Morganna (The Brocade Collection, Book 4)

by Jackie Ivie

  “Darling, this Sally Bess act is na’ forever. This is only what I can arrange tonight to have you with me, close to me, filled with me. I want to give you a bairn. I would give a year of my life to give you a bairn tonight. I doona’ know why. I only know ’tis important.”

  “But...why?”

  “Because I love you. I have never loved another. I will never love another. I loved you when I thought you a lad, I love you now. It grows all about me until I canna’ think. I canna’ move. I watch how you are with all my countrymen, and I want to worship at your feet. I know I canna’ exist unless I know you’re at my side, loving me in return. I want to give you my seed. I want to create life with you. I have to. I doona’ bother with the why. I only know that ’tis.”

  His voice was probably his most vicious weapon, she thought as he continued wielding it, sucking on her earlobe as he whispered his continual stream of honeyed words into it.

  And his kiss was the most fatal weapon of all. Morgan had her arms about his neck when she received it, although he waited until all Sally Bess’s clothing was off her body and kicked aside, leaving her own flimsy chemise. Then, he took her face in his hands, turned her head slightly, and brought her lips upward to his.

  Morgan danced about him on her tip-toes, catching all of his groan as he begged her with his lips to open hers. When she did, he only flicked his tongue about before sucking hers into his mouth. Morgan melted, sagging back onto her feet while he released her. Then, he moved a fraction from her and waited for her to open her eyes.

  “I love you, Morganna,” he whispered.

  “Oh, Zander,” she replied, and her eyes filled with tears.

  “And that is how my lovely Morganna says, ‘I love you, too, Zander’,” he mimicked, before touching his lips to her chin, her neck, to the tops of her chemise. Then, he was sucking on her nipples through the weave of her chemise, and pulling away so he could blow on them. That was making her so wild with how it felt, her cries probably did rival those Sally Bess would have made.

  “Are you prepared to see a full grown man, yet?” he teased, when she had lost the ambition necessary to stand up on her own and was lying across the footstool, where he’d placed her.

  The way he had posed her had a wantonness to it that she’d never experienced. He’d put her in an arch, her shoulders holding to one side of the furniture piece, while her buttocks had to hold her on the other. And the erotica he’d raised with her breasts was making every breath more tormenting and grasping and needy than the next.

  “Zander?” she whispered.

  He unhooked his brooch and dropped it on the table, then he flipped the back shawl piece of his tartan to the front, preparing to unwrap it. His hands didn’t stop while his eyes devoured her. Morgan’s body writhed, with a snake-like motion, and she watched his eyes half-lid while a shudder ran his body.

  “Zander?” she whispered again.

  The feile-breacan dropped to the floor. Then, he was standing at her head, lowering himself to his knees, while his hands moved to her shoulders, cradling her head against his shoulder as he ran both hands over her breasts, her ribcage, the muscles in her abdomen, until he reached the part of her she’d barely discovered existed. Morgan stiffened and then every part of her was crying, starting loud and keening and then ending on a wrenching sob of pleasure. Her head was rocked back onto Zander’s shoulder, and she lolled there for a bit, watching the high beams of Argylle’s ceiling and thinking of absolutely nothing.

  There were no incessant thoughts of clan violence or vengeance, or death. No ghosts, no past...she was absolutely free of every part of it, and for the smallest minute of time, she let herself experience joy.

  “Morganna?” Zander whispered at her neck.

  “I think...I might have died,” she replied, although it sounded strange with his lips suctioned onto her throat, and teasing the pathway her voice needed.

  He chuckled. “Oh no, love. You’ll not die. You’re going to live. You’re going to bring life into the world. You already are. You just doona’ see it.”

  His fingers were rolling the chemise straps into snakes of ribbon down her arms, and she lifted her hands out of each when he got them down that far. Zander didn’t finish it, though, he had his hands cupped over her breasts, using his palms in a rotating fashion until she was screaming at him to either cease it, or finish it.

  “But, I’m testing my sensitivity,” he replied. “And I do believe my left palm has the most.”

