by Mary Wine
He chuckled at her, a wicked sound of intention that sent a shiver through her.
“It might be worth a bit of time in the stocks if I get to lay down with ye.” He pressed her thighs apart until they were spread wide. “Yer flesh is tempting me to indulge my lust.”
A shiver raced down her spine as the night air brushed against the folds of her flesh. With her skirts raised, she was completely exposed. Cullen hovered over her, using gentle strength to keep her thighs apart when she would have closed them. His attention lowered to her sex, hunger replacing the playful glint in his eyes.
“But I dinna think I’m alone in my desires.”
His fingers slid all the way along the inside of her thighs until they found her tender folds. A whimper crossed her lips when he stroked one fingertip across her clitoris. Pleasure speared up into her passage, her heart increasing its rate. He fingered her again, this time stroking her from clitoris to the opening of her passage. A soft cry left her lips as pleasure erupted inside her. Her eyes closed and her hands fisted in the bedding beneath her.
“Am I, sweet, passionate wife?”
She jerked back up when his mouth touched her sex. Her thighs closed around his head and she tried to push him away.
“Cullen!”
He raised his head to stare into her shocked eyes. Hard determination glittered in his. He pushed her legs wide once more.
He grinned at her. “Ah…have I discovered the way to tame ye, lass?” He pressed his thumb on her clitoris, rubbing it gently. Her breathing became hard, bolts of white-hot delight spearing through her.
“Ye like that, don’t ye?”
There was no way to hide that she did. A moan surfaced from her chest when he lowered his gaze to her spread body. Her eyes went wide but she couldn’t stop herself from watching. She felt his breath on her before the first touch of his lips.
She collapsed back onto the bed, incapable of controlling anything. Her body twitched, jerking in small motions while Cullen sucked her. Never had she even considered that her body could feel such intense pleasure. It burned through her, the flames eagerly licking every inch of her body. Need clawed at her and her passage ached to be filled. Cullen toyed with her clitoris, flicking his tongue across it over and over until sweat dotted her skin. Tension knotted tighter and tighter beneath his lips. She lifted her hips toward him, eager for more.
Abruptly, he raised his head. Bronwyn moaned. The sound wasn’t anything she recognized. It was deep and husky and completely wanton. She wanted him, and lying so submissively made her angry. Pushing up off the bed, she reached for him. He caught her, pulling her into a hard embrace.
She kissed him.
Holding onto the sides of his head, she angled hers so that their lips might meet. He didn’t claim her mouth but followed her, mimicking her motions, allowing her to lead the kiss. She licked his lower lip, urging him to open his mouth. He took command of the kiss the moment her tongue slipped inside his mouth. One hand cupping the back of her head, his fingers gently pulling her hair. Little twinges of pain moved over her scalp but somehow it only added to the heat of the moment. Part of her enjoyed feeling his strength.
But the fabric of his kilt and her skirts prevented her from gaining what she really craved. She groaned, trying to pull at the layers of clothing between them. Cullen chuckled at her frustration.
“Well now, rolling in the hay does take a wee bit of skill. It’s a bit awkward the first time. But I’m rather happy knowing that ye never learned the art of lifting yer skirt for a bit of afternoon pleasure.” He laid her back down on her back and raised his kilt. His cock stood at attention, stiff and swollen.
“Are ye now?” Wasn’t that just like a man to say. “Ye know the art rather well, telling me that ye have done some rolling, but wanted a pure bride.”
He shot her a hard look. “I wanted ye and it dinna stay my course to hear that ye were considered impure. Besides, I dinna know what is wrong with a few spring trysts. It’s a way to know if they will be able to enjoy the winter as man and wife.”
“I dinna want to know how ye know anything about rolling in the hay.” She sounded jealous and realized that she was. “And ye can just tell any woman that ye trysted with last spring that ye are wed now.”
