“Oh, Chrissie,” he whispered. He kissed her hair, her brow, her face. His body was throbbing, aching, desperate. He strained for control, wanting to lift her and throw her onto the bed, to take her clothes from her and kiss that fragrant skin from head to toe.
“Chrissie,” he said instead. He kissed her again, more slowly. Her lips parted and she gave a little gasp. He went slowly, his hands stroking her hair and her neck. He let his mouth move down, sucking at her jaw and then her throat.
Her skin was scented with lavender and he buried his face against it, lapping at the silky skin. She moaned, but made no move to stop him. He moved lower.
Her gown, he noticed, had buttons down the back. He held her close and, very slowly, so as not to alarm her, he unfastened the top one. The bodice of her gown, laced so tight across her round breasts, sagged just slightly, revealing a sight of cleavage.
“Oh,” he groaned. Her breasts were so round and firm, and they looked so soft...
He bent lower, his fingers fumbling as he shook, and took down the next three. The neck of the gown widened, and he found he could gently work it down.
He lowered the under-shift and knelt before her. Her breasts were perfect hemispheres, tipped with garnets. He stared at her, feeling his loins jerk with need. His body was hard, turgid. Ready. Nevertheless, he would not rush this. He didn't want to. This was a night of his dreams. The night he had longed for since he could remember. He had patience and he would be slow. It would be something they would both remember with pleasure.
“Chrissie,” he whispered. He reached up and let his hand gently pluck at one of those perfect breasts. The skin was satin below his fingers, and he stroked forward, letting his fingers gently pinch her nipple. He felt his body stiffen as he pulled that nipple out, feeling it firm in his fingers.
He stood and took it into his mouth. Sucking her gently, he lapped at the hardness of it, letting his tongue work it gently, tease it further. He heard her gasp and the sound drove him to want more.
He leaned back, taking the other breast in his mouth. While he sucked, his hand traced the first, gently tugging the nipple, thumbing it over and over and over.
She was making a sobbing sound and he looked up, frightened that he was scaring her. However, her eyes were closed, her soft lips parted in a grin. The sight of her delight fired him to greater efforts.
He lifted her and gently laid her on the bed. Her eyes were closed and she was still smiling. He felt blessed. He sighed.
“May I?” he asked, his hands at the neck of her gown. He wanted to remove it completely.
“Yes.”
He felt his throat constrict painfully and coughed. This was something beyond his wildest imaginings.
He lifted her so he could undo the last buttons, then slowly, gently, drew the gown away.
He found himself looking at pale, soft flesh, curved, sweet, and lovely.
The scent of her womanhood was strong, and he stared, drinking in the sight and scents of her.
Suddenly, he knew what he wanted to do. He bowed his head and, very slowly, nibbled at her belly. She gasped, her eyes flashing open.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
“Yes,” she whispered, the sound reassuring him beyond what he had known before. “Yes.”
“Good.”
He lapped at her, making little lines down the length of her cleft. She tensed and then relaxed, and he did it again, the scent of her driving him to madness. She gasped, and moved so that he could reach her. He licked her, his tongue working over all the spots he knew were ticklish.
She was gasping, thrusting, moving beneath him, her body pressing on him. He felt himself growing more and more ready, his need ready to explode.
At last, she made a wild sound. He had never heard so wonderful, so free, a sound. He rejoiced to hear it. Her body tensed, and then jerked as if in spasm. He smiled, knowing how she felt right then.
He sat up and looked down at her. Her eyes were closed, but she was smiling.
“Husband,” she murmured.
He smiled. He took her in his arms and kissed her mouth.
He would have time to disrobe, time to find his own release...this was her night and he would not rush.
CHAPTER TWENTY
WEDDING NIGHT
WEDDING NIGHT
Lying there with Blaine was an experience Chrissie had never imagined. Her body was aflame with wonder, limp with satiation. Yet, the moment he moved beside her, she wanted more.
“Blaine?”
“Yes?”
“Are you...do you...?”
Blaine smiled. “Only if you want me, lass.”
Chrissie blinked at him, feeling her eyes fill with tears. He was so different to any man she had known, or had imagined to exist. Thoughtful, gentle, careful of her in a way that invited her tears. “Yes,” she whispered. “Very yes.”
Blaine smiled, then. She had not realized until now how very handsome he was, she realized now. He stood and, very slowly, he began to undress. He undid the tunic and lifted it over his head, then sat to unfasten his brogues. His trews he took off last.
Chrissie looked at him. He was hard with muscle, chest gleaming with perspiration in the firelight, corded and sculptured.
“Blaine,” she whispered. Seeing his naked body did arouse some fears. He was so big. He would hurt her. She knew he would hurt her.
“Yes, lass,” he said gently. “I'm here.”
He lay beside her on the bed. She felt his body against hers, his manhood soft and slightly damp. She lay there, shivering, his arms around her.
“You're cold, lass.”
“Uh,” she said, shaking her head in denial.
“Come inside the bed,” he whispered, and gently sat, rolling back the coverlet. He moved her gently, laying her on the sheet, and tucking the blanket over her. Then he got in beside her. Held her in the circle of his arms. He drew her against his chest and lay beside her.
