He ran his thumb very lightly across Marion’s bruised lips. She tensed but then relaxed against him. Her curves pressed against him reminded him of the night before and made him go hard with longing. He traced his fingertips down her scratched arm to her breasts and cupped one of them as he circled his thumb over her taut bud. Need pounded through him as she pushed even closer to him.
“I like that ye’re jealous over me,” he admitted, his voice almost hoarse with desire.
She pursed her lips as she brought her hand to his chest and laid her palm flat against his beating heart. “What about you?” she asked. “Are you jealous over me?”
“Nay.”
She frowned and tried to move away from him, but he caught her at the elbow and brought her hard against him once more, so that her breath whooshed out when her body collided with his. “I dunnae get jealous ever.” He just didn’t want anyone to touch her or stare at her overly long, but that was different.
She quirked her mouth. “Why is that?”
“Because I am the master of my emotions, Marion. I dunnae allow myself to feel what I dunnae wish to feel.”
Her brows dipped together. “How nice for you,” she grumbled. “We simple humans are often ruled by emotions. Some people even think that when great emotion strikes, such as deep love, or anger,” she quickly added, “one cannot control oneself.”
“I always control myself,” he managed to get out, in spite of the fact he could feel his control slipping away. He wanted to throw her on the bed, rip off her gown, and worship her body.
“I suppose you are not jealous because you do not wish to feel anything for me,” she said, glancing down.
The hurt in her voice sliced through him. His guilt, his own tortured mind, was hurting her. He was a clot-heid. Shame poured over him as he hooked a finger under her chin and lifted her face until he found her glorious green gaze on him once more, and this time his heart jolted with feelings for her. Shock vibrated through him. For a long moment, he said nothing as he realized that the connection he felt to her had already strengthened.
“I feel things for ye,” he admitted finally, “in spite of the fact that I dunnae want to.”
“You do?” she asked in a shaky whisper.
He nodded. “Aye.”
A loud knock came at the door.
“Who is it?” Iain demanded, irritated by the interruption.
“We’ve bathing water for ye.”
Iain released Marion, strode to the door, and let the two boys enter with big barrels of steaming water. As they filled the wooden tub, he studied his wife, standing there nibbling on her hurt lip with her flushed cheeks, yet her head was still held high. She was a fine woman, and he was struck with how very fortunate he had been. He could have been wedded to a cold woman, indeed, but Marion was hot as a burning log, and he was glad for it, in spite of the unwanted emotions she stirred.
When the boys finished, Iain closed the door and turned slowly toward his wife. He didn’t want to talk anymore, and he prayed to God she’d let it be. He didn’t understand what she stirred in him, nor what he was going to do about it, but he comprehended completely how much he wanted her.
He walked slowly over to her and stopped a hairsbreadth from her. “Shall we bathe?”
Her gaze widened, and he was afraid she was going to say no, but she nodded. “That would be nice.”
Nice was not what he had in mind, but he kept that thought to himself. When she started to raise her hands, as if trying to disrobe herself, he caught them in his and shook his head. “Let me,” he said, moving around to her back. “Tell me what happened to you and Bridgette.”
As he slowly started to undo her gown, her soft melodic voice filled the silence as she explained very matter-of-factly how she and Bridgette were racing back to the castle in the dark, of Bridgette’s fall off the mountainside, and how Marion had risked her own life to save Bridgette’s.
“Ye’re courageous and foolish,” he said, meaning it. The idea that she could have died helping Bridgette made his insides twist into a tight coil. Yet, had she not helped, he’d have thought her a coward and the behavior shameful. So he couldn’t fault her.
She glanced back at him as he lowered her gown over one silky shoulder and then the next. Her green eyes flashed with anger. His wife, in spite of her protest to the contrary, had quite a temper. He liked her show of spirit. He liked everything about her thus far, except her disobeying the orders meant to keep her safe.
“What would you have had me do?” she demanded. “Let Bridgette fall?”
