by Sondra Grey
“A truce? I want you, lass. Thomasina the Healer, or Isla of Clan Gordon, it matters not. I always want you.” He took her hand and guided it lower to where, true to his word, his kilt tented outward. With his hand over hers, he wrapped her fingers around him, and they barely fit around his width. Had she really had him inside her?
“Oh yes, Isla,” he said, as if plucking the thought from her head. “We fit as if we were made to be together. Shall I show you again?” His voice was full of temptation, and he bent his head to kiss her, but Isla turned her head away.
And yet she didn’t move from his arms. It was warm there, and there was protection – from the crowd outside their door, from the emotions that ran riot through her.
“What if I admit to you that I was miserable without you? That I was terrible? That I made two serving maids cry, and that even Allan had to chastise me for my temper?”
Isla doubted it was that bad.
“That bad and worse. I was terrible. And too proud, myself, to go after you. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with Anne Macleod. Once my proposal had been accepted, I stayed for dinner, and then I left. I never even laid eyes on the girl.”
“What’s that to me?” she said, trying to push away from him, but he held her fast, his head came down and he rested his nose against her hair, inhaling as if to mark her into his memory.
“Something, I hope,” he murmured. “Proof enough for your vanity, I hope.”
Isla stiffened at the insult.
“Come,” he chastised, softly. She hated how teasing his voice was. He was making her feel like a child. “It must be vanity, and pride. What else would keep a wife from her husband on their wedding night?”
“Perhaps I just don’t want you,” she seethed.
“Liar,” he returned. “I have very vivid memories of our night together imprinted on my mind, and I very much would like to try and teach you how to straddle…”
Isla pushed him away with a mighty shove, and he stumbled back, laughing. She stormed to the other end of the room, putting space between them. “You’ll sleep on the floor or I will!”
Calum smiled at her, but it was perfunctory. He held her gaze as he reached down to unpin and unbelt his kilt, and then strip off his shirt, and then boots. Item by item his clothing left him until he stood before her, gloriously naked and fiercely erect. In the candlelight of the room, his skin looked almost golden, ever muscle stood out starkly against his skin. He was lean and incredibly strong, and Isla’s mouth went dry just looking at him.
“Ah,” he said. “Like that is it.”
When he strode towards her, she didn’t move, and he didn’t slow. Then just as quickly he was on her, hand fisting in her hair and pulling her head back, forcing her chin up to meet the brutal assault of his lips and tongue.
Damn her body, but she wanted more. Her pride shattered and she all but threw herself against him, limited by his hold on her hair, her body screaming for his touch. Calum laughed against her mouth, but then kissed her harder. Isla bit at his lips, and he sucked in a surprised gasp, and renewed his assault. All that anger, sorrow, frustration, and anxiety had turned into something else, something wild. Isla had no control, only need. Need to be consumed by this man, to forget herself for a moment.
With a deft skill, the fingers of Calum’s free hand worked to loosen the laces of Isla’s wedding gown. Then, with a vicious tug, he pulled her bodice down until her breasts sprang free, but her arms were trapped at her sides.
He backed them up, moving her towards the bed until she hit with the back of her knees and tumbled down. He fell with her, hand cradling her head, still kissing her as if she were an elixir and he meant to drink her dry.
As he assaulted her mouth, his free hand roamed from her neck to her bare breast, massaging it, fingers finding her nipples and squeezing, releasing, rolling until she moaned into his mouth. Her body was aflame, and he was stoking her higher and higher. His lips left hers and she cried aloud as his mouth found her other nipple and bit, lightly. The sensation shot right between her thighs.
Mouth still working her nipple, Calum hummed against her sensitive skin and she panted, barely registering his hands hiking her gown about her waist until her arms were tangled not only in her bodice but in her skirts. She was immobile and bared to his inspection.
“God, you are the most beautiful...”
She blushed scarlet, for he was staring between her legs, speaking to her sex. She struggled to cover herself, to free her arms, but he was on her again, this time his hands on her knees, spreading her legs wide and – Oh God, what was he doing!?