“Blaine?” she whispered after a long while.
“Mm?”
“I'm about to fall asleep,” she confided sleepily. She felt so drowsy after what he had made her feel. She really would drift off. “So if you...”
“I will not lay a hand on you, save that you will it.”
She sighed, a soft, shuddering out breath. “I will.”
He propped himself up on his elbow. Looked into her eyes. “You are sure about that?”
She sighed a little impatiently. “Yes, I'm sure.”
He bit his lip, closed his eyes. “Thank you.”
“Thank me?”
“You trusted me.”
She blinked, surprised. Her brief experience had taught her men were impatient. Selfish. Uncaring. Here he was, wanting her to trust him? She found it confusing and perhaps annoying. It was also deeply moving.
She smiled at him, feeling older than him. He rolled on top of her and lay there. His loins pressed against her belly and she felt the moisture there. She wrapped her arms around him, closing her eyes.
“Right, then,” she whispered, biting her lip. She prepared for the pain of him forced inside her, the tearing, the burning.
It never came. His knee moved between hers, his belly lay against her for an instant and then she felt a sweet, blissful release as he filled her.
He was big, his loins engorged and pressing deep into her. Yet, it did not hurt her. He moved back and then forward gently. His eyes looked into hers.
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
He kissed her then, and that was too much. Her own tears fell and he kissed those even as he moved inside her.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes. And yes. And yes.”
His body was moving and, before she knew it, she was with him. Their thrusts timed in a way she would not have thought possible, except that her body knew and it knew his body and somehow they matched perfectly, moving down a landscape of pleasure in which his thrusts met hers. They pressed deep within her, finding a place where
the feeling was delicious, where her body needed to feel him move and move, and move...
She cried out for the second time and he tensed, teeth gritting, and then he was moving within her, his body jerking and shuddering as he cried out too, a great roar, and collapsed on top of her.
They lay together while her tears flowed and the night breeze cooled their bodies and they slept like that until the dawn.
That morning, he kissed her mouth.
“My darling,” he whispered.
“My treasure.”
They clung together and Chrissie felt her heart fill with wonder.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
JOYOUS ARRIVAL
JOYOUS ARRIVAL
The days following the wedding passed in a happy haze. Chrissie was alight with a quiet joy and Blaine was always smiling. They fell into an easy routine: making love, dressing, breakfasting. He went to the courtyard to train, while she played the spinet.
Then they would dine, and make love, and she would write or read or practice the viol de Gambois, while he rode. They would sup, and make love, and sleep and repeat it all again the next day.
An evening about a week after their marriage, Chrissie looked at him over her sheet of music.
“Treasure?”
“Yes?” Blaine smiled. He loved the way she spoke, so gentle, her voice teasing him and seeming to arouse him with a word.
“We will set out soon? I would like to go to Dunkeld. If that's your intention, though, dear?”
Blaine smiled gently. “It is.”
Their visitors from Dunkeld had left the day after the wedding, which seemed off, if he thought about it, though Blaine had been so lost in his own pleasure that he hadn't paid it heed then. He should have.
“I would like to set out soon,” she agreed.
“Whenever you are ready.”
“Then,” Chrissie asked softly, “we leave the day after tomorrow? Alina concerns me.”
Blaine nodded. He, too, had noticed her pallid skin, the way she seemed so tired, so devoid of life. He had worried too, and had meant to ask after her. He had forgotten, and he felt bad for it.
“We can go as soon as you would wish,” he promised.
They set out the next day. They rode. They would take three days across country, staying in the inns. Blaine was concerned for Chrissie, but she insisted she could do it. The journey was surprisingly brief, and the inns fortunately comfortable, with beds large enough for two, even two such insatiable lovers as themselves.
When they reached Dunkeld, the month had truly turned wintry. They arrived, shivering and stamping. Chrissie was gray with cold.
“My love?” Blaine asked, instantly concerned.
“I am well,” she whispered, though Blaine felt worry gnaw him.
“We need some dinner,” he said quickly. “And bed.”
“Yes,” Chrissie whispered, her voice such that his loins ached. He smiled gently.
“Only if you're ready for that, my dear.”
Chrissie shot him a frosty look. “Am I not ready?”
He laughed. “I am sure you are.”
“Yes.”
The whisper fired his blood so that it was difficult to greet their hosts with any decency, but he managed it. It was wonderful to see Broderick and his tall, fair-haired brother once again.
“Blaine McNeil,” the younger teased lightly. “I never thought to see you here! Welcome.”
Blaine snorted. “I was here a month ago, if you recall.”
Duncan grinned. “In a more official capacity. Though I hope to change that.”
“Oh?”
Broderick smiled. “You know that Dougal is old.”
“Yes...”
“Well, then!” Duncan shouted cheerily. “Consider yourself master-at-arms!”
They had such a celebration after that! Chrissie recovered somewhat and exclaimed her delight. She embraced Blaine so warmly that he had to bite his lip not to take her right there in front of company. He strained to control himself and she giggled.
