by Jackie Ivie
Morgan glowed with the praise, and then she lost all thought of being embarrassed by any portion of her body as he fit himself atop her, his hair tickling everywhere it touched, his breath billowing across her nose and cheeks and the hardness of him, burying itself between her thighs.
“We’re going to practice our push-ups, now, Morganna. Remember how ’tis done? I recall a bit of play you attempted when I was in my cups, and too stewed to ken I had a female in my arms. Stupid me.”
“Push-ups?”
“Something to that effect. You’re going to be a very active participant, too. ’Tis more like another exercise. You frightened, still?”
She nodded, her eyes huge.
“I’ll try to be gentle. ’Twill na’ be easy. I’ve been denied a lengthy amount of time, I’m not of a subtle size, and you’ve a maidenhead to breach. It may pain, but it will pass. I promise on all I hold holy.”
He lifted himself, pushing on her shoulders. Morgan reached her own hands up and placed them on his chest. He looked down her frame, closed his eyes for a fraction and she watched him tremble.
“Zander?”
“You are verra special, Morganna. Verra. You have the kiss of ecstasy in your thighs, I swear. Release me to pleasure you, before I lose my seed in yon sheets.”
She shook her head with little, quick motions.
“Morganna, I have waited and dreamed for this moment. You will experience it, too. Open your legs to me, lass.”
She shook her head again. Zander bent his head down, touched his lips to hers, and breathed into her. “Open your legs, darling. Open. Open for me, for your man, your love. Open. Now.”
His kiss was different. It was pounding and grasping and compulsory. It was all tautness, it was compelling, and it was forceful. It demanded her surrender, and it would not brook anything less. Morgan’s thighs opened as he continued his kiss, sending her entire body spiraling down into their mattress and then back up to the height of the sky, and then he was splitting her with such a painful motion, Morgan stiffened everywhere as he thrust partway into her.
“Zander...I canna’! ’Tis too big! You’re ripping me!”
“Morganna, hush. Lay quiet. Hush, love, hush.” He was whispering his love words and kissing at the moisture on her cheeks, but he wasn’t pulling away. “’Tis only your maidenhead, love. ’Twill only hurt this once. I promise. Hush.”
Morgan trembled, and forced her body to accept him. Forced herself to release the stiffness bit by bit. “I thought ’tis pleasure you promised,” she finally whispered. “This is na’ pleasure, Zander. ’Tis na’. I’d rather taste your fist.”
“We have to get through the veil of your virginity first, love. It will na’ hurt after that. Doona’ you trust me?”
Morgan looked into dark eyes, that handsome face and nodded. Her body wrenched again as he pushed in further, his eyes darkening with every wince she made.
“You are verra fit, Morganna. You can withstand the taste of a blade and the ache of a forced march with your back wrenched. You can withstand this.”
Pain was centered all about his entry, it was climbing into her back, and he was telling her she could withstand it? Morgan tried to find the ability to glare at him. She tried, but all that happened was her eyes filled with tears. There wasn’t a strong bone left in her.
“Put your legs about me, Morgan. Link your ankles behind my waist. We must get this over with, and I doona’ like it any more than you. In a moment I’m going to force it.”
She shook her head. “Nay, I canna’.”
“Do it,” he commanded.
She tried, and everything shook as she did. Her eyes over-flowed with the tears. Zander cursed, lowered his hands to her hips and forced it, just as he said he would. Morgan lay, splayed apart clear to her belly with his entry and tried to accept him.
“Morganna?” he whispered. “Look to me, love.”
Zander looked as pained as she felt. Morgan felt a little of her ache ebb as she observed it.
“Forgive me, love. I have na’ had many maidens, withal my bragging, and I forget the problems.”
“I dinna’ know it would hurt so much,” she whispered, feeling even more pain ebb as he kept waiting.
“It is better at all?” he asked.
She scrunched up her face. “It does na’ feel so raw, nor does it burn.”
