“I am Aela,” she said and added with a giggle that shivered through my body, “it means ardour.”
I believed her and ran urgent hands down her body that seemed made purely as a vessel for my needs, and she purred and reciprocated in kind.
That night seemed so short it could have passed in a moment, or so long that it might have lasted forever, but at some time I saw Alistair smiling to me like an indulgent father, and at another I lifted a quaich, the two handed whisky bowl of the Gaels, filled it with golden promise and drained the contents without stopping for breath. Aela and half a dozen of her laughing friends cheered me on and Lachlan beat time on the table with the hilt of his dirk. Wiping my mouth, I grinned to the assembled table.
“You are a real man, Ill Will,” Aela panted, lean
