Molly in the Middle

by Stobie Piel

  "I need you." Nathan took her in his arms and kissed her upturned face. He grazed her lips, then bent her back to kiss her throat. She didn't release him. Her caress tightened, turning greedy as she felt his surrender.

  Miren backed away and ran her hand slowly from his base to his tip, then back to his chest. "I'll have all of you tonight, Indian. I'm warning you now, so you won't be surprised when it happens."

  As if it were her choice. As if she could decide how deep he penetrated her soft, warm body. Nathan's pulse surged. Maybe she could. "I won't leave you with my child, Miren. That's more important than your virginity." His voice shook. She smiled.

  "It's too late for that. You won't impregnate me tonight, or any to come."

  Nathan's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do you know?"

  She looked practical. Sure. "Every female has a cycle. And in that cycle, a time when she's fertile. It's the same for sheep. Different cycles, but it's the same idea. My time has gone by, and by next month I'll be gone."

  "You're not a ewe, woman."

  She sat back on the edge of her bed, still smiling. She dampened her lips. Nathan felt sure she did it on purpose. Her gaze flicked to his erection, then back to his face. "You're sensitive there."

  "Yes."

  "To touch . . . to a kiss?"

  "A kiss?" His voice came as a squeak. He'd never made such a sound before. Didn't know it was possible.

  She took his staff in her hand, bent forward, and kissed its tip. She peered up at him. "A kiss."

  His whole body trembled. He'd received a woman's attention this way before. He liked it. Because it was easy, because a distance remained. Miren brushed her lips over his flesh, and the distance shattered. She became part of his flesh. She gave to him because she loved him.

  He felt her breath on his skin, swift and warm. "You've taught me much of kissing, Indian. Much that I didn't know. Perhaps there is more I might learn on my own?" She teased him, tantalized him with her intentions. Her fingers wrapped tight around his base, and she ran her tongue around his engorged tip, then brushed her lips softly down its length.

  He went weak. His blood raged to fire, but he couldn't move. He just stared down at her, astonished at what she did that came from feminine exploration. She cast her gaze upward, peering at him beneath long, black lashes.

  "You like it."

  "Yes. I like it." His voice was shaking. His whole body quivered. "I like it."

  "You are an agreeable man. I shall test your limits."

  Nathan held his breath as she took his staff in her soft mouth. She touched her tongue to his taut flesh, tasting him. She murmured, then took him deeper. He felt dizzy, he sucked in air. She mimicked the rhythmic motion of lovemaking, first slow and gentle, then with more force.

  Nathan clasped her head in his hands, his fingers in her hair. Heaven. Scotland was heaven. She suckled him fiercely, until his muscles tensed, until his hips moved with her skill. She held him at the brink of release, then withdrew. She looked up at him, eyes sparkling in triumph.

  She moved back on the bed, her eyes fixed on his. She pulled off her thin chemise and held out her arms to him. "Deny me now."

  A low, shuddering groan erupted from deep within him. Nathan sank onto the bed before her. Her legs parted, bent at the knees. She looked delicate, feminine, as she awaited him. She was smiling like a temptress, her breath rapid and shallow.

  He caught her shoulders and she arched toward him, her arms braced on either side of her body. Her breasts jutted upward, firm and taut, strained with her own arousal. He bent to taste her. She tipped her head back and sighed, low and delirious. "Deny me now."

  Fire filled him, his erection pulsed with such lust that he thought he might spill himself before he ever fulfilled her. Her nipple hardened into a pink, erect peak against his mouth, she murmured and gasped softly as he took it between his teeth. He laved it with his tongue until she arched still more and whimpered his name.

  He knelt between her knees, cupping her breasts in his hands, teasing their peaks with his thumbs. She leaned back, her hair reaching the bed behind her. A long, waving strand coiled over her breast. "You're not what you seemed whenI met you, Miren. You're a goddess. I knew there was something . . ."

  She lay back on the bed, waiting. "This will be your last chance, if you wish to stop me."

  He smiled as he bent over her. "I never stood a chance, woman, and you know it."