His breath was hot on the skin of her inner thigh and Isla could help but shriek as his lips closed around the bundle of nerves at the very apex of her thighs.
“Oh Calum! Oh god!”
Tongue replaced lips, hot and wet at her skin, he took a long lick between her legs and Isla cried out, embarrassed, but wanting more. Oh god. More.
She must have begged for he obliged, kissing her there with the same ferocity he’d kissed her lips.
“Isla-lass, you taste like honey,” he murmured, deep voice vibrating against her sensitive lips.
“Please,” she was begging.
“Please what?” he asked, his hands kneaded her thighs, pressing into the sensitive skin by her hipbones.
But Isla didn’t know. “More,” she said, she needed more.
Calum laughed, a deep rumble, “Isla, are you insatiable? I live to serve, of course,” and then he wasn’t speaking any more, his tongue was probing her opening, sinking into her so suddenly she shrieked.
“That’s it lass, louder,” Calum urged, tongue returning to that bundle of nerves, laving and swirling. And then his hand was there, hot finger probing her entrance, sinking in one knuckle, then two, and then there were two fingers, filling her, stretching her.
Isla cried, she writhed, she keened as his tongue drove her to the edge and then, oh god, and then…
She cried out, thrashing, still trapped as her climax came over her, sudden and hot and uncontrolled. And Calum did something, something – he kept licking, fingers moving inside her, prolonging the sensation until she felt entirely wrung out.
And then he was off her.
She felt empty, sluggish, bleary, and before she realized what was happening he was lifting her, flipping her onto her stomach, and then grabbing her hips and tilted them up until her rear end was in the air, bared.
“C…Calum?”
“Shhh,” he whispered, hand sinking into her hair. He was behind her, one hand rubbing at the base of her scalp, the other running across the round globes of her rear.
“Isla, you’ve the loveliest…”
He didn’t finish the words, but she gasped. She could feel him, the hard, hot length of him probing her entrance, seeking and opening. She tried to lower herself, to get to a more comfortable position but his hand left her hair and stilled her hips. Her hands were trapped, and she could do nothing but lie there, face in the pillows and he spread her knees apart with his.
“Isla, Isla,” he was murmuring her name, running himself back and forth against her entrance, coating himself in her wetness. And then slowly, so slowly, he pressed against her, opening her bit by bit.
“Relax, relax” he soothed. He pulled out, and then pressed forward, inexorable. Out. Isla found herself straining against him now, wanting that feeling of fullness, needing to feel the entire length of him inside her.
But she had no control. He held her still, sinking slowly inch by inch, and then pulling out again, his pace torturous.
“Calum, please,” she said, her voice muffled by the pillows.
“Please what?” he asked, he sounded casual, like he was taking a stroll through the woods, not torturing her past the brink of her tolerance. Isla refused to say what she wanted, refused to give him the satisfaction.
As if in response he stilled above her and began to pull out. Isla thought he was going to leave her. She opened h
er mouth to say something, to stop him. That’s when he slammed into her.
They both yelled at the sensation, Isla at the force of it, the pleasure bordering on pain. Calum recovered quickly and was moving again, pulling out and driving in deep, rocking them both.
Isla quivered, and Calum did it again. She screamed, the flame and the pressure building in her again as he took her, hard. Over and over.
“Calum,” she whimpered. She could barely take it. She needed more, she needed. As if he understood, he released her, his hand reaching around her hips, to tangle in her curls, seeking the very center of her pleasure. She cried out and he came into her again, and the thrust drove her hard against his hand, sparking a fire of pleasure. Each thrust brought her flush against his hand, and the pressure began to build in her, higher and higher.
Each stroke drove him straight to her womb, drove her closer and closer to the edge. And as his speed picked up, so too did Isla quicken. She was crying, gasping, begging. On and on, he rode her, she writhed beneath and then: Oh God. Oh God!
