Page 11 of Katie's Highlander (Highland Protector 3)
“Odd binding on the h-head,” she sleepily observed under her breath.
Hell’s fire—the woman thinks me hard-on is the spear.Ramsay bit back a groan, tossed his empty whisky glass on to the couch, then gently took hold of Katie’s shoulders and slowly rolled his body out from under her. She obligingly slid away and snuggled into the pillows but kept one hand locked on his kilt-covered cock with a deadly tight grip.
“Can’t lose the spear,” she mumbled. “Gotta hold tight.” She squeezed him harder.
Ramsay stood half bent over Katie, both hands propped against the back of the couch and his cock locked in her hand. He swiped away the beads of sweat running into his eyes and silently mouthed every Gaelic profanity he’d e’er heard and a few modern-day English ones as well.Unbelievable. Complete feckin’ idiot, I am.A possible solution finally muddled its way through the endless stream of curse words running through his mind.
After a deep, controlled inhale and then a slow exhale, he slid one hand up under his kilt, wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock and slid free by pushing up against the heel of Katie’s hand. She pulled hard and rolled away, maintaining a tight hold on his wadded kilt in her hand.
Still arched over her, Ramsay undid his belt, unwound himself out of his kilt and stepped back—his poor man parts bellowing for release. “I canna tend t’ye now, m’friend,” he whispered down to his long-sufferin’ member. “Later. I promise.”
Katie mumbled something unintelligible, hugged his kilt to her chest, and nuzzled deeper into the pillows.
Ramsay stared down at her.What a feckin’ mess. What will the poor woman think when she wakes in the mornin’ with a helluva whisky headache and m’kilt in her hands?
Gingerly, he tried to pull his kilt away, but Katie only hugged it tighter, wrapping both fists in the fabric and clamping them to her chest. Ramsay stopped. He didna dare wake her. Not when he stood there with nothin’ on but hisléineand his stiff cock peeping out from under it.
At a complete loss, Ramsay stepped away with hands raised. “M’kilt is yers, dear lady. I can only do m’best to explain tomorrow.” He gathered up the rest of the yardage, carefully spread it, then tucked it around Katie.
After pausing the slightest moment, he bent and lightly brushed her hair away from her face, then pressed a kiss to her temple, taking in a long deep breath of her scent before straightening and backing away.
“Sleep well, dear one. And for God’s sake, take care with that spear in yer dreams.”
Chapter 5
“Dwyn—ye best talk to him. Ye ken well enough that Emrys isna well of late and Ramsay’s shamin’ by that damned woman just made him worse. He’s been a mumblin’ and a greetin’ about that boy night and day, as any father would but ye ken how unhealthy it is for m’poor dear husband. Visions a plenty too. Visions about Ramsay. The man’s addlin’ himself sick and that stubborn son a mine willna listen to a word I say ever since that whore Sylvia made him look the fool.”
“Not today,Máthair.” Ramsay steeled himself against the conversation he’d just walked in on and made his way to the coffeepot. He was in no mood.What is it that Mistress Lydia always says? Aye—I’ve bigger fish t’fry this day.He ignored the sympathetic looks of his brother Ross, his sister, Esme, and the demigod assigned by the goddesses to watch over them, Dwyn MacKay, guardian andneach-teagaisg, teacher, to all the druid clans but closest by far to the goddess-chosen MacDaras.
All were seated at the kitchen table already enjoying their breakfasts. Thank the goddesses that Katie wasna among them. That poor lass was probably still asleep. And a good thing too. When she awoke, she’d more than likely no’ be feelin’ verra well at all. Ramsay both looked forward to and dreaded seein’ her today. Several explanations were owed the lass.
“All I’ll say…” Dwyn paused as he snapped his magazine open and glanced over the shiny colorful pages. “…is that ye ken the folly of what ye did and ye shouldna worsen things by endangering the safety of the spear.” Dwyn looked up from the celebrity gossip rag he diligently followed and arched a brow at Ramsay.
