by Connie Mason
As if aware of her thoughts, Graeme anchored her against the mattress with his hard body. The engorged length of his erection pressed against her belly, hot as fire and smooth as satin. A droplet of pearly moisture beaded from the thick, blunt head of his sex as it slid between them, warm and slick upon her skin.
“You are not going anywhere,” he whispered against her ear. “You came to my bedchamber for this, did you not?”
“I . . . had no idea it would be like this. I canna surrender so much of myself to you.”
His voice was a seductive purr as he began a slow exploration with his hands. “Can you not?”
The wonderment of what she felt returned, then swelled into something powerful, something demanding. She thought she would go mad with the pleasure of the moment, but it was naught compared to the jolt of raw sensation that struck her the instant he slid down her body, spread her legs and put his mouth to her intimate flesh.
His tongue touched her, warm and wet and rough against the tender pearl of sensation Graeme found there. She cried out and attempted to push him away, for the emotional impact was too much, too raw.
“Nay. Dinna try to escape the feeling,” Graeme murmured. “It’s all right. I willna hurt you.”
How could anything so intense, so intimate, be all right? Without volition she began moving her hips in concert with Graeme’s carnal kiss, propelled by an unnamed urgency. She arched and twisted beneath the persistent pressure of his mouth, fearing she would fly apart. As if aware of her dilemma, he held her hips down to keep her steady, coaxing her further into madness with tender kisses and tentative brushes of his mouth and tongue.
She buried her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer, moaning in frustration because she had no idea what it was she wanted from him.
Graeme must have known precisely what she wanted, for he shifted upward, his sex poised at the juncture of her thighs. She looked up at him and caught her breath. His body, bathed in silvery moonlight, was thick-muscled and elegant, his limbs and torso cast into fascinating relief. His features were stark with need, his eyes glazed with passion. She felt his muscles tense as he slowly melded their bodies, and she waited in stoic acceptance for him to begin his brutal assault. Was that not what all men did?
She did not realize she was holding her breath until she felt Graeme’s sex prodding against her narrow opening; then she let it out in a whoosh. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain she knew would come when he tore into her.
“Relax, lass. I’ll try not to hurt you too badly.”
“You willna fit! This isna a good idea.”
“This is a wonderful idea.”
He edged forward, slowly slipping inside her. She felt herself stretching to accommodate him, felt pressure . . . a lot of pressure. Then there was a fiery tearing as he thrust his hard length all the way into her tight passage, a burning that pierced through her and left beads of perspiration on her brow.
“Stop! Take it out!”
“ ’Tis done,” he panted. “This is what you wanted, what you came here for.”
He moved within her slowly, deliberately holding himself back. Though he tried to be careful, he was large, and almost too much for her tender passage. But as he moved deeper inside her, something happened. She began to feel pleasure despite the pain, pleasure that came from the slow, sensual friction of his shaft inside her body and the silken slide of his skin against hers.
Blair clung to him, suspended in a place somewhere between pleasure and pain as he thrust and withdrew, each deep penetration seeming to impale her to her very soul. The spirits had been right. This would change her forever.
Her thoughts skidded to a halt as she felt herself spinning away from reality, felt the pain of her breached maidenhead dissipate as spiraling ecstasy began to swell inside her. Closing her eyes, she clung to him, burying her fingers in the crisp hair on his chest and clutching at him as he rocked inside her.
The force of Graeme’s passion was pushing her higher and higher, into a state of breathless rapture. “Graeme!” Her back rose up off the bed as he pumped harder, deeper, faster, burying himself to the hilt inside her. Then she was soaring, meeting his thrusts with an almost desperate urgency. She felt the earth careening, felt bliss building scant moments before a dizzying wave of release lifted her and swept her away.
Her climax was totally unexpected. She had no idea women could experience the same earth-shattering release that men felt. Distantly, she heard herself sobbing Graeme’s name as she floated slowly back to earth.
“ ’Tis my turn, lass,” he growled, kissing her slack mouth as he renewed his assault on her quivering body.