She felt him stiffen behind her and shout, his cries mingling with hers as she came, hard against his hand, her muscles tightening about him, milking him as he shot, deep into her womb. He collapsed atop her, arms circling to hold her tight, crushing her as the strength in her knees failed and they both fell face first onto the mattress.
“Oh god,” he was groaning, his lips next to her ear. “I think you’ve killed me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
W hen Isla opened her eyes the next morning, it was light. Her back was turned to the window, and so as she opened her eyes, they lit on the door. It was an ordinary door, nothing special, and yet it was not familiar to her and for a moment she was thrown back into the world of her dream. She’d been home; her mother and father were there, sitting in the grass by the banks of the river Creran in summer time. But it wasn’t summer, there was a chill in this room and where was she?
It came back to her in a flash so vivid, her heart burned. A wedding, to a laird, and a baby. She was pregnant. She was in Castle Huntly.
The memory of last night came flying back so clearly, Isla felt a burn of desire start between her legs. She moved and found herself sorer than she’d been the first time. Turning in bed, expecting to find Calum beside her, she realized that she was alone.
A knock on the door sounded, rapid and impatient, and Isla wondered if whoever was outside her door had been knocking for a while. Was that what had woken her?
Isla sat up in bed. “Come in.”
It was one of the castle servants, a woman whom Isla vaguely recognized. “The Laird Dundur bid me wake you before midday,” said the woman. She was young, accent thickly regional. “He left early this morning to Gighty Grey with your uncle to get your belongings. But should be back shortly and wants to leave straightaway. Your aunt is awaiting you in her rooms, should you care to join her there after you’ve washed.”
Isla nodded, relieved to not have to face Calum this morning. She knew how much noise they’d made last night, and she desperately hoped she’d imagined the drunk and muted cheers beyond their wall. She was also grateful for Calum’s insistence on leaving proof of their consummation. He’d used his dirk to prick his palm, and smear a bit of blood on the sheets. This woman would change the sheets and spread word of the evidence through the castle.
The young woman stayed to help Isla dress, and Isla found herself awkwardly submitting to ministration. She was no gently bred lady, to need help with her gown, and yet having another set of hands to tie the laces made the dress fit more snuggly, and the woman had her hair neatly elegant in half the time that it would have taken Isla to do it herself.
It occurred to Isla, suddenly, sitting beneath this serving woman’s hands, that this would be her life from now on. That she was a lady, and people would wait on her – and expect what from her in return? The thought panicked her a moment. She knew almost all there was to know about being a healer, about delivering babies, and stopping a cough – about what plants to eat when you were in fever, and what plants to avoid when you were sick. But how did one go about being a lady? How was one supposed to behave? What was one expected to do?
These thoughts plagued Isla as she strode through the castle, on her way to her Aunt’s rooms.
When she arrived at Rhona’s door, and her aunt bid her enter, Isla was relieved to see that Rhona was alone, and seated at a small table, before a neatly laid breakfast.
“I figured you might want to dine in privacy, after last night,” said Rhona, by way of greeting, gesturing for Isla to take a seat. Isla sat and was about to open her mouth to address her aunt, but the smell of the breakfast was strong enough to distract her. Isla was suddenly famished. All anxiety evaporated and she attacked the meal with voracity.
Rhona watched her eat with a raised eyebrow. “Hungry then?”
Isla cast her aunt an affirmative glance, unwilling to open her mouth while chewing. But as her stomach filled, and her eating slowed, she found her mind returning back to those issues that had plagued her this morning. How did one go about being a lady?
“You are quieter than usual, Niece. Do you care to speak about it with me before we part?” There was longing in her aunt’s voice and Isla felt a similar longing rise up within her. She would not see Rhona now for quite some time. In fact, who knew when Isla would next have the opportunity to sit and speak with her aunt?