  She concealed nothing from him. No shyness infected her confidence, no fear. Only desire. She lay before him, her body open to his sight. He took in every angle, every sweet curve. Her beautiful face, her neck, her slender arms curved up at the elbows. Her round, firm breasts with small pink nipples. Her narrow ribcage, her waist, to the flare of her hips. Her long legs wrapped around him, but his vision trailed their length, to her trim ankles and narrow feet, to her small toes.

  He turned his gaze back to her woman's core, to the soft triangle of dark curls. He touched her, just above, then down. He longed to bury himself deep inside her. She was ready. She wanted him with equal passion. Passion came easily to Miren Lindsay. Maybe he'd recognized that the first moment he saw her.

  But he would take his time, please her, show her things she'd never dreamed. Slowly. That was his intention, to direct her pleasure. Miren reached for him, took his staff in her greedy little hand, and squirmed lower so that his tip met her damp curls.

  Nathan's eyes grew wide. He realized where he'd gone wrong. He was . . . bossy. Making decisions for her, when she'd already made them for herself. He tried to lead, when she was already walking ahead of him.

  "This gives such pleasure." She angled her hips so that the underside of his shaft met her sensitive core. She moved so that he rubbed against the small, tender bud. Pleasing herself, and fueling his desire beyond control.

  She writhed and gasped, pleased, driving herself toward rapture. Nathan watched her, spellbound. Her bright eyes met his and she smiled, the temptress on the verge of perfect triumph. "Deny me now, Indian."

  As she spoke, she maneuvered herself so that his staff pressed against her moist entrance, so that he felt her pulse where they met. She moved around himrestraint became torment. "Deny me."

  His muscles quivered, his whole body raged. Desire blazed through him and clouded everything beyond her. "Never, my angel. Never."

  Nathan clasped her hips in his hands and drove himself deep inside her. She tensed, shocked by his entrance. Nathan held himself still while she adjusted to his presence inside her. She bit her lip hard, her breath came short. Nathan bent and kissed her forehead, her cheek.

  "Hold me, Miren."

  She did. She wrapped her arms tight around his neck. "You found it."

  Nathan swallowed, fighting to control his need. "What?"

  "The spot . . ." She paused to gasp. "The spot you missed before."

  Her inner depths softened around him, relaxing as she grew accustomed to his size. She squeezed tight around him, then relaxed again. Testing. She must have liked the sensation, because she did it again.

  Nathan moved slightly. She caught her breath, and he paused. "Does this please you?"

  "Aye. Verra moch."

  "What?"

  "I am pleased."

  He moved deeper, withdrew, then entered again. She learned quickly. Her hips angled to meet his, she joined his rhythm with ease. She dug her heels into the mattress to increase the friction between them.

  Nathan leaned back, opening the space between them so that he could watch her. He knelt between her legs, still deep inside her. She watched him, too. He took her hands as he thrust into her. They moved together, slow, then faster, overand over. He marveled that his restraint hadn't shattered, that he hadn't succumbed to release.

  He wanted it to last, one more sweet joining before they finished. He wanted to see her face as her rapture built, as her breaths quickened. Her body quaked around his, she moaned and tensed, her legs clamped tight. She arched toward him, and her fingers gr
ipped his as she twisted in sweet convulsions.

  He felt her inner spasms, milking his own release. His pulse mingled with hers, and all the force of his desire poured into her, filling her. The rapture lingered, twitching with little pulses until it finally abated into a numb, contented heat.

  Her arms sank to her sides, her legs relaxed on either side of him. She was smiling, taking long, deep breaths. Her eyes were closed. He had never seen anyone so perfectly satisfied.

  "Now, my sweet temptress . . . Tell me, did I miss anything of importance this time?"

  She opened one eye. She paused as if considering. Nathan frowned as he waited. "No, Indian. I think you found everything."

  "Good." He bent to kiss her forehead, then withdrew from her body. She moved over, and he lay beside her. She didn't snuggle into his arms as she had the night before. She allowed him space, because she meant to keep to her word. She'd given him satisfaction, but she would ask for no more.

  "Miren . . ." Something formed on his lips, in his mind, but he couldn't say it. I love you, too. It entered his head unbidden. She hadn't asked. She didn't expect such a vow. Nathan stopped himself. Cruel words, if he couldn't support them with his life.