He laughed at her, but reached for her hips and pulled her back onto his lap. This time his cock nudged the slippery folds of her sex, the round head pushing into her passage with ease. He gripped her hips, pulling her toward him until his length was buried inside her.
“Now, why is that, Bronwyn? Are ye jealous?”
“Maybe. I am yer wife.” She clasped her hands around his neck for balance. He lifted her until only the head of his cock was still stretching her passage. It was a sweet torment, waiting for him to lower her again.
He thrust upward at the same time that he lowered her. His cock penetrating in a smooth thrust that made her gasp. Pleasure filled her, the walls of her passage full and satisfied.
“Ah, well then, I suppose I shall have to do my rolling in the hay with ye from now on.”
He tried to sound playful, but need made his voice raspy. His hips thrust harder and faster as his face became drawn.
“I may hope.”
His eyes opened all the way and he stared at her. His hands held her in place, all motion stopping.
“Ye may depend upon it. I’m going to make sure ye yell loud enough with yer pleasure for half of Sterling to hear.”
He lifted her free and sat her away from him. “Now, if yer going to be the lass I’m rolling in the hay, we need to practice a wee bit to make sure we have it right.”
“Are ye daft?”
He winked at her. “I’m a lusty man that wants to dally with ye. Let us hope we don’t get caught.”
A giggle escaped her lips because she’d heard the maids talking about such things. Many a lass and lad rolled in the hay. And many a bride had a plump belly on her wedding day, too.
“What’s the matter, husband? Do ye fear the stocks?”
“I’d stand in them proudly next to ye, lass.”
She pouted at him. “Yer a brute. Aren’t ye supposed to suffer the chastisement while protecting my name?”
He winked. “But it would be yer yelling that would get us caught.” He reached out and fingered her sex, running his finger between the swollen folds to her clitoris. He rubbed the little nub and her breathing became rough. All hints of teasing left her. Need clawed at her, demanding she appease it.
Cullen slipped an arm beneath her hips and turned her over in one swift motion. She flopped onto her belly, pushing her hands against the bedding to rise. Cullen grasped her hips and lifted her bottom until she was poised on her knees.
“Ah, one of my favorite hay positions. Just right for keeping yer skirts out of the way.” He tossed her skirts up to her waist again, making sure to raise the tail of her chemise as well. The cool night air brushed against her bare bottom, sending a shiver through her.
A warm hand cupped one side of her bottom, smoothing over it before delivering a soft slap.
“Cullen…”
He rubbed the spot again, removing the sting. “Ah, yer a hungry one, are ye? No patience for playing, ye want yer maypole dance right now.”
“Cullen McJames.”
He clasped her hips and the folds of his kilt covered her bottom. His cock slid into her again, drawing a moan from her lips.
“What? Isn’t that what the maypole is about? Fertility?”
He thrust in a steady motion behind her, moving the bed with each steady forward thrust. She was losing track of the conversation, her body more than content to sink into the rising tide of pleasure.
“May Day is one of the best days to roll in the hay, Bronwyn. I can’t wait to take ye out to the festival and sneak ye off into the shade to fuck.”
“Um…yes…”
She didn’t care what he said, only that he kept up the hard thrusting behind her. Each time he pushed his length deep, her pas
sage tightened around him, trying to milk his seed from him. Every time he withdrew, she nearly cried for his return. She was too needy, too hungry for the release he’d given her before. She wanted it and she wanted it now.
“Aye, yes is right. I want to hear ye say yes to me over and over.”
He flipped her back over, covering her before she finished bouncing. “Just as I want to see ye lying back with yer thighs open in welcome.” He thrust hard, burying his length in one quick motion. A groan left her lips and then another. Her spine arched and her eyes shut. He moved on her with increasing speed, his cock harder and larger than she remembered. It filled her completely, satisfying her need to be stretched again.
“Aye, lass, let it out. Yell for me.”