“Thank God,” he mumbled. “For if I stay much longer in your honeyed depths, dearest Morganna, I am going to lose all thought of your own pleasure and fill your belly with my own need.”
And so saying, he moved.
Morgan cried aloud with the pain. Then, she was writhing with what could be pain, but felt more like something different. She clung to every bit of him, rising and falling with him, and doing push-ups with her entire body. Then, she simply let herself hold on while she experienced what could be rains worse than any storm, lightning worse than any flash, and thunder louder than any blow, that shot through her entire body. It could also be what it felt like to die.
Morgan clung to him, feeling sucked into what he was creating, and heard the thunder, felt the lightning, experienced the rain, for a second time. It was from what seemed a far-off distance she heard him groaning, and then she felt him pulsating and stiffening with every limb she had entwined about him.
His arms trembled, then collapsed, sending his chest onto her. Morgan held her arms about him and waited what seemed a long time.
She was almost numbed by his weight before Zander groaned, rolling to his other side and taking her with him. Then, he laughed, and her frame moved with it. “Although I will never admit it, that was worth waiting every moment for, Morganna, my love,” he finally said.
“It is that way every time?”
“What way?” He opened one dark blue eye to ask it.
Morgan flushed. “You know...the power, the feeling, the....”
‘‘Ecstasy?” he asked.
“Aye. That. Is it?”
“I dinna’ hurt you overmuch, then?” he asked.
“You hurt me plenty,” she replied.
“’Twas necessary to breach your maiden wall. ‘Twill not happen again.”
“With what you possess, Zander FitzHugh, you will hurt me each and every time. I know. I’ve been around boys all my life.”
He laughed again. “Aye, you’ve been around boys, my love, na’ men. I’m not so strange. I promise.”
“I will ha’ to take your word for it, Zander FitzHugh. That, I will, for I am na’ about to check.”
“And I will never allow it. You are mine, Morganna, lass. Mine. I will never give you up, either. Never.”
She was snuggling atop him, matching every limb’s length to his, and fitting her nose into the space below his ear. She almost believed him.
“You thinking to sleep?” he asked.
“I…was,” she answered.
“Not yet, you don’t, Morganna lass. We’ve got more food to eat, and games to play. Up. I fancy another grape.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sunlight dappled the crimson fabric she opened one eye to. It was so disconcerting that she opened the other eye. Morgan blinked, and the view didn’t change. It still looked suspiciously like morning light coming in through the open window and spreading in a multi-hued prism of rainbow colors against a cut-work embroidered linen. She ran a hand along the meticulously small stitches and wondered what poor creature had the chore of having to put them all in.
The side she was lying on was a bit numb, and she stretched a leg tentatively. She pulled it back quickly as she connected with a much larger, more hairy, and warm one. Her eyes widened at that. She had meant to bed him, that she couldn’t deny, and her face flamed as she considered it. She had meant to correct the wrong, banish the demons he’d created in his head for himself, and then she’d meant to find his brother, Phineas, and finish it. She had never meant to stay and sleep with him!
The intimacy was something she’d never felt, and Morgan slid o
nto her belly, trying not to disturb the growling, grunting, overly- heated male right beside her. I didn’t know he snored, she thought, and then smiled. It was probably because he was always up before her, getting her to the same state without much warning.
The sheet felt strange against her ribs, her belly, her breasts. Morgan lowered her cheek to the tightly woven, linen threads and let herself feel it. It was very nice, a bit like waking with her sleeve or her tartan beneath her face, rather than sod.
Zander’s breathing changed, alerting her, and she lifted her head to face those midnight-blue eyes. The look in them nearly undid everything she was using to hold herself together.
“Good morn, Morganna,” he whispered, and moved a hand to her cheek.
Morgan jerked back, watched his hand stop, his look grow guarded, and then he lowered his hand back to the space of linen between them.
“’Tis na’ a good morn for you, then?” he asked.
“This...should na’ have happened,” she whispered.
