by Jill Metcalf
When Hunter pulled away, watching her as his hands dropped and spanned her narrow waist, her arms remained around his neck for a moment before she took her cue and started tugging his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers. But his hands went to hers to still them. “Let me do that tonight,” he said gently. “I want you to be at ease, Maggie,” he said softly. As much as he could; anything to help her find something approximating that state. “Be at ease,” he breathed as he turned her around and unbuttoned the back of her gown.
Margaret felt the shoulders and waist sag free seconds before he stepped around in front of her.
As much as he wanted her naked, as much as he wanted to see her, he took his time and played with her, he petted her and gently kissed her until he pulled the dress forward, letting it fall to her feet. He tugged at the drawstring of her petticoat, and it, too, fell to the floor. And then he began a ritual of teasing, stroking caresses that eventually had her gasping. Stealthily, as his gentle assault continued, he reached for the hem of the pretty camisole she wore, lifting it slowly upward, revealing her beauty a mere fraction at a time. Before Margaret knew what was happening, she was naked and being carried to their bed. He lowered her gently to its center, following her down and pressing her back into the pillow with an onslaught of kisses that drove her senseless with sensations that were entirely new to her; the blood in her system began to thrum, nerves tingled and her breathing quickened and deepened. “Oh, my God, Hunter,” she breathed as last. “What are you doing?”
Hunter raised his head and smiled down at her as his caressing hands became even more bold. “Loving you, little one,” he whispered. “Loving you.”
Before either could control another moment, she was reaching for him even as Hunter shed the remainder of his own clothing. She watched him as he stood to unfasten his trousers. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband and quickly peeled the form-fitting breeches down the length of his dark, muscular thighs. His flanks were tight and muscular as well, and, surprisingly appealing to her. She wondered briefly at this new admiration for his male body and then she admonished herself for not allowing more intimate moments between them before now; if she had, Margaret realized she would have discovered just how beautiful a man she had married. And, suddenly, that mattered.
Naked now, Hunter lay down beside her and drew the bed sheet up to his waist as he turned on his side to face her. “Could I have my woman back now?” he teased and moved closer to her. “God, Maggie!” he breathed as her arms went around him and he buried his face in her luxuriant hair. “You smell so sweet,” he said quietly, his hand roaming down her back. But he was careful to hold his lower body away from her for just a while longer as his hands and mouth roamed over her face and shoulders. His chest lightly teased her breasts as he bent over her, devoting considerable attention to the soft spot beneath her ear.
Margaret nervously searched her mind for what she should do or say now. Should she talk? Should she touch? Should she kiss him in return?
“Did Pride take to the mare?” she whispered. Immediately he stopped moving; in fact, he appeared to stop breathing. And then his shoulders began to shake. “Hunter?” She frowned, her arms tightening around him briefly before she realized what was happening…he was laughing!
Margaret punched his arm. “Hunter Maguire!” she chided, cursing him with his own name.
Hunter rolled away and fell onto his back. “God! Don’t get me thinking about that.”
She reared up and over him. “It’s not funny!” she sputtered.
He nodded his head vigorously, tears of merriment pooling in the corners of his eyes. “It is,” he insisted. “I’m fighting to control my ardor, and you have to put that picture in my mind!”
Margaret’s confusion lasted for a moment longer as she stared down at her laughing husband, but the she, too, understood and began to laugh softly. “I’m sorry,” she said.
Hunter hooked an arm around her neck and drew her down onto his chest. “You should be,” he teased as his laughter began to subside. “You could have ended our evening before it had even begun.”
She smiled down at him, making herself comfortable by propping her arms on his chest. “Really, Hunter?”
In spite of her light tone, Hunter understood that she was genuinely curious about it all. She had no yardstick with which to measure the progress of a romantic, slow seduction. “Really,” he said, pulling her up and over his body. “I’m aching for you, my love, and that makes the situation tenuous at best. I do not want to rush this, our first encounter.” He drew her head down then, kissing her lightly as one hand began to roam the length of her body. “I want you to find your pleasure and understand it before I seek mine,” he said quietly.
He slowly turned her onto her back then, propping himself up on his side. He kicked the sheet to the end of the bed and away, then took his time inspecting her body. She was long-legged despite her lack of height. She had a narrow waist and pleasingly full breasts. Her abdomen was flat, and it was here his hand fell first, spanning her pelvic bones with his hand as if carefully considering her capacity to carry his sons. He dropped a quick kiss on her belly as his hand continued down her thigh and his lips worked their way with painstaking slowness toward her breast. Once there, he teased a taut, dark nipple with his tongue and felt Maggie arch her back in reaction. “Good,” he breathed as he turned his attention to her other breast. “You like that,” he added with conviction.
Margaret found her eyes closing as she concentrated on the maddening tremors that were shooting through her body. She placed her hand on the back of his head, begging him with the slight pressure of her palm to continue this amazing agony. He had touched her breasts before, but always there had been clothing between them. She returned in her thoughts to a recent time he had touched and teased her and, in her memories, she had felt oddly cheated. Now Margaret was beginning to understand those past feelings and why, also, she had been tense and miserable all these weeks during his courting.