  She swung a fist up to hit him, but instead wrapped it about his head and forced him to suckle her, and when he was, the footstool became less a hard object and more a slippery slope of warm water, sliding her right off, and into his lap.

  Zander lifted his head, his lips seeking for and finding her own, and now it wasn’t he that was the aggressor, but her. Morgan sucked the breath from him, and gave her own in return, her hands found and lifted the hem of her chemise, placing the garment about her middle. Then, she was pushing his shirt and under-tunic up, and off his chest, not even waiting for him to get them off the shoulders she pushed them to, before she lowered herself onto him, expecting pain, but receiving only absolute and complete pulses of ecstasy.

  The effect on Zander was immediate as his lips escaped hers, and he groaned, curving himself to lay on his back in order to arch more fully into her. Morgan’s hands fell to his chest, and she pulled her knees up, that movement making him grunt each time she shoved against him, and she roved her fingers about his chest before splaying her hands all about the hard flesh.

  Zander’s heartbeat filled her right palm, equaling her own in stridency, and she rocked upward before coming back down, her eyes wide with the surprise and the anticipation, and the small amount of fear. Then, there was nothing but the pure rivulets of pleasure.

  “Oh...my! Oh my! Oh...my!” Morgan’s cry was a long, keening sound that hung above her and she felt the whirlpool that her body was starting to spin into growing, ebbing, spinning, then finally slowing, and every bit of it was accompanied by Zander.

  His hands went about her thighs, stroking the muscles there as she rode him, then they were at her hips, making the cadence harden, strengthen. Then, his hands were on her waist, and he was alternately lifting her, before bringing her back down, shoving his loins upward every time she descended, and pulling himself away every time she lifted from him.

  Moistness grew about them, the feel of mist, a hot steamy mist, and Morgan hung on for dear life as his strokes got faster, harder, stronger and more violent.

  “Oh God, Morganna...oh love! Oh, God! Oh, Morganna! Oh love! My love! Mine! Oh yea, love! Yea! Oh...God!”

  Zander’s throat was growling the words, filling the gaps in the mist, and she heard each and every one surround her, then she couldn’t hear a thing but her own pounding heartbeat and her own scream. Light crashed behind her tightly closed lids and she held onto Zander like a lifeline while shudder after shudder of wonder rolled over her, taking her to a place where nothing but joy and love existed.

  Zander was right behind her, and she brought her head down to watch as he grabbed at her waist and held her to him. Morgan filled her eyes with the sight of him, holding her affixed to him, as he bucked beneath her, in a rhythm only he could hear and decipher, his mouth open and sending the lowest, most unearthly groan into existence.

  Morgan’s eyes were wide as he seemed to pause in time and motion, suspended in place, his every muscle taut, stretched and defined beneath her as his loins pulsed over and over into her. Then, he collapsed, the sheen of sweat filming his body, making it shine as though oiled, and a thing of absolute beauty to see.

  Her mouth was open with the awe when he opened his eyes, and she had never seen a look so full of love and warmth and surprise.

  “Zander?” she whispered.

  “Aye?”

  “What…just happened?”

  He chuckled. Her eyes widened at how it felt, and that made him laugh harder. “I’m not a bit certa
in, myself, love, but I’ll tell you one thing.”

  “What?”

  “I canna’ move a muscle. There is pudding to every bit of me. I sincerely hope you’re satisfied with what you’ve accomplished.”

  “Seriously?” she asked.

  He grinned, raised his eyebrows and then rolled his eyes before answering. “Aye. Very serious.”

  “That is interesting.”

  “You doona’ feel the same?”

  She shifted her shoulders. “I doona’ feel weak. I feel warm. Like all my muscles have been given a healing treatment. I doona’ know how to describe it.”

  “Do you ken how very lucky we are, Morganna?” he whispered.

  She shook her head.

  “I have had women a-fore. I will na’ lie to you. I thought I knew all there was about love, about this, about my own body. You, Morganna love, have shattered everything I knew and believed. Without a doubt, what we have is the most amazing thing that any of us can hope to ever find. I hope you realize how very hopeless it is for both of us, now.”

