by C. N. Bird
“Dear Lord, I could have killed ye.”
He shook his head slowly and winced. “Nay, takes more than a smack to the head to kill a Highlander.”
“What are ye doing here?”
“I could ask the same of ye, lass.”
“I-I’m… Ach, will ye no’ sit down before ye fall down?”
Grudgingly, he allowed her to lead him over to the rock she’d been resting upon before he’d interrupted her respite. She sat next to him and tried to inspect his head but he brushed her away.
“Why were ye running to yer father’s, Isla? Ye could have sheltered at the village.”
A trickle of blood oozed down the side of his head and she cursed and stood. With the sleeve of her gown, she dabbed at the blood. Thank the Lord Rory had a hard head.
“Will ye stop fussing woman? Ye’ve caused me enough of a headache as it is.”
Isla felt deflated. Was he angry she’d let his keep be overrun? She sank back onto the stone and nibbled on the end of her thumb. “Forgive me, Rory. The English proved harder to hold back than we anticipated. I tried my best.”
He shook his head and snatched her chin in a hard grasp. It pinched slightly but his touch sent a shock through her like she’d been hit by lightning. The coarse maleness of it caused every part of her to come alive. He softened his touch, as if realising he was being too rough, and rubbed one finger along her jawline.
“I dinnae mean the damned keep,” he said harshly. “I mean ye running off on me. I thought ye dead.”
“I thought ye’d be glad I was gone.” Something burned in his green gaze that made her heart ache. It was similar to that look he gave her sometimes when they sat together by the fire. “Isla, pray forgive me,” he begged when she failed to respond. “I will change, I swear it. I will be more gentle. I’ll learn to love ye properly. I will expect naught of ye, only what ye can give but I want a chance to be a better man for ye.”
She pulled her face from his grasp and stared at her hands. Did he mean he would give up his lover? Nay, she could not please him like the other woman—or even women—did. “Rory, I cannae take it anymore.” The burn of tears singed her eyes and she fought to keep them at bay while an ache filled her chest. “Knowing I am failing ye as a wife is more than I can bear.” She raised her head and offered him a vague smile. “Ye should just let me go and then ye can be with yer lover.”
His brows dipped into a frown. “What lover?”
She snorted. “Ye dinnae need to lie to me, Rory. Ye dinnae come to my bed so ye must be with someone else.”
Rory shook his head vigorously and snatched her hand. “Nay. There is no lover, Isla. I swear it.”
“But…ye’ve avoided me for so long…”
“Because I hurt ye. I could not bear to harm ye with my lovemaking again. I’m too big for ye, too rough, but I will change, mo chridhe. I wish to do whatever it takes to have ye back as my wife.”
Isla felt her jaw drop open but she could not bring herself to clamp it shut. “Ye didnae hurt me.”
“But…but ye cried…”
She pressed the back of her free hand to her mouth. “I was nervous, Rory. We barely knew each other and ‘twas my first time but after…I didnae expect it to be like that and I was overwhelmed. I’d been prepared to tolerate ye and instead I wanted ye more than I ever thought I could want another person.”
“God’s blood,” he breathed. “I’ve been torturing myself with wanting ye these past seasons. I couldnae share a bed with ye for I knew I couldnae control myself.”
Isla allowed a little giggle to bubble out of her. “Ach, ye are a pig-headed highlander, Rory MacPherson. If ye’d said something…”
He shook his head and clasped his hands around her chin. Both thumbs pressed into her cheeks as he stared down at her. Her throat tightened.
“I’ve never been one for talking, lass, but I should like to be a man of action once more. It seems I’ve a lot to learn about ye yet and I’d like to start learning now.”
She wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about. Her mind was a little hazy at the close proximity of his lips and the deep desire she saw in his gaze. But he spoke of action and the ache between her thighs told her she wanted to see what sort of action he meant. She prayed it meant at least feeling his lips on hers.
“Aye,” she whispered, still not sure what she agreeing to. “I think ye should start learning.”