With a wordless groan, he impaled her again and again, shuddering with each deep thrust, his every muscle tense and strained. She felt him swelling, growing harder as he lifted her hips to meet his forceful strokes. His face contorted in ecstatic furor as a spasm began to shake him. With a shout he climaxed inside her, his sex throbbing against the walls of her passage as hot liquid spurted against her womb.
Graeme couldn’t think.
Making love to Blair was more than he had expected. It was a frightening revelation. He was accustomed to the afterglow of sexual satiation, yet the depth of contentment that curled through him stole his mind and sapped his energy. What had Blair done to him? The first thought that came to mind was that he had succumbed to one of her spells.
What he had experienced with Blair was deeper than the pleasure he’d known with any other woman, more profound in intangible ways he could not express, and endlessly more compelling. If he wasn’t careful, Blair could become addictive.
With great reluctance Graeme rolled off Blair onto his back, his harsh breathing and racing heart reminding him that what had just taken place between him and his wife was extraordinary and without precedence.
He turned his head to stare at Blair, wondering if she was truly a witch with magical powers. She was curled up in a ball beside him, sound asleep and looking like an earth angel. He wouldn’t awaken her now, but in the morning she would have a great deal of explaining to do. He wanted to know more about her dreams and visions.
Unable to resist the lure of her ethereal beauty, he brushed a wayward tendril of bright hair from her forehead. The silken strand scorched his fingers, and he released it quickly, stunned. What kind of magic was this?
Though Graeme tried to sleep, he could not. Blair’s reason for wanting to consummate their marriage did not please him. She had come to his bed because she feared her brother, not because she wanted her husband.
Blair said she could never love him. Mayhap not, but he had encountered no problem in arousing her. Her passion had stunned him. He’d had no idea she was capable of such an enthusiastic response, and he was willing to bet she was surprised as well.
Perhaps her physical response to him was the answer to their problems. If he could seduce her into loving him, she would lose her powers. Without her powers, no one could accuse her of witchcraft, and danger would no longer stalk her.
Aye, that was what he would do. Make Blair love him and at the same time enjoy the benefits of the marriage bed. While his own heart was well protected, he knew Blair’s was vulnerable. If the only way to protect her from herself was to use her vulnerability, then so be it.
As for her dream about MacArthur and MacKay, he’d be a fool to disregard it. He would keep a watchful eye out for them.
Blair was still sleeping soundly when Graeme eased out of bed at first light. He washed and dressed and left his chamber to break his fast, careful not to awaken Blair. He took a seat beside Stuart and Heath, who were enjoying their oats and bannocks.
“Ye’re late, lad,” Stuart said. “ ’Tis not like ye to oversleep. Do ye still intend to help us with the shearing?”
Stifling a yawn, Graeme nodded as he attacked the bowl of oats Glenda set in front of him.
“What ails ye this morning, lad?” Stuart asked. “Did ye have a bad night?”
Graeme
grinned. “Actually, Uncle, I had an exceptionally good night.”
Heath nearly choked on his bannock. “Never say ye bedded the witch! Are ye mad, Graeme?”
Graeme sent Heath a quelling look. “Blair is my wife. Bedding one’s wife is a normal occurrence.”
“Mayhap ’tis a normal occurrence when one’s wife is normal,” Heath groused. “I wasna worried about ye as long as I knew Blair hadna lured you into her bed, but this changes everything.”
Graeme sent him a confused look. “How so?”
“After bedding her, ye are more susceptible to her spells. I didna want to tell you this, but now I have no choice. Aiden saw yer wife sneaking out to the stillroom last night. Lord only knows what evil she was hatching out there.”
“Blair isna evil, nor is she a witch,” Graeme protested. “What she has is a highly developed imagination that produces fear in others. I will do everything within my power to protect her from herself.”
He bit off a chunk of bannock, chewed thoughtfully, then added, “By the way, Blair believes her brother and the MacKay are up to mischief and that she may be in danger. Warn the others to watch for them if they take it into their heads to come to Stonehaven.”
Stuart shook his shaggy head. “I knew the lass was trouble. Ye shouldna have wed her, Graeme. And once ye did, ye shouldna have bedded her. Once the witch has her clutches in ye, she will manipulate ye to do her bidding.”
