Her fingertips discovered smooth, hard skin at his lower back. When they trailed upward, they found a scar just below his right shoulder blade. Moirra traced the outline of the scar with her middle finger for a time. ’Twasn’t too wide or garish and she was certain it had been made by a sword. Battle mayhap? Who knew, but she’d like to kill the man who marred his otherwise perfect body.
Her skin felt afire. A deep yearning and ache for more of him was growing too much to bear.
“John,” she whispered into his ear.
’Twas then that everything stopped. The kisses, the caresses, all came to a far too abrupt halt and all at once, she felt abandoned.
“Nay,” he said as he withdrew.
There was something in his eyes and his voice as it cracked. Sadness? Regret? Whatever it was, it left her feeling bereft.
John. Hearing that name felt like cold water against his skin, temporarily dousing his desire for her.
“What is wrong?” Moirra asked, sounding desperate and concerned.
She lay there, her eyes locked with his. Damn, she was beautiful. He wanted her. All of her. Every magnificent inch and ounce of her. As the moon bathed her in soft light, she looked so much an angel it made his chest feel tight.
He swallowed hard before taking a deep breath. “I canna do this without ye knowin’ me name.”
Relief washed over her, he could see it in her eyes. Her palm felt warm against his cheek. “Then tell me yer name.”
Another deep breath was required before he could answer. “Me name is Alysander McCullum.”
The only sound he could hear was his blood rushing in his ears. There was no recognition of his name in her sparkling eyes. Only affection and peace.
“Alysander,” she whispered.
He knew she had no idea who he was, had no knowledge of his past, his reputation for being a rakehell or layabout. Guilt rose. How could he join with her if she did not know the real him? The real and true Alysander McCullum? ’Twould be a faithless duplicity, and one in which he did not wish to participate. In that moment, he realized just how important she had become to him.
“Moirra,” he whispered. “Ye do no’ ken me. Ye do no’ ken who I really am.”
“Wheest,” she said softy. “I do ken ye, Alysander.”
He closed his eyes, relishing in the way her hand caressed his cheek. “Nay, ye do no’ ken me.”
“But I do. Ye be a kind man, Alysander McCullum. Yer good to me daughters, even when they were less than kind to ye. I ken ye be no’ used to farm work, or tending animals, or children, yet ye work hard and do no’ complain. Yer always respectful of me and my daughters. Ye protected Mariote and Orabilis from the sheriff’s men and for that, I shall be eternally grateful. I ken ye, Alysander, I ken ye well.”
“But—” he began to protest, but Moirra placed her fingertips on his lips.
“Wheest, Alysander. Do no’ fash yerself. What is past is past. I do no’ care what ye may or may no’ have done before ye came here. ’Tis of no import to me.”
Her reassurances did little to assuage his guilt. Wrapping his hand around hers, he kissed her fingertips before pulling them away. “Ye might no’ say that if ye knew the whole of it.”
“And ye might no’ want me if ye knew all me secrets,” she whispered.
He almost snorted. “What secrets could ye have?” he asked disbelievingly.
“Alysander, for tonight, can we forget we have secrets? Mayhap, on the morrow, we can share them.”
Her eyes pleaded with him. Would it be so terribly wrong to join with her now? Wasn’t it enough that she knew his true name and that he had a past he was not proud of?
She placed her hand on his neck, gently urging him toward her. “Please?” Her husky voice and plea was all his manhood needed to spring to life once again.
* * *
His lips found hers once again, tender and teasing, he did not think he could ever get enough of her. Rolling her to her back, he cupped a hand around one of her delightfully plump breasts. Moirra moaned into his mouth when his fingertips caressed the soft skin of her breast. “Please, do no’ stop,” she whispered huskily against his lips.
Alysander smiled proudly as he left lazy trails of kisses down the side of her neck to the juncture betwixt her breasts. Inhaling deeply he took in the scent of her. She smelled of lavender soap, smoke and woman. ’Twas intoxicating.
He took his time, exploring each breast with lips and tongue, and much to his delight, Moirra continued her pleas for him not to stop. Never, in all his years, had he ever taken his time with a woman as he was doing now. Nay, in the past, the women he had joined with had been bought and paid for, there only to please him. He’d never given much thought to pleasing them.
But now, with each sigh and moan that escaped her lips, his need to take his time, to please her, to explore every inch of her body, grew.
“Moirra,” he whispered against her neck. “Ye be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
She answered with a sigh.
“Yer skin be as soft as silk,” he told her as he kissed the tender skin betwixt her breasts. “Yer breasts beautiful and I think I could feast on them for days.”
Moirra took in a deep breath and let it out with a moan. “Please, Alysander,” she said as she pulled on his arms. “I canna take much more.”
His heart felt near to bursting when he heard her say his name again. He didn’t think he could ever tire of hearing her say it. She pulled at his arms again and let him know she needed him.
Taking her face in the palms of his hands, he kissed her thoroughly and passionately. No honey or nectar would or could ever taste as sweet as Moirra. Deciding he’d denied her long enough, he rolled over and settled himself over her, never taking his lips from hers.