“Aye,” he agreed softly as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Aye,” he repeated against her lips.
Though the touch of his lips was agonisingly tentative, it made her tremble and curl her fingers over his biceps for control. He did it again. The gentlest touch and she released a small noise of frustration and anticipation.
When he dipped again, she closed her eyes and parted her mouth. He didn’t withdraw this time and he carefully pressed his tongue between her lips. She touched his tongue with her own, delighting in the taste of him and the slight rumble of appreciation in his chest. They had only kissed on their wedding eve and it had been clumsy and nerve-filled. Now they seemed to have found their rhythm.
Aware she was digging her nails into his arms, she tried to hold him closer but a lass like her was no match for the strength of a warrior like Rory. It thrilled her, this rough man handling her with such delicacy, but she also couldn’t wait for the press of his hands against her skin, squeezing and moulding her. A fresh rush of desire blazed between her legs.
Rory urged her closer, kissed her deeper and made her gasp. He withdrew at the sound and eased her back, hands still clutching her face. His green eyes were dark, tempestuous. Her heart ached.
Isla licked her lips as if to somehow bring back the luscious taste of him.
“Forgive me,” he said gruffly. “’Tis hard to be gentle with ye. I need ye very badly, mo chridhe.”
She giggled at his blunt words. Aye, her husband was no eloquent man but there could have been no sweeter words to her ears. For so long she’d been convinced he did not want her and now here he was declaring he could barely control himself around her.
She smoothed her hands down his arms and up to where his hands met her face. Leaning into one palm, she savoured the warmth before drawing both hands away and settling them upon her waist. She squeezed them against her.
“See? I willnae break. I am stronger than I look. Strong enough for ye, my Rory. I trust ye.”
He stared at his hands and gave her an experimental squeeze as if trying to convince himself he wouldn’t harm her. “I dinnae trust myself,” he admitted, gaze still fixed on her waist.
“Do ye trust me?”
His head shot up. “Aye. With my life.”
“Then ye must trust me to say if yer being too rough for me. But I dinnae think it possible. I have been dreaming of our lovemaking for so very long.”
Rory swallowed, his throat working. “As have I.” His hands moved upward, his thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through her gown and his throat worked some more. “I’ve wanted naught more than to lay ye down amongst the heather and take ye as a highlander should.”
She lifted her chin when she spied the doubt in his eyes. “Then do it. Take me, Rory. In the heather. Now.” As the words spilled out, her body throbbed. Aye, the idea of making love to him in the wild Highlands thrilled her more than she believed possible.
Abruptly, he stood and dragged her with him. His hands ended up thrust under her hair and his mouth came down on hers. There was no tenderness in this kiss. It was claiming and searing. It was everything she’d dreamed of.
Her breathing stuttered as he bundled her up against him, one hand cupping her rear, the other forcefully on her back. Pinned. Hard muscle crushed her breasts, his male hardness nudged her juncture and she instinctively rocked into it.
This seemed to have a stimulating effect on him while he plundered her mouth further. His tongue tangled with hers as if he’d never kissed another lass before. The hunger behind it erased any thoughts of him ever
having a lover. Surely a man who kissed with such desperation could never have been sating himself with another?
Rory released her and searched her gaze but must have been content with what he saw as he took her mouth again. When she closed her eyes and sank into him, the world tilted suddenly and she found herself lying amongst the soft heather, the fragrance blossoming around her and the flowers tickling her legs. Isla opened her eyes to see Rory looming over her, hands pressed either side of her head.
With his hard body aligned with hers, his weight kept on his hands, it felt as though her chest had deflated. But she didn’t need air. Nay, she only needed Rory and his touch and his lips. One finger urged her head back, allowing him access to her neck. She suddenly felt delicate again but it thrilled her as he traced down from her chin, over the fragile skin above her collarbone before sketching a path across the slight rise of her breasts. Arching her back, Isla pressed into his touch. She’d been yearning for this for so long, she wasn’t going to give Rory a single moment to doubt her.
