She sighed, and her face nuzzled into the curve between his neck and his shoulder. She did like this lovemaking, and tonight he would come into her bed again; but it would not be like their wedding night. Tonight she would be without fear and very anxious to learn how to please him. “Ohhhhhh!” she gasped, totally unprepared as he lifted her up to impale her upon his love rod.
“There now,” he murmured, “that’s better, eh, lass?” He pulled her forward, drawing her sopping blouse off and dropping it upon the floor. Her tight nipples brushed his lightly furred chest.
She could feel her cheeks burning. Her head was spinning dizzily. “Ohhhhhh!” His hands were cupping her buttocks as he began thrusting movements with his pelvis. The sensation of their two bodies locked in amorous conjunction was absolutely delicious, Flanna thought, as she mimicked his sensual movements. “Ohhh, aye!” she cried, surprising him with her enthusiasm.
God’s boots, if she were skilled in the arts of love, she would be a truly dangerous woman, he considered, as he pistoned her. “Kiss me again, lass,” he commanded her, and accepted her mouth with supreme pleasure.
Wonderful! Wonderful! Flanna reflected mistily as she experienced the pleasure his thick and probing lance gave her as he drove himself within her. She sensed she might offer him even greater delight if her sheath were tighter. She experimented in an attempt to squeeze him. When he groaned loudly, she knew she had been successful and tried again. Pulling her head away from his, she asked, “Does that please ye, my lord? Shall I do it again?”
“Aye, ye witch, ye gie me incredible enjoyment.” He pushed himself deeper and harder into her, and the water in the tub sloshed violently.
Flanna shuddered, soared to heights she hadn’t even known existed, and then collapsed against him, feeling quite distinctly his juices thundering into her body. “Ohhh, my lord, ’twas delicious,” she whispered. “I do enjoy this coupling wi’ ye verra much.”
Patrick Leslie laughed weakly. “So do I, lass,” he admitted.
The water about them was rapidly cooling. He had withdrawn from her and now stood, pulling her up. Flanna blushed at her naked breasts and stood in her sopping petticoats considering what to do. He solved the problem for her by loosening the tapes of the garments and pushing them off her body so that now she stood naked before him.
“Ye’re lovely, Flanna, and hae nae reason to be shy wi’ me. As yer husband ’tis my right to look upon ye, and admire yer beauty,” he told her.
She blushed again, then said, “Step out of the tub, my lord, and I will dry ye. I set towels on the rack by the fire to warm.”
“We’ll dry one another,” he told her, smiling, taking up a towel and beginning to rub her briskly. “Are ye hungry, madame? I certainly am. I wonder what Angus hae brought for us to eat.”
“God’s boots!” Flanna swore. “Do ye think he heard us?”
“ ’Tis possible, but I suspect yer Angus is a man of the world, lass, and ’twould nae be shocked to hear a man and his wife sporting.”
When they were dry, he put on a fur-trimmed, green velvet dressing gown while Flanna slipped on a clean, soft linen shift. Barefooted they walked into the dayroom where they found the table laid with a platter of raw oysters, another of prawns in white wine, a roasted capon, a plate of lamb chops, a salad of lettuces, fresh bread, a crock of sweet butter, a wedge of hard cheese, and lastly, an apple tart. There were two pitchers, one holding October ale, and the other, wine.
“Allow me to serve ye, my lord,” Flanna said.
“Gie me the oysters first,” Patrick said. “If ye like the coupling so much, madame, I will need my strength returned swiftly.” He sat down at the head of the table, looking at her expectantly.
“Do ye mean we can do it again tonight?” Flanna said, surprised.
Patrick Leslie laughed at her ingenuousness. “Aye, and probably more than just once, madame, if ye will allow me to rest between our bouts of passion. Does the thought please ye?”
“Aye,” she said frankly. “I like it when ye make me fly like a bird, my lord. Una said I might know pleasure, and I surely do when ye go into me; but I would like to please ye as much as ye please me. Will ye nae tell me how I may do that?” She watched wide-eyed as he swallowed down the entire dozen oysters.