  He stared at the cubby ceiling. He loved her. It didn't seem possible. It seemed obvious, but not possible. He wanted to protect her from himself, because he loved her and he didn't believe he could fully protect someone he loved.

  If he didn't love her, he would keep her with him.

  this seemed . . . backwards. He knew it, but his inner voicetold him it was true. He loved her, and for this reason he couldn't keep her.

  Miren propped herself up on one elbow and kissed his cheek. "Sleep well, Indian."

  She rolled over onto her side, cradled her head on her arm, and went promptly to sleep. Nathan stared at her back until his vision blurred. He eased her hair back, then kissed her shoulder. "Sleep well, my love."

  He'd waited three years to go to her, knowing all the while it was his intention. He was ready now. For whatever she wantedmarriage, children, a home built together. He knew where she lived, in the rolling, low hills of central Maine. In a small village with white houses and tended lawns. He knew the house where she stayed with her uncle.

  He rode his horse to a picket fence, dismounted, and tied it to a hitching post. He went through the low gate and walked to the door. He heard voices coming from behind the house, so he went around instead.

  Miren stood with two other women, laughing. She was like the sun, more beautiful than he remembered. She wore a white dress with lace trim. She held a pretty bonnet in her hands, but her long hair fell loose. Nathan pulled off his own hat. Odd, because he never wore a hat . . .

  He held it over his heart and started forward. A young man came from the back door of the white house and went to her side. He touched her shoulder, and she turned, smiling. The young man kissed her cheek and slipped his arm around her waist.

  Nathan found himself withdrawing a gun. A full-sized rifle. Which was also odd, since he hadn't noticed a gun in his possession until now . . .

  She turned to him, and her face lit. She didn't notice the rifle. He dropped it and stood, numb and shocked, as she waved. She came toward him, holding the young man's hand in hers. She was smiling, her eyes glittering like stars. Helooked into those eyes, and he saw Scotland's heather-strewn hills, its waterfalls, its dark lochs.

  She hugged him and kissed his cheek. She turned to the man at her side. Yes, he was young. He had a pleasant, reliable face, light hair. "Nathan, this is my husband Carl."

  Carl? She said his last name, too, but Nathan couldn't make it out. "Trustworthy," perhaps.

  The young man smiled, too, and shook Nathan's hand. "I'm so pleased to meet you, Nathaniel. Miren speaks highly . . ." His words drifted, Nathan didn't listen.

  "I told Carl everything, of course. About how you were my first lover, how you got me out of jail, and helped me to America."

  So casual! Carl just smiled, and Nathan realized with a cold shock that Miren's husband cherished her beyond jealousy, that he even accepted Nathan because he'd helped create what Miren became. Carl shared her life. Nathan was a visitor.

  "We're expecting our second child." She looked so happy. Maybe he saw a little pity in her Scottish eyes.

  "Second?" His voice seemed strained, as if he spoke from beneath a heavy, wet blanket.

  A little boy toddled from the house and stood by his father. He waved what looked like . . . a tomahawk. Nathan took a closer look at the child's face. Simon!

  Nathan shot up in bed, his breath as swift as if he'd been running. Miren stirred beside him and woke. She yawned, then glanced at the window. The sun's final light faded, which meant it must be near midnight. "What's the matter? I thought I heard you say something. 'Second,' was it?"

  "Didn't waste much time, did you?"

  Her eyes wandered to the side. "Hmm?"

  "Carl." Nathan spoke the word like a pronouncement of everlasting doom.

  Miren squinted as if wondering if she still slept. "Carl who?"

  "I didn't catch his last name. It sounded like Trustworthy."

  Miren giggled. "Carl Trustworthy? Indian, you grow odder by the moment."

  Nathan hesitated. A reluctant smile grew on his lips. "Never mind. It was only a dream."

  She was fully awake now. Her brow angled. "You had a dream about someone named Carl Trustworthy? Who was he?"

  Nathan felt foolish. "It's not important. Go back to sleep."

  "I don't think so. And don't be thinking you'll get any sleep until I hear the full story."

