“We can’t…” Bronwyn murmured against his lips. “Harben…”
Stephen bit her earlobe. “I told him we planned an orgy for the rest of the day.”
“You didn’t!”
“I did!” he mocked, laughter in his eyes. Then the expression on his face changed. His eyes widened and he looked at her in astonishment. The next moment he was tearing her clothes off her and gaping at the hard mound of her stomach.
He looked up at her in question.
She smiled and nodded at him.
Stephen’s shout of happiness scared the chickens from the barn rafters. “A baby!” he laughed. “Harben was damn right about his home brew.”
“I was carrying the child before we met Kirsty, so Morag says.”
He lay beside her and pulled her nude body close to him. “Then maybe it was me and not Harben,” he said from some deep, inner joy.
Bronwyn nuzzled against him and rubbed her thigh between his. “It may as well have been the home brew,” she said sadly. “I don’t remember anything else that could have given me a baby.”
He chuckled, then moved quickly as he pushed her face-down in the hay. In an instant he was out of his plaid. He kept his knee on the small of her back. When he was nude, he bent and kissed the back of her knees. “I haven’t forgotten you completely,” he murmured as he ran his teeth along her tendons. His hands caressed her legs as his mouth tormented her. She moaned under him and tried to turn over, but he held her fast as he continued his sweet torture of her.
His skin against hers sent shivers all through her body. His mouth traveled up to her spine, his legs against hers. The hardness and the hairiness of his thighs worked to excite her. His big hands caressed her back, played with the soft shape of her.
Just after she knew she could stand no more, he turned her over. He kissed her while his hand rubbed her stomach then inched up to her breasts. She arched toward him as his mouth touched her breasts.
He moved upward again, his teeth running along her neck. She grabbed at him, pulled him down on top of her. “Hungry, my laird?” he growled in her ear.
She bit at him, almost too hard, and the next moment he was on her. It had been so long since they’d been together, and Stephen’s mouth on her knees had excited her to a fever pitch. It took only a few thrusts before both of them were shuddering in the throes of their love.
“Oh, Stephen,” she whispered, clutching him to her. It was so good to feel safe again, to not be alone. She didn’t realize when the tears started.
Stephen moved from atop her and pulled her into the haven of his strong arms. He covered them with his plaid, and Rab snuggled against his mistress’s back.
The safety and security she felt made her cry even harder.
“Was it horrible?” he asked quietly. “We felt so helpless, but there was so little we could do.”
She wiped her tears away and looked at him. “Mary?”
He pushed her head down. “Brian Chatworth brought her back to us.” He was silent for a moment. Now was not the time to talk of his grief—and rage—at the death of his sister. Sweet, gentle Mary, who only did good in her life, did not deserve death in such a vile manner. Miles had been the one to nearly kill Brian before Gavin and Stephen could prevent him. When Brian’s story was told, it rang true that even held captive, Mary gave love. Brian’s grief was obvious as he held the lifeless body of the woman he loved.
“Brian went to find Raine, wherever he is now,” Stephen continued. “We heard he was hiding in the forest. Why didn’t you return to Larenston? Tam has aged twenty years in the last month. He knew so little about what had happened. They found Rab in the morning, and Tam was sure you were dead.”
“I wanted to do something for Mary.”
“For Mary? You came to Harben’s because of Mary?”
Bronwyn began to cry harder. “You were right. I had so long to think about it. I’m so selfish and I don’t deserve your love.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded.
“What you said. When you were holding that woman,” she sniffed disjointedly.
Stephen frowned as he tried to remember what she was talking about. Since they’d been married, he’d not touched another woman. Every woman he saw paled in comparison to Bronwyn’s beauty and spirit. He smiled as he remembered the night at Gavin’s castle. “Aggie!” he laughed. “She’s the castle whore. I was sitting there feeling miserable and sorry for myself when she came in the room, opened her blouse, and threw herself across my lap.”
“You certainly didn’t push her off! You were enjoying her when I came in.”
“Enjoying her?” he questioned, then shrugged. “I’m a man and I may be angry and upset, but I’m not dead.”