“What exactly do you mean by that?” Graeme asked with a hint of amusement. “How will Blair manipulate me?”
Stuart shrugged. “I dinna know, lad, but it canna be good. What do ye suppose she was doing in the stillroom in the middle of the night?”
“Communing with nature,” Graeme said for lack of a better answer.
Heath rolled his eyes. “Can ye truthfully say ye trust the lass?”
Graeme hesitated. “No woman can measure up to Joan, but I trust Blair as much as I trust any woman who is not Joan,” he said carefully.
“ ’Tis time ye forgot poor wee Joan,” Stuart advised. He made a careless motion toward Glenda, who was standing nearby, drawing a pitcher of ale from a barrel. “ ’Tis no secret that Glenda has feelings for ye. Let her ease ye, lad. Ye’d be wise to take what she offers instead of falling under yer wife’s spell.”
Graeme pushed his bowl away and rose to his feet. “Enough of this nonsense. Blair isna a witch, nor is she capable of casting spells. What I do in the privacy of my bedchamber is my business. If you two are finished dispensing worthless advice, perhaps you’d like to join me in the sheep pens.”
Grumbling, Stuart and Heath left the hall. Blair entered as Graeme prepared to follow them. “I must have overslept,” she said, hesitating to meet her husband’s gaze. Did he remember the passion he had unleashed in her? Her uninhibited response to his lovemaking? Vivid color stained her cheeks.
Graeme seemed not to notice. “Today we begin shearing the sheep,” he explained. “I expect to be in the shearing shed most of the day. Maeve usually sends the midday meal out to us, so dinna look for me before dark. What will you do to keep busy today?”
“I thought perhaps Alyce and I could go into the forest to gather herbs and willow bark. This time of year is perfect for gathering herbs.”
“Dinna wander too far from the keep,” Graeme warned.
Blair glanced up at him, wondering if he was worried. His expression nearly took her breath away. He was smiling at her, a tender look upon his face. Before he turned and strode away, he leaned down and brushed a kiss across her lips.
Mouth agape, Blair stared at his departing back, her fingers pressed over her mouth. She still felt the shock of his kiss. What was he up to? She hoped he did not expect her to share his bed on a regular basis. She had gone to his bed in order to protect herself from Niall, and there was no more to it than that.
Liar, her inner voice accused.
Her purpose did not matter. The important thing was that she was no longer a virgin and Niall could not contest her marriage. She was Graeme’s wife in every way.
Blair wandered into the kitchen to seek her own breakfast when none was forthcoming. She found Maeve stirring something in a kettle over the hearth.
“I hope that’s porridge you’re stirring,” Blair said.
The spoon clattered against the kettle. “Ye startled me, lass. Didna Glenda bring yer breakfast out to ye?”
“She must be busy,” Blair returned. “I’ll eat in here, if you dinna mind.”
Maeve dished up a bowl of oats and placed it on the table along with a pitcher of milk and a plate of bannocks. “Sit down, lass. I’m glad for the company.”
Blair pulled a bench up to the table and dug into the oats. She was exceptionally hungry this morning. With sudden insight, she realized the reason for her hunger and blushed. She was unaccustomed to the kind of activity she had engaged in last night.
Maeve’s perceptive gaze settled on Blair. “Is something wrong, lass? Ye look a mite feverish.”
Embarrassed, Blair tucked her chin down. “I am fine, Maeve. Have you seen Alyce this morning?”
“Aye, she was up early and went to speak to the alewife. She said something about providing some special herbs to make her ale more flavorful.”
Blair finished her breakfast and rose. “If you see her, tell her I’ll be in the stillroom. I’d like her to accompany me to the forest to gather herbs.”
Blair wandered to the stillroom, but her mind wasn’t on herbs. Her body still thrummed from Graeme’s loving, and she couldn’t think beyond the fact that her response had been a surprise to herself. He hadn’t been brutal or harsh, causing her only the unavoidable pain of his entry. He had taken his time, aroused her slowly and given her unexpected pleasure. The pleasure was something she wished hadn’t happened. How in God’s holy name was she supposed to deny her feelings for Graeme Campbell when all her senses screamed that she was meant to love this strong, virile man?