He grinned. “Oh aye, it should have. It was a foregone fact that, although it seems nigh impossible, there is a man who is male enough for you, Morganna, and I have the honor of being him. Better yet, I have finally found the woman to equal me, and I doona’ mean just at push-ups.”
Her face flamed. She knew he wanted it to.
“I want to assure you, too, Morganna lass, that I will prove insatiable when it comes to you. I have a record of five times to meet. I thought it incredible when it was presented to me by you, but I accept the challenge. Gladly.”
He reached over to nip at her shoulder and she moved away. “Zander—” she began.
“Oh verra’ well, I will try for six. Doona’ let me sleep so long next time.”
She regarded him silently until his smile faded. “I canna’ allow this to happen again,” she said.
“Allow?” He snorted the word, and then repeated it. “Allow? Do you think the good Lord knows nothing, Morganna? He knows more than you think. He knows that we were made for each other, even if you doona’. He knows I canna’ keep my hands from you, even now. He knows I grow hard for you just because I am close to you and smell your scent. He knows how it affects you, too.” Zander’s voice lowered and he raised those eyebrows suggestively. “God made it that way on purpose. He also knows you find me handsome of face, manly in size, and intriguing to look at. Why else would He have made me thus?” His grin was back, along with a certain cockiness.
Morganna swallowed and tried again. “I mean, I will na’ allow it to happen again.”
He considered her. “You will na? Did I perform that poorly for you, lass? You must give me another chance, then. I will convince you of it. I will try harder, last longer. I vow it.”
He was reaching for her, and that she couldn’t allow.
“Zander, will you stop it and listen to me! All you think of is play!”
“Well, that is a good thing, since all you do is find seriousness and work and horror. One of us has to know how to play.”
She made a sound of frustration, and started speaking. “This will na’ happen again, Zander FitzHugh, because I doona’ wish it to happen again! I doona’ want it! Any of it!”
If she could take back any, or all, of the words that brought the stunned look to his face, and the hurt to those blue eyes, turning them into liquid pools, she would have. Morgan watched him tremble, before he lay flat on his back and looked at the ceiling.
“God, Morganna, why doona’ you just get the dragon blade and use it to carve on me? It would hurt less.”
What looked like a tear slipped from the side of his eye. Morgan swallowed before reaching to touch her lips to it. He pulled from her and she caught a breath at what the rejection felt like.
“I dinna’ mean that,” she whispered.
“I canna’ face you at this moment, Morganna. Perhaps you could give me that much, and turn away?”
Where was the hard-hearted killing machine she had become? she asked herself. It certainly wasn’t there when she needed it, and his hurt was making the ball of pain in her chest tighten and grow until it felt like it might be too heavy to lift. “All I seem to do is hurt others, Zander. I came to you last night to take away hurt, and now I find I give more. There is something wrong with me. You doona’ bear the blame.”
He turned his head and looked at her. Everything in her entire body pulsed once at the look in his eyes, leaving her light-headed feeling and shaky. Then, she was warm, all over warm.
“There is nothing in this world that love will not heal, Morganna. Nothing. I want you to know this. I want you to know that it will come to pass, too.”
Morgan shut her eyes to make it bearable. “Your sentiments are like those of the minstrel, and they doona’ exist for me. I am a killing machine, Zander, remember? ’Tis all I know. I canna’ forget it, because the dead of my clan are at my side with every step I take, and every day that passes without gaining justice. I am their lone implement for it, too. They canna’ get it from their graves, and every moment of time I stray from it, is another I must atone for.”
He was still watching her with those midnight-blue eyes of his when she opened hers, and what she saw there made every other thought fly completely out of her body. “I understand you now, Morganna, my love. I canna’ say I like your morning-after-love talk, but I understand now. I will allow it this morn. Tomorrow morn, I would like a bit more love talk, and less rejection talk.”
She set her lips, “Zander FitzHugh—”
He put a finger on her lips and silenced her more effectively than his entire hand would have. “You canna’ allow yourself to open to the love and joy about you until you finish this vow you have made. I accept that. In truth, I would na’ want it any other way. So, tell me, how many of the bastards do we need to kill?”
