by Alisa Adams
When Alastair felt Mary’s body go limp in his grip, he stood up to his full height. This first consumption of his woman had claimed him and driven him wild. Like on the battlefield, the clansman of Macleod picked her up with his strong arms and lowered her onto the waiting plaids. He did not immediately come on top of her; too enthralled was he by the beauty of the woman lying beneath him.
Mary let her mind wander to the earth-shattering symphony that had just taken hold of her body. On cue, she let her hands roam. She smiled up at Alastair. She was still wet from their swim. It was as if sparkly, jeweled diamond drops illuminated her skin. The heat of the sun seemed to focus on her most secret place. It was like a slow, curling pulse that increased with every passing moment. Mary spread her legs a little more to give the fiery orb that danced in the sky better access. She lay there for a while, basking in the warmth and letting the pulse take further hold. She could not resist the licking heat.
She just lay there, not moving at all, feeling the increasing warmth of her skin and the glow of her flourishing femininity. Mary felt ripe like a juicy sun-sweet peach, brimming, and ready for the plucking. She heard him take a deep breath. It felt so good to have this effect on him. In some ways, Mary felt like a musical instrument. Every little move was like a sweet note, creating pleasure for the one listening.
Feeling his approach, Mary moved up and rested her weight on her elbows. She breathed heavily. The afterglow spreading across her skin still held her captive. Her deep brown eyes opened wide when she felt rigid flesh brush against her. “Argh,” she whimpered when his full length and girth slid all the way inside of her. Alastair started moving. There was none of the restraint he had shown her on the previous occasions. He was consumed with need for her. His attentions forced little cries out of her mouth as the pleasurable sensations of old came back with lascivious retaliation.
Mary’s mouth was agape, letting the moans run freely from deep inside of her. He lowered himself and covered her mouth with his. Within moments, he parted her lips with his tongue and licked the insides of her mouth. Mary gasped into the contact. A delightful strangeness descended over her.
Instinctively, she placed her hands on his broad shoulders and pulled him closer. A little whimper rippled up her throat when she touched his tongue with hers. This, in concert with their lovemaking, forced her to become more urgent with her caresses. She pressed the front of her body against him. It felt like she was rubbing against a stone wall, so hard was his physique.
“You really have no idea just how beautiful you are.” Alastair had stopped moving. He cupped her cheeks with both of his hands as he looked into her eyes.
His intimate touch made Mary shudder with pleasure. All she could think about was kissing and touching him again. Her dreams of the clansman assaulted her brain like a summer’s storm. She could feel, smell and taste him. His entire being stuck to her skin and imprinted itself onto her soul. This was the man she had always wanted, and they were to be married.
“I want nothing more than for you to be my wife, Mary. Not because of a promise, but because you are the woman of my dreams.”
Possessed by another being, Mary lurched forward and pressed her lips against his. No longer caring about womanly grace, she threw away all of her restraint in an instant. All Mary cared about was possessing this man and making him her own. Reveling in the brief and sweet pain of her lips against his teeth, she plundered his mouth as if she had done it a thousand times before.
For a moment, the force of her kiss took Alastair aback. He growled into her mouth and began to lick her tongue as if another force claimed him. His hands became more urgent as he ran them over her taut body that shuddered with his very touch. Their breaths intermingled and became as one when the frenzy of dammed up love was finally released.
Mary mewed when he lifted her slightly by the buttocks. Her flesh shook and quivered under the empathetic and demanding skill of his hands.
As if he was in a trance, he ran his hands over her body, cupping each breast tenderly. Alastair moved his hands up until he felt the tip of each pointy nipple. They hardened some more the moment his fingers brushed over them. Again, he pressed his mouth to hers.
Mary gasped with pleasure as her skin felt like the waves on the sea. His caresses became more urgent with his every flick of his tongue. One hand tweaked her nipple while the other roamed over her backside, kneading and massaging. “I love you, Alastair.” The words scudded out of her mouth, disintegrating into little puffs of air.