He turned her around to face him as he caught the soft material next to her skin and dragged it downward over her high, firm breasts, lower still over her tiny waist, and down farther past her rounded hips and lush bottom. His blood sang through his veins as he moved his gaze inch by pleasurable inch over her long legs and flat stomach back up to her eyes.
“If ye’d obeyed my order to stay in the bedchamber, then ye would have never been in such a dangerous position. But I’d never have ye leave someone in need.”
He could see her jaw visibly clenching. He expected her to argue so was surprised when she said, “Perchance could we call your commands to me ‘requests’?”
He chuckled. “Fine, requests,” he answered as he motioned for her to step out of her chemise. “But dunnae ever tell my brothers or Rory Mac I consented to this.”
A wistful look swept across her face. “You have a big family.”
“We have a big family,” he replied and helped her remove the chemise, out of which she had yet stepped out. She blushed and tried to cross her arms over her chest, but he lowered her hands to her sides and drank in the sight of her. “Ye’re so beautiful.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, which made her chest rise higher, taking his lust along with it. “You’re blind, then,” she said flippantly.
“Nay.” He tentatively flattened a palm against her stomach and eyed her.
“I’m not in pain,” she encouraged.
“I see ye clearly, Marion. It’s ye who does nae see yerself. But I find I like that.” He traced a sensual path to her breast with his other hand. “What did ye learn today?” he asked as he circled her taut bud with his fingers. The pink nub strained tighter and his own body felt as if he were being stretched to near breaking.
“I learned,” she murmured, “that following Bridgette will likely get me into trouble.” Her voice was so husky and alluring.
He’d meant to ask if she had learned anything from the seer, but he let her misinterpretation of his question pass. He wanted no more talking, just touching. He cupped her entire breast and lowered his head to trace his tongue in a slow circle around the bud.
She moaned and pressed herself into his hand. Desire gripped him in an unrelenting iron hold. All he could think about was how he wanted to suckle her and enter her. His lips found her flesh again, and he drew the bud into his mouth, aching ecstasy filling him. He pulled and released her flesh until ragged moans came from her and she arched fully toward him, making him doubt that he could control himself any longer.
He removed his clothes deftly as he continued to torture her with pleasure, and when he was naked, he released her breast only to grasp her under the bottom and heave her to his waist. He half expected her to protest, but a violent need to be inside her claimed him. When her legs circled his waist, her hands gripped his back, and her mouth pressed to his ear to beg him to take her, he lost all reason. He closed the distance between them and the door, and he took her there, suspended in air, soft perfect flesh against hard battle-scarred flesh. He entered her again and again, until sweat dripped from his skin and every nerve in his body burned with pleasure.
He did not stop until he felt he’d explode, and his seed poured into her. His body shook with the release as she cried out, and he slumped against her. Her breath fanned his ear, cool air caressed his damp back, and the realization of how he’d taken her like a rutting pig hit him.
“
God,” he murmured as he pulled back and caught her bright-green gaze. “I’m sorry.”
Her forehead immediately wrinkled. “You’re sorry? What for? That was…that was…”
He slid her body slowly off his staff and then lowered her gently to her feet, bringing his hands to either side of her waist and pinning her against the door. He’d not be surprised if she tried to run away from him, beast that he was. “I dunnae ken what came over me.”
She blushed. “I’d like to think it was desire.”
He felt his eyes widen. “Oh, to be sure. But I did nae mean to take ye like a wild beast. I intended to be gentle.”
She cast her eyes down and he followed her gaze, watching as she curled her toes under her feet. “I like the way you took me,” she said, barely above a whisper.
He was instantly hard again and so pleased with himself that he knew it to be a sin of pride, but one that would likely be forgiven since he was only so pleased because he could bring her pleasure. He wanted very much to pleasure her again. All night long, if he thought she could bear it. Perhaps, he’d ease her into the idea. He forced back the grin he could feel stretching his cheeks and cleared his throat as he stared at the top of her pale head. His wife was lustful and had an appetite for bedding to match his own. It was a new situation for him. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to God for this unexpected gift.
