Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Thora’s heart plummeted toward the floor when she looked at the board. She didn’t need any form of premonition to understand that Aedan was in danger - perhaps mortal danger. She was certain the match was meant to be a trap of some kind. Even if it wasn’t intended to kill Aedan, it was certain that Lachlan had orchestrated the match for reasons of his own.

She had no doubt Aedan had the skills to compete. Her fear was that Lachlan would use some trick to put him at a serious disadvantage. Or worse, Aedan might win, but Laird Ross might use some trick to make it appear he had used underhanded means. It would damage Aedan’s reputation and his position as a laird. Even if Aedan only wounded his opponent, it might be twisted to damage his position. Wounding one’s host, even a small wound in a demonstration match, would be considered poor etiquette as a guest. Especially during the Yuletide festivities.

She sought Aedan out. “What will ye dae?”

“Fight. I cannae back out without looking like a coward. I’ll simply have tae dae me best tae avoid taking a serious injury or giving one.” Aedan sighed. “I dinnae ken what he intends, but I dinnae have a good feeling about this situation.”

“Nay more dae I.” Thora swallowed. Her Gift was still clouded, not even the faintest hint of premonition to guide her actions. “The storm…”

“Too strong. We’ll simply have tae go along with his plans, until we have a chance tae leave.” Aedan gave her a small smile. “Dinnae fret, little trickster. I’m skilled enough tae weather whatever Laird Ross might try tae dae. And ‘tis only a demonstration match.”

Thora nodded, but his confidence did nothing to shake her sense of foreboding. She watched Mac compete in archery, and one of the Cameron guards represent the clan in the races. She joined the ladies in making yule cakes and treats, as well as passing out little sweets to the children, as was customary.

Finally, it was time for the match between Lachlan Ross and Aedan Cameron. Thora stood beside Mac, watching with bated breath as Aedan strode into the middle of the cleared square, rolling his shoulders to loosen them and testing his grip on the sword he’d been given to fight with. It was a slightly blunted blade - a glancing blow was unlikely to do any damage, but a blow with enough strength would cut, and any strike that connected would leave bruises.

The thought of Aedan taking a blow from Lachlan Ross with one of those blades terrified her, but there was nothing she could say to stop him from fighting. He was right, to refuse a ‘friendly’ match would compromise his honor.

“The terms o’ this match are as follows: combat continues until one man is disarmed or surrendered. Permanently crippling blows and killing blows are nae permitted, though touches tae indicate such are allowed as long as they are controlled.”

The stipulation did nothing to make Thora feel better. She knew as well as anyone else that accidents could happen. One wrong move and Aedan could be grievously harmed, or even suffer fatal injury. The worst part was that she feared Lachlan Ross intended exactly that.

The warrior in charge of overseeing the match raised his hand and dropped it. “Begin!”

Neither warrior was fool enough to simply charge in, blade swinging. Instead, they began to circle each other, blades held at the ready. Lachlan was the first to break the pattern, blade lashing out in a shoulder-high side cut that Aedan easily parried. Aedan responded with a thrust of his own, and the duel began in earnest.

Swords clanged, slow at first, then faster and harder as the two fell into a rhythm of attack and counterattack. Thrust, parry, counter, slash… the two were expert swordsmen, and it showed. Thora watched carefully, alert for any trick or hint that Aedan was dangerous.

Their strength was roughly equal, but Aedan was faster, and perhaps more skilled. Still, Lachlan Ross was skilled in his own right, and he had a deadly style that made Thora feel nervous.

Gradually, the duel began to change. A high blow by Lachlan came a little closer and faster than it should have. Aedan’s return strike was fast and low, a little more crisp and sharper than his previous blows. Lachlan parried and stabbed at his chest with a little more force than was necessary. Aedan dodged and returned the attack with a thrust of his own.

It was no longer an exhibition duel. It was rapidly turning into an actual duel, a contest of skill and wills that would end when someone was disarmed, seriously injured, or badly humiliated. Thora bit her lip, her hands clenched into fists as she watched the two men exchange blows across the length of the cleared floor.

The blows grew faster, and then Thora saw one slip past Aedan’s guard to land a punishing blow on his upper arm. The laird of Clan Cameron winced and stumbled a little but blocked the next blow and responded with one of his own that tapped his opponent’s ribs.

He was holding his own, but he was still holding back. Unlike Lachlan, Aedan was still mindful of the rules that had been given for the duel.