Sir Alastair leaned back. “I love ye too, Mary.” Not once did he remove his hands from her breast and backside.
She planted a kiss on Alastair’s lips when he groaned. She loved the way his hips flexed with every stroke of her body. Mary moved back. She needed to see this demigod of a man as she pleasured him. She watched the color of his irises flare up when she became more demanding with her movements. They seemed to adopt the color of the sea before the squall.
“Stop!”
She giggled, caught up by the heady pleasure. “Getting too much for you,” said Mary.
Alastair bellowed his mirth. “Aye – as ye wish, milady. I will not stop.” He began to move again, faster and faster until they were lost in the physical contact once again.
“Argh, Alastair.” Mary was overcome by the sweet spasms rippling through her. They seemed to lift her up into the air. The feel of his flesh moving about inside of her induced an agreeable mixture of pleasure and pain. “Argh… God,” she cried again.
“Am I hurting you?” he asked, pulling back.
“Don’t stop – keep moving,” she hissed out.
As much as Mary loved the sound of it, his voice was at this moment a vile intruder on her bliss. She placed her hands on his hard buttocks and pulled him closer until Alastair’s entire length and girth filled her.
“Oh, yes… like that.” She managed a smile when she heard him panting above her. That, and the sensation of them being as one, drove Mary wild with passion. She countered his every thrust with a downward motion of her pelvis. Every time he slapped against her, Mary let off a series of whimpers that made him more assertive.
Mary swam up to the surface of consciousness before diving down again. Her eyelids fluttered. Responsiveness entered her body, a flex of her abdomen in rhythm with his every movement, her head threw back to offer up her throat, making the clansman drive into her deeper still.
Alastair watched Mary writhe underneath him. He held her waist as he drove into her, relishing in the response he got from his every lunge. She moved under him as a sleeping woman might when visited by a nightmare. He could literally see the naughty thoughts ravaging her mind as her body replayed what her brain told her.
“Alastair.” His name was hurled at him in a deep ‘AA-LASSS’ that became a seemingly infinite hiss, ending with a screamed ‘R’. Every nook and cranny of her mind was filled with radiant flashes and intoxicating images of the love she felt. Her physique responded in kind as wave after wave of exhilarating pleasure sourced through her like a rampant river after a heavy rainfall. Her insides seemed to collapse into folds of burning flesh. Mary dissolved into the plaid when the tidal wave of climax hit her with the full force of a herd of bulls running on a savannah.
She screamed, “Alastair, Alastair…”
Moving on top of her like a berserker, Alastair pushed himself harder. He watched her whining with pleasure underneath him. The sight of her beautiful body, the consternated expression on her face that exuded both pleasure and amazement was too much. The knot in his body dissolved in fire, melting and burning as the heat shot up and beyond. Alastair shouted along with Mary. Their cries became as one until they collapsed into a sweating heap with his body rolling off her.
Breathing heavily, Mary stared up at the domed ceiling of the sky. She was amazed at the way her body felt. Even though fading, the heat still gushed inside of her, burnishing her skin into an attractive pink hue.
“That was incredible, Alas
tair. It always is, but that… I have no words to describe it.” She shifted her head to look at him. She saw that Alastair was just as much in shock at what had happened.
“Ye are magnificent, Mary.” He didn’t look at her or say anymore.
Neither of them had any clue for how long they remained like that, in silence, but they were close to one another, and that was all that mattered. Alastair moved his weight, turning to face her. He flashed her a smile when she looked back at him. She looked incredible with her disheveled hair and deeply flushed cheeks that revealed themselves impudently. They just stared at the other for a while.
“It was different – what we just did,” she said at last.
Alastair chuckled. “Aye, it was. So, ye liked it then?”
Mary tittered. “Oh, very much so… I did say as much before. Is someone looking for some more praise?”
Alastair smiled. “Yer body gave me enough of that, blossom. There is nothing more truthful than a lass in the throes of passion.”
“Really?” She frowned at him. “Is it the same with all women?” Mary was suddenly reminded of the fact that he had most probably lain with others.
