“Ahhh!” she cried out as his mouth found the spot she’d hoped he was looking for. Dear God in heaven, she loved his tongue, Claray thought wildly as he pleasured her with it. She wanted to dig her nails into his shoulders, but he was too far away so she dug them into the earth at her sides instead. She wanted to wrap her legs around him to urge him on, but was afraid of smothering him, so dug her heels into the ground and thrust her pelvis up instead. And then his tongue pushed into her as if he were kissing her mouth, and Claray came undone for a second time. But this time was stronger than the last and an ululating cry burst from her mouth as she convulsed under the onslaught.
Her body was still spasming and pulsing with her release when Conall shifted up her body and thrust into her. Claray’s arms and legs closed around him then, her nails and heels digging in as he withdrew and thrust again and again. Like their wedding night, he quickly brought her passion back to life, and she was suddenly afraid he’d find his release and leave her wanting again as he had then. But even as she had that worry, he raised himself up on his knees, lifted her hips to the angle he wanted with one hand and then began to caress her above where they were joined with the other as he continued to thrust into her.
Conall watched her the whole time, his eyes moving over her jiggling breasts and then to her face as she twisted her head on the ground. Claray had the brief thought that she should be embarrassed, but was too wrapped up in the sensations he was causing in her to care, and then she cried out with her release, and Conall gave one last hard thrust, burying himself deep inside her as his shout of pleasure joined hers.
Breathless and weak, Claray stared up at him as she tried to catch her breath, and after a moment Conall opened his eyes. He released the hold he had on her hip, and dropped to his elbows above her to press a kiss to her lips, and they both froze as a whooshing sound flew past over them. They turned their heads together to stare at the arrow buried in the ground next to them. The end with the fletching was vibrating slightly still, she saw, and then Conall cursed and rolled them both over it and to the edge of the pond, then in.
Claray barely had time to take a deep breath before the water was closing over them. But Conall didn’t keep them under long. The cool liquid had hardly closed over her head when he was standing up and dragging her back to the surface.
“Are ye all right, lass?” he asked with concern, holding her by one elbow to keep her from going under as she pushed the hair back from her face. The water was over her head, but just to his neck here.
“Aye,” she breathed, managing a smile, and then she glanced around. They were close to the pond wall, but it rose a good foot above the water, so she thought their heads must still be protected so long as they stayed where they were. Certainly, the rest of their bodies were safe from the neck down. The problem was what to do now.
“Me sword’s on me belt with our clothes,” he muttered, gazing toward the wall of the pond as if wishing he could see through it. Grimacing, he added, “O’ course, I can no’ fight arrows with a sword anyway. But I’d still feel better having it.”
Claray didn’t say that she would too, but in truth she would have felt better if he were armed. Just in case whoever shot the arrow came to the pond’s edge to try to finish them off.
“Should we shout fer help?” she asked, glancing nervously toward the top of the pond wall. Before he could answer, they both heard their names being shouted.
“Hold on to me side,” Conall instructed, and when she clasped his waist, he reached up to grab the top of the wall and surged partway out of the water to look over it. “’Tis Payton and Roderick. I think me uncle and aunt are behind them.”
“Thank goodness,” Claray sighed as he sank back into the water and began to move them both toward the steps leading out.
Chapter 18
“Ye did no’ see who shot at ye?”
Dressing behind the plaid Lady MacKay and Kenna were holding up to give her privacy, Claray smiled wryly at that question. It was only the third time Conall’s uncle had asked him that, but she understood. It spoke of the frustration the man was suffering. Something she was experiencing as well, and she hadn’t spent the last two decades looking for the culprit who had killed Conall’s parents as well as a good portion of his clan, and tried to kill him twenty-two years ago.
“Nay,” Conall said wearily. “We heard the arrow whizz past, saw it planted in the ground next to us and rolled into the water. Neither o’ us saw anything.”
A moment of silence passed and then Payton asked, “Are we thinking ’tis MacNaughton, or the old business?”
Claray froze in the process of doing up the lacings of her gown at that question. She hadn’t even considered the possibility of MacNaughton being behind this attack. She hadn’t thought of the man at all since leaving MacFarlane.
“There’s no way to tell,” Conall said finally when everyone was silent. “It could be either.”
“Aye,” his uncle sighed.
Finished with her lacings, Claray ran her fingers through her hair to try to ensure it wasn’t standing up all over the place, and then walked around the plaid and smiled at Aunt Annabel and Kenna, before murmuring, “Thank ye.”
“Ye’re more than welcome,” Lady MacKay said solemnly as they lowered the plaid.
“Aye,” Kenna agreed, then balling the material up, she handed it to Claray and added with disgust, “Now go make me cousin put his plaid on. I really ha’e no desire to look on his naked arse again . . . or anything else.”
Claray bit back a smile and merely nodded as she took the cloth and moved over to her husband. He and the other men were standing a good twenty feet from where she’d been dressing. They were in a loose circle made up of his uncle, his cousin, Roderick, Hamish, Gilly and Machar. But Conall stood, arms crossed over his chest, in just his shirt, which did not quite cover his dangly bits in front, or the bottom of his arse in back. Claray avoided looking below his waist as she handed him the plaid. She then turned quickly away and walked back to Lady MacKay and Kenna.
“How are you doing, dear?” Conall’s aunt asked, rubbing her back soothingly when Claray stopped beside her.
Claray smiled, recognizing the comforting caress as something she often did to Kenna. “I’m fine. We were lucky.”
“Aye,” Kenna said with a little shudder. “I can hardly believe neither o’ ye were shot through with the arrow. I thought ye’d both died when we heard yer screams, they were that pain-filled and anguished.”
Claray stiffened, her eyes widening, and then felt herself going hot with a blush as she realized what screams Kenna was referring to. She and Conall had only screamed once each, when they’d both found their pleasure that last time. Good Lord, everyone had come running because of how loud she and Conall had been. Not that she was sorry they’d come. They’d needed their help, but how humiliating would it have been if they’d all come running and found them lying in each other’s arms, recovering from the loving?
“Aye. Well, thank goodness they were not shot,” Lady MacKay responded.
Claray nodded and glanced to her, eyes widening and her blush no doubt deepening as she noted the amusement in the older woman’s eyes. Conall’s aunt obviously had a good idea of what had been behind their screams, and that it had nothing to do with the arrow that was shot at them.