His hand had wandered high between her thighs, and Margaret’s initial reaction was to reach down and grasp his wrist. Hunter moved up along her side, teasing her chin as his lips traveled toward her mouth and his fingers stroked her hip. “It’s all right, Maggie.”
She was shaking her head, trying to smile. “I’m sorry.” She raised her lips to his as he teased them. “I thought I had settled this in my mind. I just…Please don’t stop.” Margaret closed her eyes then, embarrassed that she had turned coward after promising herself she would not.
Hunter once again suffered the familiar moments of angry frustration that she should be so apprehensive about something that should be so very special between them. He did not want her to feel afraid. He wanted her to feel only physical and emotional desire. He wanted her to rejoice in the feminine power she possessed, to wallow in sexuality and passion. She deserved all of that and more.
Margaret opened her eyes and watched her husband prop himself up, his elbow close to her shoulder. He raised a hand to lightly brush tiny wisps of hair back from her temple.
“Do you know about finding release?”
Margaret shook her head. “No.”
He ducked his head, and his tongue outlined the shell of her ear.
Margaret shivered in response.
“Then I must tell you that what happens here between us will be a mutual thing, little one.” His lips moved slowly along her jaw line and he kissed her between words, his hand returning to her breast. “You must not fear anything you feel, Maggie,” he breathed. “Only good will come of it.”
Margaret had closed her eyes again, totally abandoning herself to the feel of his hands on her. The finest brandy in the world could not duplicate these feelings of hot liquid coursing through her. Her breathing became labored, as did Hunter’s, and she feared they would both ignite and expire on the spot.
Hunter felt the tension building within her as her body strained and twisted toward him. His hand sought that most intimate part
of her then, his fingers teasing her determinedly. He smiled at her chagrin the moment he touched her there. “It’s fine, my love. It means you’re ready for me. It’s natural.” He felt her body tense slightly as his words trailed off.
Hunter put his other arm under her back, pulling her close into the security of his body as he continued to play with her, whisper to her, and lave her taut nipples. And then he received his reward. Margaret groaned and arched up hard against him, crying out his name as her fingers dug into the muscles of his shoulders.
“Little one,” he whispered as she wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face against his neck. “Maggie,” he breathed as he pulled away slightly, hovering over her a brief space of time before slowly lowering his body between her open thighs. He rested there, gathering control in order to prolong the moment. But Hunter had wanted her for such a long time now.
Stunned by her own experience, Margaret turned fully onto her back as he directed and lay staring up at him as she felt him shift upward and slowly fill her body. “Oh, Maggie,” he breathed as he nuzzled her ear. He seemed to want to rest within her, and she raised her arms, inviting him to lower his weight upon her as she welcomed him into her embrace. This, too, was a new and curious experience…no fear, no pain, just a rush of feelings.
Her embrace was about all that Hunter could endure, however, and he made several long slow movements with his hips before he drew back and quickly pressed forward, shuddering with an intensity that frightened Margaret as he gained his own release.
They clung to each other for a time, Hunter conscious of his weight upon her but knowing instinctively that she was not ready to let him go.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
Hunter smiled against her hair. “I think I’m supposed to ask that of you, love.”
“It’s just…it seemed…so violent.”
Hunter raised his head and frowned down at her. “For whom?”
“You.”
His smile returned with that. “I think it will always be like that between us, Maggie.”
Her mind was a mass of tender thoughts, but she could not bring herself to utter them and sound any more foolishly unsophisticated than she already had. The tender words would wait until she felt more sure of herself. Instead she teased, “Well, it was quick, Hunter Maguire,” and he laughed against her shoulder.
“I’m not finished with you yet, woman, so don’t get too cocky.”
She smiled up at the ceiling and stroked his back in slow, wide circles; he had stated a fact and she was the holder of the evidence. And most amazing of all, she was content.
Hunter planted his elbows on either side of her and raised himself up. Smiling down at her, he said, “You didn’t waste much time yourself.” He raised a hand to stroke her cheek. “You’re all right, aren’t you, love?” he asked, his dark eyes staring into her smiling blue ones. He wasn’t asking after the state of her health; he was worried about the state of her mind.
“I’m fine,” she said softly. "More than fine," she added, before he ducked his head down to draw on her lower lip.
Margaret felt him move, lightly easing upward and rotating his hips until a tiny flashing tremor surprised her. She arched back, pressing her head into the pillow as she whispered his name with obvious surprise.
He became alert then, realizing the swiftness of her arousal. “Move your hips,” he whispered and placed a hand at her waist to guide her movements.
Within moments, Margaret’s body exploded into furious shudders of blessed torture as he held her against him.
After a moment she sagged limply in his arms, and he lowered her down onto the pillow while he continued to smile at her. “That was something,” he said, and a heated blush rose up from her bosom to the roots of her hair.
He laughed softly at her consternation and lightly caressed her cheek, using the brief interval to regain control of his own desires. Then he eased himself away from her. “I think I’d best leave you alone for a bit,” he murmured. “I don’t want you to be sore.”
