When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1)

by Julie Johnstone

  Angus broke into a coughing fit, Rory Mac roared with laugher and Iain gave her an approving yet amused look. She considered what she’d said, and heat flooded her cheeks. She wasn’t sure what to say now. She did think Iain very attractive, and she was sure he was very capable of his husbandly duties. But heavens, she wished she’d not blurted that.

  “Go away,” Iain demanded of the men, saving Marion from having to say anything at all. Rory Mac immediately departed, but Angus looked as if he might protest. “I wish to be alone with my wife,” Iain added before Angus could speak.

  Angus still looked as if he wanted to argue, so she gave him a quick nod to let him know she would be fine, and he nodded back, finally leaving Marion and Iain alone in the dark. She could barely see Iain’s face, but she could feel his heat and his power, as if it were vibrating out of him. Suddenly, she wanted him to hold her, touch her, make her feel alive when she had almost died. The need grew fierce in an instant, hampered only by the fear that she may not please him. Yet on that fear came another. What if he thought of his dead wife, and he found Marion lacking in comparison? Before she could consider any more of her fears, he slipped his arm behind her legs and lifted her to his chest.

  Her body instantly warmed at his touch. She slid her arms around his neck and locked her hands behind his head. “What are you doing?” she asked in a breathy whisper.

  “I need ye, Marion. I need to ken ye’re alive and nae harmed. I see ye and ye seem safe now, but I need the knowing that only being with ye as yer husband can provide. Is it too greedy?”

  “No,” she croaked, a strange tightening occurring in her belly.

  Iain walked some distance away, past the trees where they had rested earlier to a more private thicket. A blanket lay on the ground, and he kneeled and deposited her gently upon it. She thought he’d sit beside her, but instead, he stood looking down at her. The moon must have broken through clouds because she could see the outline of his strong body, though not all the details of how he was formed. She had a sudden sharp desire to feel him since she could not see him, but she was too shy to ask.

  Silently, he stooped before her, lifted her again as if she weighed no more than a blade of grass, and settled her, straddling him, in his lap as he sat down. They were now face-to-face, and he was hard as steel everywhere, and even though he was wet from the river, he was hotter than a blazing fire. Embarrassment caused her to shift, but his large hands clutched her hips.

  “Be still a minute, Marion. I’m intent on being slow and tender with ye, but if ye move at all, I’m afraid I’ll take ye like a mindless beast, I want ye that much.”

  His words made her feel oddly giddy and light-headed. “You want me that much?”

  “Aye. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman.”

  “You are a beast,” she growled, angry that she’d momentarily thought his need was solely due to her. It seemed any woman would do. She pressed her palms against his thighs to stand, but he caught her around the waist and guided her firmly back onto his lap. She wiggled to free herself, but it was no use. His fingers curled around her waist, unmoving and unrelenting.

  She tried to turn her face from his, but he took hold of her chin and made her look at him. Even in the darkness, she could see his burning eyes. “I did nae mean it like that.”

  “I don’t care,” she muttered, irritated with how much she actually did care. Why was she letting hope grow inside when she knew he would hurt her?

  “Ye do,” he said fiercely. “And I like verra much that ye care.”

  “I don’t,” she protested weakly, her heart pounding. She didn’t want to let herself care for him if he was never going to love her.

  He cupped her face. “Listen to me. I ken I just hurt ye, and I’m sorry. I did nae mean I wanted ye simply because I’d nae been with a woman. I’ve had plenty of opportunity to ease my desire. Ken?”

  “I ken,” she said, pleased that she’d not screamed at him as she wanted to. “Women must offer themselves to you all the time. I suppose because you are an attractive and mighty laird. What is it you’re trying to tell me?” She poked him in the chest. “Are you trying to tell me that you could ease your desire whenever you choose? That you do not need me?”

