Right at this moment, though, those benefits counted for naught and were rapidly losing ground to the pure sexual wanting that she caused within him. Still, he clenched his fists and his jaw, trying to endure the sweet torture of her touch on his skin. Closing his eyes made it worse so he tried to keep his gaze on the rim of the tub.
His skin was hot beneath her fingers—she could feel it right through the cloth—as she moved it over the strong muscles of his back. Because of his height and the additional inches added by the depth of the tub, he towered over her and she had to reach high to get even to his shoulders. That movement loosened the cloth around her with every stroke, but she continued to wash him.
Marian kenned that this was not about the bath, this was a prelude—a plain and simple one—to them tupping. And at this moment, she did not mind the thought. When her hands reached his lower back she paused before moving down over his well and tightly muscled buttocks. In considering what to do next, she dropped the cloth into the water. Leaning over to reach it, the drying cloth around her shifted, releasing and baring her breasts even as he shifted, placing his maleness directly in front of her face.
His very large and hard maleness.
Time seemed to slow just then, with her bent over in front of him and him watching her be revealed by the slowly slipping cloth around her. Neither moved and the chamber was filled with silence as even their breathing seemed to stop. When she dared to look up at him, his eyes gazed back with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.
Marian glanced back down and his hardness pulsed and moved before her. It startled her, she had not the thought that it could move on its own, yet it did. Without considering the danger of her next move, she reached out and touched the tip of it with a finger. He gasped at her touch and when she would have drawn her hand away, he did not allow it. Entwining his fingers and hers, he pulled her hand back to him and wrapped it around the length of his hardness, guiding her fingers around until she held him in his hand.
“Will it hurt?”
“You or me, lass?” he answered, his voice ragged with desire.
“Me.” The whispered word floated up to him.
“Nay, lass. I will no’ hurt you,” he promised.
His head swam, his thoughts scattered and his body bucked beneath her touch, but he would not allow himself to pull away from her grasp. He helped her slide her soapy hand along his length, feeling the exquisite torture of it as he watched her do it. He knew that her continued caress there would bring things to a finish much more quickly than he’d like, so he held his hand over hers to stop her movements.
He needed to do this right to show her that she could trust him. He needed to do this right to make up for his rough handling of her their first time. And he needed to do this right because, regardless of what had happened before they said the words, she was truly his wife now.
Duncan stepped from the tub and took her by the shoulders, drawing her rose-tipped breasts to his bare skin. The heat of it seared through him and he allowed their soapy skin to slide over each other’s until she panted from arousal as he did. Then he leaned down and captured her mouth with his, tasting her and touching his tongue to hers while she opened completely to him, giving him the signal he waited on before moving forward. A quiet sigh and a shift in her body said aye.
With an arm around her shoulders, he held her steady while ridding them of the cloth that stood between them. He pushed it down on her hips and then tugged it free, tossing it to the floor next to them. A few steps—him forward and her back—and he moved them to the side of the bed. He eased away from her mouth and saw the passion-glazed expression in her eyes and the way her lips looked well-kissed already. As he began to ease them down onto the bed, she stopped them.
“The mattress, Duncan. We will ruin it,” she whispered.
As quickly as he could, he stepped away and pulled all the bedcovers off the mattress and onto the floor, forming a makeshift pallet there. As he turned back to her, he realized that the door was not secured. Lifting the bar from its place next to the door, he lifted it into one loop and then leaned it against the door, more for a warning than a true deterrence to anyone trying to enter.
He turned to find her watching every movement he made. He felt his erection grow stronger as her eyes moved over his skin and he could not wait to bury himself in the wet tightness that waited for him. As he reached her, she shook her head. He recognized the glimmer in her eyes now and waited for the name.
“Ciara?”
“Tavis is showing her the pigs and will no’ return for at least another hour,” he assured her.
Duncan stood before her and then took her in his embrace. Wrapping his arms around her, he held her close, rubbing his hardness against the slick skin of her belly and enjoying the feel of it. With the soap and water still glistening on their skin, he slid down to his knees savoring every inch of his journey there. With their differences in height, he reached to her shoulders and with a tilt of her head, he could kiss her mouth…and he did. When she began to melt against him, he held her against him.
“It willna hurt,” he whispered as he followed the curve of her chin with his tongue, kissing, licking and nipping his way along.
“Ciara is well-cared for and willna return for a wee bit.” He trailed kisses down her neck and onto her shoulder, stopping there to tease the sensitive spot he’d found with his teeth, too.
“The mattress willna be ruined.” Now he felt her knees weaken, so he held her up as he suckled on her breasts, waiting for that breathy moan from her before moving to the other one.
“The door is barred and we are alone.” Now he slipped his hand between their bodies and touched the damp, red curls that covered the entrance to her heat. He could feel that she wanted to sink to the floor, but he held her up. With one finger then two, he moved into her wetness, teasing and rubbing the folds and finding his way in deeper to the path that led to her woman’s core.
