Bedding the Highlander

by Sabrina York

  It seemed a lifetime since he and wee Ann had made love in that cave. Now, there were leagues between them. And he was unsure how to approach her.

  When the ladies came to collect her, to escort her upstairs and help her prepare, she didn’t even look at him. As he watched her cross the hall, she had the carriage of Joan of Arc being led to the pyre, and he didn’t understand why.

  Aye, she resented being forced to marry. He could understand her ire over that. But now they were man and wife. They had enjoyed each other before. He did not understand what had changed.

  A few moments later, he ignored the cheers in the hall when he stood and made his way to his rooms. His steps slowed as he approached the door. He sucked in a deep breath and pushed it open.

  His gaze landed on Kate, standing before the hearth, staring into the fire. His pulse flared. Her body was outlined by the flicker of the flames.

  Damn, she was beautiful.

  Thusly provoked, his lust rose.

  But as he stepped toward her, he tripped over something on the floor. With a frown, he glanced down.

  When he realized what it was that had snagged his foot, annoyance rippled through him. He pinned a glare on his wife, who had heard his curse and turned around.

  “What is this?” he growled, gesturing to the blankets piled beside the door.

  She turned up her nose and sniffed. “I should think that would be obvious.”

  “It most certainly is not.”

  “It’s a pallet.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “I know that. What’s it doing in our room?”

  “It’s where I intend to sleep.”

  Fury whipped through him. “You most certainly are no’ sleeping on the floor.”

  “I am.”

  “Then I am sleeping on the floor beside you.”

  She blinked, as though she’d not considered that prospect. Her lips worked. “I doona want to sleep with you.”

  “You are my wife.” His fists closed; her attention settled on them and her lips tensed.

  She stepped toward him, tipped up her chin, and glared at him. It seemed as though she was daring him to…do something.

  “Kate…”

  “Go ahead,” she said, steeling herself. “Do it.”

  He frowned. “Do what?”

  “Beat me.”

  Something nasty skittered through his bowels. Perhaps it was in response to the certainty of her command. “Beat you?”

  “Might as well get it over with.”

  God. He hated that look in her eye. One of despair and certitude. Of fear and courage mingled with resignation.

  He stared down at her and snarled, “I doona beat women.”

  The last thing he expected at his outraged denial was for her to laugh. Oh, it was not a humorous sound. There was a sob tucked deep in it.

  “Ann—”

  “I am no’ Ann.”

  “Kate…” He struggled to soften his voice, but it was a challenge because he was far too overset. “What have I ever said or done to make you think I wish to beat you?”

  “You threatened me.”

  He blinked. “I…what?”

  “You will pay for that, my dear. That is what you said.”

  “When did I say that?”

  Why his question infuriated her was a mystery to him. “It was the first thing you said to me after we were declared man and wife,” she snapped. “And you doona even remember?”

  “Why would I remember that? I was only teasing you.”

  “Teasing?” Her voice rose. “Why is it I canna believe you?”

  “I have no idea.” He also had no idea why his ire was rising. He didn’t want to be angry with her. It was almost as though she were…baiting him. Almost as though she wanted to incite him to violence. It made no sense at all. He decided to try again, this time taking a different tack. “Kate, shall we sit by the fire? Have a cup of wine? Talk about this?”

  “Please,” she said in a strangled tone. “Please stop trying to pretend.”

  He gaped at her. A prickly heat rose on his nape. “Pretend?”

  “Pretend that you are civilized.”

  He reared back. His nostrils flared. “I am bluidy civilized,” he roared.

  A flash of something flickered over her features. He was almost certain it was satisfaction. Although why she should be gratified at getting a rise from him was a mystery.

  Regardless, he knew he had to leave. He was far too angry to stay.

  He was not the kind of man she wanted him to be, and he would not stay and allow her to goad him. As dismal as it was to admit, after five minutes in his wife’s company, he needed an escape. Swamped with frustration and helplessness, he turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door in his wake.

  He winced as the impact shuddered through the hall.

  Chapter 17

  Kate huddled in the chair by the fire, nervously waiting for Kirk to return. He’d been so angry when he’d stormed out, she was certain he’d beat her when he came back.

  It was wrong of her to push him into it—she most certainly did not want to feel his blows—but a part of her knew she would not rest until her suspicions were confirmed. The irony of her inner conflict was not lost on her.

  She was foolish to hope he wasn’t like her brother, but she would be more foolish to ignore the probability.

  Without warning, the door opened and he stepped into the room. To her horror he held a riding crop. She froze and tracked his progress like a cornered rabbit. He said nothing as he prowled toward her and sat in the companion chair, setting the whip across his lap.

  Then he sighed and scrubbed his face.

  What was he going to do? How could she bear it?

  Sweat beaded her brow. Her pulse thrummed. She shrank into her chair as she waited for his outburst, her knife held tight in her sweaty fist. She didn’t want to hurt him, but she would if she had to, in order to protect herself.

  Ironically, his face, limned in the firelight, was beautiful. The flames picked up a golden glow in his lashes and hair, making him seem like a fallen angel. She was reminded of their night together in the cave. Of his gentle touch and the glory he’d shown her.