With her on her back, his cock slid along her clitoris with each stroke. There was no containing the pleasure inside her, there was too much. She sobbed with delight, clasping him with her thighs and lifting her hips to meet him. It took only a few more thrusts to burst the knot of tension he’d built deep in her belly. It sent intense pleasure racing through her. It drove the breath from her lungs but she dinna care. Cullen ground himself into her a few times more before his seed finally began to pump into her. He gripped her head, holding her in place while pleasure shook them both.
He rolled over onto his back, his breathing as labored as hers was. One hand clasped hers, their fingers interlacing while they panted.
“I meant to seduce ye.”
He sat up, gently pulling her with him. A soft sigh left his lips before he stood up and turned to lift her onto her feet.
“Truly I did.”
He reached for the buttons on her doublet, undoing each one swiftly. “I planned to take yer clothing off, one piece at a time, and pausing to kiss each new patch of skin before I went any further.”
He pulled her doublet down her arms and tossed it aside.
“That’s my new dress yer throwing on the floor for the mice to nest in.”
Bronwyn hurried after her clothing, rescuing it from the floor. A male groan made her turn around but she wasn’t impressed with the look of frustration on Cullen’s face.
“I can’t go to any May Day festival without a dress, ye know.”
He was frowning at her, but she could tell that he was thinking now. Their teasing dropped as his mind identified something he wanted to take issue with. This was the harder side of him, the one who had taken her captive, but she didn’t find it so cold anymore. This was the man who was a warrior. He was only a boy when they played. That was a secret part of him he chose to share with her. It was a gift and one that she suddenly understood the value of.
“I always knew yer father was possessive of his land, but he treated ye poorly.”
It wasn’t a question. Bronwyn turned to hide her expression from him but he cupped her shoulder, making her face him. She raised her chin, refusing to lament who she was.
“My life molded me into who I am. Would ye truly prefer a delicate wife who needed looking after? Yer brother’s wife seems very practical. I dinna see her snapping her fingers at the servants. She works beside them.”
“Anne is that, true enough.” His gaze turned hard. “Her stepmother had her serving in her father’s home afore she was sent to my brother in the place of her noble half-sister. Anne’s life was a poor one and ye are very much like her. Competent, self-reliant, and ye never think to ask for help with anything.”
Her throat tightened just a tiny amount. “I dinna see why it matters. I am healthy and able to see to my own needs. There is no shame in that.”
She turned around in a swish of skirts, moving fast enough to avoid his hand. Placing her doublet on a hook, she took care to hang it correctly, lest the fabric become pulled. Cullen’s hands appeared in front of her, pulling gently on the laces that held her skirts closed. His hard body brushed against her back, surrounding her with security.
“It matters because I ken now that ye were not insulting Sybil when ye said ye dinna need a maid, and ye weren’t trying to escape me.”
Her waistband loosened and he reached into the opening to untie her hip roll.
“I told ye that I’d never had a maid before.” And she didn’t care for how hurt her words sounded.
“Aye, ye did. But it appears that I was nae listening to ye, only making assumptions on what I thought I knew of ye.” The hip roll dropped down her legs and her skirts were simple to push over the curve of her hips.
“We both have to learn to trust one another.”
Cullen didn’t let her step out of her skirts on her own. He began unlacing her new corset from the front, his fingers dipping in to tease the swells of her breasts.
“I won’t let ye go without, Bronwyn. Dinna fret about that. There are plenty of hands who can see to sewing clothes for ye with the snow drifting outside the walls.”
“They have sewing of their own to do. I’ll see to myself.”
He sighed. Her long stays were open and he pulled them down her arms. They landed on a hook and one second later he’d pulled her chemise up her body and over her head. She felt the wool of his plaid against the back of her bare thighs and quivered, suddenly aware of the fact that she was nude.
“I will see to ye, Bronwyn, even if the person I need to convince most is ye. But there is something to be said for learning how to make the people around ye feel needed. Wear some cloth woven by a McJames woman’s hand and there will be more smiles aimed yer way because they dinna think ye believe yerself too good for what they produce. Even if ye are a fine weaver.” He scooped her up, cradling her against his wide chest. There was a solemn look on his face that made her shiver. He placed her in his bed, standing at the foot of it, watching her pull the covers up with his keen eyes.
