by Karen Ranney
In the darkness of the room, with Judith cuddled up next to him, yawning, Alisdair MacLeod admitted to himself, finally, that maybe it was a good thing Colonel Harrison had come to Tynan.
CHAPTER 18
Judith awoke to a feeling of being caressed by a sea of flesh. Her nose was pressed up against Alisdair's underarm, her arm was thrown across his wide chest, her leg bent and draped over his hard and muscled thigh. She cocked open one eye, enough to see that her knee rested too close to the juncture of his thighs, to the living reminder that her Scots husband was all male.
She drew back slowly, as if afraid to awaken him, but his eyes were open and watching her intently. He said nothing, nor did he move as she slowly slid one long leg from beneath the covers. She would have left the bed then, had she not been naked. She glanced down at herself, wondered when she’d lost the nightgown she’d gone to sleep in, then spied it hanging like a flag of surrender from the one remaining poster of the bed. She frowned at him, but still he made no comment, nor explanation. Nor did he move to free her from the prison of his long and intent stare.
He smiled finally, a particularly lupine expression she’d not seen before. His eyes were still dusted with sleep, his hair unruly, the morning stubble made Judith want to reach out and see if the skin of his face was as abrasive as it looked. He was strangely appealing in this guise, if a little frightening, like taking a puppy to raise only to discover that you’d petted and cooed to a wolf.
She eyed him suspiciously, but he continued to grin at her, a promise of incipient mischief.
Alisdair extended one arm and flung back the sheet. Judith moved to cover herself, but he only chuckled, grabbed one arm and propelled her out of the bed. Before she could flush, before she had time to become embarrassed and barely before she could glimpse more than a flash of tanned skin and delightfully curving white buttocks, Alisdair had dragged her through the room and down the stairs.
He passed Ian’s room, ignoring her whispered protests as he pulled her down the next flight of stairs and into the great hall. He opened the door to the courtyard, now brightly lit by a dawn sky. With her hands, Judith was desperately trying to cover parts of her body, but even that was a futile attempt with him gripping one arm so tightly. It was not a harsh grasp, just one filled with maddening resolve.
"MacLeod, we are naked!" she hissed frantically, looking around for signs of early morning activity. She tried not to notice his bare body, but it was difficult when pressed against his naked back and buttocks. She thought it unfair that he looked as magnificent without clothes as he did with them. Nor did it seem right that his backside had an alluring dimple at the top and curved so entrancingly down to his legs.
He tugged her onward, discounting the increasing volume of her voice and her pleas. Her nakedness was intentional, not accidental. He’d spent the night dreaming of the taste of those luscious breasts, the feel of her skin rubbed against his in affection and not simply comfort. He’d edged her nightgown off as she slept, one inch at a time, creating for himself an agony of restraint and delight.
Alisdair had finally slept, only to awaken to find her curled around him like a very warm and replete kitten, stroking him in her sleep with one insistent knee. Such a friendly gesture had made him hard as an iron staff.
And determined that this English woman be made wife.
"MacLeod! We have no clothes on! Someone will see!"
Alisdair pulled her into his arms, raised her high to protect her feet from the sharp stones of the shore and waded into the waters of the cove. Twenty feet out, the bottom dropped, and it was here that Alisdair MacLeod threw his new wife.
Judith descended like a stone into the icy water. She emerged in a desperate bobbing motion, shouting for him, for air itself.
"MacLeod," she sputtered, "I cannot swim!"
He suspected as much with the care she avoided the cove. He extended his arms, brought her to rest against his chest, her hands curled over his shoulders as if he were the only way to avoid drowning.
He wanted her dependent upon him, wanted her mind active and alert, filled with possibilities and promises, but he didn’t want her to forget that she needed him to stay afloat.
MacLeod was hard all over, an observation she’d made to herself many times. Her nails gripped his shoulders tight enough to leave marks, but he didn’t flinch. The mischief in his eyes had been supplanted by something else, serious and somber.
