He’d never met his bride-to-be. Although he mourned her death, he grieved the loss of a potential wife, grieved the cutting short of so young a life, not the woman herself.
Dageus, on the other hand…Ah, that was a bitter and burning grief within his breast. He closed his eyes, firmly corralling the pain to be dealt with at a later time.
Since his brother had died, it was even more critical that he beget an heir. And soon. He was the last MacKeltar left to sire sons.
He glanced speculatively at Gwen.
Nay. He would use no Druid magic to move the stones in her presence.
He studied the stone blockade for a few moments before launching a simple physical assault. But he didn’t merely put his arms into the job, he put his entire body into it, aware that she had dropped to her knees on the floor of the tunnel and was watching his every move. He might have flexed a bit more than necessary, to demonstrate what a prize she might enjoy in her bed. Anticipation was an important part of bed play and heightened the woman’s ultimate satisfaction immeasurably. Never let it be said he wasn’t an expert and attentive lover. The seduction began long before he removed a woman’s clothing. Women might not like the thought of wedding with him, but they vied in masses for the pleasure of his bed.
Digging them out was a time-consuming task. From how tightly the stones were packed, the crevices between them sealed with the dust of time, he guessed this branch of the tunnel had collapsed a long time ago and been forgotten. He dug and tossed and cleared out the smaller rocks before turning his attention to the larger ones, using his ax as a lever to push and roll them. Before long, he had cleared a small passage. Thick foliage camouflaged the opening, and he could see why the tunnel had been forgotten. What had once been an entrance lay secluded between boulders and covered by bramble. Who would think to look for a cave in such a place? It was apparent that he hadn’t been brought in via this tunnel. That much foliage couldn’t have grown in a month.
He glanced over his shoulder at her. She raised a guilty gaze from his legs, and he grinned. “You have naught to fear,” he assured her. “Freeing us is easy. ’Tis the hike that will be tiring.”
“What hike?”
He didn’t bother to answer her but returned to his labor. The sooner they got out, the sooner he could devote attention to her seduction. Of course it would have to happen while they were traveling back to his castle, for he dare not waste time. After widening the opening, he used his sword to hack through the dense overgrowth obscuring the entrance. When he’d finally cleared a passage he deemed safe enough to accommodate them, she hurried to his side. He realized she would bolt out the opening and sprint away if he gave her the opportunity.
“Step back while I go through,” he commanded.
“Ladies first,” she said sweetly.
He shook his head. “You would bound off faster than a hare if I were such a fool.” He grasped her shoulders and pulled her close. “I would advise against running from me. I would catch you easily, and the chase would only arouse me.” When she tried to shrug his hands off her shoulders, he said, “Is this the fashion in which you thank me for freeing you?” he teased. “You might grant me a boon for my efforts.” He rested his gaze on her lips, making it clear what boon he had in mind. When she wet them nervously, he dropped his head closer, taking it as a sign of compliance.
But the contrary lass flattened her wee palms on his cheeks and held him at bay. “Fine. Go first, then. Age before beauty,” she added sweetly.
“Arrogant lass,” he said with a snort, grudgingly admiring her audacity. “Give me your pack.” After producing the remarkable fire from within it, he was confident she wouldn’t try to flee him without it in her possession.
“I’m not giving you my pack.”
“Then you’re not moving,” he said flatly. “And the longer I stand here, in such tempting proximity—”
She smacked him in the chest with it, hard, and he laughed. Her cheeks flushed when he said, “Temper, temper, wee English. ’Tis truly most becoming to you.” What a lovely spitfire she was, scarce taller than a child but voluptuously curved and plainly old enough for carnal pleasure.
Aye, he’d take her back to Castle Keltar; mayhap she would prove an amenable companion, mayhap more. Mayhap she could be his fifth betrothed, he thought wryly, and perchance he’d actually get her to the altar. He’d not met a woman so uncowed by him. It was refreshing. With his height and size, not to mention whispers circulating about the MacKeltar in the Highlands, he frightened lasses more oft than not.