She finished chewing and set down the bannock she’d been eating. Staring at her Rhona, she tried to think about where she wanted to begin. “I’m anxious,” she said, finally. “And lost. I’ve never even spent much time in a keep; I’m a healer, aunt, not a lady. I don’t know how to run a keep. I’m now a chieftain’s wife. A lady responsible for a clan not my own…”
Rhona nodded as Isla spoke, as if she’d guessed that these were her niece’s concerns. “Take heart,” said Rhona. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t think the Laird of Dundur is as inured to you as you seem to believe. I don’t think he was expecting you, Isla, but he gave in quickly, and without any fight at all. To be married to a pretty lass and gain the attachment of not one but two powerful clans would be an opportunity any clan Chieftain would jump at. As to the other thing,” Rhona shrugged. “You’re a smart young woman, Isla Macleay, and you were raised by an imperious mother. You’ve the airs and inclinations of a lady. Be yourself. Turn that healer’s brain towards other means. The Grants are your clan now.” She reached across the table and covered Isla’s hands with hers.
“About the marriage, lass, try not to be so proud. It’ll do you no good, especially if Dundur is a proud man. You must remember that there is give and take, and you must give as well as demand, understand?”
Isla didn’t quite, but she nodded all the same. Give and take. It was certainly something to think about later. Her relationship with her parents was the only real example she had of married life, and it had been a one-sided relationship. Niall was usually off on Clan business for the Stewarts. When he was at home, he did her mother’s bidding. Deirdre had run that relationship with a will of iron. In fact, the only time Isla had ever seen her father truly relaxed was when they were out of her mother’s sights.
“You send me word when the baby is born, and we’ll be over as quick as we can,” her aunt continued. Then she reached over the table and grabbed her niece’s hand, squeezed, Isla squeezed back, realizing she wasn’t just anxious. She was terrified.
“You can’t come with me, can you?” Isla asked, trying to make the request sound like a jest but meaning it with all her heart.
“Would that I could,” said Rhona, smiling. “When I do come and visit you, it’ll be the furthest I’ve ever travelled from home.” She shook her head, “I’m not worried for you, Isla. You’re a brave young woman, and you have a good heart. But watch that you pay attention. You’re in the bad habit of seeing the world only so far as your nose extends. You need to learn a bit more about people, they are not all like you or me, and they a
re certainly not like your mother.” A thought seemed to strike her and she examined Isla with concern. “Have you told the Laird about Elleric?”
Isla shook her head. “No, I almost mentioned it but the Earl stopped me.”
Rhona pursed her lips, “I’d have advised that you not keep something like that a secret. But the Earl stopped you, you say?”
“Interrupted me when I began to speak of it.”
Rhona pursed her lips and shook her head. “Dundur is not so far from Stewart lands that word might not travel.”
“I’d like to forget Elleric ever happened,” said Isla. In fact, in all that had happened to her since, it was easy to forget what she’d been accused of. And did it really matter anymore? She wasn’t Isla the Healer, or Isla, Deirdre and Niall’s daughter. Now she was Isla, Lady of Dundur…
“You may like to forget, but I can’t advise keeping secrets from your husband.”
Isla pondered it for a moment and then shrugged. “If there’s an opportunity, I will say something.”
Rhona seemed to have nothing further to say and sat back, watching out the window while Isla continued with her breakfast. Finally, when the last crumb had been devoured, she said, voice low with emotion, “It feels like losing Deirdre again. Promise you won’t disappear, Isla. Promise you’ll write to your aunt.” She turned and looked at Isla, her eyes, green as Deirdre’s, full of tears. Isla felt her own eyes moisten in response, and she said, barely audible. “I will. I promise.”
It was hour later that Calum, Gair, Tom, and a few Grant clansmen rode into the stable yard, bringing with them a pack horse saddled with what few belongings Isla had acquired in her two months at Gighty Grey.
Isla watched Calum throw a casual leg over his horse and dismount. Her husband. At Dundur he’d seemed more rigid, somehow, more aware of himself, of his movements. Here, there was something looser about him, less structured. It was as if, without the eyes of his clan upon him, he could relax. His hair was tied carelessly off his face, he seemed less aware of his size, and his presence. He seemed preoccupied as well, and went to speak to a clansman before turning to see who had entered the courtyard.