by Carol Arens
He laughed then, a wicked one filled with dark, hot promises of pleasure yet to come. She tried to pull him back to kiss her mouth, but he slipped from her grasp, sliding down her body and lying between her legs. She could resist nothing he did, her body pliable under his hands. But when he lowered his mouth, there, she grabbed his hair and made him stop.
‘Oh, no, lass. I will show you my favourite kind of kiss,’ he whispered, moving her legs apart. ‘Lift your knees like you did in the tub.’ He sounded so pleased, she did it—lifting her knees and opening that most private part of her to him.
Before she could think of such a thing, he was there, tracing the sensitive folds of skin and parting them with his tongue. At first she held his hair, ready to stop his intimate invasion, but then she released her hold and dropped her head back...and just let the sensations overwhelm her.
His mouth. His tongue. His lips. His teeth. Her body blossomed beneath his mouth and he did not pause. Everything within her tightened and ached and tightened more, her blood screaming through her body as she moved towards something. He knew what he did to her; he laughed and dipped in to plunge his tongue deep inside her.
She wanted to beg him for something. Beg to stop. Beg for more, but her hips raised off the bed to meet his tongue’s thrusts. Then, just when she though there could be nothing sweeter than the touch of his mouth there, he slid his fingers inside her and she screamed out the pleasure.
More. Worse. Better. More. She chanted in her thoughts as he pushed her harder and faster. He was relentless in forcing her on, bringing her to some edge where her body could take no more and then pushing her harder and further, ever further.
‘Athdar,’ she moaned out. She wriggled against him then, pushing her body against his mouth, demanding something of him.
‘More. I beg you.’
He slid one finger forwards and touched some small place deep within the folds that made her fly. When his mouth replaced his finger and began licking and suckling it, everything within her began to unravel. She was falling apart in his hands.
Her entire body trembled then, shaking and shivering as the tension he’d built exploded free. From her skin to the very centre of her. From her head to her toes. Everything within her tingled and throbbed, for endless moments...or minutes...or hours. She lost herself then and thought she might fall asleep until she felt him nuzzle the roughness of his day’s growth of beard against her there.
His fingers were yet within her and all it took to reawaken her body was one slow, leisurely stroke of them as he slid them out from between her legs and up to her breasts. Every touch pulled some connection between there and the place he’d just...attended and the aching inside her continued anew.
‘Athdar,’ she whispered as his mouth came down on one sensitive nipple again. His erect flesh touched her belly as he dipped to taste the other one and she reached to take him in her hands.
He hissed at it and pulled away. ‘Nay, lass. Not yet.’
She wanted to argue, but he climbed over her and took her mouth in a hot, breath-losing kiss. He groaned against her lips as she touched his back, moving her hands over the muscles of his chest and then around to his buttocks. Holding them in her hands, she squeezed them as he moved between her legs.
‘Easy now, Bel,’ he whispered against her mouth. ‘Open to me.’
Now. He would take her now. Now.
Her body shook as he placed the head of his flesh where his mouth had just been and pushed against her. He slid deeper and deeper inside of her, the moisture of her release easing the way. Then, suddenly everything felt too much. Too tight. Too much. Too big. Too...
He thrust once and she felt him fill her completely.
Her body tightened around him then and he hissed again as he waited for her to adjust to him. All she could feel was his flesh stretching hers. Then, he moved, just a bit, and her body eased. He withdrew inch by inch until only the slightest part of him remained within her. She felt empty and wanted to protest.
He kissed her then, just as he thrust again, quickly and deeply. And then he did it again...and again. Thrust and drew back, thrust and drew back, until her body poured out for him once more and she felt him swell in her. Then one more time he buried his flesh in hers and she felt the spill of his hot seed.
He whispered her name over and over, in time with the pulses of his flesh, until it stopped. Then he buried his face against her shoulder and panted as she did.
* * *
She would be the death of him if it was like this every time they joined.
Though he was glad he could give her pleasure during her initiation into the intimacies between a man and a woman, he never expected she would be so open to it. Her body still held his inside and he did not want to leave her. But, more now would be too much for her innocent’s body, so he eased out of her and moved to her side. Sliding his hand over her belly, he could feel the ripples of her orgasm yet moving through her body.
Several minutes passed and he was sure they both dozed off to sleep in the lethargic satisfaction that came from a good bout of lovemaking.
He’d meant what he told her—he was keeping her. Her father be damned. Connor be damned. She was his now and what had begun in misunderstanding was now consummated in honesty.
She was his.
She stirred a bit, opening her eyes slowly as though testing to see if she was asleep or awake. He lay quiet, giving her a chance to adjust to the new intimacy between them. When she kept her eyes open, looking at everything in the room but him, he spoke to her.
‘Was it as you thought it would be?’ he asked.
He remembered his first time—a mad rush to completion before he could be discovered behind the stables with the lusty and willing laundry maid. But, for women, well, he’d always thought their first time was something that needed to be special.