“Nah – that’s more like an itch that needs to be scratched. With ye, it is magical, like it has to be. Ye ken. When flowers spread their pollen in the spring, making love to ye is what was always meant to be. Like God made ye for me and me for ye and put us on this Earth to find and love one another.”
Mary moved forward and kissed him. “I loved it, Alastair – you are quite the linguist when you want to be.”
“Aye, that’s what Murtagh’s been telling me as of late. The big lout is a pestering me about it.”
“Well, don’t let him convince you otherwise. I love it when you say such things.” She fell back onto her back, letting her mind work a little more. “Alastair?”
“Aye, blossom.”
She forced her eyebrows closer. “I never heard of it…” She lowered her eyes. “Of it done down there with the mouth.”
He arched his eyebrows. “Did you like it?”
“I think my little squeals told you as much. It was incredible,” she said stroking his cheek. “What happens now, my love?”
Alastair frowned. “What do you mean, blossom? Ye want me to that again?”
She laughed. “What I meant to ask is do we lie here a little longer or do we head back?”
A mischievous smile played on his lips. “I am not fully satiated, blossom.” He pulled her on top of him.
Feeling his arousal, Mary tried to resist. “Alastair, we can’t, your wound. Once is more than enough. I already feel bad about putting you through that, but you—” She screamed when he started tickling her. “Oh, Alastair.” Her cries changed in moments. It was too late. They started to make love again.
12
MY HEART STAYS IN THE HIGHLANDS
* * *
The Highlands, Scotland
* * *
“Good morning. Do ye ken where I can find Finlay of the Clan Mackenzie’s wife?” asked Alastair. He sat astride his chestnut-colored horse. He was in the company of Mary, Mungo, and Murtagh.
The lady standing on the side of the makeshift dirt road looked at the strangers closely with beady eyes. She had wispy white hair and weathered skin on her face. A small boy dressed in grubby clothing accompanied her. He too peered at the newcomers curiously.
“Who is it that’d be doing the asking?” asked the woman.
“Alastair William Macleod, son of the Laird Roderick Henry Macleod.”
The woman was not able to hide her surprise at being addressed by so illustrious a person. She quickly recomposed herself. “And why would ye care to ken where she is?”
“Because the man has news of her husband, woman,” snapped Mungo.
Alastair lifted his hand to forestall his friend from saying any more. “Excuse him. My brother and fellow clansman can be rather brash on occasion. He’s the most impatient man I ken.” He smiled at the woman, gradually softening her wariness.
“What news do ye have then?”
“I would rather tell the lass in person, if that would be all right?”
The woman shrugged. “I suppose I could tell ye where they live for a copper or two. This little mite has quite the appetite.” She gave Alastair a half-toothless grin as she brushed the lad’s head with her clawed hand as if it were a lucky charm.
Alastair pulled a leather bag from his plaid. He fumbled inside of it for a moment and removed two golden coins. He leaned forward and stretched out his right hand. The crone hesitated when she saw the amount. It was more than she would see in a lifetime. “Tis all right; take it.”
With no further hesitation, she ferreted the coins away. “The lass yer a looking for lives down yonder close to the sea. Ye can’t miss her hovel. It’s the one nearly falling apart. Ever since her man went missing, she has hardly any coin to make ends meet. I hope ye can do something for her and her bairns. They are such lovely lads.”
Alastair nodded. “I will do all I can. Her husband was a friend. And ye spend that gold wisely. Purchase some new clothing for the laddie and feed him well.”
“I promise, My Laird. He’s my grandson, ye see. My daughter died of the pox a few summers back. I am all he has left. And bless ye for yer charity. I can see that ye are a good man.” The old woman bowed.
Alastair tipped his head in her direction. “We ride,” he shouted, spurring his horse into motion.
