She continued on her way to the laird’s room, knocking then entering when he called out. He was standing by the window, looking out over the darkening loch just as she had been. When he saw who it was, he held his arms wide and Martha walked into them.
“I was thinking of you. Wishing for you.” He breathed the words into her mouth.
Because he was so much taller than she was, she had to stretch up on her toes to kiss him. With one arm, he swept her up higher so that her feet left the floor. As his lips rained a trail of soft kisses along the column of her neck, her head dropped back so that she would have fallen if he hadn’t kept hold of her. She clung tightly to his shoulders as his lips moved lower, pausing just a whisper above her nipples. Still holding her in the same position, he walked her to the bed and lowered her onto it.
Martha gazed up at him. Even at moments like this, she found it hard to believe this magnificent man was her lover. He snatched his shirt over his head and stood before her, naked from the waist up. She wanted to rake her fingers over every inch of his perfectly carved torso. Within seconds, he had done away with his kilt and joined her on the bed. Reaching for the hem of her nightgown, he helped her remove it so that she was naked as well. He moved up the bed toward her, stopping to swirl his tongue into her navel and to press a flurry of kisses onto her lower abdomen. His face was taut with need. His warm, hungry lips covered one nipple, and his hand dipped between her legs as his fingers slid inside her.
Martha gave a soft gasp, dropping back helplessly onto the pillows. She rode the twin sensations of his circling tongue and plunging fingers. Impatiently, Fraser worked his hips between her thighs, forcing her to part her legs ever wider to accommodate him. Loving the familiar feeling of his body on top of hers, she was reduced to soft whimpers and breathless purrs as she felt his hot, thick cock slowly entering her. Her body welcomed him, adapting to his size, stretching then contracting to pull him deeper with each stroke. Time stood still as he moved unhurriedly, assuredly, inside of her. Then he picked up the tempo. Lifting her hips, he held her open against him as he started to thrust harder.
“Let this night be about you. Tell me what you want.”
“This. You,” she moaned. “I ache for you, Fraser. Always.”
“Ah, dear God, Martha. What man could resist that?”
She felt him growing even harder. Withdrawing almost completely from her, he paused before delivering one spectacular thrust, thick and fast. His cock began to jerk inside her. She felt her own release gather, sending currents of pleasure shimmering through her bloodstream. Martha convulsed like a shooting star, exploding into tiny pinpoints of orgasmic shock that left her sobbing and shuddering with helpless, mindless pleasure. They lay cradled in each other’s arms, as they had done so many times before. But this night was different. All too soon, Fraser spoke the words neither of them wanted to hear.
“It is time.”
The other men were waiting below. They must leave now to march on the English encampment. Not caring who saw, Martha reached up a trembling hand to touch Fraser’s beloved face once more, imprinting his features on her memory. He kissed her as if it really was for the last time. Then he followed Jack into the night, marching away so swiftly that the hounds of hell might have been at his heels.
“My lady! My lady!” Cora burst into the bedchamber as Martha opened the door. It was barely light. “The men are returning already.”
“So soon? How can that be?” Martha quickly finished lacing her dress and followed Cora down to the great hall. Rosie, alerted by the noise, followed close behind them. Sure enough, the highlanders—muddied, tired and dispirited—were pouring from the courtyard into the warmth of the vast room. Cora bustled her team of kitchen maids into activity preparing bannocks, porridge and ale for them.
“What happened?” Martha went to Fraser, laying her hand on his arm. He looked exhausted. His golden skin was pale, the lines about his eyes deeply etched. He gripped her hand briefly.
“’Twas simple enough, lass. The night was too dark, the way too treacherous and the rain too heavy. All of those things meant the men straggled so that the rear did not keep pace with the front. The leading column, of which we were part, was given a constant stream of contradictory instructions to either halt, slacken the pace or speed up, so that we did not know what we should be doing from one minute to the next. At two in the morning, the appointed hour of the attack, we were still several miles distant from Nairn. Then the English drums could be heard striking up in the distance. That signalled the enemy’s awareness of our presence, and Lord George Murray ordered us then to retrace our steps. By all accounts, he did so without consulting the prince.”
“Murray was right to order the retreat,” Jack said. “If we had continued with the attack, we’d have marched straight into a bloodbath. Our own blood.”
“Aye, but the prince is saying now that we have betrayed him. We walked twelve miles in darkness and driving rain across rough moorland only to be told the plan was aborted. So we walked the same way back again.” Fraser grimaced as he took a seat by the fire and stretched his aching legs. “Now the prince’s plan is for us to meet the king’s forces later today at Drumossie Muir, near Culloden.”
“But this is madness. You’ve not slept and you have just marched twenty-four miles through the night in the cold and the pouring rain. You are outnumbered and much of your artillery is not here yet. It will be a massacre.” Martha turned to Jack. “The prince must be made to listen to reason. Surely if you speak to him he must do so? You are his friend.”
Jack’s expression was inscrutable. “I have already told him what I think many times, Martha. I agree with you, but the prince’s view is unchanged. In this stubborn mood, if he is not listening to his other advisors, he will not listen to me either. He will cling to his belief that the highlanders are unstoppable in battle.”
“Not if they are exhausted,” she exclaimed.
“It is worse even than that,” Fraser said. “At least we have food here in the castle and can feed our men. But the Jacobite leaders were so convinced that the battle would take place yesterday that no-one thought to lay on provisions for the troops. Most of them have had only one oatcake and a sip of water in the last two days. They are nigh dropping with hunger.” He looked up with a frown as Martha leaped to her feet. “Where are you going?”
“To rally the women. If this battle is indeed about to happen, we’ll take food out to as many of the men as we can reach before they set off for Drumossie.”
She whirled away in the direction of the kitchen and was soon issuing orders for Cora to bake more bannocks and for the maids to set about making more porridge. Some time later, Martha looked up to see Fraser in the kitchen doorway, watching her. A soft smile played about his lips.
“Why do you look at me so?”
“I’m thinking again what a remarkable woman ye are.”
She blushed and pushed her spectacles up her nose. “Not crabbit?”
“Always crabbit,” he said, laughter in his voice. He gripped her chin and tilted her face up to his. The laughter was gone and his face was serious when he spoke again. “Ye hide your beauty deep so a man has to search hard to find it. Your thorns are sharp and your grip is thrawn. In spite of all, ye’ve an incredible ability to flourish in the face of adversity. Ye may not be a Scot, Martha Wantage, but there is that of the thistle about you.”
Heedless of the fact that they had an interested audience, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her nose and walked away. When Martha eventually risked a look in Cora’s direction, the little housekeeper gave her an appreciative wink.