If her lips were heaven, then being inside her was beyond the realm of human understanding. Never had joining with a woman felt this good, this blissful, sensual. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his back, and urged him forward, deeper. He felt her husky sighs and pleas for more against his neck. Her touch, her breath felt like fire and lightning across his skin.
Alysander made certain that she found her pleasure first.
“Oh, good Lord,” she moaned. “Alysander … Alysander.”
Nay, he’d never tire of hearing her say his name.
’Twas all she could do to keep from screaming his name over and over again. Alysander made her feel like a young, innocent maiden again, the way he took his time with his kisses and exploration of her body. Breathless, weak, excited, and then? Oh, when he joined with her, when he slowly took his time entering her with that first, slow forward movement? It was the oddest of sensations.
None of her previous husbands had ever ensured she was ready for him or that she was enjoying herself. Even when she voiced her opinions on the matter, she was either looked at as though she were insane, or, as her last husband had done, a hard slap against her face, followed by a warning never to insult him again.
But this loving with Alysander was unlike anything she had experienced before. It was so much more than she had hoped it would be. Tender in his ministrations, gentle in his touch, sweet in his words, this loving was both peculiar and exhilarating. Apparently her moans and sighs were not enough a signal that she was in fact deriving great pleasure from him, for he asked more than once if she liked his touch, or the way his mouth felt against her skin. All she could do was nod her head and moan in answer.
Then when he told her he’d no stop until she found her release first, she nearly stopped to ask him if she’d heard him correctly, so stunned she was by his promise. But then she felt the sensations building up and she could do nothing but breathe and match him thrust for thrust. An explosion, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before ensued and she thought it might never end and was not sure she wanted it to.
Moments later, Alysander found his own release as he whispered her name over and over again.
H
ow something so simple could make her feel as though her bones had melted away, yet leaving her heart alive and pounding in her chest, was amazing.
This, this was what her mother had meant when she said loving with the man you’re supposed to be with is unlike anything a woman could ever dream of or imagine. For years, she thought her mother either exaggerated or flat out lied.
Now she knew the truth.
Eleven
Moirra slept wrapped in Alysander’s arms, content and sated, coveting the warmth his body provided. They slept like the dead until the cock crowed at dawn.
Still half asleep, Alysander pulled Moirra in closer and kissed her temple. ’Twas the first time in his entire life that he slept with a woman. Aye, he’d joined with many women over the years, but his rule was to leave as soon as the rutting was over, tossing the lass an extra coin or two if she did not complain about his abrupt departure.
Moirra changed his former way of thinking. If he had his druthers, they’d stay like this for the next several days, only waking long enough for loving again or to eat and replenish their bodies. Nay, holding her close, smelling her scent, enjoying the way her body fit so perfectly against his own was not something he wished to relinquish to the mundane.
When the cock crowed again, Moirra bolted upright, her eyes as big as trenchers. Alysander thought she looked quite beautiful, with bits of straw sticking out of her unbound, tousled hair, and her beautiful body, naked save for the blanket that fell to her hips. His manhood sprung to life the instant he saw her.
Moirra cursed under her breath and began a mad scramble to find her clothing. “Och! The girls canna catch us like this!” she said as she tossed Alysander his tunic.
Alysander smiled. “Why no’? We are married, Moirra.”
She looked at him as though he had sprouted a second head. “Aye, but they do no’ need to ken we’ve spent the night together!”
Her objections made no sense to him. They were married, or, more specifically handfasted. What did it matter if they shared a bed? Where was the bold woman he’d joined with last night?
“Moirra,” he said as he touched her shoulder with his fingers. “What does it matter?”
She shrugged his hand away and slipped her chemise on. “John,” she began.
“Alysander,” he corrected. “Do no’ call me John again. I am Alysander McCallum.”
Moirra found her dress and slipped into it. “Now how do ye propose to explain that to me daughters?”
Her frustration was making him angry. He had made much headway with the girls these past days. Certainly, they could find a way to explain it to them.
Moirra glared at him when he shared his thoughts with her. “They will no’ understand,” she began. Her shoulders slumped and she let out a long sigh. “Alysander, I fear me daughters will get too attached to ye. When ye leave, ’twill injure their feelings and I do no’ want that to happen. They’ve lost much over the years. They’ve already lost three fathers and I do no’ wish to see them lose a fourth.”
* * *
Alysander’s eyes grew wide with astonishment. “Three fathers?” he asked, uncertain he had heard her correctly. When her face flamed red, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken.
“Three fathers?” he repeated, shaking his head incredulously.
“Alysander, let me explain,” her voice was laced with worry.
He stared at her for a time, before taking in a deep breath to steady his nerves. Three bloody fathers? Three bloody husbands? How could she not have shared that bit of information with him? Distrust and anger began to grow deep in his belly. “Aye, I think ye need to explain,” he told her even though he seriously doubted anything she was about to say would make a bit of sense.
Moirra cleared her throat as she laced up the front of her dress. “Mariote, Esa, and Muriale all have the same da. I was barely five and ten when we married. He was a good man, Alysander. He loved this land.” Her voice caught then. She swallowed hard before going on. “He died from illness when Muriale was but a week old.”
