Texan's Irish Bride

by Clemmons, Caroline

  Waves of pain and dizziness assaulted him. Though he hadn’t meant to have her, now the promise of her sweet reward drove him. He raised himself on the edge of the bed and swung his feet to the floor.

  Cenora gasped at his nakedness and turned her face away. He saw her covertly assess him as he tried to stand in the passageway beside the bed.

  “Help me slide the mattress to the floor.” Balancing against the frame of the berth with his weak arm, he tugged the mattress until it slid to his feet. He edged away until the bedding lay flat.

  Immediately she straightened the sheet over their nest and plumped the pillows on the floor at the end to give him more room. He tried to sink slowly but fell more than kneeled, then lay down. Ah, how soothing to lie with his legs straight, even if they stuck several inches beyond the mattress. His wife sat beside him and arranged the blanket over his feet while keeping herself covered as well, no small task.

  He patted the pallet. “Lie here beside me, on your side so we face each other.”

  She snuggled into him by force of the narrow floor space on which they lay.

  No doubt he should move slowly, much as he would with a new mare. That’s right, he knew little of women, but he knew how to train horses. As gently as he would stroke the neck or flank of a frightened filly, he caressed her satin skin. Her muscles relaxed against his hand.

  “Now, I believe I was interrupted about here, wasn’t I?” He lowered his mouth to her breast.

  Chapter Four

  Cenora moaned, surprised by his tender actions. He really meant to give her pleasure. In spite of the wonderful sensations shooting through her, she remembered the sight of her husband unclothed and fear was upon her. His man part, his willie, was so large it would never go inside her small woman’s place. Mayhap that’s why there was blood the first time. No doubt, she’d split open and take a long time to heal. She shivered at the thought of the pain to come.

  Why hadn’t Ma been more exact in her descriptions of what went on between man and woman? She’d only told Cenora to wear her best night rail and be prepared to raise it and do as her husband requested. Ma had promised it would be a bit rough the first time, but after that a pleasant enough thing. Oh, but the part about a rough first time had Cenora scared half to death.

  She knew how men were built, of course. Hadn’t she helped Mrs. Murphy care for a string of Murphy boys? What a difference between a babe and this man, though. Nigh long as her arm, his willie poked against her side.

  She shivered again, but then her man did something with his tongue on her nipple, and she forgot to be afraid. Warmth pooled in her belly, and she writhed about like one of the snakes good St. Paddy drove out of Ireland. Saints forgive her, she couldn’t help herself. Her husband’s pleasuring created yearnings she never dreamed existed.

  She pulled him to her, crushing his head to her breast, but he skimmed his mouth lower across her. His tongue dipped into her belly button, and she fought to keep from throwing her legs around the man. No doubt he already thought her and her family wild, heathen people. What would he think of her if she gave in to her pagan impulses?

  He moved back to her mouth, then trailed kisses along her shoulders. Though she vowed she’d let him tell her what to do in this coming together, her hand brushed his manhood, and she saw him close his eyes and gasp.

  “Does that please you?” she asked and, though afraid he would think her too bold, moved her finger across the top of the shaft.

  He closed his eyes again. “More than I can tell you.”

  “Your willie is lovely and soft on top, not at all as it looked.” Though the length was hard and long, the velvet tip surprised her.

  “My what?” He opened his eyes..

  “Your willie. This,” she said and touched his man part again. She smoothed her finger around the top in a small circle.

  He seemed to hold his breath, then he grasped her hand. “Lord have mercy, woman. You’d best stop before I get ahead of you. Let me pleasure you more.”

  He suckled her breast, and his hand slid to her privates. Gently he pushed her legs apart and slid his finger inside her. When his thumb brushed against the nub of her womanhood, jolts of delectable joy radiated through her. She heard herself pant and moan, knew she thrashed her head to and fro, but lost the power to control herself. In and out he delved, and her hips kept time with him. Each movement increased her delight.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph, how could anything feel better than this?