“Sit next to me, Flanna,” he said, indicating the chair on his right. For a moment he ignored her query. There would be time later to explain. Reaching for the platter of prawns, he told her, “We’ll share them.” Choosing a large crustacean by its tail, he began to enthusiastically devour it.
His appetite was prodigious. When the prawns had been eaten, Flanna filled him a plate with a large portion of chicken, several chops, and some of the lettuces. She pushed the loaf of bread between them, tearing off a hunk for herself and buttering it lavishly. Her own appetite was, she discovered, almost his equal. She felt ravenous and ate appreciatively until there was nothing left but the small tart, which they split between them. The pitcher of brown October ale was drunk.
“We’ll keep the wine for later,” he said with a grin.
“Is it proper,” she asked him, “for a wife to enjoy her husband’s attentions as much as I enjoy yers, my lord? Wi’out this love everyone talks about? We hae but known each other a week, and ye were away most of that time. Is it right that I like ye so much? I would be a good duchess and nae bring shame to the Leslies of Glenkirk.”
He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and looked into her silvery eyes. She was really quite beautiful, he considered on reflection. The small, straight nose, the oval-shaped eyes fringed in thick, sandy lashes and crowned with sandy brows. He brushed her cheek with his thumb. Her skin was like cream and soft to his touch. It had a translucent quality to it that only true redheads possessed. There was just the faintest smattering of golden freckles across the bridge of her nose. Patrick Leslie kissed the tip of that nose.
“Ye’re an intelligent lass,” he said. “I know ye can be a good duchess, Flanna, although our life at Glenkirk will nae be an exciting life. I will nae, like my father and mother, go to the king’s court—if there even be a court now. I will nae become involved in politics or the religious infighting, or even wi’ my neighbors unless I canna help it. There are those who would seek to destroy my family and steal our wealth because of the meanness in their wizened souls. I would be left in peace to live my life, to care for my people, to raise our children to be free of all prejudice, vanity, and envy. I canna do that if I allow the world and its noisy foolishness to intrude. Ye will nae entertain kings, Flanna, as my parents and my grandparents did. Ye will gie me bairns and oversee this castle, which will be yer kingdom. Do that for me, and ye will be a good duchess, and I will certainly honor ye. Can ye be happy wi’ such a life? ’Tis all the life I can gie ye, Flanna, but I will nae ever leave ye to fight for the cause of any ruler, be it a king or a parliament.”
“I can be content, my lord, wi’ the life ye describe. ’Tis the life I hae known. I feared a different life to which I hae nae been bred. I did nae want to embarrass ye, Patrick Leslie, for ye are, it would seem, a good man.”
“Come sit in my lap, Flanna,” he said, releasing his tender hold upon her chin and drawing her up by the hand. She settled herself, and he cradled her in his embrace while the fireplace crackled noisily.
Laying her head against his shoulder, Flanna sighed, satisfied. She had not expected to come to so easy an arrangement with Patrick Leslie, nor so quickly. She hadn’t imagined marriage would be like this at all. She couldn’t see her brothers cuddling their wives. Her brothers were too busy ordering their women and children around for any show of kindness. She liked his tenderness as well as she liked his lovemaking. Perhaps her life wouldn’t be so terrible after all. He had, after all, promised her her freedom if she did her duty well. Without thinking she rubbed her cheek against the velvet of his dressing gown, smiling to herself as he kissed the top of her head.
“What hair ye hae, madame,” he remarked. “
’Tis the same red-gold color as my ancestress whose picture hangs in the hall. I should like a wee lassie wi’ hair like that.” His hand slipped into her shift and cupped her breast, his thumb absently rubbing her nipple.
Her heart jumped in her chest. “First,” she struggled to answer him, “we must hae a son or two for Glenkirk.” She knew her duty. She would do it before his family discovered that the elegant, wealthy, and educated Duke of Glenkirk had wed with an ignorant Brodie of Killiecairn. “I am used to lads wi’ all my brothers,” she said.
“Yer brothers were long grown by the time ye were born,” he replied, chuckling. “Aye, we’ll need sons for Glenkirk, and we’ll work hard ye and I to get them, but a lassie wi’ her mam’s flaming pate will nae displease me, Flanna . . .” He nuzzled her ear. She could surely rouse his lust, this hot-tempered, wide-eyed wife of his, he thought, his tongue dipping into the shell of her ear to tickle it wickedly.