There was no hiding the fact that she had loved the father of three of her daughters, for the pain was quite evidenced in her damp eyes.
“I met me second husband a few years later. He was a warrior. A complete opposite of me first husband and I think that was why I was attracted to him. We were married a short time, no more than three months, before he left to go fight some war somewhere. He never met his daughter, Orabilis.”
Guilt began to plague his heart as he listened to her recount the men she had loved and lost. She grew silent, he assumed, recounting fond memories of the two men she had loved and lost. Deafening silence filled the loft for a time before his curiosity over the third made him ask the question. “And yer third?”
She turned pale then and looked as though she wanted to retch. He watched as her nostrils flared and she took deep breaths. “I do no’ like to speak of him.”
It took no great leaps in deduction for Alysander to conclude that the third husband was the cause of all Mariote’s nightmares and her profound need to protect her family. “He be why Mariote is so distrusting of men.” ’Twas more a statement than a question.
Tears fell down Moirra’s cheeks. “Aye.”
Anger and disgust blended together in the pit of his stomach. He ground his teeth together as he counted to ten. “He hurt Mariote.”
Moirra could not look at him.
“Where is he?” Alysander was fully prepared to search the world over, find the whoreson who had hurt Mariote, and kill him.
“Gone,” Moirra said, wiping tears from her cheeks. “We were no’ married. ’Twas a handfastin’ that did not last but a few months.”
As much as he wanted to question her further, to find out what had happened, he could not do that just yet. There was too much hurt in her eyes and he could not bear to cause her more. In time, he hoped, she would feel comfortable sharing more with him. For now, he would offer comfort the only way he knew how. He pulled her into his chest, smoothing down her hair with his palm. “I swear if I ever see this man, I’ll kill him fer what he’s done to Mariote and the rest of ye. I swear, Moirra, I’ll never bring harm to any of ye.”
Moirra sniffed and gave a nod. “I ken ye wouldna do anythin’ intentional, Alysander. But ye are leavin’ after the harvest. I ken me daughters have takin’ a strong likin’ to ye. I fear if they grow too close to ye, they will be pained to see ye leave.”
A question hung on the tip of his tongue, but he daren’t ask it. And how will ye feel, Moirra, when I leave?
Twelve
’Twas another beautiful summer morn. Alysander could not remember ever being as happy as he was now, sitting around the old, worn table inside Moirra’s cottage. For the first time in many years, he actually felt like he belonged.
During the day, he and Moirra went about their chores as if nothing had changed between them. But as soon as the girls were abed and fast asleep, Moirra would make her way into the barn and into Alysander’s arms. A week had passed since they’d first experienced the joy that could be found with one another. The more time he spent loving this woman, the more he wanted. ’Twas all new territory for him, this domesticated life. He was enjoying nearly every moment of it. Though daily life was far from boring, he did find a measure of peacefulness that he hadn’t expected.
They were breaking their fast over eggs and sausage. The three younger girls were discussing the baby rabbits they had discovered behind the cottage the day before. Mariote, however, sat quietly at the table and picked at her food. Alysander thought she looked tired and pale.
“Are ye well, Mariote?” he asked, his brow furrowed with concern.
The lass’ face burned crimson at his inquiry. She cleared her throat, unable to look him in the eye. “I am.”
Alysander did not for a moment believe her. “Ye look tired,” he said. “And a wee pale. Did ye no’ sleep well?” Mayhap the nightmares had returned, but not with the same ferocity.
�
��I said I be fine,” she ground out before shoving away from the table and returning to the loft.
Moirra came to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Alysander gave her a befuddled look. “She’ll be fine in a day or two,” she said.
“’Tis her courses,” Orabilis said with a mouthful of porridge.
“Orabilis!” Moirra exclaims. “Hush!”
Alysander’s face burned when the realization set in.
“What?” Orabilis asked, not quite understanding what the problem was.
“Ye do no’ discuss things such as that with men,” Esa tried to explain.
“Why no’?” the little girl asked.
“Because it isn’t proper,” Muriale whispered. “Now hush!”
Alysander had grown up surrounded mostly by men but he was not completely ignorant when it came to the opposite sex. Unless, of course, it involved their tender feelings. Nay, then he was often left feeling like a complete idiot. He had no idea what he should or shouldn’t say at the moment. Realizing that nearly anything he could say on the matter would probably come out wrong, he decided to change the subject entirely.
“I need to gather firewood this day,” he told no one in particular. “Would anyone like to help me?”
Muriale, Esa, and Orabilis looked happy that he had thought to invite them.
“Should we take our sgian dubhs,” Orabilis asked. “In case George and Harry try to take us?”
Moirra turned away from the fire she was tending and looked at Alysander. A flicker of fear flashed behind her eyes as she slowly stood up.
“I doubt they’ll try anything so foolish again, Moirra,” Alysander offered.
Moirra was not as confident. Though the woods were not that far from their cottage, it was still too far away for her to feel completely comfortable, especially after what had happened to Mariote the last time.
Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection ( Moirra's Heart Series: The Complete Collection (The Moirra's Heart Series Book 3)) Page 9