  Oh, no, now she’d taken the Lord’s name in vain, and under what libertine conditions? Sure and she’d have to do a penance, but she no longer cared. When she thought she would explode, he slid on top of her, and the tip of his shaft nudged against her.

  “Slide your legs around me,” he commanded, sounding as breathless as she felt.

  Now wasn’t that what she wanted to do anyway? She wound her legs around his waist, and he put a pillow at her back. He slipped into her, and the force of it crushed her against the pillow. Oh, it would never work, no matter what he said. He was too large.

  She marveled when she stretched around him, felt him fill her. Surprised he could get that big thing inside her, she had a few moments to enjoy the feel of him. Then he pushed deeper into her, and she would have screamed for him to stop when pain tore at her, but his mouth covered hers.

  Before she could break his kiss and demand he stop or she’d split in two, the pain lessened and a new sensation took over. Wave after wave of pleasure shot through her, and she met his thrusts with her own. No longer could she see or think, only float on the bursts of ecstasy building inside her.

  When she thought she might expire from delight, fireworks burst in her head, and she almost shattered from pure pleasure. A final spiral of joy exploded in her, and she drifted back to earth as Dallas collapsed beside her. He cradled her, gasping and spent.

  “Dang, you’re a fast learner.” He kissed her hair softly.

  She wondered if he had this experience with other women. Certain he must have, she wished she knew how she compared. “Was I all right then?”

  “More than all right.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You have beguiled me beyond all measure.”

  When their breathing had evened, he slid his hands along her and tugged the blanket over them.

  “Make sure you clean yourself on the danged sheet for that stupid inspection,” he said and squirmed his willie against the bedding.

  She raised herself to peek at her thighs now stained with her maidenhead blood and his seed. After doing as he said, she snuggled beside him, mindless of the wet spot on the sheet, and pulled the blanket over them.

  He kissed her softly on the temple, then tucked her under his chin. “This is not something either of us chose, but we’ll try and make the best of it.”

  He pulled her closer, and soon she heard his breathing change and knew he slept. She thought about what had just happened, wondering when it would next occur. Would his seed take root inside her? Her hand slid to her belly. Would he be with her long enough to know?

  ****

  Dallas woke with a numbed arm, and his wife curled into him. Light filtered in through the narrow slits of windows, and campfire smoke drifted in on the breeze. Too early in the day for cabbage, the odor of porridge drifted across him. Outside, birds chirped to welcome the new day.

  He couldn’t have hurt more if he’d been dragged miles through the brush on a rope. The realization struck him that he’d slept through the night untroubled by the endless nightmare that assaulted him these last two years. Whether from the release of his body’s need for a woman, the fatigue of his long wedding day with him so weak, or the comfort Cenora’s body offered snuggled into him, he couldn’t say. But he welcomed the respite.

  He slid his arm from her, and she nuzzled against him. In spite of himself, he smiled. Dang, though he hadn’t asked for this marriage, it had definite advantages.

  And she’d been the virgin she claimed. No doubt about that in spite of
the enthusiasm she showed in their coming together. Passion from one new to coupling left him grateful.

  Cenora came awake slowly, then smiled up at him. “Top o’ the mornin’ to ye.”

  “Good morning, wife.”

  Suddenly modest, she clutched the sheet up under her chin. “When someone greets you with ‘Top o’ the morning,’ you must say, ‘And the rest o’ the day to yourself’ to return the greeting.”

  “All right, the rest of the day to yourself.” He kissed her soundly on the lips.

  She giggled and reached for her nightdress. When she’d slid it over her head, she rose and poured water into a pan. Still wearing the gown, she washed herself thoroughly—or as completely as possible with only a pan of water for bathing.

  “If I were able, I’d do that for you.” He watched her.

  She blushed red as her hair. “In the light o’ day? You’d do no such of a thing. ‘Tis bad enough you watching me as you are.”

  “When you’ve finished, come here and wash me as well.”

  She pretended to be shocked, but he saw her smile. “I’ll never. You’re full growed and can do for yourself.”