‘My thoughts are so scattered, I cannot think,’ she whispered. Then she turned slowly towards him, but he noticed the wince that crossed her face as she moved.
The chamber grew cool then, enough that he noticed the gooseflesh rise on her skin. Then his stomach grumbled, reminding him of his missed supper and late arrival home. She reached out to touch him and hesitated. He guided her hand to his stomach and held it there. The next time the noise happened, she smiled.
‘I am yours, as well, now, Lady MacCallum,’ he said, trying to put her at ease.
Her eyes flashed at his words and he thought he’d made a very large mistake. Aye, she would be the death of him if her appetite for the pleasures of the marital bed were close to her curiosity and boldness.
‘You did not eat, then?’ she asked, sitting up and pulling the drying cloth around her shoulders. Another wince reminded him of his husbandly concern for her.
‘I entered my hall to find it in complete disarray, my wife nowhere to be found and more people than were here this morn now living here. Needless to say, I came looking for you to straighten this out.’ He tried to remain serious, but could not. ‘What the bloody hell did you do to my hall, lass?’
He got out of bed, heard the soft knocking at the door and went to see to it. Isobel squeaked, pulled the cloth over her head and dived down on the bed to hide herself. Surely she should know that there were no secrets when living in a keep? No surprise to him, a bucket of steaming water sat outside their door, placed there by the servants who understood what the sound of the door’s bar dropping meant.
‘It would be easier to do this in the tub, Bel,’ he said. ‘If you can find your way out from under that cloth?’
As soon as the door was secured, she peeked out from her hidey hole and then climbed from the bed. She looked at him and his manhood and then down at her legs. Her blood marked his cock and also her thigh, a sign of her virginity now taken. While he helped her wash and dress, she could not stop blushing from his privat
e ministrations now.
‘I am accustomed to finding my own meal in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘You do not have to accompany me there now.’
‘I would like to explain what in the bloody hell I did to your hall,’ she said without breaking into a smile.
He laughed then, kissing her quickly and nodding. ‘Come, then. You can explain this mad new scheme of yours and why I now have four large looms and a small one where only one stood when I left this morn.’
They both tugged on shoes and walked hand in hand down to the hall and the kitchen. Since most of the keep’s inhabitants already sought their rest, they moved quietly so not to disturb those who slept. The kitchen was empty and dark, so Athdar lit a lantern from the hearth and set it on the table in the corner. Isobel retrieved two bowls from the cupboard and spoons and ladled out some of the leftover stew from the cauldron.
‘You missed dinner?’ he asked, as she served it to him.
‘Nay,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I ate at supper, but find myself famished now!’
Isobel brought a jug and cups to the table and then sat with him. In many ways, he enjoyed this intimate dining with her alone more than the many formal meals he’d eaten before. He waited for her to eat and once she slowed, he spoke.
‘So, tell me of this weaving plan of yours?’
‘In Lairig Dubh, you have seen the weavers’ building?’ He nodded. ‘I know that we do not need as many as they do, but I thought that it might be easier to have them in one place. For the winter especially.’
‘So the one place is here in my keep?’ Her eyes sparkled in the candlelight as she spoke and he found himself transfixed on the way the light was able to pick out all the shades of gold in her hair. By the time he remembered that he was listening to her plan, he’d missed a good part of it.
‘And the older children will be given chores. What think you?’
Athdar wanted to laugh—he’d been trapped by his infatuation with his own wife. She seemed pleased by what she’d accomplished. He was willing to allow her this.
‘Can you show me?’ he asked, only to give himself more time to figure out if he had any objections or not.
They finished the food, put the bowls, cups and spoons in one of the buckets to be washed and Isobel led him to her new weavers’ corner. Tall screens made out of tapestry and wood separated the area from the rest of the hall. The five large looms faced a centre point, allowing room around them to walk and work. The small loom sat in the corner, waiting to be used. Trunks sat along the wall. ‘Threads?’
‘Aye. And supplies, extra weights and anything we need.’
‘We?’ He knew she planned on working with them and that was part of the reason she set it up so. And the thought of having her here, on long winter nights, working on her loom, pleased him.
She studied him before saying anything.
‘You are jesting?’
‘Aye.’
‘And you are not angry that I did this without your knowledge?’
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. He’d been wanting to ever since they’re left their chambers. Athdar did not think he would ever tire of her or of wanting her. Now that that beast had been loosed, it would be impossible to cage it again.
‘It pleases me that you want to make things better here.’
‘I promise to move them back if this does not work out to your liking,’ she said against his mouth.
‘Very well.’ He leaned down and touched their mouths together, liking very much the way she melted into him as soon as he kissed her.
They sought the privacy of their chamber and if anyone noticed the change between them the next morning, the way his gaze softened when he looked at her or the easy way they touched whenever they met during the day, no one thought it awry. For the first time in a very long time, Athdar MacCallum was happy and content.
