Highland Wolf (Highland Brides #10)(21)

Chapter 7




Claray lay still for a moment as she listened to the squelch of the Wolf’s wet boots moving away, and then let her breath out slowly and sat up. Drawing her knees up to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and lowered her head to rest on them briefly. Her body was still humming, but her mind was awash with confusion. She was both sorry he’d stopped and immeasurably grateful at the same time. She was also ashamed of herself for acting so wantonly with him. It wasn’t how she’d been raised to behave and she’d never been so free with her body before. In fact, he was the first man to even kiss her.

Lifting her head, Claray pressed her fingers over her lips as she recalled those kisses. Just the memory was enough to make her body tingle and her nipples harden again, and she closed her eyes in shame over her body’s response. According to Father Cameron, even a husband should not garner a response like that. Only sinners enjoyed such congress. Worse yet, not only had she enjoyed his kisses and caresses, but she had enjoyed them from a man whose name she did not even know, Claray realized with self-disgust. For while he went by the moniker “the Wolf,” she knew that could not be his true name.

Groaning, she dug her fingers into her damp hair and grimaced when she felt the clumped-up mud caught in the strands on the back of her head. She definitely had some cleaning up to do.

Sighing, she started to rise, but stopped to grab up her gown where it floated next to her. Taking it with her, Claray then moved out into the river until she was knee-deep again. She wouldn’t go any deeper; the water was moving quickly even at this shallow point and she wasn’t sure it was safe to go out further. So she knelt in the water, noting as she did that it no longer felt cold to her. That was something at least, she thought as she set to work scrubbing the rest of the mud from her gown. It seemed to be coming out quickly and easily, Claray noted, and only wished she could wash away the memory of what had just happened from her mind as effortlessly.



“Well, ye’re half-clean.”

Conall ignored Payton’s amused comment as he led his horse into the clearing and walked past him to take his mount to where Allistair was tending the other horses. He’d walked the beast back rather than ride him to give his body time to calm down. It wouldn’t have done to return with his cock making a tent in his plaid. Which is what it had been doing when he’d left Claray. Fortunately, it had calmed down and deflated during the trek back. Unfortunately, his emotions hadn’t calmed down along with it.

Conall’s thoughts were in utter chaos at the moment. Half of his mind was recalling how sweet Claray had tasted when he kissed her. How her moans and mewls and gasps of pleasure had excited him. How her kisses, though inexpert at first, had quickly become as hungry and demanding as his own. How her nails had dug into the skin of his back and shoulders as she urged him on. And how her body had responded to his touch, her nipples pebbling, her body writhing and rising to meet his caresses. The feel of her warm slick excitement as he’d delved between her legs to caress her had almost driven him mad with the need to plunge into all that wet heat. He still wanted to.

But then her voice rang through his head. M’laird Wolf?

It was that name in a voice trembling with fear and uncertainty that had pierced through his eagerness to thrust into her. M’laird Wolf.

She didn’t even know his damned name, which was bad enough, but the fear and uncertainty he’d heard in her voice had made Conall freeze, then pull back to look down at her. He’d found her staring back, the corner of her lower lip caught between her teeth, her eyes wide and full of trepidation in a pale face. It was then Conall had realized what he was doing and to whom. He’d tossed up her shift and been about to take her innocence there on the shore of the river like some lightskirt, and Claray was definitely no lightskirt.

Sighing, he ran a hand through his damp hair, and shook his head. He’d definitely lost his mind.

“Ye do ken the lower half o’ yer plaid is still thick coated with mud, do ye no’?” Payton asked, apparently still following him.

“I’ll go clean up properly after Claray finishes,” Conall growled, wishing his cousin would leave him alone. He wasn’t in the mood for Payton’s teasing just now.

“Ye did no’ leave her alone in the water, did ye?” Payton asked, sounding surprised and even concerned.

“She’ll no’ run away,” he assured him, weary of the suggestion. “If she was going to do that she’d ha’e already made a run fer it. Besides, she kens her father sent us after her,” he pointed out.

“Aye,” Payton agreed, but now sounded annoyed rather than soothed. “But ye left her alone in a river where the currents are strong. No one should be left alone to swim here.”

Conall stopped walking at once at those words. For one minute he just stood there, alarm coursing through him, and then Payton cursed and muttered, “I’ll go keep an eye on the lass.”

“The hell ye will!” Conall roared, turning to catch the man’s arm and draw him to a halt. “Take me horse to Allistair and ask him to clean me saddle. Then see if Hamish has something fer her to wear while her gown dries. I’ll go back and watch her.”

Not waiting for a response, Conall then strode quickly back the way he’d come, his speed increasing with every step as he had visions of Claray getting caught in a current and dragged under and spat out downstream, pale and lifeless.