  Her eyes were wide and serious, and she caught her every breath for a fraction of time before letting it out or in. “Hope—less?” she whispered.

  “Oh aye. Hopeless. I am completely and totally ruined for any other woman, and you, my love, are the same. There isna’ a man you will ever find to replace me.”

  “I already knew that.”

  He drilled those dark blue eyes into hers. “Good thing, I would say. Come along, Morganna, and let me up.”

  “I am na’ holding you down.”

  “Oh yea, you are. You have the weight of a horse and I have the strength of a MacPhee biscuit. At least roll over, so I can crawl from beneath you and over to yonder bed.”

  “I sleep fine on the floor,” she replied.

  He huffed out a breath. “Oh, verra well. If you insist.”

  He closed his eyes, opened his mouth and within two breaths was snoring. If it wasn’t for the slight curve of his lips, Morgan would have thought him sincere. Then, when she jabbed him in the side and got nothing other than a grunt, she found out he was.

  Less than two hours later, Zander stroked her awake, his hand running all over her, and stopping every so often when he found a particular ridge he liked, or a like impediment. Morgan tried pushing him away. She tried moving, but the male she was atop only moved more. She tried pouting, but that only gained the feel of fingertips across her lips. So, she opened her eyes.

  “You doona’ act verra tired to me,” she remarked, when he grinned at her, and moved his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

  “I canna’ create a bairn without your help,” he said. “And I did put that assignment to myself. The more times I leave my seed, the more chances I will have. Doona’ look at me that way, ’tis true. I swear! At least, I think ’tis true. I have na’ ever tried, so I canna’ state for certain, but Ari says—”

  Morgan placed a finger on his lips to stop the words, and didn’t hear the rest of his mumbled sentence about what Ari said or didn’t say. She smiled softly, and looked away. “You canna’ create a life with me, Zander. ’Tis not possible.”

  “I can, and I will! At least, I can and will try. The rest is in your hands...or rather, your belly.”

  “I doona’ have a proper woman-time, Zander.”

  He put a finger beneath her chin and turned her to face him. “As much woman as you are, it won’t be a problem. Now, are you going to assist me, or no?”

  She pursed her mouth and then ran her tongue along the lower lip, drawing his eye, and received an immediate reaction near her belly. She smiled slightly, but had to look away. “I think, I’ll just lie here a little longer, and see what happens,” she whispered, and where she put her hand made him go perfectly still

  She looked up at his wide, surprised eyes.

  “You can sleep if you like,” she whispered.

  “I tried sleeping. I even tried sleeping when—” His voice rose a full octave as she molded her hand about him, and then it started up again. “When—when...you were sleeping...oh, love!” He choked on the last word.

  “What is so hard about my sleeping?” she asked.

  “’Tis hard to sleep –uh...hard...uh....”

  Morgan giggled, and Zander responded with a groan and further indication that he was not remotely tired.

  “Well?” she asked, looking up at him.

  “Uh...well,” he licked his lips. “You...you purr!”

  “I doona’ purr. Cats purr.”

  “Oh yea, you do. Oh, Morganna...oh God. Morganna....”

  “My purring, Zander?” she prompted.

  “’Tis verra soft, like—like a kitten purr. It...uh...it could be snoring. That’s it. It’s snoring.”

  “I doona’ snore!” She lifted her hands from him.

  “What...did I say? What did I...do? Jesu’ Morganna, why did you stop?”

  “You said I snore.”

  He closed his eyes, trembled a moment, then sucked in on both cheeks and blew out. Then he opened his eyes. Morgan could have swooned, and she didn’t even know what it felt like.

  “You do snore, my love. You also smile. ’Tis the same smile you had that first morn on that Sally Bess’s bed. I verra nearly tore the room apart when I saw it.”

  “I dinna’ do anything with her, though.”

