When he pressed into her this time, she could not hold on. Pushing her hips up into her husband, she felt a more powerful release than she’d yet experienced.
When he called her name, she told him to say it again.
Over and over he said it, until he lay atop her, whispering it softly into her ear.
“That”—he kissed her ear— “is what we call making love in my time.”
He closed his eyes then, propping himself above her. When he opened them, he shook his head a little, as if in disbelief, and looked at her with wonder.
“Hmmm,” she murmured, content to gaze up at this beautiful man, now her husband in truth. “I thought you said ’twas called something else.”
Ian laughed.
“Fucking. Is that what you meant?”
She nodded.
“Yeah, I thought so too. But not that. Not with you.”
Màiri wasn’t sure she understood the difference. But she didn’t care what it was called. She wanted to do it again.
27
“Married,”Grey taunted him. “In love? Has time travel addled your brain?”
They were the exact words Ian had said to Grey a few weeks previously. Apparently he was never going to live this down.
They’d finished training for the day. Although Ian and his brother were unlikely to take part in any future battles, they joined their uncles and their grandfather each day in the fields, something the men did to prepare for any trouble the clan might encounter. Once the McCaims left Hightower, some would stay here and others would be sent on various missions either at their grandfather’s or their allies’ behest.
Behest. He was even thinking like a medieval now.
And even though the last two days with his wife had been among the happiest in his life, the arrival of his family loomed.
So much could go wrong.
He’d been insulated here, but he didn’t need Grey to tell him they’d come to a dangerous place. This training might be nothing more than a good workout for them, but for the others, it truly was life and death.
Just yesterday they’d been called to intervene in a skirmish in the village between two men. One had accused the other of stealing the laird’s sheep. For this offense, he’d stolen the other man’s wife. Ian had thought Alastair was joking about that, but sure enough, they’d ridden out to the remote structure where she was being held and rescued the poor woman.
And this sort of infighting was child’s play compared to the antics between rival clans. Never mind the whole Bruce versus Balliol versus the Guardians of Scotland versus the king of England affair that was brewing. Leave it to Rhys and Reik to get themselves caught up in that mess.
His grandfather said something to him as he handed his sword to the armorer. Ian couldn’t hear what he’d yelled, exactly, but it couldn’t be good. He’d failed to disarm Ian for the first time today, and the old man was still smarting over his slip.
Although he still couldn’t hope to best his grandfather or uncles in a swordfight, Ian had learned to get away from them easily enough. He had even managed to bring the tip of his sword to his Uncle Colban’s back. Once. Before the man spun and blocked Ian’s efforts.
Still. It was something.
“Do you really think she might decide to stay?” he asked, waving to their grandfather cheerfully as he and Grey stepped inside the keep. “We have to talk about this.”
“No,” his brother said, stopping in a deserted corridor. “We do not.”
A staring contest ensued. Ian won every time. But Grey must have learned a thing or two thanks to his time with Ross, otherwise known as the Viking, because he lasted a lot longer than he normally did. Still, Ian could outstare the best of them, and Grey finally blinked.
“Damn you.”
Ian chuckled.
“You can’t stay.”