“That is a good idea.” She should have thought of it, too, but had never had the option to choose before. She did it herself or went without. Sewing her own dresses had become her duty since she was small, each winter spent in the work rooms of Red Stone along with the other women.
“Perhaps it’s a good thing that it’s winter. That gives us plenty of long cold nights to learn about one another.”
He turned around and undressed. He laid his plaid on the table in even pleats with the belt beneath it so that it was ready in the event of the bells being rung. He snuffed out the candles before coming to bed.
In the dark, he was everything she needed. His hands warm and his kiss potent. She returned his embrace, stroking his warm skin. In the dark there was no suspicion. The clan plaids were not visible. Cullen rolled her beneath him, her thighs parting in welcome. This time their pace was slow and even, the pleasure building in a steady rise until it poured pleasure over them.
“I hope it’s a long winter, lass.”
“As do I.”
His arm held her while the sound of his heart lured her off to sleep.
He would take care of her.
Cullen remained awake long after his bride surrendered to slumber. He didn’t want to miss the moments when she was content in his arms. He wanted to savor it, smell the sweet scent of her skin, and enjoy the way she clung to him.
Every reason he had for bending her to his will evaporated. There was only the knowledge that she had come to him with her hair flowing down her back.
Come to him as his bride…
It was a gift that humbled him. It also filled his heart with tenderness.
There was still much to do the next day. Bronwyn rose early and set to work on another dress. This time she chose a brick red that Gerty had woven. The older woman couldn’t hide the pleased expression that crept across her face.
“Ye’ve got good taste.”
“For a McQuade?”
A few gasps filled the workroom but they were followed by amused giggles when Bronwyn smiled at Gerty. The older woman grinned, and wrinkles appeared around her eyes.
“Well, I’m pleased to see ye have a sense of humor. I was a bit concerned about that. Indeed I was.” She propped a h
and on her hip. “Nothing worse than a winter spent working with a sullen girl nearby.”
Many heads nodded. Everyone knew what it was like to suffer the sharp side of a tongue. When it was winter, no one wanted a shrew assigned to where they were spending the chilly days.
“Excuse me, Mistress Bronwyn.”
Bronwyn turned around in a swish of blue wool to face one of Cullen’s captains. She recognized the man now; he was often at Cullen’s side. He inclined his head toward her, tugging quickly on the corner of his bonnet.
“Would ye come with me, ma’am? The earl and his brother would see ye in the armory.”
It wasn’t really a question, in spite of the cordial tone he used. Two more burly retainers stood behind the man, their eyes on her.
“Of course.”
The captain looked beyond her at Sybil. “Ye may stay here.”
Sybil looked torn for a moment, but sat back down and took up her work once more.
“I shall show ye the way, Mistress Bronwyn.”
The captain turned and left the work room, but he waited in the hallway, watching her. Tension returned to her shoulders, knotting between them. The two retainers fell into step behind her. The captain led the way, the sword strapped to his back a blunt reminder of the harsh world outside Sterling’s walls. Peace reigned inside, but it was enforced by the men who defended the McJames stronghold with their lives. Order was necessary or there would be suffering. Sterling was built to ensure safety of the clan. The members of it had helped raise the walls. Along the hallways there were archer cuts in the windows in case the yard was breached. Brass bells were hung from the stone every few hundred feet to be used if help was needed in a hurry.
It was a fine home, to be sure.
They took her to the great hall and past it to the next tower. Armor was stored on the floor level of this keep. Helmets lined the room, set up on wooden stands. There were also arming jerkins made of leather with small rings of metal sewn into them. Even full chain mail shirts were in view. The sound of the blacksmiths working made it through the windows here, a steady clang of metal against metal.