He was taller than she, and had no trouble touching his feet to the rocky bottom. But he didn’t bother telling her that safety was only a few feet away. He wanted her clinging reluctantly to his shoulders and glaring at him with her blue eyes turned dark with storm clouds.
The water was chilly, the tide had come in and washed the beach clean. Although the water was crystal clear, it looked Stygian due to the ebony rock beneath his feet. Over Judith’s shoulder, the rising sun heralded the dawn in pink and yellow and coral. To the left, the towering pines seemed colored black, as if needing the filtering sun to change to emerald green. Eerie cries of nature surviving itself sounded through the forest; birds chattered and sang the approach of a new dawn. It was a newly created world, harsh, starkly beautiful in a way that tore the soul to shreds.
“Shall we pretend, Judith, that we are creatures out of time? Shall we be newly discovered, each of us? No husbands for you, no Anne for me?” He smiled at the look of confusion which crossed her face.
She didn’t answer him, but then, he’d not expected her to. When she was confused or wary, Judith took refuge in silence.
“If I were a new creature, come upon you in my self-discovery, I would marvel at the sameness of you to me.” He placed his hands upon hers where they rested on his shoulders. “You have hands like mine. And arms,” he continued, as he traced two fingers down each of her arms. “Your shoulders are not unlike mine, but they are so much more rounded and soft, as if to entice a kiss upon their surface.” Suiting actions to words, he dipped his head and tasted her, brine and Judith, warm flesh and cold water, bare essence of life itself. His hands dipped beneath the water to encompass her waist, his fingers brushing against her like a mischievous sea urchin, fingers creating rivulets of sensation wherever they met her skin.
“Your waist is so much more narrow than mine, your hips curve where mine do not, although your legs are formed for the same purpose, and your feet designed to walk the earth. But there our differences end, do they not? If I were newly created, filled with curiosity as to this Eden, I would think that our Creator had erred in the pattern.”
“What are you about, MacLeod?” She was filled with puzzlement as to this man, who would induce whimsy on a chilly dawn.
“Call me Adam. And you shall be Eve. And together we will be the first inhabitants of this world, with minds aglow with curiosity and memories like empty baskets, ready to be filled and stuffed with happy times. There is no past, Eve. No yesterday. Only this moment, and as many futures as we could wish.”
She would have demurred, refused to play his game, but for the look of something in his eyes, a hint of pain as he glanced back at the ruin of his home. A second, that was all it took, and it told her too much of the vulnerabilities of this man who would parade through his home without a stitch of clothing upon his nakedness, but who bared his soul with as little ease as she did herself. Perhaps, he too, wished to deny the pull of memory for just a while.
She had no doubt what would happen here, what would be, despite pretense or nonsense, his claiming of her. It was ever such with men and women; his restraint did not mask his intrinsic maleness. He thought her husband brutal and wished to ease her knowledge and experience of this act. Brutality she could have forgotten, it was other actions more difficult to forgive. He was not unkind, this MacLeod who would be Adam. Yet she could never be innocent enough to be his Eve.
Long fingers of dawn light lit the crown of Judith’s head, her shoulders, revealing the pale milky whiteness of her skin. Alisdair wished he could banish the
look upon her face, one of resignation, stoic acceptance. He wondered if she knew how deeply he’d studied her over the last weeks. Her expressions, the fleeting pleasure which lit her eyes, the anxiety she was so careful not to show to others seemed to him to be so easily discernible on her mobile face, in her deep, lake eyes.
Nor was she aware that he had, for days, sought to acquaint her with his touch. When she handed him his porridge in the morning, he thanked her with a soft smile which held promise in its gentle curve. As he passed her, he casually hugged her, a gesture which no longer caused her to flinch. Those nights when he worked late, and was not at their meal, Granmere told him that Judith's eyes would stray to the door as if seeking his presence.
Aye, there was promise here.
Alisdair turned his head to the briny wetness of her wrist and licked gently.
He was amazed at his own restraint. He’d wanted her with a fever since he’d awakened to find her burrowing next to him. Her inadvertent touch had done things to him no dream had ever accomplished, and his dreams of her had fired his nights.