Blair sensed a movement near the open door and whirled, expecting to see Alyce. Instead she saw a small lad standing on the stoop, his gaze darting this way and that, as if afraid that something or someone would swoop out and grab him.
“Ye’re wanted in the village, lady,” he said in a timid voice. Before she could question him further, he turned and scampered off.
“Wait! Who wants me? Is someone sick or hurt?”
“Gunna said to fetch ye,” he threw over his shoulder.
He darted around a corner and was gone, presenting a dilemma for Blair. How badly was she needed? Desperately, she thought, if Gunna had sent for her. The woman hated her. Should she go alone or ask Alyce to accompany her? The urgency of the summons convinced her to fetch her basket of remedies and not waste precious time finding Alyce.
An uncomfortable feeling settled in the pit of Blair’s stomach as she strode to the village. Something was wrong—she could feel it in her bones. She tried to discredit her premonition by telling herself she was tired. But the warning she’d received in her dream last night played over and over in her mind. Perhaps it was lack of sleep that had her on edge. Whatever the reason, she wasn’t going to let trepidation interfere with what she considered her God-given duty to help the sick and injured. When a call for help came, she couldn’t ignore it.
When Blair reached the village, she had no idea where to go. The lad had given her no directions. For some strange reason, the streets were all but deserted at a time when women and children were usually out and about. A tremor of anxiety slid down her spine. Clutching her basket tightly, Blair decided to stop first at Mab’s cottage, hoping the Scotswoman would know why she had been summoned.
She had taken no more than a few steps when Gunna called to her from the doorway of a small hut. “This way, lady,” she urged. “Hurry.”
“What is it, Gunna?” Blair asked. “Do you need help delivering a bairn?”
The contemptuous sneer on Gunna’s face should have warned her that all was not as it should be. “I have no need of yer
magic, lady. There are other matters that need yer attention.”
She grasped Blair’s arm. “Come with me.”
Blair allowed herself to be pulled into the dim interior of Gunna’s hut, expecting to find someone in desperate need of healing. Instead she found her worst nightmare come to life.
“You! What are you doing here?” She whirled on Gunna. “What have you done?”
“Naught but what is right, lady,” Gunna sniffed. “We dinna need yer kind at Stonehaven.”
Blair tried to flee, but Donal MacKay blocked the door with his hulking form. “Ye’re not going anywhere, lass.”
Then she saw her brother.
“Niall, tell your friend to move away from the door,” Blair ordered.
Laughter rumbled from Niall’s barrel chest. “Ye’re good at giving orders, Blair, but I am the MacArthur laird now and ye must obey me. I’m taking ye home, and tomorrow ye’ll be wed to the MacKay.”
“I am already wed,” Blair argued.
“I have it on good authority that yer marriage hasna been consummated. If that proves true, I have every right to demand yer return.”
“I am not a maiden,” Blair whispered, looking away in embarrassment. “I have lain with my husband.”
“Ye’re lying!” Niall declared. “I know the words of the Prophecy as well as ye, and I dinna believe ye would risk yer powers for physical pleasure. Besides, ’tis rumored that the Campbell loves another. He only wed ye because he owed Father a debt of gratitude.
“I intend to prove ye’re still a maiden. I sought out the village midwife when MacKay told me she was his kinswoman. Gunna was more than eager to do my bidding.”
Blair sent Gunna a quelling look. “She doesna like me.”
“So I learned. Ye havena earned any friends here, Sister. I suspect Campbell’s kinsmen will be happy to be rid of ye.”
“Dinna fret, Blair,” Donal MacKay said. “I dinna want ye to share my bed. I have women aplenty to fill that role. ’Tis yer powers I covet. They’ll make me rich beyond my wildest dreams.”
Blair stared at MacKay and shuddered. He was a huge man, with a wild thatch of red hair and a shaggy red beard. “My brother is wrong,” Blair argued. “I can do naught to help you. I am a healer—my skills canna help you gain the power you desire.”