Highlander's Kiss (Clan Matheson #1)

He caught the tart one-handed and popped it into his mouth. “I’ll be up in a moment. I wish to change myself.”


“I’ll lay some clothes out for you and have the rest of your belongings sent down.” She scooped his bag stuffed with clothing onto the bed, foraged within and pulled out a blue tunic with the Matheson clan crest embroidered on the front pocket and tan rawhide trews. He could wear his war coat as he rode, should he have a need for the added warmth.

“Is there aught more you need, my lady?”

“Only for you to take these bags downstairs and ensure they’re packed with the provisions going to the camp.” She snuck the last tart and munched.

“Of course.” Effie bundled the bags in her arms and closed the door with a dip of her head as she left.

She shed her gown and shift, flapped out the cream riding shirt Effie had left for her to don and gasped as warm arms wrapped around her from behind. She turned in Tavish’s hold and looked into his glittering gaze. “Your clothes are on the bed. Effie took my bags and yours downstairs.”

“Thank you, and I believe I need to make a stipulation that whenever you’re changing, you only do so while I’m in the room. I’d hate to think I might have missed out on seeing you like this.” He pulled her tight against his very hard and very hot body, where every one of those muscles she’d just admired from the window now lay in perfect reach. He’d already shed his tunic and it lay in a puddle of white on the floor, his trews riding low on his hips. She ran her hands over his corded back.

“I wish to make the same request.”

“I need to kiss you.” He stroked one hand over her bare bottom, swept the other around the back of her head then dipped her backward. “Except kissing will lead to so much more and right now time is ticking away.”

“There is always time for a kiss.”

“Then I’ll need to make that kiss count.” He licked her lower lip then sucked it into his mouth. “You taste so sweet.”

He kissed her deeper and a fierce heat swept through her, so wicked and wonderful it tightened her nipples and made her weep for him below. She moaned as a storm of need surged through her, as he covered her mouth with his and kissed her with such a soul-searing possession that had her arching into him for more.

Breathing hard, he pulled back, set her back on her feet then whipped her cream shirt over her head. He flapped out her violet riding skirt and knelt at her feet. “Step in.”

She did and he wriggled the heavy fabric up her legs and fastened the ties at her waist.

Rising, he brushed his big body against hers then held out her fitted jacket. “Arms in.”

“You are dressing me far faster than I ever thought possible.” She slid her arms into the sleeves and he fastened the jacket at the front then nabbed her leather boots and after slipping one on each of her feet, laced them up.

“Don’t expect me to dress you quite so quickly ever again. I’d love nothing more than to topple you into that bed right now and never let you get back out of it. There is a reason newlyweds always enjoy a long honeymoon, one which we’ve been denied of.”

“I too would like a honeymoon.” She pressed one hand to the heated warmth of his chest. “Do you need aid in dressing?”

“I need to wash up and shave first.” He strode to the side table and poured water from the jug into the basin. From the pile of cloths, he unfolded the topmost one, dipped it into the water and wiped his arms and chest.

“Here, allow me.” She snuck the cloth from his hands, stepped in behind him and stroked down the heavily muscled plane of his back until his golden skin gleamed. “May I shave you too?”

“I’d be a fool to say no and lose the touch of your hands on me.” He turned around, perched on the edge of the table and hands on her hips, tucked her in between his spread legs. The black leather molded his strong thighs and she snuggled into the V as she reached around him and picked up the bar of soap.

“Mother used to shave Father at times.” She angled his head to the left and inspected the sharp black stubble that had grown considerably overnight. “Father though preferred to grow a beard and ’twas one as golden in color as his hair, and rather ticklish too.”

“What made it ticklish?”

“When I was a child, he would rub his whiskered cheek against mine and make me laugh, Arabel too. Whenever he kissed my poor mother, she’d more often than not end up in a fit of giggles. Her laughter always soothed me. I long to hear it again.” Smoothly, she built a lather and smeared his jaw with the foamy bubbles then held out her hand. “Your dagger please.”