  He captured her fingers with his when she poked him again. One of his large hands wrapped around hers, and the other delved into her hair to slip through her tresses and cup her head. He brought her face so close to his that his warm breath fanned her lips when he spoke. “I’m trying to tell ye that I’ve nae wanted a woman since my wife died. Though opportunity has been plenty, I’ve nae cared. I figured that part of me died with her. But it has nae. Ye have awakened me.”

  “I have?” Her body tingled with shock and pleasure. If she personally had awakened that, maybe she could awaken his heart in time.

  He nodded and then brushed the pad of his thumb across her mouth. The tingling intensified and her breasts grew heavy, her nipples taut. This…this had to be desire. She licked her lips, liking it very much. If simple desire felt this good, desire born of love must feel like Heaven. She wanted Heaven.

  He didn’t answer her. Instead, he covered her mouth with his. The kiss was consuming, demanding, and showed her that he liked it as much as she did. His lips massaged hers, and then his tongue slipped inside her mouth, swirling, teasing, taunting. She’d never been kissed before him, but she’d imagined quite often what a passionate kiss would be like. Yet her imagination had not captured it. Not really. Kissing Iain was like swimming in the water of the sea. It was like racing on one of her father’s horses with the wind whipping through her hair. Like hitting a target in the center on the first try. It was everything exhilarating she’d ever done combined, but it was so much more.

  She could not think, except to concentrate on the slide of his hand down her neck, over her back, and to her bottom. Suddenly, her gown was being pulled up over her thighs as his fingers deftly kneaded her skin. His mouth blazed kisses against her shoulder, across her collarbone, and to her lips.

  A pulsing need sprang to life between her thighs and shot a sharp ache up into her abdomen. Before she knew what had happened, he’d unlaced her gown and the front of it was draping open. He pulled her chemise down, and his mouth, hot and seeking, found her breast. His hands cupped her bottom and hoisted her up, closer to his mouth while he suckled in long, heady draws. Every sense she possessed sparked to life and screamed for more.

  She could not get close enough to him, or maybe it was that she could not get him close enough to her. She wanted to feel all of him against her, bare flesh to bare flesh. She wanted to be consumed, and as that thought occurred, it ceded to another. She needed relief.

  “You’re torturing me,” she whispered hoarsely to the top of his wet head as he flicked his tongue over her bud, then took it into his mouth. A moan wrenched from between her clenched teeth, and he chuckled.

  “Aye. I’m torturing ye because ye need to experience the pleasure ye can only find when the pain of the yearning finds release.”

  “I don’t understand,” she murmured, running her hands up the rippling muscles of his bare back to grip his corded shoulders.

  He lifted his head and grinned. Her breath caught at how happy he looked. She’d made him happy, if only for a moment.

  “Ye’ll understand soon enough,” he replied.

  Before she could even order her frenzied thoughts to form a clear reply, he had slipped off the last of his clothing and tugged her gown and chemise off. She shivered when the cold air hit her damp skin, but he settled her onto her back on the blanket and his body came close to warm her. His hands traced over her knees, sliding down toward the inside of her thighs to part them.

  She tensed as she stared up at the sky, suddenly afraid once more, but she refused to show it. She didn’t want him to be disappointed.

  “Marion,” he murmured as he applied light pressure to her inner thighs until she allowed them to be opened all the way. “Dunnae be afrai
d. I vow to ye I will go slow and be gentle.”

  She curled her fingers into the cool grass. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m only afraid you’ll find me lacking.”

  Suddenly, he was looming over her with his hands on either side of her upper arms, his body hovering above hers, his face directly over hers. He looked down at her. His hair had come out of the twine that tied it back, and it hung down the sides of his face. “I will never compare ye to Catriona. Ye are as different as winter and summer.”

  “Which am I?”

  “Does it matter? Each time has a purpose, aye?”

  She nodded.

  “I want to do things to ye, Marion. Fierce things. Things I would nae have dared with—” He stopped with a curse. “Will ye trust me?”

  She already did. God help her. He had her trust completely in this moment. She hoped he didn’t prove her foolish to have given it so easily. “I trust you.”