  "It's nothing. I dreamt you married a man . . . boy, really . . . named Carl . . ." Nathan cleared his throat. Fortunately, the light in the cottage dimmed, so she wouldn't notice if his face reddened. "Trustworthy."

  "Oh." Nathan sensed Miren's repressed humor, but she nodded. "Go on."

  "There's not much more to it. I was visiting you." He didn't tell her he had come for her, finally ready to make her his wife, only to find she'd married another. "You had a child, incidentally. Looked exactly like Simon, which is what startled me out of sleep. A child shouldn't look like Simon."

  "Did he have a beard?"

  Nathan laughed. "You know, I think he did."

  "Oh, dear. Then I shall avoid all men named Carl Trustworthy."

  Molly scratched at the door. Miren cast a pertinent glance at the door, then at Nathan. "Don't ask. I'm going." He got up and opened the door. Molly entered. Flip hesitated on the threshold, then entered, too.

  Molly looked a little annoyed, but they curled up side by side at the foot of Miren's bed. Nathan knelt and patted Flip's head. "Love makes a fool of a man, doesn't it, old boy?"

  He caught himself too late. Love. That remark revealed farmore than he intended. He avoided Miren's eyes as he straightened, but she made no comment as he settled back on the bed.

  He noticed a strange, sorrowful expression on her face, but he tried not to look at her. ''This shouldn't surprise you, but it looks like rain out there."

  "No, Indian. It doesn't surprise me at all."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Not again . . . More wolves, of the human variety, are creeping about outside the cottage. Several of them. By the scent, I detect they've even brought their young. I wonder what the young mistress has done to become a target of their vengeance?

  A low growl woke Miren from sleep. Molly crouched by the cottage door, fur bristled. Miren's skin went cold with sudden fright, but she didn't wake Nathan. Flip still slept beside the bed, but he might be too deaf to hear subtle movement outside.

  Miren held her breath and listened. Distant thunder rumbled, and the rain beat harder on the thatched roof. A flash of light illuminated the cottage, followed moments later by another faraway boom. Miren relaxed. Molly never liked thunderstorms. Generally, she sought position on or behind Miren during a storm, but tonight she appeared ready to tackle the enemy.

  "It's all right, Molly. It's just rain."
Miren kept her voice low to avoid waking Nathan. He reached for her in his sleep, placing his arm over her chest. He murmured softly, and Miren touched his hair.

  Molly scratched at the door and whined. Miren sighed, then climbed carefully over Nathan. "If you wanted to go out, just ask. There's no need to be so dramatic." Miren slid her feet to the floor.

  Molly whined again, but Miren shivered in the cold. She remembered the wet burst of air that had sent Nathan grumbling backwards the previous night. She seized her heavy nightdress and pulled it on, then wrapped her tartan over her shoulders. She started for the door, but someone knocked.

  Miren froze. Molly positioned herself by Miren's feet and growled again. The knock came again. "Simon?" No one answered. "Is that you?"

  Nathan sat up in bed. "What is it, Miren? What are you doing out of bed?"

  "Someone's out there."

  Nathan swung his legs off the bed and tugged on his trousers. "Are you sure?"

  The knock repeated.

  "Yes."

  She trembled as Nathan crossed the room and went to the door. He waved her behind him. "Stay back."

  Miren hesitated, then took Molly's collar, and they moved behind Nathan. "Be careful."

  "A good suggestion."

  Nathan found her corn broom and gripped it as he eased his hand to the door latch. He turned it slowly, then yanked the door open. A man stumbled in, fell to his knees, and swore. It wasn't Simon. His hooded cape fell back around his shoulders as he looked up.

  Miren stared in astonishment. The man was completely black. His hair was black, his skin, his eyes. He even wore a black shirt, open at the throat, bound together only by looseties. He wore long black boots and snug black trousers. Trousers that resembled Nathan's pirate costume.

  Nathan was laughing. He held out his hand and helped the black man to his feet. "Quite an entrance."

  "You did it on purpose, you bastard." He slapped Nathan on the back, a friendly gesture despite his disgruntled words. "Left me standing in this damned rain until I'm soaked to the bone"