His hands remained on her waist, supporting her, but his eyes were focused on the alluring sight of her breasts bobbing in the water like white, pink tipped islands.
“I think the Creator has crafted an intriguing delicacy here, do you not think, Eve?” One hand cupped a buoyant breast, lifted it free of the water. Droplets ran down, caught, sparkled on the nipple. He seemed fascinated by the sight, entranced by the pink pearliness of her flesh puckering as he watched. “I have never seen such a thing before, the symmetry of this plump flesh, the darkening of the skin here,” he said, touching the areole growing darker in the cold water. “I am but an innocent in this raw world, but I am of a mind to taste it, and this cold little nubbin here.”
He lifted her easily in the water, until her breasts were exposed. The chill dawn air puckered her wet nipples even further. It only required a tiny movement on his part to bend his head and capture one pink nub in his mouth. How had he restrained himself all this time? Her taste was uniquely Judith; he wanted to burrow his nose into her flesh and inhale her.
His lips were warm; his mouth was hot. Judith looked down, her hands fastened on his shoulders, frozen into immobility by the sight of his mouth fastened on one breast. His lips and teeth created a shiver of sensation, nothing more. Not a taming, not even a taunting, but something else. He glanced up at her, tiny golden lights warming his eyes, as he changed breasts, leaving the nipple he’d suckled traitorously craving further attention. She flushed and looked away, as if the sight of him feasting on her flesh was not emblazoned on her eyelids.
With a calm far in excess of what he was feeling, Alisdair placed the flat of his tongue against one nipple. Only that. A soft inducement, a sweet benediction, an unbearable torture. His tongue was hot, her nipple struggled against it like a proud warrior, rising firm and stiff against its gentle abrasion. Only when she felt the prickling of it, the odd sensation of a thousand stinging pins, did he raise his eyes to hers again. She bit her lower lip, he made a cavern of his mouth and sucked the nipple within its hot depths, all the while watching her. It was as if he were waiting for something, some reaction from her, some movement, some sound.
He lowered her into the water again, until her breasts were nearly covered, only, she discovered, that he might bend his head and whisper more naughtiness into her ear.
“It felt so right, Eve, to have you in my mouth. Strange and welcome feelings have coursed through my body at the taste of you. Shall I show you where?”
She licked her lips, but remained silent.
Her breasts had always been an embarrassment to her, her too full bosom an object of scorn from her sisters, and one of ribald comments from Anthony. Even here, in the cove, with her breasts being washed by the sea and Alisdair’s lips, she would just as soon they were near to invisible. Yet, he seemed to enjoy the touch of them, their plumpness, suckling her like he was a babe. He feasted, plumping up one breast with a free hand as if he wished to devour the whole of her into his mouth. He nibbled and licked and groaned when she moved suddenly under the unbearable pressure of it. Her nipples felt swollen and oddly warm, not uncomfortably so, merely a different sensation.
He raised her higher in the water, slid a hot and wet tongue under one breast. "Oh, Eve, I should sing hosannas to our differences." he said, his smile enticing, filled with devilment. He removed one hand from her waist and captured the breast his mouth had just left. His fingers plucked her flesh, causing shivers of sensation where they touched.
The shivers were from the cold, not from his touch.
He smiled and licked the space between her neck and shoulder. She tasted of the morning sea and Judith, woman and nature, as heady a combination as he could ever wish. He felt himself swelling even further. His hands cupped her buttocks, the tender flesh, the inviting cleft.
“Your bottom is so sweetly curved, Eve, it could be a pillow for my lips, a sweetmeat for my teeth.”
Her eyes opened wide at the meaning of that, and she splashed the smile from his lips with one flattened hand against the surface of the water.
"That’s enough, MacLeod. Just let me go."
He did, and she sank. He pulled her up by one arm, sputtering, holding her within the safety of his arms.
"You see, Judith,” he said, grinning, “I will always do as you request. All you have to do is ask me."