  She ached for that.

  “Kate,” he said in a deceptively tender tone.

  She didn’t respond, other than to peep at him.

  “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

  Lost his temper?

  She blinked. He’d yelled. Clenched his fists. Slammed the door. That was her brother in a good mood.

  “I shouldna have snapped at you.” His gaze locked on hers. “Can you forgive me?”

  Good God. How did a woman respond to a question like that from a man?

  His throat worked and then he said, “I am prepared to accept my…penance.”

  At this she lurched up in her chair and gaped at him. “Wh-what?”

  His smile was contrite. “You heard me. We’re married now. We are husband and wife. If I wrong you, I expect you to punish me.” He handed her the whip. “Beat me if you will.”

  She stared at the whip. Shook her head. Her lips worked. “I…What?”

  “Aye,” he said with a heavy sigh. “That is what you told me husbands and wives do, is it not? Beat each other regularly? Keep in mind, I’ve never been married before, so this is all new to me.” For some reason, he grinned. Dimples blossomed on his cheeks and, damn it, he looked alluring.

  “I am no’ going to beat you,” she snapped, throwing the whip onto the floor.

  He stared at it for a moment. “Well,” he said. “I am glad to hear it. To be truthful, I dinna look forward to that part of marriage.” He leaned closer, so close she could taste his breath, and whispered, “Shall we agree there shall be no beating in this marriage?”

  His expression was so sincere, so raw, that she had to believe he meant what he said. “Aye,” she said in a whisper. “No beating.”

  “And if we have a disagreement, I suggest we discuss it calmly u
ntil we sort it out.”

  She swallowed heavily. “And…what if we canna sort it out?”

  “I suggest we remain in our bedroom until we can.”

  “Our…” She blinked. “In our bedroom?”

  His gaze lit a fire within her. One she’d never thought to experience again. “Aye. We get along well in that arena, as I recall.” He took her hand and she didn’t even flinch. Then he began drawing small, soothing circles on her palm. “I recall a night in a cave, on a stone-hard floor. Do you remember that?”

  Bemused by his gentle tone and the strokes of his fingers, she nodded.

  “I can only imagine how wonderful it could be in a bed.” He shot a longing glance at the enormous bed on the far side of the chamber. It did, indeed, look comfortable. “But if you are more at ease using blankets on the floor, they will suffice. However…”

  He waited until she met his gaze.

  “Regardless of where we make love tonight—and we shall make love tonight—I must insist that you take the lead.”

  She gaped at him.

  Gaped.

  “What on earth do you mean?”

  “Shall I show you?”

  She battled between her confusion and her absolute befuddlement, but somehow managed a nod.

  To her astonishment, Kirk stood and made his way to the bed. He stripped off all his clothes—and that was flummoxing enough a sight—and then he threw himself spread-eagled on the mattress and said, “I am all yours. Do what you will with me.”

  And then he winked, and added, “Wife.”

  Chapter 18

  Surely he was insane.

  Bare-assed naked and helpless before his wife—and possible enemy—but Kirk didn’t care. He had to take a chance, encourage her to trust him, or this marriage would never work.

  And, oh, he wanted it to work.

  He watched on bated breath as Kate stepped closer, studying him the way a fawn studies a wolf. As she neared the bed, she set something on the table. He shouldn’t have been surprised to realize it was a knife.

  “Were you planning to stab me?” he asked in as congenial a tone as he could manage, considering his wife had brought a dagger to their wedding bower. It didn’t help to remind himself that she might have often needed one in Killin Keep.

  “I was considering it,” she said. Her lips quirked in something that was nearly a smile, which Kirk found to be extremely gratifying…and relieving. That she stepped closer to the bed was wonderful as well.

  But then she stopped. Shrugged. “What do I do now?” she asked.

  “You could remove your clothes.” A logical suggestion.

  “Will you leap upon me when I do?” A logical question.

  “I swear. I will not move from this spot unless you expressly ask me to.” A highly illogical offer. But it slipped out before he could consider the consequences.

  Aye, he was a fool, but his tactic seemed to be putting her at ease.

  “Do you promise?”

  “I do.” God help him. Having her so close, and naked, might make him go stark staring mad. But he would honor this promise. The first of their marriage. He would. If it killed him.

  And it just might.

  She reached for her hem and pulled off her dress, and then her chemise, and then…Well, then he simply stared because she was perfect. Her breasts were high and full and her waist was a delicate curve. Her hips looked delicious and that tangle of curls at the crux of her thighs made his vision blur.

  This was the first time he’d gotten a look at her in decent light. She was more astounding than he had imagined. And she was his. He swallowed, and then groaned.

  Why had he made that promise?

  She stepped closer, emboldened by his death-grip on the bedcovers. Her gaze raked his body from tip to toes. His cock, already alert, surged at her attention.

  This seemed to fascinate her. And the true torment of his position became clear to him.

  He had promised not to move unless she asked him to.

  He had not accounted for her curiosity.