  “I know that, now. Back then, I was a jealous, hulking male, and I dinna’ even know why. I only knew if you had that soft smile on your face, and that little purr coming from between your lips, then by God, it was me who owned it. That’s what I knew! I dinna’ ken why it made me so angry, either. It just did.”

  “I know why,” Morgan whispered.

  “You do?”

  “Aye. ’Tis because your instincts knew. You were just a little slow, like Plato says.” She put her feet on the tops of his to push herself up and connect her mouth to his.

  Zander pulled back and glared at her. “You will regret all your teasing now, my fine wench.”

  “Really?” She giggled. “How?”

  Zander growled, rolled to his feet, and hauled her into his arms. She was dough in his arms, and felt it. She wondered if he knew.

  “I am going to take you now, Morganna. I am going to show you what it is like. I am going to take my pleasure, and I’m going to make certain you know of it. I’m going to take and take and take.”

  “What…of me?” she panted, her head flopping on his shoulder making the room rotate nicely.

  “What of you?” he asked.

  Then, he tossed her on his bed, parted her thighs and slammed himself into the part of her most desirous of it.

  Morgan cried out her delight at his entry, and the sound made a shuddering start deep within her, building with each of his long, slow, savage thrusts, until she could keep it in no longer. Her cries of satiation blended with the beams across his ceiling, until they fell back to her and became panting entreaties.

  Then it was repeated, again. Again. The experience nearly driving her insane with the anticipation. Through it all Zander kept his thrusting, sometimes with steady, long, slow movements, sometimes frighteningly intense and passionate, then back to slower and milder, bringing her to the brink and holding her, before shoving her over the edge and being there to catch her.

  And then he gave her his seed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Zander woke her again before daybreak. This time, by blowing gently on her shoulders. Morgan scrunched them and groaned.

  “Come along, Morganna. Time to turn back into Sally Bess. Come along, love. These costumes doona’ pass the test of daylight. Come along, love….”

  She smacked at him, and his breath came again with a chuckle. Then, he pulled her legs to the bottom of the bed and started putting the bundles of material back on, even to flipping her over and tying her basket-affair back into place.

  “Why Sally Bess! You are more woman than I am used to, darling. Why, just let me get my sett straight. Now, stop that!”<
br />
  He was using his orator’s voice, and it was too loud for the space of one room. Morgan opened an eye and glared at him.

  “Now, now, night-time love. I will na’ let you waste a moment of energy on yon stairs. Why...I think I’m up to carrying you. Not that my legs have na’ been weakened, you understand.”

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, as he brought her to her feet to put the cloak over the entire creation, without having fastened one hook.

  “Building my own legend, of course. What other man can heft twenty stone in weight and still run the steps?” He stopped whispering, winked and started yelling again. “Get the door for me, will you, sweet? My hands are occupied with a lot of woman!”

  They had an audience the entire way. Zander walked through them at first, and then he did exactly what he’d said he was going to. He ran the stairs, Morgan clinging to his neck the entire time.

  “Up, Morgan lad! Time’s a-wasting, and we’ve practicing to do!” Zander booted Sheila’s door with a foot that echoed through the hall. “I doona’ know what’s gotten into the lad. A little love play, and he thinks to sleep all day.”

  He bent down and planted a wet kiss on Morgan’s cheek through the cloak. Then, he put his head back and hollered her name, with the two syllable way he had. “Mor! Gan!”

  The door opened, and a disheveled Sheila stood there, a FitzHugh tartan wrapped about her nakedness. Zander pushed past her and lowered Morgan onto her feet. The door shut.

  “Get dressed quickly. The Bruce has a strict schedule to keep. He wants to be on the march before sunrise.”

  “The Bruce?”

  “Aye. Our king. Scotland’s king. He needs you now, Morgan love. Scotland needs you. Hurry.” He bent, put a kiss in the vicinity of her nose and started yelling again. “Now lasses! That’s no way to treat a lord. Get the lazy squire up and out, or I’ll do it—what? I’m not welcome? Well! You doona’ need to push. He’s got to the count of ten, then I’m marching him out without his sett on!”