard-packed floor.

“Please, I can’t wait much longer. Kiss me. . . .” She grabbed his face, kissing his cheeks, his forehead, and his throat, before locking her fingers behind his head and pulling him close, moaning as she kissed his mouth with a fierceness she couldn’t control.

“Sweet lass.” He kissed her with equal hunger, plundering her lips with deep, openmouthed kisses, his tongue thrusting greedily. “The plaid ...” He broke away long enough to throw a meaningful glance at the pallet only an arm’s length away. But instead of moving onto it, he brought his hands up between them and cupped her breasts, plumping, weighing, and squeezing them. He rolled her nipples between his thumb and fingers until she cried out and seized his wrists, pulling his hands from her breasts.

“I will shatter. Please, wait.” She was trembling, on the verge now.

And still they kissed, their mouths locked tightly together, their breath mingling, as their tongues swirled and glided. Then—Margo didn’t know how it’d happened—they were rolling on the earthen floor, their arms and legs entwined, their bodies pressed so close that their heat scorched the cold, damp earth.

The ancient smell of a thousand summers rose around them, warm and beguiling, blending with the faint tang of lost seas as the driftwood burned, and the sharper musk of their own desire.

Intense pleasure stormed through Margo in thick, unstoppable waves of concentrated ecstasy so powerful she couldn’t bear to tear her lips from Magnus’s even to gasp a breath.

“Lass, I must have you.” He drew her onto the pallet, settling her on her back, running his hands over her breasts and her belly. Still kissing her, he let his hands glide deeper, smoothing down the tops of her thighs and back up the insides, cupping her sex and squeezing in rhythm with their stroking tongues.

Margo was floating.

She’d known he’d be a grand lover.

But this . . .

Need pulsed deep inside her, a surging tide so demanding she stilled, opening her legs wide and reaching for him, closing her hand around his iron-hard length, so large, hot, and silky smooth beneath her fingers. She stroked and caressed, rubbing him in the same deliberate way she ached to feel him sliding in and out of her.

As if he knew, he rolled on top of her, positioning himself between her thighs. He reached between them, bringing himself where he needed to be. Then, inch by inch, he eased into her, until he was deep inside, filling her completely. He pulled back and reentered several times, letting her adjust to him.

“Margo
.
”
He pushed up on his elbows, holding her gaze, seeking her center with a finger, and rubbing her there as he began moving slowly in and out of her.

“You feel so good, lass, sweeter than all my dreams.”

“O-o-oh . . .” Margo arched back against the plaid, wrapping her legs around him. She ran her hands up and down his back, tunneling her fingers through his wonderful hair, her sex clenching around him as he began thrusting harder, faster, and deeper.

The incredible pleasure crashed over her, its force stunning her as wave after wave of her release flooded her, taking her breath and hurtling her onto a dizzying sea of shattering peaks.

And still she clung to him, everything female in her thrilling to hear him shout her name in his own release, then glorying in the same triumph when he collapsed atop her, his body still jerking inside her, spilling hot seed.

It was, in a word, epic.

And Margo was sure she’d never move again, for her limbs felt weaker than wet noodles.

But some barely coherent part of her feared that such a mind-blowing orgasm would attract her usual bad luck as surely as if she’d marched down the street with a target on her back.

It wouldn’t surprise her to wake up and discover she’d been napping aboard her Newark-bound flight, her vacation over and everything a dream.

It seemed a possibility, considering how good she felt just now.

So she lay very still, almost afraid to breathe.

She
was
afraid to crack her eyes.

“Mo ghaoil. My dear.”
Magnus rolled onto his back and pulled her against him, proving that he, at least, still had the strength to move. He settled her against his chest and shoulder.

The Gaelic endearment speared her heart. Longing filled her chest, along with fierce, soul-splitting joy.

Whatever happened now, she’d have this night to remember.

No one could erase their bliss.

As if he wished to strengthen it, Magnus slid his hand up her side and over her breasts, lightly flicking her nipples with the tips of his fingers.

Margo purred, arousal beginning to stir again.

“M’mmm ...” She snuggled close, after-pleasure stil heavy inside her. Magnus’s fingers circling her nipples made the blood simmer and pulse anew between her legs. It was a luxurious feeling, totally decadent.

And thank goodness, so real.

That reality was underscored by Magnus’s arm wrapped possessively around her. And the hiss and popping sounds of the driftwood fire that filled the little cothouse.

She hadn’t gone anywhere.

And no medieval Cub Scouts had arrived to dash cold water on her pleasure.

Life might be getting good for a change.

“Margo.” Magnus’s tone told her that wasn’t so.

“There was another reason I brought you up here.” She stiffened, all her senses snapping to high alert.

“I wished to speak with you alone, away from the ears of my men.” He was skimming his fingers across her breasts in a series of slow, tantalizing circles.

It was a delicious, deliberate exploration, the caresses both soothing and incredibly sensual. But Margo didn’t like the tension humming between them.

Dark emotions poured out of him, staining the air.

She slipped out of his arms. “Then tell me.” He caught her wrist, frowning. “I will. But stay here with me.” He pulled her back down beside him. “I told you I’d explain Redpoint. That is what you must know.

Your life might depend on it.”

Oh, great.

She’d managed her first voyage on a medieval dragon ship and now she had to survive Redpoint.

The mere place-name sounded ominous, after she’d seen Magnus and his men run around Gairloch with blood dripping from the tips of their swords.

“So what happens at Redpoint?” She wished she didn’t have to know.

She did reach for her discarded chemise, pulling it over her head before giving Magnus her full attention.

Somehow she wasn’t up to hearing bad news while naked.

