Stephen didn’t believe her for a moment, but it helped his pride to hear her say he was of some use to her. “Are you tired?” he asked quietly as he held her close and ran his hand over her hair.
“Very,” she said, feeling quite comfortable and relaxed.
He bent and put his arm under her knees. “Let’s go find some place to sleep.” He carried her over the side of the ridge, then put her down as he deftly unfastened his plaid and spread it on the ground. Within minutes they were snuggled together, close for warmth, Rab against Bronwyn’s back.
“Stephen?” Bronwyn asked quietly. “What are we going to do now? We still have no way to get to England, and alone we’ll be recognized.”
Stephen lay very still while his thoughts raced. Bronwyn had never asked his opinion before, nor had she lain beside him in just such a way before, with trust. He smiled, kissed the top of her head, and pulled her closer, and he knew his chest swelled several inches. “I haven’t given it much thought, but I think that if we can, we should stay with Kirsty and Donald.” He paused a moment. “What do you think?” As soon as the words were out, he realized how he’d changed. A few months ago he would have ordered his wife about what to do. Now he was asking her opinion.
Bronwyn nodded against him. “They’re heading south to her parents. If we could travel there with them, maybe we could buy some horses.”
“Buy? With our good looks?” Stephen asked. “We don’t have anything worth a pence. We can’t even repay Donald for his hospitality.”
“A Scot won’t need to be repaid.”
“Even a MacGregor?” Stephen teased.
She gave a soft laugh. “As long as he believes we’re not MacArrans. As for food, you’re a good hunter, a better one than Donald, I’m sure. Now we just need a way to pay for some horses.” She sighed. “Too bad Davey didn’t attack us closer to the border.”
“Why?”
“I would have had on one of those English dresses. The damned things are covered with jewels, and we could have sold them.”
“If you’d been dressed as an Englishwoman we probably wouldn’t be alive, and besides, we wouldn’t have a warm plaid to roll about us.”
She looked up at him. “I thought you hated our Scots dress. You said, if I remember correctly, that it left the whole bottom half of you bare.”
“Don’t be impertinent,” he said in mock seriousness, “There’s something to be said for quick access. A man can get out of a plaid in the time it takes an Englishman to think about undressing.”
She smiled up at him. “Do I hear pride in your voice?” she teased. “And where in the world did you get that accent?”
“I have no idea what ye mean,” he teased. “And if the truth were known, I think I put it on with the plaid.”
“I like it,” she said softly as she moved her knee up his bare leg and under the shirt he still wore. “How would you like to make love to a midwife? Or do you insist upon having the laird of a clan?”
He put his hand in her hair. “Right now I’ll take you whatever you are. You’re Bronwyn, a sweet, delicious bit of a thing who can ride like a demon, save her husband’s life, and deliver a baby all in a few hours.”
“I had a bit of help,” she whispered before she lifted her mouth to his for his kiss.
Bronwyn too felt the strangeness of the place and time. She should be worried about her clan, but she knew Tam was there to guide them, and maybe her men would be better off if they didn’t have to deal with the war that constantly raged between her and Stephen. Right now she didn’t feel at all like being at war with him. She felt like she’d never felt before: soft and feminine. There were no decisions to make, no anger, no worry that Stephen was on the other side. Right now they were hunted equally.
“You have a faraway look,” he said. “Will you share your thoughts with me?”
“I was thinking that right now I’m happy. I haven’t had a happy or even a quiet thought since before my father died.”
Stephen smiled because for the first time, she didn’t accuse him of murder. “Come here, sweet, and see if I can’t make you happier.”
He took his time in undressing her. They twisted together under the swaddling plaid and laughed when an elbow punctured any delicate spot. It was an intimate wrestle, rolling, laughing, enjoying each other and their freedom.
Stephen’s hands on Bronwyn’s skin made her quieten. She was learning about the pleasures of his lovemaking. She kissed his face, his neck, watched the play of moonlight on his skin.
He ran his lips across her shoulder, then down to her breast. She felt chills run through her. “Stephen,” she whispered. He ran his hands over her waist and ribs. The strength of him excited her, made her feel small and in his power.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered.
She smiled and knew that he made her feel beautiful. He ran his hands down the inside of her thighs, and when he felt her tremble, the same emotion ran through him.
He moved on top of her slowly. She gave herself to him freely and eagerly, pulling his mouth down to hers. When she groaned aloud in her pleasure, Stephen kissed her deeply. The sounds she made, her abandonment to his lovemaking, were exciting to him.