His fingers landed on the laces at the front of her gown and twined slowly into them as he held her gaze. With deliberate leisure, he drew out each one and she wriggled impatiently as a tilted smile came across his lips.
“Rory!” she cried in frustration.
“Lass, I’ve been dreaming of this for so long, I cannae rush.”
“If ye fear ye’ll frighten me away, ye dinnae need to worry. Besides, we’ve got the rest of our lives together for going slowly. Pray, Rory, touch me before I go out of my wits.”
“Ye make a persuasive argument, Isla.” He chuckled and pressed aside her gown.
Her chemise came next, with less grace than her gown and she was exposed to the open air. Desire and the breeze made her nipples peak but the slight chill only emphasised the sensations rocketing through her. Being bared to Rory and the Highlands made her stomach flip and her limbs quiver.
One large hand covered her breast and she glanced down, mouth drying at the sight and feel of so much heat on her skin. She moaned as he plucked her nipple in between his fingers. Rory’s other hand began creeping up her calf and he shifted slightly to allow him access. It seemed to happen in one swift movement. His mouth came around her pebbled nipple and his fingertips found her wet folds. It was almost too much to think on.
Using a light touch, he circled and toyed with her. She moved with him, rolling her hips in a bid for more as the sweet nips at her breast sent shards of pleasure to her core. Isla tangled her fingers into his long dark hair and smiled at the sight of his weather-beaten features against her skin. Rough against smooth. It signified them so very much yet Rory could be more tender than he realised and she was stronger than she looked.
“I need to feel ye, mo chridhe,” he muttered. “Nay, I need to taste ye.”
Before she could utter a protest or even question his words, he had slipped down between her legs and hitched up her skirts. Eyes wide, she watched as he touched his tongue to her juncture. She jerked. Sweet Mary, he wasn’t really going to—
Rory dipped his head and if she thought the sight of him against her breast was enough, the sight of his dark head between her legs sent jolts through her. He suckled and licked at her, moving in small circles and then thrusting into her opening with his tongue. It felt so very wrong and so deliciously right. He nibbled lightly across her and met her gaze as he pushed one finger gently into her.
Her body clamped down instantly on him, gratified by the invasion. She called his name while he moved lightly within in her. His lips continued to play over her most sensitive part as another finger joined in. With each sound of pleasure she made, he moved quicker. Somehow he read her to perfection, better than even she could. While she was not very knowledgeable of things between men and women, she knew well enough how to bring herself to the peak but Rory made the experience unlike anything she had ever done.
Isla hooked one leg over his shoulder, causing him to groan which in turn amplified the sensations. She closed her eyes and moved in time with his licks and thrusts. In the waning sunlight, bathed in heather, she plummeted over the edge. Her heart pounded as she dragged open her eyes and saw Rory’s self-satisfied grin.
Curling a finger, she beckoned to him. He prowled over her, like some Highland beast and though she was sensitive, she craved her husband again already.
“Do ye believe I am stronger than I look now?” she asked breathily.
“Mayhap.”
“Will ye no’ take me now so I can prove it?”
“I dinnae want to take ye to prove some point, lass. But I will take ye because yer sweet taste is enough to drive a man wild and I need ye…I need ye more than any man has ever needed a woman.”
Isla grinned at the soft words coming out of her hardened warrior’s mouth. How could he have ever thought himself too rough for her? Impatient for him to fulfil his words, she tugged at the pin holding his plaid in place and it sprang open. He helped her discard his plaid and the rest of his garments. The man was incredibly large and strong, but who could not love a man so strong yet so sensitive to her needs?
He came to rest beside her and stroked his hand down her side, taking his time to explore her breasts and bottom before enfolding his plaid around them both and coaxing her on top of him. Isla drew a path across his chest, circled his nipples and indents of his stomach, counting each of the four ridges. She bent over to lick one nipple and he released a surprised curse. She jerked upright, his reaction unexpected.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“Nay, ye do everything right, lass. That’s the problem. How am I meant to control myself when ye behave like that?”