It took the small party a little under a half an hour to reach the hovel. The dilapidated structure stood in such contrast to the pristineness of the land that jutted out into the North Sea in the shape of a flat table top. The coast was not as rugged as the northern shore where sheer crags reigned. The countryside around Moray Firth was filled with endless grassy plains that merged with the sea. Occasionally, a few beaches added a sandy color to the environ that was predominantly green.
With a grunt, Alastair dismounted. He walked around his horse to help Mary down while his comrades jumped off the backs of their horses. “I hope this chivalry never ends when we get married,” she said with a wink.
Murtagh grunted something incomprehensible.
Mungo snorted. “I doubt it, lass. My kinsman is a fair smitten by yer charms. From what Murtagh’s been telling me about yer prowess under the coverlets, I can understand why.”
Murtagh chortled along with his comrade. By now, Alastair ignored his friend’s jibes. He found them just as amusing.
Mary’s face reddened. “Am I never going to hear the end of that? I promise you when either of you scoundrels meets a woman he loves, I will never stop teasing you.”
“Fat chance of that happening. Those two have skins as thick as bark and hearts made of bawsacks. Women are only good for one thing in their books.”
“Aye, Alastair. Nothing like a good romp, eh?” said Mungo, grinning.
Murtagh beamed alongside his friend.
“Who are ye?”
The party of four turned in the direction of the child’s voice. Two boys stood a few paces away from them. They were surprisingly well turned out despite the frowziness of their clothing. Not a fleck of dirt speckled their faces. Their hands were clean, and their hair combed to the point of near perfection.
“My name is Alastair Macleod, son of Laird Roderick Henry of the clan Macleod.”
“A Laird,” cried both boys in unison. They had trouble containing their excitement.
“This is my betrothed, Mary, and those two are my kinsmen, Murtagh and Mungo.”
The boys eyed the two men carefully. “Our da’s a fighter like those two,” said one of the children. “He has a scar on his face just like him. Are ye friends with him? Do ye ken where he is?”
Alastair felt a cold shiver slide down his back at the mention of Finlay. He snuck a small glance at Mary.
“What are your names?” she asked, coming to his support.
The boys giggled. “Ye sound funny.”
“Ye will tell
the lady yer names, ye wee scunners,” growled out Mungo, charging forward from his place next to Mary. By now, he and Murtagh competed with each other in their protection of her. To Alastair’s great chagrin, it was nigh impossible to get the two of them away from her. They were like shadows that not even a cloudy sky could will away.
“My name’s Alick, and this is Bruce,” said the older of the two, taking a few steps away from the huge clansman with his brother.
“Fine names those. One of ye carries the name of our king. An honor, I am sure,” said Alastair. “Now, can ye tell us where yer màither is? I have to speak words with her.”
The boys nodded. “She’s inside the cottage, My Laird.” They darted forward, and without any hesitation, they took Mary by the hands and led her in the direction of their home. “Ma, Ma, we have visitors,” they chimed together.
“One of them is a Laird,” added Bruce, skipping next to Mary.
“My, my, what tall tales, laddies. A Laird, ye say? Now, I must see that with my own eyes.” A tall woman with a striking countenance emerged from the hovel with a confident stride. She had long blonde hair, almost gold in color. Her physique betrayed none of the ordeals of two childbirths. It was slender and well-toned. She was no older than twenty-six summers. Her blue eyes flashed when she saw Alastair approach.
“Yer sons do not jest, although, they are a little presumptuous concerning the title. I am Alastair, son of the Laird of the Clan Macleod.” He held out his hand.
The woman eyed the strangers curiously. She took Alastair’s hand but was immediately distracted when her gaze came to rest on the boys. She scowled when she saw them holding Mary’s hands. “Laddies, what did I tell ye about speaking to strangers?”
Her sons sighed. “We’re not supposed to do it, Ma. We ken. But Mary’s beautiful like ye are. We saw no harm in making her feel welcome. And Alastair’s a Laird and—”
Their mother raised her hand to stop Alick’s chatting. Without a trace of fear in her eyes, she walked up to Mungo. “I deduced that he’s the Laird. Who might ye be?”