“Perhaps we could take a bath? I believe there’s still time before supper,” he said, eyeing the tub and Marion’s voluptuous body. She’d tempt the devil to sainthood if that were what it took to bed her. The thought made him grin again, just as Marion looked at him.
She cocked her head. “Why are you grinning?”
“I’m grinning at ye, wife. Ye please me.” He grabbed her hand, pulled her to him, and kissed her soundly on the mouth, as he’d failed to do in his desire-fueled haze moments ago. She tasted wonderfully sweet, and she smelled of wet grass mingled with heather and earth. He liked it immensely. “Come. Let me bathe ye.” There was much more he wanted to do to her, but he’d bring that idea into her head one kiss at a time.
They walked hand in hand to the steaming tub. He held her steady as he helped her in, and then he simply stood for a moment and stared in wonder at the little water nymph that was his wife. She’d promptly leaned back into the water, her blond hair floating around her. Slowly, she sat up, her hair dripping and slicked back from her face. She drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees as she stared at him. The water made her creamy skin glisten. She looked utterly beautiful and utterly vulnerable.
A trickle of fear ran down his spine as he thought about what tonight would have been like if she’d fallen to her death while trying to save Bridgette. His breath froze in his lungs at the idea. The realization that he cared for her too much already hit him hard, but he didn’t think there was a thing to be done about what had already happened. He simply needed to be more guarded in the days to come, but tonight, he wanted to enjoy her.
He gripped the side of the wooden tub and stepped in behind her, the water sloshing against the dark wood boards and sluicing over both of them as he sat down and pulled her between his thighs and into the safety of his arms.
A small sigh escaped her as she settled against his chest and laid her head back. Her dark eyelashes fanned downward to veil her eyes. He held perfectly still, wanting the moment to suspend in time. He knew from losing Catriona that savoring such moments when he was in them was wise. He closed his eyes and memorized the way Marion’s bottom curved against him, the silky feel of her skin brushing his own, and the weight and warmth of her body pressing so trustingly against his chest. Slowly, he opened his eyes and devoured the sight of her lovely legs and the delicate appearance of her arms, which belied the strength she had shown when saving Bridgette.
Marion had courage, it seemed, for everything she faced. But did he?
He squeezed his eyes shut again, a single thought drilling into his brain. He had the nerve for battle, the mettle to lead his clan, the willingness to sacrifice himself to protect anyone in his care—or anyone who simply needed him—but did he have the courage to give himself to a woman fully, heart and soul, again? He didn’t know, but he suspected he’d never have all of Marion unless he offered all of himself.
Suddenly, she stirred and leaned her head all the way back until her eyes locked with his. Her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips, and then she spoke. “Iain, could I—” Her cheeks reddened considerably. “Would you let me—” She bit her lower lip and started to turn her face away, but he caught her chin and held her steady.
“Never be afraid to ask me anything, Marion.”
She nodded, blinking rapidly. “Would you let me touch you?”
For a moment, confusion filled his mind. She was already touching him. Then she moved away from his chest and twisted around until she faced him. Her hand dipped under the water and came between his thighs. Her gaze drew downward to his staff, and understanding made him hard as stone.
“Ye can touch me anytime ye wish,” he fairly growled, his voice rough with barely restrained desire. “Ye never need ask.”
She nodded again and slowly ran the tip of her fingertips lightly over his rod. He’d kept his silence through a thrashing during which he was tied to a post, and he’d kept his silence while having many a terrible battle wound cleansed with fire, but he could not keep his silence at her touch. A deep, guttural groan escaped him as his muscles flexed and his blood rushed through his veins. By all the saints, he swore that every drop of blood in his body went to his staff; the thing fairly throbbed with the need to be within her.
He saw the delight that brightened her green eyes. She brought her gaze to his once again. “Do you think it’s a sin for me to kiss you there?”