  He made a stab at cleaning his privates with the wet cloth she tossed him while she brushed her hair and plaited it into one long braid she wound into a figure eight at the base of her neck.

  He found his clothes where her brothers had tossed them last night. Though the movement taxed him, he pulled on his drawers and stuck his legs into his pants.

  She tied a green ribbon around her hair, then stared. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you’re oozing blood from your wounds. Leave off your shirt ‘til I change the bandage.”

  She drew on her petticoats then slipped her arms from the nightclothes and pulled her chemise in under the thing. When she’d wriggled on her shift, she threw off the gown and reached for her dress. Not the one she’d worn for their wedding, but the more serviceable one of green with black braid trim he’d seen her carry from the wagon yesterday. Her slippers and stockings in hand, she sat with her back to him and put them on.

  He’d like to remove them, but unsure he could move enough to pleasure her again or how sore she’d be, he restrained himself. Every inch of his body ached, especially his injured shoulder. The throbbing in his head had returned with a vengeance, and he wondered if he could stand. Bracing his arm on the edge of the berth, he eased himself up from the floor until he sat on the bunk, but he dared not try more.

  Looking down, he saw the stains on the bed sheet. He raised his face and met Cenora’s gaze. Her luminous green eyes held question as she bit at her bottom lip. He supposed she thought back to their joining last night and wondered if he harbored regrets.

  Hell, no. That experience almost made up for being shot. And for being treated like a prisoner as much as nursed by this bunch. If he had to be married, danged if she didn’t make a good choice, at least so far. He grinned.

  She sighed, as if she’d been holding her breath, then sent him a tremulous smile. Blushing, she busied herself with emptying the pan of water. After she refilled it with fresh water, she gathered bandages and salve.

  He’d never claimed to know much about women, and this one had him as bumfuzzled as a newborn. Much as he’d like to think he’d known what thoughts ran through her mind just now, he hadn’t a clue. She was nothing like his kin or any other woman he knew, and he had no idea what went on in Cenora’s mind.

  A rap on the door preceded a call. “We’ve brought you fresh linens and something to break your fast.”

  “Then enter,” his bride said and opened the door.

  “Top o’ the morning’ to you,” Mrs. O’Neill called.

  “And the rest o’ the day to yourself,” Dallas and Cenora said at the same time. A smile of pleasant surprise and unity passed between them.

  Mrs. O’Neill’s eyes widened when she saw the bedding on the floor. Her companions stared at the soiled sheet and each muttered under her breath.

  “He’s too long for the bunk, Ma,” Cenora explained.

  Mrs. McDonald stared at the bed sheet. “Akh, yon bed sheet.”

  Aoife O’Neill nodded and snatched up the stained linen. She spread another in its place, mindful of Dallas’s bare feet in her way. Mrs. Murphy set a tray of food on the narrow counter that served as a dining table in bad weather. Dallas had learned most of the time everyone dined outdoors. Mrs. McDonald set a pot of coffee beside the food.

  Dallas hated the lack of privacy among this communal bunch. It irked him to have his bedding inspected, to have these women intrude on what should have been time alone for newlyweds. He tugged at his ear and glared at them but said nothing.

  Had he tried to stand when women entered as he had been taught, he figured he would have fallen flat. In these close quarters, he’d have been certain to further injure himself and damage anyone in his path. And he knew it wasn’t proper to sit with bare chest in their presence, but he couldn’t reach his shirt. Aunt Kathryn would have his hide if she knew. Kathryn, and before her his mother, had taught him to show respect to all women.

  Dang, the aunt who’d raised him as if he were her own son was bound to be upset about this. Self-conscious about every part of the situation, he crossed his arms and tucked a hand in each armpit while he waited for the three women to end this ordeal and depart. Clucking like a bunch of hens, they soon did just that.

  Cenora thrust a chamber pot at him and picked up the water pail. “I’ll step out and get us fresh water, then I’ll change your bandage before we eat.”

  Later in the morning, Finn and Mac returned to drive the wagon to rejoin the clan. Dallas, his wounds dressed, lay on the mattress on the floor and Cenora sat cross-legged on the bunk space at his side above him.