They sat at the table and Amabel made them all laugh with colorful tales of her off-spring, Joanna and Brodgar. Joanna was lively, almost three years old and into everything. Brodgar was just starting to take interest in his surroundings and was apparently saying “Woogh!”
They all laughed.
“We shall want a demonstration of his powers of talking!” Chrissie laughed. “I would love to hear that! It must be so dear.”
Amabel smiled. “Mayhap you could fetch him down after dinner?” She asked Alina. Alina nodded. Her brow was wet with perspiration, Blaine noticed. He saw Chrissie's eyes go to her face and saw her own face tense with worry. He reached across for Chrissie's hand, but she was already turning to Amabel, raising a glass.
“No, dear,” she smiled. “It is well you let the poor bairn sleep! I shall see him tomorrow when he's fresh and wakeful. Then the 'wooghs' are more likely to be forthcoming.”
They all laughed. Alina smiled, but the smile was strained and it was clear she was in pain. Chrissie had noticed too, for she bit her lip. Blaine looked at Broderick and Duncan, but Duncan was looking at his wife, his hand on her shoulder.
He whispered something to her, and Alina shook her head vigorously. Blaine saw it and made a note to talk to Duncan tomorrow. Whatever was wrong, Alina was a strong and powerful woman, and treating her as if she was a babe was not going to help. He just had to find a way of putting that tactfully to his friend. He glanced at Chrissie. She would know what would help.
The evening passed in merriment, with many exclamations of good health, and wishes for a bright future. Amabel embraced Chrissie fondly, kissing her brow. Broderick ruffled her hair.
“It is good to have you here among us, Chrissie!” Amabel said warmly, squeezing her hand. “What a merry time we shall have! It will be like when we were girls again. Only better, of course!”
They laughed. Blaine felt such pride at being married to Chrissie, of whom they all were so fond. He felt such pride for her, and such depth of emotion he actually thought his heart might burst.
The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of ale, warmth, and merriment. After the pudding went round, spicy and delicious, Blaine and Chrissie retired to bed in a happy haze. He was sleepy but, he noticed, not too sleepy to become aroused the instant she slipped into bed and his arms held her.
“Blaine?”
“Mm?” he whispered, his mouth already kissing her head.
“I'm very sleepy.”
“Oh.”
She lay still for a moment, and then giggled.
“I'm not too sleepy, though.”
“Oh...”
He sighed, relieved, and she laughed and then showed him just how awake she was, guiding him into her with skilled hands that made him gasp and cry out even as she smiled and kissed his nose.
Later, when they were drifting in a haze of sated wonder, she whispered to him. “We need to talk to Alina.”
“Yes,” he nodded, sleepy, stroking her hair. “I'm worried, too.”
She fell asleep in his arms and he fell asleep soon after, their bodies pressed together for the warmth and comfort their closeness brought them.
Tomorrow was another day. Blaine would also start work. Master-at-arms of Dunkeld: it had a nice sound to it. Chrissie was happy here. Which was all he could ever want.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
NEWS IS SHARED
NEWS IS SHARED
“Chrissie?”
Alina was in the turret room, the one that looked out for miles over the landscape. She had sewing beside her on the settee, but, when Chrissie saw her from the door, she was not sewing. She was leaning back on the settee, her eyes fixed on the view out of the window, skin deathly pale.
“Alina!”
Chrissie walked in lightly, instantly concealing her worry and reaching for lightheartedness she did not entirely feel. There was something gravely wrong with her cousin...she was no healer, not like Alina herself was. She
could see it at once, though.
“Chrissie,” Alina sighed, her voice as soft as a summer breeze. She sounded tired. “It's good to see you. And to have you here, with us. A delight.”
Chrissie smiled. Took her cousin's hand. It was icy. She winced, but carried on brightly. “It is lovely to be here! Of all the things I thought would happen in my future...this is the most unexpected. And the most wonderful.”
Alina smiled a little wistfully, squeezed her hand. She was frowning, as if even that effort taxed her too much. She sighed. “You thought for Heath at one time? I saw the fondness you had for him.”
“I love Heath,” Chrissie said warmly. “But it was not to be. I do not think I love him quite like this,” she added, waving a hand as she tried to explain. “I found I never did. He is my brother and I will always adore him as such. But this is...different,” she sighed. She was striving to explain something for which she had not the words.
Alina smiled softly. “I know what you mean, dear. I know what it is to love a man so deep.”
Chrissie nodded firmly. “I know. You and Duncan are...” she paused. “A special pair.”
“Thank you,” Alina said. She coughed, a brittle sound. When she was done, she looked exhausted.
“Alina,” Chrissie said, alarmed. “Can I call someone? At least let me send Blaire for a posset. You are unwell...” she trailed off as Alina vigorously shook her head.
“No, Chrissie. It is well. Come and sit here. I need to talk to you.”
Chrissie hung her head, feeling guilty at having flustered her cousin. She was an authority in the younger woman's life, and she had no right to talk to her as she just had.
“Alina...”
Alina sighed. “You can see all is not well with me. And I am not unwise to it. I know. I also know, dear, that there are no possets and no simple cures for what ails me. I...I lost the babe.”
The Highland Hero (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story) Page 14