by Mary Wine
His brogue thickened. A hard hand slapped against her bottom, pushing her hips toward him. His hard cock pressed against her belly.
“That’s what held my attention, Wife. I looked at ye and stiffened up like a fresh-faced lad.”
His lips claimed her in a solid kiss. He demanded surrender but she twisted away from his lips. With a growl he followed her, one hand gripping the back of her head. He plundered her mouth, pressing her lips apart. A hard thrust from his tongue invaded her mouth, drawing a soft moan from her. Delight washed over her, the heat she’d tried to suppress all day igniting. His warm male skin smelled so good. Her hands spread, searching for the button that held his collar closed. She needed to touch him. Wanted to press against him.
“I spent half the day thinking about getting back between yer thighs.”
He didn’t sound very happy about it, either. But his confession pleased her, her nipples tingling behind her stays.
“I thought about you as well.”
The words tumbled past her lips. There was no considering them. The grip on the back of her head softened.
“Och lass, we’ve more than our share of passion, that’s for sure.”
The hand on her bottom began stroking her. Heat moved through her passage in response, hot and heavy need settling inside her. The hard outline of his cock was a teasing torment to her. She shuddered as her clitoris pulsed, hungry for friction.
“Best ye ken, lass. I will never send ye back to yer father.”
There was a hard edge to his voice. Fierce possession that somehow made her feel cherished. He picked her up, sweeping her up against his chest as if she were no more than a child.
“Ye’re mine and I dinnae care if I have to remind ye of that over and over.”
He carried her into an empty stall. There was new hay on the ground, smelling clean and fresh. Brodick knelt, lowering her to the floor as he followed her. The hay got caught in her hair as he pressed her back onto it, his lips finding hers and taking them in another long kiss. The tip of his tongue stroked over her lower lip before thrusting into her mouth to tease her tongue.
“Since ye were a maiden, ye’ve never been tumbled in the hay afore.” He rose above her on his elbows, a shadowy figure. “I feel the need to introduce ye to trysting.”
“A tryst is between lovers.” But it made her breathless. Excitement made her voice sultry.
“And ye nae think a husband might serve as a lover?” His fingers found the buttons of her doublet, working them loose. “I assure ye I’m up to the task.”
She suddenly felt bold. Reaching down, she found the bulge of his cock. A harsh breath was his response as she stroked it through the pleats of his kilt.
“A statement that I must insist you prove.”
She pushed at his wide shoulders, unsure if he would allow her to lead him. The night didn’t let her see his expression. She pushed harder, lifting her own shoulders up. He dropped back as she sat up.
“I’ve heard a few tales of trysts and lovers’ ways.”
“I insist that ye confess every one of them to me.”
With one hand, she loosened the button at his collar. She stroked her fingers down the center of his chest, easing between the edges of his open shirt.
“The church does command that a wife obey her husband.” She stopped with her hand beneath his shirt, the crisp hair on his chest holding her attention.
“It does indeed.”
His words were clipped. It was very arousing the way he laid so still when she knew he was much stronger than she. A fragile trust threaded its way between them, unleashing her curiosity.
“I heard that there is more than one type of kiss. A meeting of lips and male flesh that the French ladies use to beguile their lovers.”
“Who told ye about that?”
She shrugged, trailing her fingers over his belt. There was no way to tell him that the servants knew absolutely everything in a large estate. When important nobles had visited Warwickshire, the nightly escapades provided many evenings of entertainment for the gossips. Just because she was a maiden did not mean she hadn’t heard exactly how men and women coupled. She stopped over his cock, her hand resting on top of the hard bulge.
“I suppose I could put it out of my mind…”
A hard hand gripped her hair. He wound her thick braid around his hand. The hold drew her against his chest.
“Lift my kilt and try it, lass. I dare ye.”
She stroked her fingers to the edge of his kilt, fingering the fabric. “Does that mean you’re not afraid I might bewitch you? I hear many Puritans believe pleasure of the flesh to be the work of demons leading us sinners to eternal damnation.”