  “If we were not pressed for time, we would have been given three days alone after the wedding.”

  “What’s the rush?” he asked.

  “Because o’ the men you shot, ‘tis thought to put more miles behind us before we stop at a town again. In case those two blackhearts had kin looking to seek revenge.”

  “But it wasn’t your fault. Why should your people be afraid?” As soon as he spoke it, he thought how foolish his question sounded. How many times had he been judged at fault for no other reason than being half Cherokee? Any Comanche or Kiowa raid had people pointing their fingers at him, often accompanied by threats.

  “We’re thought thieves by some.”

  He remembered the chickens served as a wedding feast. “And are there thieves among you?”

  A flush crept across her face, and she averted her gaze. “There might be a few who are, um, not so careful about the law as others.” Her head tilted up, and she met his eyes. “My parents are good people. They would never steal, nor would I.”

  He noticed she hadn’t included her brothers, and he thought it deliberate rather than an oversight. “How is it your family came to be with this group?”

  She slid down to sit beside him, and she chewed her lip, a sign he recognized as something she did when she worried. “When I was a wee girl, we lived on a little plot o’ land in County Killarney.” She hesitated, as if she feared he’d think this a bad thing. Perhaps she thought he wouldn’t care enough to hear more.

  He smiled his encouragement. “That’s in Ireland?”

  “Yes, it was the loveliest place in all the world, the greenest grass and the bluest sky. Though our cottage was tiny and we hadn’t much, we were happy. Through no fault o’ our own, the crops failed two years in a row. We had next to nothing to eat, and Da couldn’t pay the rent.”

  Her expression grew solemn. “Oh, Da, he can charm the birds from the trees with his words, but the hateful landholder was havin’ none o’ it that last year. In truth, we think it pleased the landlord because he had other plans for our little plot, and we know he wanted to be rid of us for other reasons as well.”

  “So you were turned off your land?” Dallas knew what that meant. His great grandfather, a learned man who had had a thriving
business, hid his family in a Georgia mountain’s forest to evade transport to an Oklahoma reservation. That forest was where his grandfather lived now, where Dallas had lived until his folks were killed fourteen years ago.

  She nodded, and he remembered he’d asked about their land.

  “Only the clothes on our backs and a few possessions could we carry with us. It was fearful we were, for it was coming on winter, and we had nowhere to go but the road. We wandered for days carrying our few things and getting hungrier.”

  He nodded. Reminded him of tales of the Trail Of Tears where people carried their possessions through the snow. Or died trying.

  “That’s when we met up with this band o’ Travelers. Da talked his best until they took us in. At first, we all lived in tents or just camped in the open. Soon they went to living in wagons, and we had our own with the rest. Later Da used money we earned from our singing and playing to buy the second wagon at a bargain from a family setting off for Australia.”

  “But if that was in Ireland, how did y’all come to be in Texas?”

  She smiled at him with a hint of pride. “I said me Da could charm with his words, did I not? Weel, we were making a fair bit o’ money but still having no luck atall. Forced to move on, we were, no matter where we stopped. It was tired beyond measure we were o’ threats and people chasing us with no end in sight.”

  With a brilliant smile on her rose petal lips, she paused. “Da likes his cup o’ ale. Two years ago he was in a pub with Mr. O’Leary. He was the father o’ the man you’ve met and the good man who led the Travelers before that awful Tom Williams. Poor Mr. O’Leary died last year, God rest his soul."

  She made the sign of the cross. “And poor us, for that’s when Williams forced himself in as leader. Anyway, Da and Mr. O’Leary met a man from America and set in out talking one another.”

  Her jewel eyes sparkled, and she leaned forward. She spread her hands like a master storyteller. “Oh, it was tremendous wealthy this man was, an in-dus-tree-a-list interested in studying what he called ‘the common man.’ Da and him kept jawin’, and before you could dance a jig”—she snapped her fingers—“that man agreed to pay for us all on a big ship to America.”