“Where are you going?” she asked quickly, betraying her need to keep him close.
“Across the room, silly girl,” and then he looked down at his body. “Where else would I go in this condition?”
Margaret’s gaze followed his and then her eyes flew to his face again. “Oh,” she said softly.
He laughed, bending to peck her cheek before he bounded up from the bed.
When he moved beyond her sight, Margaret was too exhausted to turn over and see what he was doing. Instead she just lay where he had left her, curled up like a weary kitten.
Her eyes napped open the instant she felt his weight on the bed, however, and she stared curiously at the damp cloth he held in his hand.
“This is for you,” he said and shook his head when she reached up for the cloth. “Roll onto you back,” he ordered and pushed her back before she could imagine his intent.
When he lowered his hand, she understood. “You can’t do that!” she said and quickly clamped a hand onto his wrist.
Hunter’s eyes returned to her face. “Why not?” he asked reasonably. “I’ve touched you there.”
“But it seems so…” Her frown grew along with her confusion.
“Intimate?” He eased her hand from his arm, ignoring her protest. “Wait until we share a bath,” he teased, daring a smiling glance at her.
“We won’t be sharing a bath,” she returned. The very idea!
“Why not?” he asked again and Margaret thought about it for a moment.
“Did Pride take to the mare, Hunter?”
CHAPTER 21
Maggie and Hunter alternately made love and talked with each other all night. As a result they were both sound asleep long after the cock crowed. And they took a bit of good-natured chiding later on…Marie-Louise to Margaret and Jason and Jeffrey to Hunter…but on the whole everyone was pleased by the newfound closeness between the two.
Margaret felt that her life had begun again; she was reborn through the eyes of Hunter Maguire. He had taken to wife a woman who had thought to remain always alone, and he had rebuilt her confidence and her desire to live life to the fullest. He told her she was special, and she felt special. He told her she was loved, and she felt loved. He told her she was a sweet innocent and she believed him. And, wonder of wonders, he told her she was beautiful, and she felt beautiful. The small scar below her cheek and the much larger, more worrisome scars inside her began to fade under his persistence.
Margaret Downing Maguire began to break free. She set her anger and resentment aside and began to learn from others the way to truly live, love and share.
And all because of one stubborn half-Cherokee who remembered an engaging child and coaxed her into become a woman.
A celebration of sorts took place in late September when Marie-Louise announced, much to the chagrin of her red-faced husband, that she was expecting their first child.
“A baby!” Marie-Louise cried, falling into her friend’s arms when she and Margaret were alone.
“You can’t believe it?” Margaret asked, joining in the exultation of the younger woman.
“It seemed we’ve waited forever.”
Maggie, for now she truly thought of herself as Hunter’s ‘Maggie’, looked around the yard, well beyond the point where the two women sat on the porch. Satisfied that they were alone, she asked, “How did you know?”
“What?” her friend returned, disbelieving.
“What were the signs?”
Marie-Louise told her.
*
There came a chill day in late October when Maggie and Marie-Louise worked for endless hours salting and dressing a pig and a deer for winter. The men had built substantial fires in the yard away from the house and hung two giant black caldrons low over the open flames so that the women could cook every last piece of edible meat.
Maggie was stirring brine in a deep barrel while Marie-Louise cleaned sausage casings. Maggie spied he
r husband forking hay from a flat wagon near the barn. He had removed his light jacket and rolled his shirtsleeves high up on his arms; his skin would be scratched and pricked raw by evening, she knew. She would have the tin of salve waiting that night in their room. Standing on her toes, Maggie waved, smiling when he returned the greeting.
“I’m waiting for another celebration,” Marie-Louise said slyly, and Maggie turned a curious frown her way. “You two are almost as bad as Jeffrey and I are,” she teased. “The way you’re going, you’re bound to get caught soon.”
Maggie laughed a little and then grew strangely serious. “Do you think I’m barren, Marie-Louise?” she asked quietly. “I had to turn him away just this week.”
“Piddle pups!” the younger woman announced and moved to Maggie’s side, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You’ve only been married a few months. And you got a late start, as I remember. Besides, I was forever getting around to this, and it wasn’t for lack of tryin’.”
Maggie smiled thankfully. Then, as she turned her head toward the other woman, she saw a single rider storming toward the barn. “Who could that be?” she asked.
Marie-Louise turned to see a man jumping from a lathered horse then handing something to Hunter. “Somebody from town, maybe,” she mumbled. “About the auction, do you think?”
Maggie shook her head, not knowing why a man would rush so to their home. He spoke only briefly to her husband, and then Hunter was shaking hands before the man mounted his horse and rode off at a much slower pace.
Maggie let go of the wooden paddle she had been using and watched across the distance, lifting her apron and wiping her hands as Hunter studied a piece of paper before raising his head and looking in their direction.
“It’s a letter,” Maggie whispered and broke into a smile. “From my father and sisters perhaps!”
She broke into a run then, lifting her plain woven skirt to her knees as she made a path toward him. Only when she realized he was not hurrying to show her the letter did Maggie stop in confusion. “Is it from Pap?” she called.