  She leaned closer to study his cock and then—God help him—she touched him.

  It was a horrific stroke, just the tip of her finger from the base of his balls to the very end of his spear along the throbbing vein. He groaned, deep in his throat, and she glanced at him.

  “Does it hurt?”

  How did one answer that question? “It is excruciatingly…glorious.”

  She tipped her head to the side and frowned. “That makes no sense.”

  “Trust me. It does.”

  “Do you like when I do this?” she asked, taking him in her fist.

  He shuddered. “Aye.”

  “And this?” A stroke.

  His eyes rolled back in his head. “Aye.”

  “Kirk?”

  It took everything in him to open his eyes and focus on her face. “Aye?”

  “Why is it wet?”

  Ye gods. She touched the head of his cock, circled it with a fingertip. And then, to his shock, licked her finger. Licked it. He nearly lost all control right then and there.

  “Katie, lass, you are killing me,” he wheezed.

  She lurched back, a dismayed expression on her face. “Is it that bad?”

  “Katie…” He forgot his promise and sat up, but when she took yet another step back, he dropped back down into the position he’d consigned himself to. “It is that good. When you touch me, my body aches for more.”

  “It does?”

  “Aye.” He huffed a laugh and dropped his arm over his eyes. What had he ever done to anger God enough to earn this torment?

  “Are you all right, Kirk?” The bed dipped as she sat beside him. His heart thudded crazily.

  “Aye,” he croaked.

  “Why do you seem to be in pain?”

  He lifted his arm and stared at her. “I’m trying verra hard to keep my promise. To let you do what you will with me. It’s more difficult than I expected.”

  “Why?”

  “Why is it more difficult? Because I want to take you. I want to take you wildly. Madly. Passionately.”

  Her laugh skated through the room and shivered over his howling nerves. “Nae. Why is it so important to keep your promise?”

  Did she not know? Could she not see it? “You think all men are like those you knew at Killin Keep, but you are wrong. I am not like them. I never shall be like them. I deplore them and the way they treat women. I care about you, Kate. I want you to be happy in this marriage. I want you to trust me. I would suffer any torment to prove myself to you.”

  It took a long while for her to think this through, but Kirk didn’t try to sway her. She would either accept his words or not. He knew this moment in their relationship could go either way and it would set the tone for their future.

  So he held his breath and gritted his teeth—was she aware her hand was on him again?—and he waited.

  The reward for his patience was glorious.

  Her smile.

  A smile with no reservations…and a hint of mischief.

  “So you agree not to move while I have my way with you?” she asked.

  “Aye.”

  “You swear it?”

  “I swear—” His vow ended in something of a squawk. Because at that moment, his darling bride climbed onto the bed, straddled him, and took his cock in her hand.

  While he gaped at her in disbelief, she said, “I’ve been wondering about this.”

  Hopefully, she didn’t require a response, because he was incapable. His mind seized, along with his body, as she lowered herself onto him.

  Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, it was astounding. Not just the feel of her slick walls closing on him. Not just the typical joy of a man entering a tight velvet sheath. But because it was Kate. His Kate. And she was—

  “Don’t move,” she said in a teasing voice. And then, God help him, she proceeded to ride him.

  And he realized that the true torture of this situation had just begun.r />
  Kate didn’t know what she was doing, and she was well aware of that fact, but even in her inexperience, it felt amazing, moving up and down on Kirk’s hard rod. Nearly as good as when Kirk had been poised over her, moving like a madman in and out of her body.

  She loved controlling the pace. She loved the feel of his chest beneath her palms. She really loved his moans and groans and occasional whimpers. She loved exploring, trying different rhythms, circling him in a slow arc, lowering herself onto him.

  But it was frustrating, as well. With her movements, she could drive herself up, rise like the tide, come close to swamping the shore…but not quite make it to the heights she’d found before with him.

  She could tell it was frustrating him, too. The bulging muscles in his neck and the clench of his hands on the covers were a dead giveaway. But he never broke. He never released his hold on his restraint. She wasn’t quite sure why this annoyed her—surely not because, if he really wanted her, he wouldn’t be able to help himself? If he really wanted her, he would break. Would he not?

  It hardly signified. The fact was, she was aching, needy, and unable to do what he could.

  If he refused to break, she would have to do it for them. “I release you,” she panted. He didn’t seem to hear, so she repeated herself with more vigor. “I release you.”

  “What?”

  She frowned at him. Frustration and need welled within her. “I release you from that stupid promise.”

  “But—”

  “Damn it, Kirk!” she snarled. “You know what I need.”

  “Aye. I do.” A muscle bunched in his cheek. “But I promised to give you control.”

  She glared at him. “I doona want control.”

  “You need a tender man, my darling. I understand. You need to know you are safe.”

  Bluidy hell. She was safe; she damn well knew it. “Not in bed.”

  “No’ in bed? Are you sure?”

  She smacked him on the chest. What part of no’ in bed did he fail to understand? “Damn it, Kirk—”

  A wild light flared in his eyes and within a trice, he’d rolled them both over, settled himself between her thighs, and begun to move. And oh…oh.