The Arrow Read online

  But they were both too eager to wait for long.

  “Get on your knees and straddle me,” he said roughly—huskily.

  She looked confused for a minute, but then comprehension dawned. A warm glimmer of understanding spread across her face in a slow smile.

  Gregor didn’t know whether her quick grasp of the situation should make him curse or drop to his knees in gratitude. How long before she realized who held all the power here?

  Not long, if her quick mastery of the position meant anything. She braced her hands on his chest as she moved her hips over him. “Like this?” she said with a slow bob over his erection, which was pounding against his stomach angrily and not in any mood to play games.

  Her breasts were too tempting. He had to reach out and cup the firm mounds in his hands, his fingers lightly plying the dark pink tips until they were as hard as two tiny pebbles.

  She moaned, arching into his hands, and bobbed over him again, sliding his length between her legs this time, where he could feel the sweet heat and dampness. He made a sound of agonized pleasure and lifted his hips toward the tight, hot glove that he wanted gripping him.

  “What do I do?” she asked, her breath uneven.

  He could have shown her, but he wanted to let her be in charge and in control of her passion. “Put me inside you.”

  He groaned when her fingers came around him, and she lifted her hips into position. Every muscle in his body flexed to hold still as she rubbed the heavy head against her slickness, looking for …

  Oh God, yes. He groaned as she found it and started to lower her body on him, inch by inch. He was slick with sweat and near the end of his rope by the time she was fully impaled.

  She drew her hands down the tight bands of his stomach and threw her head back, sinking deeper and savoring the pleasure of their bodies fully joined—connected. “You feel so good,” she said. “So big and thick—I love the way you fill me.”

  He deserved a kingdom at least for not coming right there. The innocently erotic words sent hot bolts of pleasure from the base of his spine to the tip of his cock.

  She moved a little and he nearly wept from the effort to stay still. From the effort not to take her hips and slide her up and down on top of him until they were both coming hard.

  She was so tight …

  “Ride me, Cate,” he gritted out. It wasn’t an order, but more of a plea.

  And ride him she did. Slowly and tentatively at first, and then when she found the rhythm, hard and hell-bent for leather.

  It felt too good. He could feel the pressure coiling and couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed her hips, digging his fingers into her taut backside, as his body seized. “Oh God, sweetheart, I’m going to—”

  She cut him off with her cry, sinking down on him hard. He held her there tight, grounding her against him, letting the hard spasms of her release pull him right over the edge.

  He came harder than he’d ever come in his life, shooting his seed deep inside her in a hot rush of blinding pleasure.

  When she collapsed on top of him, he had only enough energy left to roll her to the side and tuck her in against him. He wanted to say something, but all he could think of was a dazed and unimaginative “wow.”

  She’d brought him to his knees, all right. And it was a damned good place to be.

  Cate thought she probably should be embarrassed by her wantonness, but she was too warm and contented—and too wonderfully exhausted—to muster any enthusiasm for the effort. Besides, if she were honest with herself, she wasn’t embarrassed at all. She didn’t need experience to know that Gregor liked her brazenness and her passion for him.

  Ride me. Heat spread over her skin when she thought of how she’d done exactly that. She’d never imagined that kind of freedom—that kind of wildness. It had been incredible. With him inside her, she’d felt powerful enough to storm castles or conquer kingdoms.

  She smiled against his chest as her finger absently traced the markings on his arm. It was so different being with him like this. She’d never imagined he could be so light-hearted and playful. He didn’t seem remote and untouchable at all, but rather quite wonderfully touchable. She’d never felt closer to anyone in her life.

  “What’s so amusing?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” she said, a little embarrassed by how happy she was. “I’ve never seen a tattoo before. What does it signify? I understand the two crossed arrows behind the shield, but I thought the badge of the MacGregors was a lion’s head? The Lion Rampant is the standard of the king.” He might have tensed, but she was too busy staring at it. “And what is this design that goes around your arm? It looks like a spiderweb.”

  He enfolded her hand in his and moved it from his arm to his chest. “So many questions, little one. Aren’t you sleepy?”

  She propped her chin up on his chest and frowned. “Why do I have the feeling you are trying to avoid my question?”

  He held her gaze for a moment in the soft candlelight. He seemed to be debating with himself about something. “You are right; it doesn’t have to do with the MacGregors. It’s just something I did a while back with some friends of mine.”

  He tried to dismiss it, but for some reason she sensed it was important to him. “Does it have to do with your role in the king’s army?” He looked surprised. “I know you don’t like to say anything, but I gather what you do is important.”

  “I’m a bowman, Cate.”

  “Aye, but I’d warrant an important one. What exactly do you do?”

  He paused for so long, she didn’t think he was going to answer her. When he spoke, it was carefully. “Sometimes the king needs important targets eliminated. A good marksman can come in handy for that.”

  She frowned, and then suddenly her eyes widened. “Targets? You mean people?”

  He held her gaze, as if steeling himself for her reaction. “Aye. I’m trained to kill, Cate. It’s what I do.”

  He stated it as a fact and without apology, but somehow she knew it wasn’t easy for him to admit. “And I’m sure every one of them has been necessary, although I’m sure it doesn’t make it any easier.”

  He looked surprised, as if he’d expected condemnation. He shrugged. “You get used to it.”

  She suspected he never got used to it at all. But he undoubtedly saw his compassion as a weakness for a warrior, when in fact it only emphasized his humanity. Caring was nothing to be ashamed of.

  She’d guessed how much the deaths affected him when she’d realized what the rocks were for. They were his atonement, his acknowledgment of every life that had been taken in the pursuit of Robert the Bruce’s ambition.

  She thought for a minute. “But what does the tattoo have to do with all of this?”

  He sighed and shook his head, smiling. “You are as unrelenting as some warriors I know. I will explain everything to you when we are married.”

  She liked hearing him say that. “And when will that be?”

  “I hope by Twelfth Night. I wrote the king and asked him to help me procure a dispensation.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “I wish I could be there to see his reaction. I think Bruce was convinced I’d never find my way willingly to the altar. He’ll be disappointed not to be here for the wedding, but I’m sure once Perth is taken he will arrange a great feast at Dunstaffnage.”

  Cate stiffened. “A what?”

  He tipped her chin to look at him. “I know you blame the king for what happened, Cate, but that blame is misplaced. He was as devastated by the massacre of your village as he was when news that his wife, daughter, sister, and the Countess of Buchan had been taken reached him. He disappeared into the forest and didn’t talk to anyone for days.”

  Cate refused to allow herself to feel pity for him. She hardened her heart. “Any guilt Robert Bruce felt is deserved. We are all just pawns to a nobleman’s ambition. What are the lives of a few villagers in the name of a throne? What is a daughter?” She paused, and quickly added, “Or a wife.”