Parry. Thrust. Side slash. Overhand. Backhand. Thrust.

Block. Sweep. Dodge. Upward crossover. Parry and side slash. Side slash.

Forward and back. Attack and defend. It was a brutal exchange of blows that was no longer about providing a show - it was about establishing dominance, proving who was the stronger and better warrior.

And now, Lachlan Ross’s true style began to show itself. Feints, low blows that could hamstring an opponent, attempts to trip or grapple with Aedan. Perhaps they were tricks that might be used in a true battle, but they had no place in what was meant to be a friendly demonstration of swordplay.

Aedan held his own, but even Thora could see where he missed chances to respond to an attack because his counter would not adhere to the ‘rules’, or where he pulled back the strength of what could have been a disabling strike, in order to avoid a serious injury to his opponent, which would seem in bad taste.

It was hard to breathe, and Thora was grateful for Mac’s strong, solid presence at her side. It kept her from collapsing, or doing something rash, such as interfering. Indeed, Mac had one hand on her arm, as if he feared she was about to jump into the fray at any moment. She couldn’t deny she was tempted to do so, as each blow became more and more serious.

Parry, block, attack and counter. Thora winced as Lachlan’s blade came perilously close to Aedan’s cheek, then again as he took another heavy blow to the arm. She wanted to scream at the match overseer to call for it to stop, or at least deliver a warning about out-of-bounds behavior, but she knew her words would go unheeded. The man was one of Lachlan’s warriors, loyal to his laird. And no one else would intervene, even if they thought the duel was becoming unfair, or disliked the disregard for the rules. They were too busy enjoying the spectacle.

Back and forth they went, both warriors beginning to perspire and breathe heavily. For a moment, Thora thought Aedan might be getting the upper hand…

Lachlan’s boot crashed into Aedan’s knee and buckled it, sending him reeling, right before a blow took him across the opposite of the ribcage with enough force that it would have hewed right through if the blades had not been blunted. As it was, if Aedan had not already been falling away from it, the force of the blow probably would have broken at least two of his ribs.

Aedan went down hard. His grip loosened on his sword hilt, but didn’t release it. It didn’t matter, however, because Lachlan’s boot came down hard on his wrist, eliciting a grunt of pain. “Lachlan….”

The blunted sword tip touched his throat. “Dae ye surrender?”

Aedan looked as if he wanted to spit in the other laird’s face. However, he was clearly at a disadvantage. He nodded. “Aye. The victory is yers.”

Lachlan’s smug look was enough to make Thora want to slap him or throw wine into his face. Only the necessity of avoiding too much fuss - that and Mac’s hand on her shoulder - kept her from storming forward to confront Laird Ross.

Lachlan released his hold, and Aedan sat up, massaging his wrist and grimacing at what were likely spectacular bruises forming on his ribs. “Ye fight rough fer a friendly match.”

Lachlan smiled thinly. “A fight is a fight, Laird Cameron, and any contest is tae be taken seriously, nae matter what the stakes. Practice bout or proper duel, a true man fights tae win and uses whatever tactics he must tae secure the victory.”

Aedan scowled, but he said nothing else. He simply rose, handed his blunted blade to the overseer of the match and bowed politely, but Thora could see he was hardly keeping himself from jumping the laird. “I thank ye fer the match and fer yer instruction. Now, if ye dinnae mind, ‘tis best I see tae me wife. She looks a wee bit worried, and I suspect she doesnae understand how ‘real’ men are meant tae fight their friendly duels.”

His voice was tight, almost dripping with sarcasm, but his expression was polite enough. Lachlan waved them off, and Aedan made his way to Thora’s side.

“That was far too serious fer a practice fight.” Mac’s voice was low and grim. “And I didnae like the way those blows hit home. Ye should see a healer, especially that strike tae yer knee and ribs.”

“Aye. I’d nae find some bruise salve and muscle liniment amiss.” Aedan grimaced. “But I didnae like the words he spoke.”

Thora knew exactly what he meant. There was no mistaking the threat, or the veiled warning, in Lachlan Ross’s tones. He might suspect their falsehoods, or he might not, but either way, he was planning something. Something as sinister and underhanded as the tactics he’d used in the duel, and possibly far more deadly.

Thora only wished her Gift would give her some insight into what that plan might be - or better still, some idea of how to thwart it.

