opened her mouth with his, pouring every ounce of his wanting, every bit of his need into this tasting of her sweetness. Merciful saints, he burned to touch every bit of her, tempt her, make her shriek out his name, but now was not the time. Nay, not yet. Not until she trusted him enough to unleash the passion he felt simmering within her.
Reluctantly, he broke the kiss before he lost all ability to reason and claimed her right there on the bench with nothing but a bit of tapestry between them and those gathering for the promised feast. Satisfaction filled him at the high coloring across her cheeks and her breath coming in little gasps. Aye, she wanted him, too, but he’d not have their first time be a hurried affair in an alcove off of the great hall.
“We should go…I suppose,” she said in a breathless whisper.
“Aye, that we should.” Regret surged long and hard as he steadied her to her feet, then adjusted his suffering cock to a less pinched position in his trews. He shook out the folds of his kilt to help hide the bulging rise of his starving manparts. “We should exit separately, ye ken? Magnus was maneuvering. But I’ll go out first just to be certain no one notices us.”
“Maneuvering?” She looked at him with an arched brow, waiting for further explanation.
“Aye. Maneuvering.” He straightened his jacket and neckcloth, then slid the tapestry curtain aside the barest bit and peered out. All seemed clear. He thought to turn back and steal one last kiss but decided against it. Every time he tasted her sweetness, he didn’t wish to stop. “I’ll call out when ye can follow.” With stealth born from hundreds of battles and just as many dalliances, he slipped out of the room.
“Shamie, shame, shame, I know yer name!”
“Dammit, woman!” He whirled about, clenching his teeth to keep from cursing more.
Jenny greeted him with a mischievous smirk. “Aye, that’s what ye get for skulking about like a wee thief.” She parted the curtain a tiny bit and peeped inside. “’Tis safe enough, I reckon, dear sister. I dinna think anyone saw the two of ye sneaking away to steal yer kisses but me.”
“We were not stealing kisses,” Sorcha said as she exited the room.
“Liar. Ye’re red as a freshly squeezed berry.” Jenny winked at Sutherland. “Dinna fret. I willna give away yer secrets.” She glanced around, then took a step closer. “But if ye hurt my sweet foster sister here, I’ve got friends who’ll hang ye by yer bollocks in the highest tower, ye ken?”
“Jenny,” Sorcha scolded.
Sutherland had no doubt that the lass was serious. He had noticed several of the guards following her about like devoted pets. He offered Sorcha his arm while focusing a stern glare on Jenny. “Never would I hurt this woman, but if ye ever dare startle me like that again, I’ll ask the chieftain to have yer arse thrashed for ye, I grant ye that.”
Jenny laughed away the threat as she waved them toward the entry hall. “Come this way so it looks as if ye stepped to the door to check on the storm.” She winked. “By the by, the ground’s already white in case anyone doubts yer story and asks ye.”
Jenny bounced along beside them, chattering nonstop. After what seemed like an eternity in the lass’s bubbling presence, Sutherland sympathized with Magnus completely. He yanked open the heavy oak door and peered outside. Sure enough, a heavy dusting of snow already covered everything. Huge fluffy flakes whispered down from the night sky, quickly adding more to the layer. He shoved the door shut as a gust of wind fought to push it open wider.
“Ye didna believe me?” Jenny asked, her insult evident.
“I’ve an aversion to lying,” Sutherland snapped, wishing the girl would find entertainment elsewhere. “Now, I can honestly say I looked upon the weather.”
“Where’s Heckie?” Sorcha asked as she stepped between them. “Ye should run and find him, or he’ll wiggle out of his promise to sit with ye.”
Jenny smiled. “Dinna fash yerself, Sorcie. I’ll leave the two of ye to yerselves. I’m not a bairn that needs distracting with another play pretty.” She flounced away, disappearing behind a wall covered in rows of shields decorated with the Greyloch clan crest of a pair of fierce dragons.
Sorcha stiffened beside him. Following her line of sight, he instinctively pulled her closer. Lady Culane and her son had just emerged from the archway to the