“Ye’re always so responsive to me, love,” Geordie growled, nipping her ear and then sucking it soothingly so that she hardly noticed when he pulled her neckline down to free her breasts to his touch without the cloth in the way.
Dwyn didn’t protest it though when she felt his rough fingers on her unprotected skin. Instead, she reached behind her to rub him through the cloth of his plaid and said, “I ken, m’laird. I turn into little more than a slattern with ye.”
Geordie released her breast to clasp her jaw and turned her head up and back for a punishing kiss, and then growled, “Fer me, mayhap, and I hope ye always will be.”
He returned to fondling her then, so that by the time they reached the waterfall, they were both panting heavily and burning for each other. They undressed each other at the same time, stumbling and fumbling a bit as they tried to kiss and grope each other even as they did it, and then Geordie lifted her up into his arms and she wrapped her legs around him, trapping his erection between them and rubbing against it as he walked out into the water and then under the falls.
Dwyn gasped as the cold water briefly poured over them, and then he set her on a ledge where she was able to lean her upper body back so that it rushed down over her breasts and stomach, but not her face. She saw Geordie through a sheet of water, and then his face joined hers in the safe waterless space and he kissed her as he slid into her.
Dwyn had never experienced anything like it, water was caressing them everywhere as he loved her, adding to his caresses and kisses, and she suddenly understood why he’d wanted to show her this spot. She told him so later as they lay on a plaid in the clearing at the edge of the loch.
“Aye.” He ran one hand lazily up and down her back where she’d collapsed on him after he’d carried her out of the water and they’d made love again. “’Twas as good as I imagined ’twould be.”
Dwyn lifted her head and raised an eyebrow. “As ye imagined? Ye’ve never done that before?”
“In the waterfall?” Geordie asked, and then shook his head. “Hell, no. I always feared I’d drown meself did I try it, and I would no’ drown meself fer any woman. Except you.”
“That sounded like it was meant to be a compliment,” Dwyn said thoughtfully. “And yet I just want to slap ye.” When he raised his head to peer at her with surprise, she said solemnly, “I do no’ want ye to drown fer me, husband. I’d rather ye live fer me, thank ye very much.”
Geordie grinned at that and hugged her close, but then admitted, “Well, no’ just fer ye, mayhap. I have been imagining doing that almost since meeting ye.”
Dwyn smiled faintly, and rested her head on his chest again, but after a moment he sighed and said, “I suppose we’d best head back. ’Twill be time fer the sup soon, and I promised to help ye with packing after.”
Her eyebrows rose at that. She didn’t recall him promising to help her. Although she had some vague recollection of his saying “they” could pack that night. She suspected though that his helping would end up just slowing her down since they had so much trouble keeping their hands off each other. She didn’t point that out, however, but simply dragged herself off of him, and began to gather her clothes.
They dressed in a companionable silence, and then walked to his horse holding hands. Geordie mounted first this time, and then leaned down to catch her about the waist and lift her up before him. He didn’t urge the horse to move right away though. Instead, he sat for a moment, letting his eyes sweep the loch, the waterfall and the clearing.
“I shall miss this place,” Geordie admitted after a moment. “I grew up here, swimming with me brothers and sister, and . . .” He let his words trail away, and then smiled crookedly down at her, and said, “But there’s a whole sea o’ water to enjoy at Innes, is no’ there?”
“Aye, there is,” Dwyn agreed, and pointed out, “And we can visit here as often as ye wish, husband.”
Nodding, he bent to kiss the tip of her nose, and then turned the horse to start along the path through the woods.
Geordie didn’t appear to be in a hurry to return to the keep. He kept his mount at a trot as they left the clearing and started along the path. She suspected he was saying a silent goodbye to this place that had been home to him for twenty-nine years of his life. That part of marriage had never occurred to Dwyn during her childhood imaginings. She’d never included the part where she’d have had to ride away from Innes, the only home she’d ever known, to go to someplace she’d never seen before, but was supposed to happily accept as her new home. That hadn’t happened in the end, but it was happening to Geordie now that he’d married her.
She hoped he didn’t resent that. He’d told her he loved her the night they were married, but hadn’t repeated it since awaking. Had the declaration been the result of the injury, something easily said when he’d thought he was about to meet his maker, or had he meant it?
Dwyn knew Geordie was happy with their marriage right now, and was even looking forward to seeing Innes. But would he like Innes once there? She bit her lip worriedly at the thought. She loved Innes, but it was in the flat Lowlands while he was used to the majesty of the mountains in the Highlands. And then there was the problem of Laird Brodie. Dwyn had tried to tell Geordie about that to prepare him ahead. They’d discussed much while he’d been healing the last several weeks. But every time she’d tried to bring up the subject of their neighbor, Brodie, he’d interrupted her to say it was fine. All would be well. They were married now. There was nothing the man could do, and did Brodie foolishly try something anyway, he’d take care of it.
Geordie’s suddenly stiffening behind her and his arm tightening around her waist drew Dwyn from her thoughts. She glanced ahead, half expecting to see riders approaching. Instead, her gaze fell on a large, dark bundle on the path some fifty feet ahead. It took a moment for her to recognize what the bundle was and even then she wasn’t sure until she was able to make out the strong bare legs sticking out of the bundle of cloth. They weren’t moving. “Is that a Buchanan soldier?”
Geordie grunted behind her, and she twisted her head around and up to look at his face. His expression was grim, his eyes scouring the trees around them and the path beyond the fallen man as he slowed his mount. Dwyn turned back then, her own gaze sliding quickly around. When she didn’t see a horse or anyone or anything that might be a threat, she shifted her attention back to the body. They were closer now and she could make out more detail. The body was large, a man with fair hair, lying on his stomach, his arms raised and slightly curved around his head, his face turned away from them as if looking back toward the keep. He wore a dark green, blue and red plaid she’d noted on about half of the warriors at Buchanan, Geordie among them, and there was blood pooling in the dirt by his chest, but there was no arrow, knife or any other weapon to suggest the source of the wound that had bled so profusely.
They were both silent as Geordie reined in just before the body and dismounted. He turned back then, just in time to catch her by the waist and ease her drop to the ground as she slid off the horse. Once on her feet, they hurried to the man.
Dwyn paused on the near side and peered down at his face as Geordie moved around to the other side. The man looked familiar. She’d seen him speak to Aulay several times since arriving, but it wasn’t until Geordie gasped the name, “Simon,” that she realized it was Laird Buchanan’s second, the man who took over when Acair was too busy to manage his duties as first, which had been a lot of the time lately, she realized.