  “I’ll nae take that lightly. I vow it.” He leaned forward, brushed his lips to hers, and then feathered kisses down the center of her chest, over her belly, and to the juncture between her thighs. When his fingers parted her and his lips found her sensitive spot, she gasped and drew her thighs together. She would have squeezed his head between her legs, but he pressed her thighs back apart as his tongue tortured her sweetly.

  She’d never experienced anything so sinfully wonderful as the slide of his tongue against her tender flesh. Coherent thought left her, and soon she was moaning, thrashing, and begging him to end the pleasurable torture. And he ended it in a way that left her feeling as if she had been filled with vigor and then drained. There was nothing left in her. Not a speck of ability to move. But she knew instinctually they were not done.

  When he came up to hover over her, he lifted her bottom off the ground, and in the next second she felt his hard staff pressing against something inside her. She started to ask him to wait, but her words were lost in another gasp as he eased into her and broke through whatever barrier was there. He stilled, filling her completely, and she was suddenly nervous about his size.

  “This hurts,” she murmured, tears stinging at her eyes.

  “I’ll nae move until ye say,” he replied, his voice gravelly, as if he too were in pain.

  Tears trickled out of her eyes, and she sniffed. He leaned down and kissed the left and then the right sides of her temples, taking her tears into his mouth. That gesture, that simple display of wanting to take away her pain, restored her faith and destroyed her fear.

  “Will it feel better if I let you move?”

  “Aye. I think so.” The strain of waiting vibrated in his voice. “I think it will feel verra good, but if it does nae and ye want me to stop, I will.”

  “You vow it?”

  “Marion,” he growled. “I’d rather die than hurt ye.”

  Her heart ached with his sweet words. “You may move.”

  He didn’t say a word, but she felt the tension in his still body spring loose as if he’d barely held it in control. He began to move then, and within seconds, his words proved true. It felt very good, indeed. So good that after a few more minutes she was demanding he move faster and harder as the pressure of before, that pulsing ache, blossomed to life again and demanded satisfaction.

  He went slowly, though, moving in languid, almost careful strokes, until she growled her dissatisfaction and clawed at his back. “I’m not glass underneath you, Iain. You will not break me. Quit holding back.”

  “Ye’re sure?”

  She could hear the strain in his voice again.

  “I’m sure.”

  Seven

  Holding himself back had been agonizing, but he’d not wanted to hurt or scare Marion. But when she begged him to take her, he could not contain himself any longer. He did not unleash his need; his desire for her took him, and he lost control. Each of her moans increased his craving further until he took her first on her back, then above him while he guided her motions, and then from behind. His fingers worked frantically between her thighs as his body hummed with each stroke in and out of her hot slickness.

  He could not get enough of her, and while he had a deep fear that he would hurt her, he was unable to control himself as he’d done all those years with Catriona. Marion was warmth and health and bursting with a desire that seemed to match his own. Her body welcomed him and wrapped around him, compelling him forward. His blood rushed through his veins and beat a quick cadence in his ears. He pumped into her, needing to consume her and needing to be consumed. He forgot himself completely as the sweet, sharp ache of pleasure gripped him and he claimed her as his, now and forever.

  He shuddered as his seed poured into her, and then he came to rest beside her, panting as he pulled her into the crook of his arm. As he gazed up at the sky, brilliant with its specks of starlight, such contentment filled him that he felt at once uneasy at how simple it would be to forget his past pain and loss. He didn’t want to forget Catriona. Loving her and knowing her had, in part, made him the man he was today. Yet, deep in his gut, he feared that he might forget her with the craving he already felt for Marion.

  Marion shifted in his arms, and he gazed at her and traced the delicate slope of her cheekbone up to her closed eyes and over her pale hair. She was so different in appearance and personality from Catriona, but God help him, Marion pleased him mightily, and he desired her in a way he’d not known before. It was an insatiable hunger, whereas it had been a comfortable, careful need with Catriona. An easy slow thing, pleasurable but not devouring, because she had been too weak for him ever to allow himself that sort of greedy pleasure.