This was ridiculous! She could feel the strength draining from her limbs as it did each time he touched her with passion. Did women always feel this way? Powerless and defenseless? It was delicious, but it was also extremely disquieting. “Nay!” she said, squirming away from the marauding digit.
“What is it, lassie?” He had ceased his actions the moment she had protested them.
“Dinna women make love to men, Patrick?” The silvery eyes met his green-gold ones in an honest query.
“Aye,” he answered her slowly. What was this all about?
“How?”
“How?” He echoed her, looking puzzled.
“Well, certainly, my lord, all women dinna just become passive in a man’s arms! Ye touch me, and I find it pleasant. Should I nae touch ye? Would ye find it as pleasurable if I did? Do two people nae participate in lovemaking, or is the woman just a thing to be used for her husband’s gratification? Please tell me, Patrick,” Flanna finished.
Patrick Leslie suddenly felt like a selfish fool. He had known from the beginning that Flanna was an innocent, but he had been so enjoying her delicious body, and her obvious delight in his prowess, that he had never considered anything else. “Mimic my actions, lass,” he told her. “What pleasures ye will pleasure me. I forgot yer own unfamiliarity wi’ passion in my delight of ye.” He stroked her breasts gently and kissed the mouth she offered him. “Ye were a wee bit bolder on our wedding night, Flanna lass,” he teased her.
“I dinna know what was to come then,” she responded. Then she slid her hand beneath his dressing gown and caressed his hard chest, her fingers tangling gently in the soft down bedecking it. She burrowed her face into the curve between his neck and his shoulder, kissing it softly. Her hand reached up to draw his head to her, and she boldly tickled the inside of his ear with her tongue, blowing softly afterward. “Like this, my lord?” she murmured hotly.
“Aye,” he drawled the word, and pinched her nipple tightly.
She squealed, rotating her bottom upon his lap, and nipped at his earlobe. Her hands pushed his gown from his shoulders, baring him to the waist, and she impudently began to trail kisses across his skin, twisting her body to facilitate her actions.
He was thoroughly enjoying her daring. Even more so when her shift rode up to bare her bottom to him. He sleeked his big hand over the tempting twin moons, causing her to gasp with surprise and attempt to rise from his embrace. Firmly he turned her about so that they faced each other again. He pulled the shift from her so that she was now quite naked in his arms. “Petting one’s lover is much to be desired, Flanna lass. His mouth took hers in a fierce kiss. When he lifted his head from hers, she pulled him brazenly back, their lips meeting in a burning kiss.
“Ye’re shameless,” he groaned against her mouth.
“Ye dinna seem to like a shy lass as well,” she pertly answered him as her tongue slid across his lips boldly.
Regaining control of the situation, Patrick buried his face between her breasts, causing her to squeak with surprise. For a long moment he was almost overwhelmed with the pure sweetness of her. Then, raising his head, he fastened his hands about her waist and lifted her up, settling her down again so that she sat upon his thighs facing him. Taking her face between his two hands, he kissed her again. His fingers tangled themselves in her red-gold hair.
Her hands were flat against his chest as if she meant to fend him off, but she didn’t push him away. Instead, she threw her head back and sighed gustily when he kissed the long line of her throat. The heat from his body was overpowering, and she could now feel his manhood beneath her. “I want ye inside of me, Patrick Leslie,” she husked. “Now!”
He said nothing, but lifting her, he impaled her on the long, hard length of him. Her eyes half closed as she felt him entering her, then opened to stare directly into his gaze. He was startled, but equal to the challenge. “I canna do all the work like this, Flanna lass,” he told her. “Ye must ride me.”
Her cheeks grew bright pink at his words, but she began to move upon him, slowly at first, then with a quicker rhythm. Her eyes never left his, and her boldness excited him even further. Reaching out, he grasped her breasts in his hands, fondling them strongly as her body slid up and down the length of him. The hard, probing love lance within her was wonderful, Flanna thought. He filled her. She squeezed his length, enjoying the sensations and his hiss of obvious pleasure.