Candle-marks later, Aedan stood at the door to the library. It was only a few doors down from their rooms, and he’d accompanied Thora there. She’d expressed a desire to do some reading, and he hadn’t had the will to deny her.

His pride was still stinging from the defeat he’d suffered before, a defeat he was reminded of every time he moved and put pressure on his heavily bruised ribs, or his injured knee. The healer had assured him nothing was broken, but her assurances did nothing for the sting of embarrassment he felt when he recalled being pinned under Lachlan’s boot.

In a proper battle, he would have called it good tactics to fight as Lachlan had. In fact, he’d used similar attacks on the battlefield to great effect and he wouldn’t have ended up under laird Ross’ boot at all. But this should have been a friendly duel, not a place for dirty tricks and low blows. He wasn’t sure which bothered him more, that Lachlan had resorted to such tactics, uncaring of the audience, or that he hadn’t been skilled enough to prevail despite Lachlan’s underhanded actions.

Or perhaps it was the words Lachlan had spoken. The edge of malice, too soft for any save himself to hear properly. A statement of personal philosophy on the surface, but far more foreboding to Aedan and his people. And Thora.

Perhaps he was overthinking it. Perhaps it only sounded threatening because he was in a vulnerable position where he could be threatened. Or maybe the unease he felt was guilt instead, guilt at his own falsehoods.

Either way, it left him restless and in no mood to stand in one place, brooding. He needed to be doing something, anything. Perhaps Thora might have some idea of what actions they should take next. He still didn’t trust her Gift blindly, but he was willing to listen to any insight she was willing to offer.

He ventured deeper into the library and found her sitting in a chair next to the fire, her shoes discarded on the thick fur rug beneath her feet. She looked utterly relaxed, curled into the chair with her feet up and her hair bound back, save for the small locks that escaped to frame her face. Her expression was focused, but content, and the sight of it made something tighten in Aedan’s gut.

She was so beautiful. He’d never met a woman who could heat his blood and spark his desire as easily as she could. It was becoming increasingly difficult to contemplate the day their bond ended - even more so to think of letting Thora go.

He moved closer on silent footsteps, and smiled as an idea came to him. Before she could hear or see him coming, he slipped up behind her and laid his hands over her eyes. Thora froze, and Aedan bent to whisper in her ear. “Can ye guess who I am?”

“Aedan…”

He laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple, before sliding his hands down to her shoulders, then to wrap around her chest. “Good guess.”

“What are ye doin’? I thought ye were keepin’ watch.”

“I was. But there’s little enough tae watch fer. And I found something far more important tae look at.” He leaned closer to inhale the floral scent of her hair. “Ye.” He nuzzled gently against the side of her cheek.

Thora’s breath caught, and she felt the spreading heat of her blush on his face. “Aedan…”

“Aye?” He slid his hand down to stroke her stomach and was rewarded with a swift intake of breath and a shiver.

“Aedan… we’re…”

“In a library, where few folk ever come, especially in the midst o’ holy day celebrations. Most are either sleeping or enjoying some time tae recover from too much ale and mead. Or wine.” Aedan pressed a kiss to Thora’s throat and felt her shiver again. “We’ve the place tae ourselves, and as much time as we need.”

He let one hand slide lower, to the v of her thighs, and the other higher, to cup the swell of her breast. “Tell me ye dinnae want me, and I’ll stop.”

“Aedan… we cannae…”

“That’s nae sayin’ ye dinnae want me, lass.” Another kiss, this time with a flick of his tongue and a slight scrape of teeth. Thora made a soft needy sound, like a half-smothered whisper.

“Are ye afraid o’ discovery? Or something else?”

“I…” Thora’s words faded into a breathless moan as he slid his hand an inch lower to stroke her sex through the fabric of her dress. “What are ye…?”

“Ye should be able tae guess.” He rolled her still covered nipple in his fingers, while at the same time adding light pressure and a caress of his other hand, and Thora arched against his touch. “I’m seducin’ ye.”

“But… yer injuries… we cannae just… the floor…”

“I wouldnae mind the floor.” In truth, the rug looked thick and soft enough for such activity. But as it happened, that wasn’t what he had in mind. “But I’ve another thought, one that willnae be so rough on yer injuries or mine.”

“But… if someone comes in…”

“I thought o’ that.” He moved to stand in front of her, then, with one smooth movement, he lifted her to her feet, turned them around and settled into her chair. Before she could protest, he pulled her down to sit on his lap. “Straddle me.”

