clothes being slowly stripped away while his lips kissed the sweet, tender skin as it was revealed.
For the last hour he’d been shifting restlessly in his seat, trying to control his raging desire. His stones were hard and aching, his hands nearly itching to explore and caress Fiona’s luscious flesh. Even with his eyes wide open, visions of their bodies joined so tight that naught could separate them haunted him.
It felt as though his loins tightened every time she cast an eye in his direction. Hell, even watching her chew her meal sent a surprising surge of lust through him. Chewing her food!
Christ’s bones, he’d lost his mind.
He had known beautiful women in his lifetime—had even bedded a few. But this attraction he felt for Fiona was different somehow—it held a power over him that chased his good sense to the bottom of the loch.
He remembered her beauty and feisty spirit the first time he had seen her—and a feeling of surprise at having such a strong reaction to an unknown woman. He also remembered feeling a twinge of disloyalty for having lustful thoughts for the wife of his friend and ally.
“She’s a proud one, our English lady,” Duncan commented, as he refilled Gavin’s tankard.
“Aye, and a true beauty,” Aidan agreed. “Yer the envy of every man in the hall tonight.”
Gavin grimaced. He didn’t feel confident. He felt unsure. He’d visited alehouses and whorehouses, where the female companionship was experienced, lustful, and plentiful. He had been married twice and each time submitted to a rowdy bedding ceremony, with the male guests and his retainers accompanying him to the bridal chamber amid bawdy comments.
But he had never bedded a mistress within the walls of his own castle, while his household was gathered below, their ears most likely attuned to every sound. It somehow felt base, sordid.
Yet this twinge of conscience in no way diminished the desire he felt, nor lessened his determination to take Fiona to his bed. Damn if he wasn’t becoming addled over the lass.
Gavin glanced toward the stairs for the tenth time in as many minutes, then quickly looked away, worried one of his men might have noticed. The last thing he needed was Duncan’s jesting or Aidan’s sarcastic quips. He was nervous enough.
Ignoring the pointed stares he was receiving from Duncan, Connor, Aidan, and God only knew who else, Gavin casually lifted his tankard.
“Will we not have some singing tonight?” he asked.
“How can it be that ye’ve got songs on yer mind tonight?” Duncan inquired with a wry expression. “That’s the telltale mark of an old codger, wanting to stay with his men drinking and singing instead of joining the bonnie lass who’s waiting fer him above stairs, warming his bed.”
“An old codger! I’ll have ye know I’m a man in my prime,” Gavin declared, trying not to smile.
“Yer actions tell a different story,” Aidan insisted with a teasing grin.
Gavin gulped down another mouthful of ale and then banged the tankard on the table. “I bested ye on the practice field today,” he said smugly. “All three of ye.”
Duncan grumbled, while Aidan mumbled something under his breath about getting lucky at catching him off guard.
“Well, that only proves yer not too old for some things,” Connor said, smiling like a buffoon. He drained his tankard, then started singing. Before long, the rest of the men joined in.
Hark, hear it now—
those ale brewers are turning Arras into Scotland!
By St. Andrew, hear it!
Good men and good times,
cry charity to Holy Mary!
The songs became progressively lecherous as the drink continued to flow, but it provided the distraction that Gavin craved.
It was late when he finally mounted the stairs to his chamber, taking them two at a time. Drawing himself up to his full height, Gavin reached for the door latch, then hesitated. Would Fiona be sitting in his bed, naked and alluring? Or would she be in the small chamber he had
For the last hour he’d been shifting restlessly in his seat, trying to control his raging desire. His stones were hard and aching, his hands nearly itching to explore and caress Fiona’s luscious flesh. Even with his eyes wide open, visions of their bodies joined so tight that naught could separate them haunted him.
It felt as though his loins tightened every time she cast an eye in his direction. Hell, even watching her chew her meal sent a surprising surge of lust through him. Chewing her food!
Christ’s bones, he’d lost his mind.
He had known beautiful women in his lifetime—had even bedded a few. But this attraction he felt for Fiona was different somehow—it held a power over him that chased his good sense to the bottom of the loch.
He remembered her beauty and feisty spirit the first time he had seen her—and a feeling of surprise at having such a strong reaction to an unknown woman. He also remembered feeling a twinge of disloyalty for having lustful thoughts for the wife of his friend and ally.
“She’s a proud one, our English lady,” Duncan commented, as he refilled Gavin’s tankard.
“Aye, and a true beauty,” Aidan agreed. “Yer the envy of every man in the hall tonight.”
Gavin grimaced. He didn’t feel confident. He felt unsure. He’d visited alehouses and whorehouses, where the female companionship was experienced, lustful, and plentiful. He had been married twice and each time submitted to a rowdy bedding ceremony, with the male guests and his retainers accompanying him to the bridal chamber amid bawdy comments.
But he had never bedded a mistress within the walls of his own castle, while his household was gathered below, their ears most likely attuned to every sound. It somehow felt base, sordid.
Yet this twinge of conscience in no way diminished the desire he felt, nor lessened his determination to take Fiona to his bed. Damn if he wasn’t becoming addled over the lass.
Gavin glanced toward the stairs for the tenth time in as many minutes, then quickly looked away, worried one of his men might have noticed. The last thing he needed was Duncan’s jesting or Aidan’s sarcastic quips. He was nervous enough.
Ignoring the pointed stares he was receiving from Duncan, Connor, Aidan, and God only knew who else, Gavin casually lifted his tankard.
“Will we not have some singing tonight?” he asked.
“How can it be that ye’ve got songs on yer mind tonight?” Duncan inquired with a wry expression. “That’s the telltale mark of an old codger, wanting to stay with his men drinking and singing instead of joining the bonnie lass who’s waiting fer him above stairs, warming his bed.”
“An old codger! I’ll have ye know I’m a man in my prime,” Gavin declared, trying not to smile.
“Yer actions tell a different story,” Aidan insisted with a teasing grin.
Gavin gulped down another mouthful of ale and then banged the tankard on the table. “I bested ye on the practice field today,” he said smugly. “All three of ye.”
Duncan grumbled, while Aidan mumbled something under his breath about getting lucky at catching him off guard.
“Well, that only proves yer not too old for some things,” Connor said, smiling like a buffoon. He drained his tankard, then started singing. Before long, the rest of the men joined in.
Hark, hear it now—
those ale brewers are turning Arras into Scotland!
By St. Andrew, hear it!
Good men and good times,
cry charity to Holy Mary!
The songs became progressively lecherous as the drink continued to flow, but it provided the distraction that Gavin craved.
It was late when he finally mounted the stairs to his chamber, taking them two at a time. Drawing himself up to his full height, Gavin reached for the door latch, then hesitated. Would Fiona be sitting in his bed, naked and alluring? Or would she be in the small chamber he had
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