A warning burn ignited at the base of Ramsay’s neck, seared its way down his spine, and ended at the crack of his arse. Ramsay clenched every muscle, readying himself for whate’er hell was about to ensue.He knows. Somehow, the wily immortal knew all that had happened last night. Ramsay could see it plain as day in Dwyn’s eyes.
Sons a bitches.Ramsay willed the crafty old bastard t’keep his mouth shut.
Dwyn arched the bushy brow higher and smiled. He gave Ramsay the slightest nod and a knowing wink as he folded the thin magazine in half and held it in one hand while he took a sip of coffee. He tapped the paper in Ramsay’s direction. “And I’ll add that ye’d best remember to treat yer mother with the respect she deserves. Ye ken as well as I that she’s more lenient with yer behavior than she is with any of the others.”
Every tensed fiber relaxed.I thank ye, Dwyn.Ramsay lowered his chin the barest bit in the demigod’s direction—the age-old move of respect.Thank ye for holdin’ yer tongue.He was positive Dwyn would bring up last night’s happenin’s. The old bastard wouldna pass up an opportunity t’nettle the hell out of Ramsay for such. But at least Dwyn had been kind enough t’wait until no one else was around.
“He’s always been Mama’s favorite,” Esme chimed in as she added a bit of cream to the bowl of strawberries in front of her. “You agree?” She poked her brother Ross in the shoulder before sinking her spoon into the bowl of berries.
“Aye.” Ross winked at Esme then gave Ramsay a mischievous smile. “It’s ‘cause he’s the runt—shortest of the MacDara sons.” He sopped up the remains of his fried eggs with a half-eaten biscuit then shook a chunky slice of bacon at Ramsay before stuffing it in his mouth. Talking around his chewing, he lifted his coffee cup and waved it in Ramsay’s direction as he spoke. “Yer spoiled, ye are. And a damn sight too sensitive for yer own good. D’ye think yer the first man who’s e’er been played the fool by a wicked lass?”
“Ye can go straight t’hell, Ross, and kiss the devil’s bollocks while yer there.” Ramsay turned back to the coffeepot and filled his mug, spilling it across the counter when a wooden spoon caught him with a hard, stingingthwackacross the thickest part of his arse.
“Ye’ll no’ talk like that in my kitchen!” Sarinda drew the long-handled spoon back again, readying for another shot. “No son a mine—no matter how grown—will e’er treat me with such disrespect by sayin’ such things in my presence—be ye the so-called favored one or no’, ye ken?”
Sons a bitches. A man full grown and still gettin’ me arse whipped by me mother.“Beggin’ yer pardon,Máthair.” Hands raised, Ramsay backed away until his arse bumped the kitchen counter.Hells bells and demon bollocks. I’m cornered.“Forgive me,” he hastily added.
Sarinda gave him a last warning point of the wooden spoon then turned back to the stove and lifted the lid off a small black pot on the back burner. “Lydia’s herbal tea is ready, Esme. Hurry and finish yer breakfast, lass, so ye can take her tray to her before she’s had a chance to rise from her bed. She was up later than usual last night what with preparing the dough for risin’ and mixin’ her marinade for today’s meat. Our dear Lydia isna gettin’ any younger, ye ken? We must see to her care whether she thinks she needs it or no’.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Nay, lass,” Ross corrected with a stern shake of his finger at his baby sister. “Ye say,‘Aye, Mathair’no’ ‘yes, ma’am.’ Yer a Scot for Bride’s sake. Not a bloody North Carolinian.”
Ramsay agreed with Ross but remained silent. Esme would win this oft-had argument between the siblings. Always did. After all, the wee lass had been born in North Carolina within a month after the goddesses had brought them forward in time. She belonged here—fit in perfectly because this was all she’d e’er known. But the brothers, the four of them, had been born in late ninth-century Scotland and the goddesses had plucked the entire MacDara family out of their broch early in the tenth century and dropped their arses here along with the blessed Heartstone and the goddesses’ weapons. Survival had deemed it necessary.