* * *
It took several days to move everyone into the keep and the decision that pleased Isobel the most was that Ailis agreed to stay and work as a weaver with the other widows. Isobel thought this might help the woman in her time of grief and it might help to have others around her who had gone through the same thing. Only one of the women was older—most had lost their husbands within the last several years. The best thing for Ailis was the opportunity to have her son raised in the keep.
With her days busy and her nights lost to the pleasure and passion she discovered in Athdar’s arms, November days passed quickly. Men constantly waited by the pass to send word of its opening to travel, but it never came. Now that she and Athdar were joined, the thought of being here, undisturbed and with him, felt like a boon rather than a hardship. By the time her parents could travel back here, well, it would be too late to do anything but wish them happy.
Isobel forgot about speaking to Laria or Broc about Athdar’s childhood to seek some answer to what plagued him, but decided instead to find the old man, the old laird’s cousin, who lived in the village and see if she could learn anything more from him. On the next clear day, she made her way to the cottage where he lived.
When knocking brought no reply, she lifted the latch and pushed the door open slowly. ‘Iain?’ she said quietly. Stepping inside, she looked around at the small cottage. Two rooms, this main one and one behind a closed door. With no sign of anyone at home, she opened the door and called out again, ‘Iain?’
A powerful odour struck her as she eased the door open wider, one she recognised. It was the smell of death. Peering into the shadows, she saw him, sitting in a chair next to a now-cold hearth. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would burst in her chest. The best course of action would be to call Broc or one of the men to come, so she turned prepared to do so.
As she left the cottage, a young woman approached, carrying a wee bairn on her hip. This must be Iain’s granddaughter. Oh God, did she not know, then?
‘Lady,’ the girl said, nodding to her. ‘Did you want to speak to my grandda then?’ She shifted the babe and reached for the door latch. ‘Did the laird have more questions for him?’
‘Nay, I came to speak with him. Pardon, but I do not know your name,’ Isobel said, positioning herself in front of the door. The girl needed to be warned before she entered.
‘Jessie, lady,’ she said. Smiling, she kissed the bairn’s head. ‘And this is Iain, named for my grandda.’
‘And your husband? Is he nearby?’
‘Oh, nay, lady,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘He works in the fields, but for now he is stationed at the pass, waiting for signs that it is clearing.’
‘Jessie,’ she said softly. ‘I went in to speak to Iain already.’ She could not think of how to ease the blow, so she touched the girl’s shoulder and told her. ‘Your grandda has passed.’
‘He...is he inside?’ Jessie asked.
‘Aye. Here, let me hold the bairn for you,’ Isobel said. She reached out for the little boy and waited for Jessie to go inside. A few minutes later, the young woman came back out, dabbing her eyes.
‘I stayed with my aunt these last two nights. He seemed fine when I left.’ She took her son back and cuddled him closely. ‘He has lived a long and full life,’ she added with a sigh.
‘Should we open the shutters? Let some fresh air in before you try to have him moved?’ Isobel asked.
‘Would you mind if I went for my uncle, lady? Could you wait here? It’s just down the path a short way.’
‘Go.’ Isobel watched as Jessie went to fetch her uncle.
She opened the door wider and then went to open the front shutters. As she did that, the light pouring in struck the green glass object on the table near the small room. Walking over to it, she picked it up, realised what it was and pulling the stopper out and sniffing it only confirmed it for her.
This was the bottle of sleeping elixir that Laria h
ad left in her bedchamber the first night of her courses.
Isobel had searched for it the next day. Athdar remembered putting it on the table next to the bed and then no one had seen it. She’d questioned all those with access to her chambers and all had denied knowing about it.
Now here it was.
And Iain was dead.
Three drops to sleep the night, Laria had directed. No more or you may not wake.
Isobel held it up in the sunlight and peered through the thick glass.
Half the bottle was gone...and Iain was dead.
Chapter Twenty
They laid old Iain to rest near his long-dead wife and everyone came back to the keep to eat and drink to his memory. Isobel kept a close watch on Athdar, fearing a repeat of his desperate behaviour that happened after Robbie’s death. Iain had lived a long life and, though not recently ill, certainly suffered the various indispositions of the aged. No one, not even his beloved granddaughter, thought anything was amiss in his passing. No one.
Except her.
Another toast, the last one, was made in his honour and the villagers went back to their cottages and their chores and duties. Jessie’s husband Micheil had been summoned home for the burial and would travel back to the pass once more.
‘Does that dark expression foretell of trouble?’ Athdar crept up behind her and slid his hands around her, pulling her to lean against him. When she shook her head and nodded at Jessie and the bairn, he said, ‘He was a good man who lived a long life.’
‘That is what everyone said.’
‘Did you speak to Micheil?’ he asked. ‘He said the weather has been clear in the pass for these past two days. A good sign then.’
‘Only if you are ready to face my parents.’