The Reiver Read Online Free

love with you."
    He couldn't think of a single thing she could have said in that moment that would have surprised—or thrilled—him more. His heart threatened to burst through his rib cage.
    She loved him. As God was his witness, nothing mattered but that. He didn't care who she was, where she had come from, or what she had done. As long as she loved him, everything could be made right.
    "Loving me is not so terrible as all that, is it?"
    She shook her head. "Perhaps not. But I did not want to. And now that I do...I do not know what to do."
    Duncan smiled gently. "Then you’ve no choice but to follow my lead."
    She nodded, her smile watery in return. "Aye."
    "Come with me," he said, turning Curaidh away from the outcropping. “I know exactly what to do.”
    He led her to one of the many small cottages that dotted Lochmorton's landscape. Most would be occupied come planting time, but now it was after the harvest and most of his people had moved inside the castle walls in preparation for winter.
    After helping her dismount, he brought her inside. She looked uncertainly around the small, sparsely furnished room. There was a fireplace, a few wooden chairs, and a bed.
    "Why did you bring me here?"
    Duncan caressed her cheek with one thumb. "To make you my wife."
    "Surely you cannot mean to marry me," she gasped.
    "I can and I do. I love you in return, Reva, and I shall settle for nothing less than making an honest woman of you.”
    “’Tis a little late now,” she teased. She eyed the room even more dubiously than before. "But surely you should have brought me to a priest if that was your intent."
    He chuckled. "And so I shall...but I have been more priestly myself than I would like these past months. With your permission, I would like to remedy that now."
    "You mean…?" She glanced to the bed and back to him.
    "Aye," he said, drawing her into his embrace, "I wish to make love to you. If you will permit me, of course." His voice was rougher—and more pleading—than he would have liked.
    "That doesna sound like the proper way to make either an honest woman or a wife of me," she observed, but the barest hint of a smile teased the corners of her lips as she said it.
    He pressed his lips against her forehead. "No, but it is the only way to make a sane man of me. Knowing you love me, I cannot bear another minute of this torture."
    "Torture?"
    "Aye, lass, you've had me tied in knots since that moment in my dungeon that I realized you were no lad. If you will not have me now, I do not know if I will make it whole to the wedding." He moved his mouth to her temple and was pleased by her shiver of response.
    She pulled away slightly and tilted her head to one side, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "My brothers always told me not to listen to a man when he claimed he'd sustain an injury if he did not have me in his bed. They say 'twas a ploy, that no harm ever came of waiting."
    He laughed and slid his hands from where they rested at the small of her back to cup her buttocks. She had worn breeches for their ride, and being treated to the sight of the rounded curve of her backside had been tempting him all day. "I never said my harm would be physical. 'Twill be entirely mental."
    She made thoughtful, scrunched-up faces as though considering this claim while he kneaded the firm muscles with his hands. Perhaps he wasn't as fond of large breasts as he'd once believed. A generous set of hindquarters more than made up for any lack.
    "Ah, well,” she sighed at last, “I suppose a mad Maxwell will do me no good as a husband. Very well, Duncan Maxwell of Lochmorton. You may make love to me."
    With a groan of relief, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. It was unmade and a bit lumpy, but he hoped she wouldn't notice either discomfort. He knew he wouldn’t.
    He first removed his plaid, which he had worn over shirt and breeches in deference to the autumn chill, and spread it out atop the bare mattress. When he was finished,