He pressed her back against the hay. She gasped at the speed with which he rose up. There was a great deal of power in his body. It should have frightened her but she trusted him. That was often the difference between a lover and a husband. The lover you shared your body with. A husband you prayed might not be too much to bear.
“I suppose I’ll just have to beguile ye first.”
He pulled her skirts up, the night air bushing her thighs, making her shiver. But it wasn’t with cold. Her heart raced, making her skin warm.
“Now, about that spreading yer thighs bit you mentioned earlier…I’ve a mind to sample that bit of wifely service.”
Her breath caught. Brodick chuckled as he stroked one thigh. “There’s something that we are going to have to practice, lass. Talking.”
“One does not talk about intimacies.”
He touched her slit. A single stroke that sent pleasure up along her passage. His fingertips remained touching her clitoris, rubbing a slow circle over the top of it. The urge to lift her hips took great amounts of self discipline to quell. She was struck dumb by how good that touch felt. It didn’t seem possible that any single part of her body could feel so much pleasure.
“Then how did ye learn about French kissing?”
She blushed in the dark. “That was talk shared between women.”
“Yet it was about sucking a man’s cock between yer lips. Did ye just overhear or were ye asking for advice on how to handle me?”
“Brodick.”
He chuckled, low and deep. The sound sent a shiver up her body because it sounded so…hungry. He hovered over her slit for a moment, teasing it with his fingertips. Sweet pleasure flooded her with each tiny touch but soon it wasn’t enough. She felt empty, aching to be filled.
“You smell hot, Wife.” He pushed her knees up. “Just the way I like my lover to be.”
A breathless whimper crossed her lips. His lips pressed a kiss against her spread slit, the tip of his tongue flickering across the sensitive bud at the top of her sex. There was too much sensation. Pleasure, need, hunger all twisted inside her. It was impossible to remain still. She arched toward his teasing tongue. Her hands curled into the hay, grasping handfuls of it. He lapped her slit from the opening of her channel to the top where her clitoris pulsed for friction.
“Sweet, verra sweet.” He pulled the folds of her slit apart to expose her clitoris further. He sucked it deep into his mouth, pushing her to the brink of climax. But she didn’t tumble off the peak of arousal yet. He kept her there, her sheath begging for penetration. One thick finger slid deep and she moaned.
“Now, there’s a sound that I approve of ye making.”
He pulled free and returned to her sheath with two fingers. He teased the opening before thrusting back in. His lips returned to her clitoris, sucking on the tender bud while his fingers worked in and out of her body.
“Brodick…”
“Aye, any more of yer sweet nectar and I’ll spill myself like a green lad.”
Her body pulsed, hungry and aching for fulfillment. She was poised on the edge of climax, so close, one hard thrust from his cock would send the hard pleasure shooting through her.
She was at his mercy once more.
That rubbed her temper. Jerking up, out of the hay, she pushed him
onto his back. She wanted to be more than complacent. More than quietly going along with Philipa’s plan. She wanted to take a lover.
He flopped back onto the hay, raising a thin cloud of dust. It smelled of spring, suiting her mood. Moving down his body, she boldly pushed his kilt up to expose his cock. The organ was stiff, swollen with the same need that burned inside her passage. Reaching for it, she clasped it, stroking the soft skin. It was very hard, making her long to lay back for his possession.
But not just yet.
“Go on, lass.”
His voice was tight as though his control was stretched. She enjoyed that idea. Touching her tongue to the head, she tasted the skin. It was pleasant, filling her with a sense of control over him and his greater strength. A soft groan rose from his chest when she licked the slit. There was a drop of slightly salty fluid hidden there that her tongue carried away. Opening her mouth she sucked the entire head between her lips. His hips jerked, thrusting toward her head. His hand grasped her braid once more, a harsh sound coming from his lips. For long moments she flicked her tongue over the cock in her mouth. Little thrusts from his hips moved it in and out. She listened to his breathing turn ragged, the fingers in her hair tightening. Little zips of pain crossed her scalp, but they only added to the intensity of the moment. Her body was so alive with need that every sensation added to the inferno.