“Behave like what?” Realising she was pushing the warrior over the edge, Isla nudged against his manhood, teasing him with her heat. Who could believe a lass like her had such power over a man like Rory?
“Ach, for a sweet wee lass, ye know how to torture a man.”
“It doesnae have to be torture.”
He gripped her hips to still her and his gaze roamed her breasts, stomach and thighs. Then he lifted her easily and positioned her over him. “Ye are in charge now, Isla.” She went to sink onto him but he held her immobile. “Dinnae rush it. I willnae forgive myself if ye get hurt.”
She nodded. As much as she wanted to hurry and have his hard heat buried inside her, Rory was a large man and they’d only made love once before. If she was to show him he couldn’t hurt her, it would not do to act in haste.
She lowered slowly, his hot flesh spearing her. Her earlier climax made him slip in easily. She winced as she sank further and her muscles stretched but soon he was embedded in her, solid and wonderfully invasive. Isla remained like that for a few moments, aware of his glittering gaze burning into her. What must she look like, plaid around her shoulders, breasts bared to the world, his shaft deep inside her? It made her stomach clench in delight.
When the tightness subsided, she moved against him and a fresh surge of gratification struck her. She remembered this now from their first and only time together. How as soon as he’d moved within her, overwhelming feelings had consumed her. But she was ready for it this time and she would not crumble.
Palms flat against his stomach, she rose up until only the tip of him sat inside her and she sank down heavily making them both groan. Rory used his hands to coax a tempo out of her and soon they were working frantically with one another. Isla relished the sounds he made, the way he gasped her name as he speared up into her. Whatever they did, seemed right. Fast and hard or slow and soft, they did it all and soon her body tensed up on the edge once more. Rory’s thumb found her sensitive spot and rubbed against it.
“That’s it, lass. I need to see yer pleasure,” he urged.
His words were enough. Hot, molten gratification pulsed from between her thighs and around him as he continued to thrust and rub. She sagged but remained upright as Rory moved his hips and tiny spirals of warmth threaded through her.
Rory’s face contorted
and she observed, enthralled by the satisfaction clearly written on his face as he filled her. Emotion threatened to overcome her but she kept the tears at bay as he opened his eyes and grinned.
Hands upon her back, he urged her forward and tugged the plaid further over them both. Unable to hold it back, several tears escaped. Rory must have felt them against his chest and he tilted her chin so he could view her.
“What is this, lass? Have I wronged ye again?”
“Nay,” she released a spluttered giggle. “’Twas too wonderful, ‘tis all. But I am glad ye asked rather than just assuming.”
He chuckled and rubbed the dampness away. “Ah, and here I thought I had me a tough Highland lass.”
“I’m tough enough,” she protested. “But ye cannae give a woman pleasure like that and not expect her to cry.”
Stroking her hair, he urged her to rest against his chest once more and his voice rumbled in her ear. “Ye know how to flatter a man, lass, I’ll give ye that.” His tone softened. “Yer a fine wee one, Isla. So strong and bold yet soft and tender. I hope ye’ll return home with me and take up yer place as my wife once more.”
She smiled against him. “Of course I will. As long as ye take up yer place in bed next to me.”
“Ye can bet on that. I’ll no’ be leaving it again if I’m no’ careful.”
They both laughed and huddled together under the plaid. Isla couldn’t keep the grin from her face. Who would have thought? The English invasion had done some good after all…
***
Instant panic struck Rory when he awoke. Bolting upright, he studied the empty plaid next to him. Hellfire, how could he have fallen asleep while the English were on the rampage? And where was Isla? On his feet, he snatched his sword and scanned the landscape. He must have slept most of the night as the beginning of dawn was trickling across the mountains, turning the heather a deep red. He was lucky it hadn’t been a cold night or he’d have not woken at all.