  Marion, however, was not weak. She had begged him to take what she wanted to give him, what she knew she could.

  “Marion.” There was much he could not say—truthfully, he didn’t even begin to know how to—yet he could tell her how she’d pleased him. He also wanted to verify that he’d satisfied her and not hurt her. “Marion,” he whispered again.

  Her answer was a snore, deep and sated.

  He smiled in amazement that his wife could have fallen asleep so easily after napping not long ago, but he supposed with the long ride, having to fight for her life, and his pleasing her so—he grinned with pride into her fragrant hair—she would be exhausted. Personally, he was starving. He gently extracted his arm and set Marion on the blanket, then retrieved his plaid and laid it over her before rummaging in the satchel he’d brought earlier for some bread, cheese, and wine. After partaking in all three but still saving some for Marion, he lay back down on the blanket beside her and listened to her even breaths.

  Things would be good and well between them. How could they not be with the desire that burned so bright for each other? With that thought, Iain fell into the first deep sleep he’d experienced since Catriona had died.

  Iain awoke before Marion the next morning and he disentangled himself from his wife, who had wrapped her arms and legs around him during the night. He retrieved his plaid and folded the part of the blanket he’d been lying on over Marion instead. He laid the food he’d saved for her on top of his satchel and set it by her head before going down to the river to wash. Once he was clean, he dressed quickly and went to check on Angus, Rory Mac, and Neil. Angus had already packed his horse, as had Rory Mac, except Rory Mac was now reclined against a tree.

  He grinned at Iain. “Finally ye’re awake. Late night?” he teased.

  Iain ignored Rory Mac’s question and walked over to Neil. “How do ye feel?” he asked. The man still looked pitiful.

  “I’ve felt better. I’m sorry if I’m slowing ye down.”

  “Dunnae fash yerself,” Iain rebuked.

  Iain sensed someone standing behind him, so he turned to find Angus staring at him. “Did ye remember what I said te ye about Marion?” Angus demanded.

  Iain could have simply reminded Angus he had no right to demand anything from Iain, but instead, Iain nodded. “I remembered.”

  Angus peered at him suspiciously. The older man stepped cl
oser. “Did ye go te sleep with Marion in yer thoughts or a ghost?”

  Rory Mac sat up from his spot in the grass with a smirk on his face. “By the screams coming from yer direction, I’d say ye went to sleep with yer new wife in yer thoughts. Ye look tired, too,” the Scot commented with a chuckle. “I ken I’m tired. I could nae sleep over the noise.”

  “Shut yer mouth,” Iain and Angus ordered as one. With a look of understanding, they silently agreed that his joining with Marion was not a topic to be discussed by anyone.

  Rory Mac waved a dismissive hand at Iain. “Hold yer anger. I was only teasing. I’m glad to see ye’re finally moving on. And ye, ye old goat, I suppose I’m glad an old man like ye has someone to care about.”

  Iain’s worries concerning Catriona roared to life with Rory Mac’s words and stirred his ire. “I will never forget Catriona. No one could ever take her place.”

  Rory Mac’s gaze locked on something or someone behind Iain.

  Iain knew it was Marion even before he turned to see her standing close behind him. She’d donned her gown, which was bunched oddly as if she’d had trouble lacing it. She had a pained look on her face, and he instantly knew she’d heard his words.

  “Marion—” He started to apologize and faltered. How could he say he was sorry for something that was true? He could not say he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t say she’d misunderstood. “Did ye see the food and drink I left out for ye?” he asked instead, aware that he was hurting her, though he didn’t want to be.

  “Yes, thank you,” she replied, her tone sounding withdrawn and slightly cold to him. He could be imagining it, he supposed. He tried to catch her gaze to meet her eyes, but she looked around the camp, evidently avoiding him. “I see we’re packed and ready to depart. I hope you were not waiting on me.”