“Enough.” He pulled her head away from his cock, the head leaving her lips with a small pop. “Ye’ve a wicked grasp of applying what ye hear to the practical act.”
He sounded immensely pleased by that fact, too.
“I suppose it’s a good thing you don’t want a dim-witted wife.”
He scoffed at her. “We were both born to the positions that required we marry well. I’m pleasantly surprised by who ye be without yer father’s lands.”
The hand in her hair pulled her back up his body, until they were face-to-face once again. Clasping her tightly against his chest, he rolled over, her thighs spreading for his hips. She whimpered when her skirts got in the way. She loathed the barrier, reaching down to yank the fabric out of the way herself.
“In fact, I dinnae care a wit if ye’re poor as a beggar. I’m going to tumble ye good and hard.”
He raised his kilt and the head of his cock pressed against the wet opening to her body.
“Ye’ll be tender.” He thrust forward, controlling his speed. His body shuddered with the effort. “Easy…”
He didn’t sound as if he wanted to enter her softly. His voice had deepened and roughened. But pain rose from her sheath as it was stretched by his flesh again. It didn’t last as long as last night, fading into a dull ache almost instantly. Her clitoris begged for friction.
“Take me, lover.”
Her words were as bold as her needs. She heard his swift intake of breath before he pulled free. With a hard thrust he impaled her again, pushing his length deep into her body. Sweet enjoyment speared up into her belly, her back arching to make sure he was lodged completely.
“Aye, lass, that’s exactly what I plan to do with ye.”
His body jerked, setting up a fast rhythm of hard thrusts. Each one drove his cock deep before he pulled free for only a mere second. The skin of their thighs slapped together from the speed and force of his action. Her hips rose up off the hay to meet each downward motion. Each stroke drove more delight into her belly until she couldn’t endure any more. Tension knotted around her sheath and the hard flesh stretching it. She reached for her lover as a cry left her lips. Savage enjoyment flooded her, ripping her away from any thoughts or concerns. There was only the pleasure and the hard body of her lover. He growled in her ear a moment before she felt a spurt of hot fluid hit her deep inside her passage. His cock jerked as it pumped his seed against the mouth of her womb. Her passage tightened around his length, milking every drop from it.
She was suddenly aware of their breathing. It sounded loud against the silence of the night. Perspiration dotted her skin and the night air was cool as it blew across her exposed legs. But her lover was warm. His body weight was caught on his elbows, his chest working like a bellows. Raising a hand, she placed it against his chest. Her fingertips caught the hard thumping of his heart.
A soft kiss touched her forehead.
“Did I hurt ye?” He kissed her cheek and then her lips before raising up to look at her face. “Did I?”
“Only when you looked at me with suspicion.”
That fragile bond of trust was growing into a web. Surrounded by the night, she felt at ease confessing her feelings. He sighed.
“I was so busy fighting off the urge to tumble ye, I didn’t give a damn about supper. I was trying nae to toss ye over my shoulder like a raiding barbarian.”
“Your brother—”
“Was teasing me. So I shot him back a harsh answer.”
Her lower lip trembled. She wanted to believe him. Her heart needed to believe that he trusted her. All of the tender emotions that had begun to grow deep inside her demanded that she embrace his words.
“Since ye nae have any siblings, ye dinnae ken how they can needle at each other. ’Tis a way of showing affection. I swear it.”
He sat back on his haunches, gently closing her legs for her. A firm hand drew her skirts down to cover her legs, too. A shaft of pain went through her heart as she considered how true his words were. She often teased Bonnie, and her brothers were hellions when it came to taunting one another. Only their mother managed to quiet them.
He drew a stiff breath when she remained silent.