Her hands rested on his shoulders now and instead of pulling away from his touch, she pushed against his hand, forcing his fingers in deeper. Duncan allowed her to sink to the floor, guiding her onto the sheets and never stopping his caressing of her most private places. Once she lay next to him, he pulled her to face him and positioned her leg up on his thigh, opening her to his touch even more.
When she gasped and moaned at every fondling touch, he kenned she was ready. Sliding his length between her legs, he stroked her now with the length of him. Then with his hardness positioned at the opening to her core, he paused.
“Can I have ye now, wife?” He eased himself into her tightness and stopped, a scant inch inside of her. “Can I?”
“Aye, husband,” she whispered in a breathy moan. “Aye.”
If Marian could have breathed, it would have been forced from her as he quickly pulled her under him and filled her with every inch of his thick maleness. That which she’d held in her grasp now thrust deep inside until he could go no farther. And still she could not breathe from the intensity of his motion and the stretching of her body from deep inside.
’Twas at that moment that she realized there was no pain. Fullness, aye. Stretching and some nigh to burning, aye. But the pain did not happen. He lay still within her for a few seconds and then he moved. Just a small bit back and then deeper than before. This was a new feeling and she waited for more.
“Wrap yer legs around me, lass,” he ordered gruffly and she did so, never dreaming that a simple thing like that would make it possible for him to go deeper still.
Now, he withdrew until she could feel only the very end of his hardness within her and then he plunged back in. Gasping at each thrust, Marian shifted her hips and allowed him to move even farther into her until she thought he must be touching her womb. As the sensations moved through her, from inside out and from the intense stretching there, he reached down and slid his finger along her cleft, searching for something there.
Her body screamed as he found what he sought, hi
s touch on some spot inside the folds of skin made her ache and throb and ache more with each touch. He was relentless in his attention there, taking it between his finger and rubbing it until she thrust herself against him. Marian felt the tightness growing within her, from her skin to the deepest part of her, until he tugged and squeezed the bud and forced her toward the edge of a full measure of passion.
Just as he watched her find her pleasure, Duncan thrust forward, pushing his whole length into her tightness. With a hand under her bottom, he pumped inside her, pushing in deep and then back away, then in deeper until he felt her wet channel tighten around his erection like nothing he’d felt before. She clutched at his shoulders as he filled her again and again, her release exploding around him in waves and waves of contractions over his length.
He felt his seed gathering and it took only a few more thrusts before he came, withdrawing from her depths just in time. He allowed his seed to flow under her onto the sheets. Trying to catch his breath, he leaned back on his knees and glanced at her. She lay there, eyes closed, breathing deeply, recovering from the satisfaction he’d given her. Her body shuddered as more waves of pleasure moved through her. But, only her inexperience kept the truth of his actions from her.
No matter that they were joined. No matter that they were man and wife before her clan and his. He would not spend his seed inside of her before he discovered the truth she hid. He could not. Pleasuring her and bringing them both to release was one thing, but taking the chance of conceiving a child with her was another.
Duncan lay down at her side, gathering her close, enjoying the nearness of her during these last quiet moments. Glancing down, he noticed the color of the curls there between her legs and remembered he wanted to ask about it. Much lighter than the hair on her head, a different color even, it was pale, reddish-gold, while that above was a dark, muddy brown. Startled at the difference, he realized she was now watching him.
“’Tis a different color,” he said. “You dye your hair?”
“Aye,” she replied, moving away from him and gaining her feet. She moved around the chamber, gathering her clothes and his and returning to where he now sat in the nest of bedcovers.
“Why? Why do you change your appearance?”
He guessed the answer even as he asked the question. And she had changed her appearance—from hiding her true form within baggy, loose gowns and tunics, to changing the color of her hair. “Tell me why, Marian.”
“I want no attention drawn to me, and especially not because of my appearance.”
She turned then and began pulling on her chemise and gown and tunic. Each one he’d seen her wear was the same dark brown gown with green or brown tunic. Each one would blend into the trees and into her garden, the colors were so dark and dreary. Even her hair would do so.
All part of her plan. And a painful penance to pay from some past transgression that she would not admit to him.
“You were not a whore, Marian. We both know the falsehood of that story. So why would you, the daughter of a nobleman and sister to the laird, allow such a falsehood to be told?”
“Think you I had a choice?” Her words came out filled with anger and pain.
He took her by the shoulders and brought her to face him. “Then tell me your truth. Let me help you,” he urged.
The burst of anger fled and he could tell the moment it did. She shrugged off his hold and gathered her stockings and shoes together and put them on. He waited, hoping she would say more, but the silence in the room and between them grew. He finished dressing and watched as she placed the sheets and blankets back on the bed, keeping out the one he’d soiled and tossing it into the tub. Their eyes met for only a moment, but he read that truth within hers.
Aye, she had noticed. And now she would wash away the evidence that he’d withheld his seed from her body before the servants could gossip about it to anyone who would listen. They would snicker behind their hands as she passed by about her husband needing to see her monthly cloths and seeing proof that she did not carry another bastard within her, before he would take the chance of not knowing if ’twas his or another’s.