“Nay, Marion.” His voice vibrated in his ears. “I think it’d be a sin for ye to deny yerself, and me, such pleasure.”
She laughed. “Well, even if it was a sin, I have to confess I’d chance it and beg forgiveness later.”
“I like a bold lass.”
She cocked her eyebrows. “Any lass?”
He remembered their conversation from earlier and her jealous nature. “Nay,” he assured her. “Only ye.”
“Stand up,” she said, her voice throaty and her green eyes half-closed.
“Is that a command?” he teased.
“Aye, laird,” she murmured. He stood immediately, water dripping off him, and without another word, she kneeled and clutched his thighs. Her fingers curled around his muscles as her mouth found the tip of his shaft. Searing lust exploded in him as her tongue circled him. When she took the tip into her mouth and sucked, he pressed toward her, and as he did, a pounding came at the door. She jerked back, her eyes wide with fear.
“Go away!” he roared.
“My lord, the MacLean sent me to fetch ye.”
“I dunnae give a care if God himself sent ye to fetch me. Get away from my door.”
Marion clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes crinkling with mirth as merry laughter trickled from her. Iain’s heart expanded within his chest, a deep happiness spreading through him. It was so foreign, so forgotten, and so surprisingly welcome in this moment.
“Laird,” came the frustrated Scot’s voice from the other side of the door. “Alex begs yer attendance. Archibald has returned with his report, and Alex believes ye may want to hear it. What say ye?”
A hundred foul curses filled Iain’s head as he held his wife’s gaze. “I must go.”
“Must you?” she asked and gave him a lustful look that made him want to stay, but if Alex thought Iain would want to hear the report now, there must be news. Until he knew what it was, he’d keep what Archibald was out doing to himself. There was no sense in worrying Marion needlessly.
“Aye,” he grumbled.
She looked crestfallen but didn’t pout.
As he got out of the water, he called to Alex’s man that he’d be down shortly, and then he quickly dressed.
When he turned back to Marion, she was humming gaily and washing herself with a bar of soap that the servant had brought. He strode over to the tub, his need for her a hunger gnawing in his belly. Bending down, he settled his forearms over the edge and crooked a finger at her.
She leaned forward, but he motioned her closer until every breath she exhaled was one he inhaled. “If I’m verra fortunate, I’ll be back before we must go down for supper and we can continue with yer sinful ways, if ye’re willing?”
“So I was doing it right, then? I wasn’t sure.” Her face, neck, and even the tips of her ears flamed red.
He couldn’t resist teasing her. “I think,” he said, making his tone serious, “ye may need a good deal of practice before ye get it just right.”
“Really?” she said, her small shoulders drooping slightly.
He chuckled as he claimed her mouth with his and gave her a long kiss. When he pulled back, he cupped her neck and rubbed his thumb over the long, delicate column. All he could think was how this woman was now in his care, and he never wanted anything bad to happen to her again.
“Nay,” he said gently. “I near went mad with what ye did. I imagine I’d now be a simple fool if we’d nae been disturbed.”
A smirk came to her lips. “I thought I might be doing it right by your response.”
He scoffed at that and stood, not wishing to part with her but knowing he must. “I’ll return soon.”
She nodded and started humming to herself again as he departed.
When he entered the great hall and saw Alex looking grave and surrounded by a group of his men, plus Rory Mac and Angus, Iain knew the news was not good. He strode to the table and sat next to Rory Mac at the bench, which put Iain face-to-face with Archibald. “What did ye find?”
Archibald rubbed his knuckles for a moment before he spoke. “I thought I saw a man with a surcoat with a snake on it, but I kinnae be sure and I lost the trail. I’m sorry.”
Iain nodded and caught Alex’s gaze. “I’ll be riding out to search.”
“What?” Archibald said, sounding incensed. “I’m the best tracker here. It’s insensible for ye to go. Isn’t that the truth of it, Alex?”
When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) Page 17