“I suppose I’ll have to be patient with expecting ye to trust what I say.”
She could hear how much he didn’t like waiting for that to happen.
“Come on now, lass. I’d better get ye into a warm bed before ye catch a chill.”
He pulled her to her feet, the hay falling off them both. A soft giggle escaped her lips, surprising her. She hadn’t made such a carefree sound in years. Brodick picked a few larger pieces from her hair, brushing his hands down her skirt to dislodge what he could.
He clasped her hand in his, silencing her once more. She looked at their joined hands, oddly touched by the simple gesture.
“Helen will tear a strip off my back if ye take ill from lying down in the stable.”
“Do you actually think women are so frail, or is it merely because I’m English?”
He turned to look at her. “Aye, I see ye’re fine and strong. Maybe I’m a wee bit overprotective. I know many a lass who would have quarreled with sleeping on the trail.”
He sounded pleased with her. Her heart latched onto that information, clutching it tightly.
“But we’ve a fine bed waiting for us tonight. As much as I enjoyed the hay, I believe we’ll leave the stable to the horses and the maids.”
She laughed at his suggestive comment. “You’re a poor example, talking that way.”
“What example? Did I nae get married? Have I nae followed ye out of the hall twice to do my husbandly duty?”
“Brodick.” She cast a look toward the wall. “Your men are listening.”
He leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. “I hope they heard ye yelling with pleasure.”
“Oh…” She slapped a hand in the center of his broad chest. The brute chuckled at her temper, tugging her along behind him.
“Come, Wife. Let us to bed.”
He raised his voice so that it bounced off the walls. Her face flamed scarlet with his amusement ringing in her ears. Yet there was also pride filling her. She could not deny that it pleased her to know that he wanted everyone to know that he enjoyed having her in his bed.
Many noble brides were not so desired.
If that meant she was guilty of the sin of vanity, so be it.
He took her across the courtyard, several of the men on the walls peering down at them. Brodick held her hand fast, even when she wiggled her fingers. Night surrounded them. Even in the tower there was meager light. Few candles were lit al
ong the walls inside. It was quiet, too, no one in sight. Brodick led her up the stairs, his boots making no sound on the stone steps. For so large a man, he moved well. It spoke volumes about him. His father had clearly seen to his training. No man learned the art of carrying his weight without tutoring. Boys began their tutelage at five, the same time daughters began to follow their mothers to work. Lady Mary had been instructed in dance, movement and royal service for years before being placed at court.
Brodick pulled her into the chamber they’d shared the night before. Changes had taken place during the day. Three ornate tapestries covered the walls near the fire. There was also a matching set of candlestick holders on a newly arrived vanity table. Made of silver and carved with artful designs, they held lit candles that filled the chamber with yellow light.
On the table was a mirror. Anne gaped at the costly item. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d snuck a peek in Philipa’s. Such an item was worth more than the mare she’d ridden to Sterling. The candle flame flickered off the polished surface of the mirror in a pagan dance that mesmerized. This was a highly prized possession even for an earl’s house. She reached out, stroking only the silver frame that held the polished glass. Her reflection joined the flame. Anne stared in wonder at her face. Her lips were slightly swollen, far sultrier than she’d ever considered herself. She knew her hair was brown but in the mirror it shimmered with copper highlights, tiny wisps of it loosened from her braid by Brodick’s hands framing her face. Her skin was creamy and smooth like fresh cream in the spring when the cows were eating lots of greenery.
“You’ve met with Helen’s approval for certain.” Brodick appeared behind her. “As well as my own.”
He wrapped his arms around her. The embrace was warm and secure, such as she couldn’t recall sampling from anyone save her mother. A steady reminder of how strong he was. She felt the thumping of his heart against her back. His lips twitched at the corners as he watched her in the mirror. He moved a hand up from her waist and over the swell of her breasts. Even buffeted by her doublet and stays, she shivered, her skin humming with approval. His fingers rubbed a small circle on the soft portion of her upper breasts.