before ye get your line into the water.”
She cut him a glare. “I’ll pick mushrooms instead.”
“We willnae starve,” Dugald said. “We’ll merely die in
agony.”
“Hah.” She picked up a basket and disappeared into the
trees. Her father had shown her and her brother how to hunt for mushrooms when
they’d been children. She not only knew a mushroom from a toadstool, but could
distinguish the innocent-looking deadly amanita from its edible cousins, knew
where to find morels and boletes, chanterelles and caps.
And the damp woods were a perfect hunting ground. Followed
by Elsbeth, Lydia sniffed deeply, enjoying the aroma of the humid pine forest.
Her old boots sank a bit into the wet duff, supported in part by dead conifer
needles.
She spotted a clump of golden chanterelles, but worried due
to their resemblance to a deadlier species. The cloudy day didn’t offer enough
light to easily examine her finds. She skipped them, preferring the more
distinctive morel.
When she returned, Kier and Dugald peered at and poked
through her haul. Lifting their heads, they eyed each other, raised identical
black brows, then eyed her.
She tried not to preen. “Well?”
“We willnae go hungry, that’s for sure,” Dugald said.
“Nay.” Kier measured her with a glance and nodded, looking
impressed. “Ye’ve hidden depths, my lady wife.”
She winked at him. “I’ll do, shall I?”
“Aye.” He grinned back. “Ye’ll do.”
That night they ate wild salmon garnished with mushrooms,
with the men suspiciously scraping the fried morsels from their fish.
The journey was uneventful until they passed Fort William, a
locale they circled warily due to the presence of numerous Redcoats. The
country grew even higher and wilder with the herds of sheep, plentiful in the
Lowlands, thinning. Inns were fewer and at night Lydia found herself bundled in
plaids with her husband, sharing his warmth as they slept under the stars. Out
in the wild Highlands, she and Kieran ate from the same bowl, shared a spoon,
even bathed together, shivering in the same icy streams. Unable or unwilling to
shave, Kieran gradually turned into the image of the shaggy, wild Highlander
she’d feared marrying. She found she enjoyed this new persona and often rubbed
her face against his when they kissed.
She discovered that the rugged informality of their situation
created a deep intimacy that she’d felt only with her brother and his family.
But her emotions toward her husband were anything but fraternal.
On one such night, they lay together snuggling for warmth,
Lydia clad in her shift and heavy stockings, Kier in his shirt and trews.
“Look.” He pointed up. The stars shone numerous and bright
in the moonless sky. Then a streak shot across the dark, velvety heavens.
“A shooting star! I’ve never seen one before.”
“They’re plentiful here, awa’ from the lights of the city.
Next month we’ll see many, if the fog allows it.”
“Fog?”
“Aye. Kilborn Castle is on the coast, and there are times we
dinnae see the sun for many days. But dinnae worry.” He wrapped his arm around
her. “I’ll keep ye cozy and warm.”
Crawling atop him, she rubbed her face into his chest,
enjoying the feel of his soft linen shirt against her cheek. He undid the two
top buttons and, taking the unspoken invitation, she nuzzled his chest, seeking
his nipples. She’d discovered that Kier’s were as sensitive as hers, and had
also found that she enjoyed playing with them.
She sucked one into a hard nubbin, then softly licked it
into quiescence. Hard, then soft, switching from one to the other, over and
over again. Kier’s arousal nestled between her thighs, thickening with every
pass of her tongue, every nip of her teeth, every twitch of her lips.
She slid lower down his body, relishing the play of his
muscles against her skin. Raising her head, she said, “I’m shy about…” She
looked at their companions, snoring lumps bundled in plaids
She cut him a glare. “I’ll pick mushrooms instead.”
“We willnae starve,” Dugald said. “We’ll merely die in
agony.”
“Hah.” She picked up a basket and disappeared into the
trees. Her father had shown her and her brother how to hunt for mushrooms when
they’d been children. She not only knew a mushroom from a toadstool, but could
distinguish the innocent-looking deadly amanita from its edible cousins, knew
where to find morels and boletes, chanterelles and caps.
And the damp woods were a perfect hunting ground. Followed
by Elsbeth, Lydia sniffed deeply, enjoying the aroma of the humid pine forest.
Her old boots sank a bit into the wet duff, supported in part by dead conifer
needles.
She spotted a clump of golden chanterelles, but worried due
to their resemblance to a deadlier species. The cloudy day didn’t offer enough
light to easily examine her finds. She skipped them, preferring the more
distinctive morel.
When she returned, Kier and Dugald peered at and poked
through her haul. Lifting their heads, they eyed each other, raised identical
black brows, then eyed her.
She tried not to preen. “Well?”
“We willnae go hungry, that’s for sure,” Dugald said.
“Nay.” Kier measured her with a glance and nodded, looking
impressed. “Ye’ve hidden depths, my lady wife.”
She winked at him. “I’ll do, shall I?”
“Aye.” He grinned back. “Ye’ll do.”
That night they ate wild salmon garnished with mushrooms,
with the men suspiciously scraping the fried morsels from their fish.
The journey was uneventful until they passed Fort William, a
locale they circled warily due to the presence of numerous Redcoats. The
country grew even higher and wilder with the herds of sheep, plentiful in the
Lowlands, thinning. Inns were fewer and at night Lydia found herself bundled in
plaids with her husband, sharing his warmth as they slept under the stars. Out
in the wild Highlands, she and Kieran ate from the same bowl, shared a spoon,
even bathed together, shivering in the same icy streams. Unable or unwilling to
shave, Kieran gradually turned into the image of the shaggy, wild Highlander
she’d feared marrying. She found she enjoyed this new persona and often rubbed
her face against his when they kissed.
She discovered that the rugged informality of their situation
created a deep intimacy that she’d felt only with her brother and his family.
But her emotions toward her husband were anything but fraternal.
On one such night, they lay together snuggling for warmth,
Lydia clad in her shift and heavy stockings, Kier in his shirt and trews.
“Look.” He pointed up. The stars shone numerous and bright
in the moonless sky. Then a streak shot across the dark, velvety heavens.
“A shooting star! I’ve never seen one before.”
“They’re plentiful here, awa’ from the lights of the city.
Next month we’ll see many, if the fog allows it.”
“Fog?”
“Aye. Kilborn Castle is on the coast, and there are times we
dinnae see the sun for many days. But dinnae worry.” He wrapped his arm around
her. “I’ll keep ye cozy and warm.”
Crawling atop him, she rubbed her face into his chest,
enjoying the feel of his soft linen shirt against her cheek. He undid the two
top buttons and, taking the unspoken invitation, she nuzzled his chest, seeking
his nipples. She’d discovered that Kier’s were as sensitive as hers, and had
also found that she enjoyed playing with them.
She sucked one into a hard nubbin, then softly licked it
into quiescence. Hard, then soft, switching from one to the other, over and
over again. Kier’s arousal nestled between her thighs, thickening with every
pass of her tongue, every nip of her teeth, every twitch of her lips.
She slid lower down his body, relishing the play of his
muscles against her skin. Raising her head, she said, “I’m shy about…” She
looked at their companions, snoring lumps bundled in plaids
Similar Books