“What…”

“Sit astride me.” His blood was flowing through his veins like liquid fire, his member hard and aching with desire as he leaned up to kiss her jaw and drink in her scent. “Sit so ye’re facin’ me directly.”

Thora flushed, but did as he said, gasping as he pulled her close, so that his straining erection was against her entrance, separated only by the cloth of her skirt and his kilt. “Aedan…”

“Last chance.” He slid his hand down between their bodies, to massage her. Thora made a soft noise and squirmed against his hand. “Tell me ye dinnae want this, and I’ll stop.”

“I…” Her face was flushed, as her body pushed into his touch.

“Dae ye want me tae stop?” He stroked her gently, then cupped her sex.

“Nay.”

Aedan gripped the fabric of her dress and his kilt and pulled it free of where it had been trapped between them. He and Thora both gasped at the sensation of heated flesh and cold air across their bodies. Aedan groaned as the damp curls adorning Thora’s sex brushed across his aching erection, teasing him. “Och… lass…”

He slid his hand between them, to caress her again, running his hand over the dampness of her arousal. His own pulsed and ached begging for release. “Can ye rise?”

“I… I dinnae ken…”

If her knees felt as boneless as his had before, she probably couldn’t. “Touch yerself, where I’m touching ye.”

“What?”

“Touch yerself. Spread yerself open fer me.” Aedan slid his hands to her hips.

Watching her reach beneath her skirt to follow his direction was enough to make his mouth go dry. The flush of her cheeks, the panting breaths that brought his attention to her taut breasts, the shy hesitancy of her movements… he’d never seen anything so entrancing. It was all he could do not to climax right then.

He could feel her hand between them, and the moment she did as he’d commanded. With a soft grunt of effort, he lifted her hips, aligning her entrance with the tip of his shaft. Then slowly, he lowered her down, burying himself in the tight heat of her velvet-soft sheath.

Thora gasped as he slid into her, her eyes going wide as he seated her fully against him, his shaft filling her core. “Aedan…”

He shifted in the chair, and she gasped, clutching at his shoulders as her body trembled with the sensation of him inside her. Aedan reached up and undid the laces of her bodice, and Thora flushed an even deeper crimson. “What are ye…?”

“I want tae see ye. Yer soft breasts… yer face as ye ride me… I want tae see it all.” He tugged the bodice apart and down just enough to bare her breasts, then put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer to him. “Ride me.”

She wasn’t experienced and it took a moment before she found the proper angle. Aedan’s breath hissed between his teeth as she rose, leaving him cold for a moment before she sank back down onto him. “That’s it…” He could barely speak through the pressure and pleasure sweeping through him.

She did it again, then began to rock against him in earnest, setting up a fast rhythm that took his breath away and sent the fire roaring through his blood like a bonfire under his skin.

Her breasts brushed against his chest with every descent, her thighs flexing around his hips, her whole body moving against his in a manner that made him near mindless with pleasure. The intensity of it was nothing he’d ever felt before, with any other woman. His whole body hummed with pleasure, and it was all Aedan could do to keep his focus on Thora, instead of surrendering to the pleasure and letting his eyes close.

Heat and pressure spiraled higher and tighter, clenching his gut and swelling his bollocks. His shaft was so tight it ached, and he could feel the heat of her around him, velvet softness clenching around him and pulling him onward.

He was close, so close… he reached out and slid his hand under her skirt, to where her body joined his. His hand found her pleasure center, and he stroked it with a finger, and was rewarded with a soft cry as she arched against him. He caressed her again, and Thora collapsed against him, her cry muffled against his shirt as she convulsed around him with her own pleasure.

Aedan felt his breath stutter as her inner walls clenched around him, dragging him over the edge and milking his release from him in a wave of irresistible pleasure. His body shuddered in time with Thora’s, his release spurting deep into her welcoming body as the sensations washed over him in a wave that turned his vision white with the force of it.

Above him, Thora whimpered and shuddered as the pressure of his body still in hers sent another wave of pleasure through her. The shocks tremored through her into him, causing his body to arch against hers in an aftershock of his own pleasure.

He was drowning in her heat, her sweet scent and the pleasure of her body enveloping his. Nothing else mattered - not his recent humiliation at Lachlan Ross’s hands, not the plans that might still threaten his clan, and not his injuries. There was nothing in his world except pleasure, heat, and Thora.

I never want tae let this go.