Magnus took one of her hands, meshing their fingers. “I’ve planned an ambush at Redpoint.” He didn’t mince words. “Six of my best cattle beasts will graze along the shore, attracting a few Viking ships that will rush in, expecting an easy provision raid.

“When they do”—he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips—“my men and I will attack from the cliff tops, firing their ships and fighting their warriors on the strand. Afterwards, the ease of their slaughter will act as a warning to others of their ilk to keep clear of this coastline.”

“And if they beat you?” Margo looked at him.

For a moment, she thought he was going to smile and tell her no Viking could defeat him.

A slight tug
did
appear at one corner of his mouth.

But then his face cleared and he frowned. “That is why we’re having this talk. Should aught go wrong, Calum will look after you. He won’t be joining the fight, so he’ll get you away—”

“I’m going to be there?”
Margo felt her stomach clench in knots.

“You must be at Redpoint.” He turned over her hand, kissing her palm. “I will nae leave you on your own here. No’ even on
Sea-Raven
, guarded. You’ll no’ be too near the battle, but above the fighting, on the cliffs.

You needn’t watch. Just promise me you’ll stay with Calum if need be. He’d see you back to Orla’s, where you can stay until he can escort you to my home, Badcall Castle.

“If that happens, my aunts, Agnes and Portia, will welcome you. They can be difficult.” He slipped his arms around her, drawing her back against his chest.

“Aunt Portia fancies she knows herbs and healing and often mixes bad cures and potions for folk, sometimes causing more havoc than good. And Aunt Agnes can be forceful. She’s a bold woman, and likes to bluster.

But they mean well.”

Not at all happy, Margo bit her lip. “If I’m going to see Badcall, I’d rather go there with you.” She remembered what Orla said about Magnus needing to learn there was more to life than vengeance.

“Why don’t we go to Badcall directly?” The idea seemed brilliant. “Surely you killed enough Vikings at Gairloch. And what happened with me . . .” She paused, still puzzling at the power of the Cursing Stone. “That wiped out a lot of Vikings.” It had.

But he seemed to have forgotten because he was shaking his head.

“There you have it.” He pulled her closer into the shelter of his body, keeping his arms clasped around her. “If Gairloch hadn’t happened, I’d leave the six cattle here at Badachro and sail with you for Badcall at first light. But too many Northmen and their ships vanished that day and they will be missed.”

“Oh.” Margo was beginning to understand. “You want victory at Redpoint so that word of the battle will spread. The Norse will then believe you annihilated the Vikings at Gairloch in a similar fight?”

“You are a clever lass.” He kissed the top of her head. “Redpoint has been planned for a while. We brought the cattle down weeks ago. Even my dog, Frodi, is here. He is old and came in a litter with the cattle. I wanted him along because no other dog is better trained for such affrays. And Frodi loves a good adventure. After the fight, he’ll be treated by a journey home on the
Sea-Raven
.”

“The cattle, too?” Margo hoped they wouldn’t be on the ship.

She loved dogs. But the
Sea-Raven
was horror enough without six bellowing cattle on board.

“The cattle stay here, dinnae you worry.” Magnus had surely guessed her alarm. “Three of the beasts will be brought back to Badachro. The other three will be my gift to the fisherfolk at Redpoint for letting me site my ambush in their cove.

“I’d only hoped to give the Vikings a warning.

Now”—he took a breath—“they must be made to believe I sent the ships at Gairloch to the bottom of the sea. I’ll no’ have them swarming these coasts, looking for stranded war bands or searching for the Cursing Stone.”

“The Cursing Stone?” Margo’s stomach clenched.

She didn’t want the stone turning up again, zapping her back into the twenty-first century. “I thought we agreed it’d vanished on its own?”

“We did. And I am sure that it has.” His answer confused her. “Orosius believes so.”

“But?” Margo hated buts.

“Donata might yet be after the stone.” His voice hardened. “She is known to consort with Vikings. If she enlists their aid, hell would be unleashed on us. I’d sooner act first and put out word that I burned a great fleet of Viking warships at Gairloch, leaving no’ an ash in memory.”

Margo considered. “What if the Vikings don’t believe you?”

“They know my reputation.” Pride rang in Magnus’s voice. “They will no’ doubt the story.” Margo wasn’t so sure.

She also knew he was leaving something out.

Her.

If Donata rallied Vikings to help her search for the Cursing Stone, she’d also tell tall tales about a “mysterious blond woman” who’d possessed the wonder stone. Margo wouldn’t be safe anywhere.

Magnus was trying to protect her.

And to do so, he was going to plunge right into another Viking battle.

The thought chilled Margo to the core.

Chapter 17

Two mornings later, Magnus stood closer to the Redpoint cliff edge than most men would dare. Even his warriors held their distance. Unfortunately, a rustle of skirts warned that Margo had difficulties staying where he’d left her. He’d placed her out of sight, behind a thicket of broom and whin bushes, well away from the precipice.

Now...

He shoved back his hair, listening intently. Then his heart began to pound when, along with the telltale rustling, he caught a trace of clean snowy air and roses on the morning wind.

There could be no mistake.

His men were even swiveling their heads, exchanging glances and under-the-breath mutters.

Their eyes, for the moment, weren’t on the oh-so-important horizon and whatever enemies might appear there.

They were gawking at Margo.

Furious, Magnus turned.

She was nearly upon him. “I can’t see from behind those bushes.” She made that sound as if it was a problem. “Perhaps I can—”

“You’ll stay where I put you.” Swift, fierce heat raced through Magnus’s veins. He could feel his brows sweeping low in a fearsome scowl. “That spot was chosen so you wouldn’t see anything. And so that no one will see you.

“Just now”—he took a step toward her—“every ship between here and the horizon will spot your bright head. Your hair blazes like the sun.”