She sucked in air. “How dare you make light of my vow!”
“I am not making light of anything, Morganna. I am deadly serious. I want you for my wife. I will have you at my side, or I will have no one. I will help exorcise your demons, and your vow is now mine. Your clan deserves vengeance. I will help.”
She let the air out slowly, testing how it felt to have someone else know and share. She looked away. “You canna’, FitzHugh. ’Tis something I must gain alone. I am na’ a murderer. I am the arm of justice. I made the vow. I will spill the laird’s blood. His alone.”
He blew a breath across his brow, lifting stray hairs. “The laird? What if he was na’ the one at fault?”
“He was,” she whispered and met his gaze. Then, a pounding came at the door that made them both jump.
“Zander! Open the door! Zander! Morgan? Come along, you two! Open the door! Zander!”
It was Plato. He wasn’t actually yelling, but he was speaking in a very loud fashion. Zander’s frown probably matched her own.
“My brother has the subtlety of a dragon. I hope he has a good reason for announcing to all that my door is bolted and we are still abed within.”
“Zander! Open the door! Quickly! We have na’ much time!”
“Why can’t he just spend the time before his wedding in preparation, like everyone else?” Zander grumbled it before lifting himself over her and striding to the door. Morgan let her eyes roam over every bit of him as he went to the door, lifted the bolt and yanked the door open. Then, she closed her eyes to make the image go away.
“What is it?”
“Thank God.” Plato sounded like he was praying. “Now, shut the door. Quickly! Bolt it, too. We have na’ much time!”
“Go away, Plato. Your wedding is na’ scheduled until evening, and I’m tired.”
She heard him yawn at the end of his speech. Morgan opened her eyes on Zander flexing his body in a stretch, while his brother threw his arms in the air. She decided Zander was much more interesting to watch.
“Quick, get your kilt on. Here is her...uh...his, too. Get your squire dressed. Now! You have na’ much time, and I get tired of repeating it! Zander!�
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Plato shoved his brother and Zander scrunched up his face. “That is too much woman to put in a kilt already. I’m going to need more time. Come back about midday.”
“I see you have cured my brother’s blindness, Morgan. You have na’ made much dent on his wits. Get up! Get your feile-breacan on! They have discovered the lie of your romp with Sheila.”
“Her romp with whom? And, did you bring foodstuffs with you, Plato? I’m starved.”
Plato made as exasperated a sound as Morgan had ever heard. She sat up, holding the coverlet about her. The mattress sagged strangely with the weight of her. She put her other hand on it, leaning for support.
“They are calling for her, and ’twas only by the grace of God that to Sheila was where they went first. It seems that the lass took Morgan’s raiment to her chamber last eve, although she used it to her own ends. I have it on good faith that your squire was seen in Sheila’s chambers, and having an excellent time there. Of course, ’tis Sally Bess spreading that tale.” He stopped to suck in more breath before continuing. “We’re lucky too, that I had the champion kilt and tartan with me. This could have been disastrous. Here, Morgan. Get it on! Quickly! You have to get dressed, and as a lad. Now. Right now. You canna’ appear as anything other than what they think you are.”
“My squire?” Zander asked.
“Nay. A legend.”
Morgan’s eyes were wide as she looked over at Zander, and then back at Plato. “Nay,” she whispered.
‘’Tis true. Word has spread. The clans are here. They’ve been arriving all night.”
“What clans?” Zander asked, sitting and pulling on his socks.
‘‘What clans?” Plato repeated, rolling his eyes. “All the clans! You should see the sight. ’Twas enough to send the Sassenach packing. Phineas, too. I say good riddance.”
“Phineas...is gone?” Morgan choked on the question.
“Aye, the English-loving bastard. We’re grateful, too. For as much acclaim as you have brought to the FitzHugh name, he has brought naught but embarrassment. He may be our laird by birth, but he isna’ it by choice.”