Even if not the truth of what was between them or his reasons for not planting his seed within her, it would become the truth on the retelling as stories did. Her entire reputation was based on nothing more than ill-spoken words.
She scrubbed the sheet wordlessly and twisted it out before hanging it over a stool to dry out. One of the servants could hang it out with other laundry later.
A wife, but not truly married. A whore, but still a virgin. A mother who had never given birth. Was there anything that she truly was besides a liar and a fake? If she thought she had a chance for a new life with this man, she’d been mistaken. ’Twas just as well that she not carry a child while her future was so uncertain.
A commotion in the hall outside their chambers grabbed her attention and Duncan walked over and removed the bar from the door. Ciara came running across the hall and Marian could see another carved toy in her hands.
“A pig, Mama! Tavis made a pig just for me! And it looks just like the mama pig in Laird MacCallum’s yards.”
The young soldier blushed at Ciara’s words, but Marian accepted the kindness he offered her daughter with a smile.
“And have you thanked Tavis for his gift?”
Ciara stopped then and curtsied in front of Tavis, which only made him blush more. “My thanks for your gift,” she said. Her tone was so serious that Marian nearly did not recognize the voice as her wee bairn’s. Ciara tugged her closer and whispered, “I am going to marry Tavis, Mama.”
Startled by the words, spoken as an oath rather than the whimsical wish of a young child, Marian could only smile in reply. Duncan stood behind her through the exchange, not saying a word. Once Ciara noticed him, she ran to his side and showed him the newest toy of her collection. Not for a moment did he seem impatient with her daughter’s demonstration of a pig’s gait or sounds. Only when his men gathered near, did he turn to face her.
“I must go,” he began quietly. “I must make arrangements for the rest of our journey.”
She would not meet his gaze. Her body still hummed with the last remnants of pleasure he’d given her, but his final act of rejection left her spirit cold and bruised. Mayhap she should be grateful that he was being practical and not allowing something to happen by accident that she, and he most especially, would regret later?
Somehow, though, it all just hurt. And it hurt more deeply and in a way that none of the slurs or insults ever had. She’d known them for the lies they were, but this was so much about the truth between them that it made her want to return to her quiet cottage in the woods and not have to face his censure again, particularly after such a personal and private experience as they’d shared.
She nodded without looking up and took Ciara by the hand, waiting for them to leave so she could collect her thoughts and regain some measure of control. Knowing the day to be clear and sunny, she decided to take a walk. But was she permitted such a thing here?
“Sir Duncan?” she called out to him. “Am I permitted to walk out to the village?”
He walked back to her so quickly and with such a furious expression on his face that she backed away from him, fearing his anger. “My name is Duncan,” he said in a low voice. “You do not call me ‘sir.’”
His rage even startled Ciara, who clutched Marian’s hand tighter and whose lower lip began to tremble. Marian tucked her behind her skirts, blocking her from his sight or reach. He took a deep breath then and regained his usual calm demeanor.
“You are the laird’s guest here and my wife, Marian, and permitted any walk you wish.” He noticed then that even his men were staring. “Do you wish an escort?” he asked as he stepped back away from her.
The laird’s guest or not, the MacLerie’s man’s wife or not, she was still the Robertson Harlot and would still be taunted wherever her reputation had spread. From the curious stares of those around the larg
e open hall, they had heard. Part of her wanted to simply turn back into her chamber and never leave it. Part of her wanted to scream out the truth that Duncan kenned. But, the calmer, more rational part of her understood the cost of such an admission and would never speak of it.
“Nay, we can find our own way about,” she said, leading Ciara across the hall toward the main doors of the keep.
“Marian,” he said from behind her.
She turned to face him, but he said nothing, he only gazed at her with some indecipherable expression in those dark, piercing eyes of his, and at this moment, she was too tired and sore and hurt to try to make sense of it. She would rather face the reproach of strangers than the scorn of this man, who’d made her feel such glorious sensations with his attentions one minute and then the pain of his rejection the next.
Even worse, he made her begin to question everything she’d done more than five years ago and made her wish for some different outcome than the one she kenned would be hers. Marian clearly understood that Duncan presented a danger to herself and to Ciara, but she thought it was simply that her life was now tangled up in his. Until today, she had not realized the worst of it—she wanted to tell him everything.
Chapter Twelve
Marian, he discovered, did not sulk when she was angry. She did not complain if she believed she was ill-treated. She did not draw attention to herself if she was uncomfortable. Indeed, he did not hear a cross or angry word from her for the rest of that day nor the rest of the journey.
Indeed, he heard not a word at all from her.
Oh, aye, she spoke to her daughter, to his men, to the MacCallum warriors who joined their traveling party, to the laird on taking leave of him, to his son when agreeing to bring his greetings to his sister and on and on. What she did not do was speak to him.
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