The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(121)

Despite the fact that her innocence had been lost many times—and in many illuminating ways—over the past two months, she blushed.

He bent closer. “Do you think they’ll notice if we leave now?”

The soft whisper of his breath in her ear made her shiver. But it was his hand moving possessively—determinedly—down her thigh that sent soft bolts of heat pulsing between her legs.

The brush of his finger reminded her of his tongue. And if she remembered his tongue, she would have to remember his mouth. And if she remembered his mouth, she would remember the way he’d woken her this morning—her wedding day, the irreverent brigand!—and made her weep with pleasure.

And then she’d remember how she’d paid him back for the devilry by teasing him with her tongue. She’d remember the delicious salty taste of him. The velvety-soft column of hot flesh sliding deep and deeper into her mouth. How she’d milked him hard, drawing him with the suction of her mouth and circling the plump, heavy head with her tongue, until he was begging for release. How he’d finally lost control, holding her head to him as he pulsed deep in her mouth, his deep guttural cries of release ringing in her ears.

Her body melted with the sweet warmth of arousal. Suddenly, she startled, remembering where they were.

She swatted his hand away, hoping no one had been watching. Her eyes were half-lidded, for pity’s sake! She was supposed to be keeping him distracted, not the other way around. “We can’t leave. Not until—” She stopped, realizing she’d almost said too much. “We’re the guests of honor.”

He frowned, looking down to the end of the table where there were a few empty seats.

Nails to the cross! Her pulse spiked with panic. He’d noticed. Of course he’d noticed; there was nothing the too-observant man didn’t notice.

She grabbed his hand. “Come, we should dance.”

He frowned, not moving. “Is something wrong, Anna? You’re acting odd.”

Her eyes widened. “Of course not. I just wish to dance.”

A wry smile turned his mouth. “I’m afraid you’ll need to give me a few minutes.”

“Why …?” He glanced down to his lap and her cheeks heated, seeing the heavy bulge. It seemed she hadn’t been the only one remembering.

She glanced down the opposite end of the table to where Gregor MacGregor sat. He gave a subtle shake of his head and she turned back to her husband.

He was frowning again. “Are you sure it’s not ... I know you miss your family.”

A bittersweet smile played upon her lips. “I do, but it doesn’t mean I’m not happy. And my grandfather is here.”

She nodded toward the MacDougall chief, who sat a few seats away beside the king—or where the king had been sitting a minute ago.

After the fall of the castle, her mother and sisters had been permitted to follow her father and brothers into exile, but Bruce wanted her grandfather’s support. Whether he would earn it from the old warrior, she did not know, but she was glad to have at least one member of her family here on her wedding day.

And of course she had Squire. One day she’d force Arthur to tell her how he’d managed to sneak the puppy out of the castle when it was under siege. She’d blubbered like a fool when she saw him, having to explain to a confused Arthur that she was happy. He’d claimed to regret it every day since when the besotted puppy followed after him, but she knew he didn’t mind half as much as he pretended to. Accepting—nay, trusting—affection came easier to him now.

That Arthur had gone to such efforts to see to her happiness had moved her beyond words.

When he’d done the same with her brother Alan the day before the castle fell and her family had fled to England, she’d been nearly inconsolable with joy. Seeing her brother, knowing that he did not agree with her father’s decision and would not cut her off completely, was more than she could have hoped for. Alan was loyal to their father, but that loyalty did not come at the expense of his love for her.

Aye, she had much to thank her new husband for.

“And what of you, Arthur? I know you must be disappointed that not all your fellow guardsmen could be here.”

Anna had not been told all the details about Bruce’s elite guard, nor did she ask, knowing that secrecy was what would keep her husband safe. But she knew they were the most elite warriors in Scotland—the best of the best in all disciplines of warfare. She’d always suspected there was something special about Arthur, but she’d never imagined how special.

She’d figured out a few of their identities as well. Her uncle. The two men with him who’d helped to free Arthur—Gordon and MacKay. The ridiculously handsome Gregor MacGregor, who’d been part of the attack all those months ago—his face was one that was hard to forget. And it seemed she was correct to suspect that the fierce-looking Islander Tor MacLeod was one as well, as was the wickedly charming Norseman Erik MacSorley. Both men had been seated near the king with their wives, although now only the women remained.

She might not know all the details, but she knew enough to understand how important these men were to him—even if he didn’t.

But he would.

He shrugged as if it didn’t matter to him. “There is peace in the north, but along the borders there is still unrest. I’m sure they would have been here if they could. Gordon is to be married soon; perhaps I will see them all then.” He paused. “There is much to do before the king holds his first parliament next spring.” His gaze traveled to a table just below the dais. “I’m glad my brothers could be here. It’s the first time all of us have been in one room in years.”