"Take me back to Tynan," she said, glaring at him. One hand wiped her face dry, but moisture still sparkled on her lashes, gleaned on her cheeks, wet her lips. Alisdair thought he’d never seen such a beauty as his English wife at this moment.
The fact that she was physically safe, whether or not she was conscious of it, had begun to alter the way Judith responded to the world. She was unaware that she walked with long-legged grace, her hips swinging with unpracticed and unconscious seduction, not the jerky movements of only weeks before as if her legs impelled her in directions she was unwilling to go. Nor did she hunch over herself, rounding her shoulders and bringing her arms close in to her sides, as if protecting herself, but stood tall, her height and slenderness enhancing the curves of her womanly body.
And at this moment, with the sun rising above the horizon, with her deep blue eyes shooting lightning bolts of irritation, anger and something akin to frustration at him, Alisdair MacLeod realized that his wife was more than simply pretty, she was beautiful the way Scotland was majestic. Not a common beauty, but something unique, made precious by its rarity.
"I will, sweet. But in a moment," he murmured, concentrating on the sensitive tip of one breast again. It puckered still tighter at his delicate touch, as if it remembered and sought further attention. He stroked the skin beneath one breast with a patient finger, feeling the texture of her flesh, memorizing it and the soft gasp which accompanied his touch.
Her knee brushed against something unbelievably long and hard. Her eyes widened and he smiled.
"Kiss me, Eve," he said, lowering his mouth to hers.
She did, a short, darting kiss, which was about as passionate as a snowflake. He grinned. She was so damned stubborn. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her with endless weeks of hunger. His lips were both hard and soft and tasted of the sea. They molded to hers, opening them wider for the assault of his tongue. She could only hang onto his shoulders and hope she didn't drown. After a moment, Judith felt as though she were drowning anyway. How hot his mouth was, and how deep and dark.
She did not fear him; she had weeks in which to study him, gauge his measure. Nor did she fear this act he played at with such devilment. She was very much afraid she was immune to what the MacLeod called passion, as if each tender spot in her mind and body had been cauterized by fire itself. There was nothing left to feel.
Yet, she shuddered again as his tongue licked the outline of her lips, lapping the droplets of water from her skin. She buried her face in the nape of his neck, and shivered. She was so cold and so hot at the same time.
> "Our mouths will be swollen from our kisses, Eve. Is that what a tongue is for? To soothe and anoint?” His voice was husky and low. Alisdair placed one hand beneath her chin and led her mouth once more to his. His tongue dueled with hers, touched the molten warmth of her inner lips and the cavern of her mouth.
He pulled her close to him, the buoyancy of the water bringing her effortlessly near the apex of his thighs and to the evidence of his desire for her.
"You are so beautiful, Eve," he said in a hushed voice. "A perfect creation on this first morning." He bent and kissed her again.
She made a small noise next to his skin, and could not resist the lure of it. Her tongue licked where her mouth rested, and she tasted salt, and the warmth of his golden flesh. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and closed her eyes with the feeling of it.
He nudged her closer, wrapped her fallen hair around her shoulders and played with the ends of it. He wound its wet length around one fist and pulled her head back so that he could reach her lips. Again, he pillaged her mouth, robbing her of her last defenses in the whirling heat of his tongue.
His hand descended from her breast, and smoothed its way down past her waist to her hips and lower, until he touched her intimately at the top of her thighs. She flinched, but he pulled her closer into his embrace, soothing her, gentling her as his fingers invaded her warmth and found the spot he sought. She was hot, and wet, slick with a moisture that did not come solely from the sea. He lifted her slightly and eased a finger inside, slowly slipping in and out, as his mouth sought her breasts. His thumb slid through the folds of her flesh, and rotated slightly.
“The most perfect difference of all, sweet Eve.”
They were floating on the slight current. He, supported by his feet touching the rocky bottom, she, bolstered only by the touch of his hands and his mouth.
He lifted her slowly, brought her closer, and in one smooth stroke, entered her.