Suddenly to her great amazement he stood, sliding his hands beneath her buttocks. Flanna wrapped her legs about his waist, clinging to him as he walked slowly from the dayroom and into his bedchamber, laying her at the foot of his bed. She felt the mattress give way beneath her weight. To her shock they were still joined, and he began to piston her fiercely, forcing her arms above her head as he looked down into her lovely face. His gaze was intense, and Flanna was unable to turn away, so mesmerized was she by her husband’s great passion. He pushed hard into her, grinding himself against her, and she reveled in his almost savage demeanor, pushing her hips back up at his every downward thrust.
“Aye! Aye!” she encouraged him softly, her silvery eyes glittering.
“Oh, bitch, ye hae unmanned me!”
She shuddered beneath him, and he groaned deeply as his juices flooded her.
She soared once again, consumed by his fire, filled with a honeyed sweetness that was becoming more and more familiar, eagerly anticipated, and desperately necessary to her very existence. “Oh, Patrick,” she sighed, “I truly do like the coupling!”
He had collapsed upon her, but now he drew away and, standing up, went to the head of the bed and pulled the coverlet back. Then he picked her up and tucked her beneath it, climbing in next to her. His arms went about her, and she rested her head upon his damp chest as his hand stroked her graceful back. “Madame, I dinna know what good fairy led me to Brae, and to ye, but I am mightily glad of it. No man could hae a better bed partner than ye are becoming.”
“Is there more?” she asked him softly.
“Aye, there is love, Flanna lass,” he told her.
“What is love?” she wondered aloud. “They say my father loved my mother, but I never understood what love was. Do ye know?”
He was silent for several long moments, and then he said, “I am nae certain either, Flanna. All I know is my parents seemed to be bound by some invisible cord even when they were nae together. Sometimes they spoke nae wi’ words, but wi’ a look. When my father was killed at Dunbar, my mother could nae longer remain where they had known so many years of happiness. She left Glenkirk. I dinna understand it, but I think that is love. Perhaps it comes in time, even as the passion between a husband and wife grows.”
“Do ye think we will ever love one another, Patrick?” she said low.
“I dinna know, Flanna lass, but know that I am content wi’ ye despite our short acquaintance.” He rolled her beneath him, and kissed her slowly, deeply, on the mouth, then scattered kisses across her face and throat. “Verra content,” he murmured against the pulse at the base of her throat.
“Ohhhh,” Flanna re
plied ingenuously, “we’re going to do it again, are nae we?” His kisses were so sweet.
“Aye, lass,” he growled into her ear. “We’re going to do it again. And again. And yet again.”
Part Two
The Do-Naught Duchess
Chapter 6
Flanna shrieked as a hard hand smacked her bottom. She whirled angrily about to face a handsome man with shoulder-length auburn curls and laughing amber eyes.
“Come then, wench, and tell the duke his big brother, the not-so-royal Stuart, has arrived to see him. But first give us a kiss! Why, you’re the prettiest lass I’ve seen in many a day.” Reaching out, he pulled Flanna to him, kissing her mouth quite lustily.
Flanna pulled away, slapping the man with all her might. “Ye’re a bold one, ye are! I’ll thank ye to keep yer hands to yerself, my lord! How dare ye accost me?” she sputtered furiously.
Charles Frederick Stuart, the Duke of Lundy, rubbed his burning cheek. “You pack a mighty wallop, lassie. Don’t you like to be kissed?”
“Only by my husband, my lord,” Flanna said tartly, glaring at her antagonist.
“Is there trouble, my lady?” Angus materialized out of the shadows of the hall. He stood every inch of his seven feet, and the Englishman was mightily impressed, although not in the least taken aback.
“I am the duke’s brother,” he told Angus.
“Which one, my lord? The duke hae four brothers if I am nae mistaken. From the sound of ye, ye’re one of the English ones,” Angus said, and deliberately looked down in an effort to intimidate the visitor.
The Duke of Lundy laughed. “I am the royal bastard,” he replied with a grin. “And who might you be, my giant of a friend?”
“I am Angus, my lord, the majordomo of the castle,” came the reply.
“And who is the wench with the quick hand?” He leered wickedly at Flanna, who glowered back fiercely.
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