The Way Back

Chapter Eighteen

"I can't believe we're finally here," she murmured, leaning on the embrasure and looking out.

Guy circled his arms around her waist. She pressed back against his warmth, as a zephyr of night air chilled her skin. The castle had fallen silent; high above the forest it was just the two of them, poised between moonlight and firelight.

"What's that?" Meg asked, pointing to flickers of light down amidst the trees.

"Allan and John are in the gatehouse, everyone else has left. But the others are keeping watch. It pays to be careful, with so much activity in an abandoned castle there could be wagging tongues."

Meg found the sight comforting, the watch-fires like tiny beacons of affection out in the dark. She felt suffused with contentment; a feeling that intensified, as Guy lifted her hair aside and began pressing his lips against her neck. She'd been so aware of him during the feast, each touch of his hand, each grazing kiss. It was no different now. But as she turned in his arms, it was the tenderness in his eyes that drove her to touch him, wanting to be closer. She reached up to caress his face, smoothing the stubble beneath her fingers.

"I couldn't bear to be without you, Meg," he said hoarsely. "Not now, not ever."

His hair fell forward as he bent to kiss her; lips stroking hers, undemanding.

"Each time I thought I'd lost you..." he murmured, their breaths mingling.

"You didn't – I'm here, we're together."

As if to prove it her hands tugged his shirt free, roaming over his skin, and Guy crushed her firmly against him: thighs, loins, chest. A light probe of his tongue, and when she responded he deepened the kiss, at the same time running his hands over her body, a fervour in him that left her shaken as she began to ache with need for him.

"Please," she managed, the nearest she could get to a coherent phrase. Closer.

He led her to the bed and turned her round, unlacing the back of her dress. His knuckles grazed her back; moments later, and his fingertips whispered across her bare shoulders. He slid her sleeves down, and then those warm, strong hands were running down her arms, caressing her exposed breasts, deft fingers stroking, circling, teasing. His jagged breaths were hot in her ear. And when he sat, turning her slowly to face him - his mouth taking the place of his hands -Meg felt a sharp tug of sensation deep inside, and had to clutch his shoulders and bite her lip to keep from crying out.

Needing to see him – remembering, too, their first night together, and the feel of him in her palm – she pulled him to his feet, urging him out of his shirt. Her breath hitched. Smooth skin, taut muscles, the soft sheen of them in the firelight...her hands skimmed his chest, then ran further down. Paused at his laces, but Guy needed no further encouragement; he dealt with them himself.

"What would you have me do?" she murmured.

"I'd have you trust me," he whispered, cradling her face. "And I would have you tell me, if anything is too...if you want me to stop, at any time."

"I do trust you," she said simply, though not exactly sure of his meaning. "With all of me, with everything."

"Oh my love..."

His mouth covered hers then, a deep, plundering kiss that turned her inside out with longing. She kicked her gown aside, impatiently, as he laid her back on the bed and began pressing a trail of hot kisses down her abdomen, inflaming her already heightened senses. Soon, she understood what he'd meant. He settled between her thighs and after a moment of shock – she'd never imagined such an intimate act – Meg felt as if her body had taken on a life of its own, with no power or will left in her but to react to the things he was doing to her.