The Guardian

by Greyson, Maeve

  Graham brushed a kiss across the top of her bared shoulder, triggering a tingling shiver through her. She ached for him. Oh, so badly. But did not understand what to do to sate this heated anxiousness that made her feel as though she was about to burst into flames. He kissed the top of her other shoulder and nuzzled his way up the back of her neck, pressing against her as he did so. Even through the layers of clothing between them, there was no doubt that Graham wanted her, too. And soon, all would be revealed.

  She hurried behind the screen and removed the dress. Hands at the tied waist of her petticoat, she paused, reliving the sensation of Graham’s ardor so long and hard against her backside. She’d seen sculptures and portraits of men’s parts. But none of them had seemed as large as Graham’s had felt pressed against her. She fanned herself for a moment before removing her petticoat and stays, then bent and smoothed her stockings off her legs. Much better.

  Discovering a washstand with a small basin and a pitcher of water beside the cabinet holding the chamber pot, Mercy splashed water on her face and patted it dry with a linen. Excitement, desire, and worry churned inside her. Her head was swimming. She’d had entirely too much to drink.

  Breathing in slow, deep breaths, she slipped the lightweight night rail over her head and shook it down around her hips and to her ankles. She smoothed her hands over the cloth, mildly alarmed that the darkness of her nipples and the triangle of hair between her thighs was easily discernible through the thin weave. Oh, dear. Well…it wasn’t as though Graham hadn’t seen her before. After all, he’d quite clearly watched her disrobe and walk into the river for her swim. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for the bravado and daring she’d possessed that day. But that day had been safe. Nothing could happen with the possibility of Janie or one of the others discovering them. Tonight was different.

  “Are ye well, love?”

  She could hear Graham moving about the room, no doubt impatient for her to find her courage and join him. “Yes. Quite well.” She stepped out from behind the screen, crossing her arms in front of her body. Her breath caught at the passion she saw in Graham’s eyes. It was now or never.

  She gave a shy nod toward his jacket. “You may remove your jacket now.”

  His smoldering gaze locked with hers. Graham’s large, calloused hands moved slow and steady, peeling back the jacket, slipping it from his wide shoulders, and tossing it to a chair. With slow, teasing pulls, he untied his neckcloth and unwound it. His hands went to the buttons of his waistcoat, fluttering them open in rapid succession, shedding the garment, tossing it over to join his jacket. Then his hands dropped away, and he stood staring at her in his tunic, kilt, and boots. “Come closer,” he whispered.

  Mercy complied, powered more by his mesmerizing hold on her than her own free will. She came to a halt within two strides from him.

  “Closer, lass,” he urged her softly. “I need another sample of your sweet lips.” His gaze raked across her. The look in his eyes professing that Graham wanted a great deal more than just a kiss.

  Stepping close enough that his heat embraced her, Mercy rested her hands on his chest. The rock-hard heat of his muscles through the linen never ceased to thrill her. She slid her hands higher, reveling in the cut contours of his body. This must be how a sculptor felt upon caressing a wondrous creation.

  Graham responded with a groan before taking her mouth with his, smoothing his hands down her back, then cupping her bottom and pulling her harder into him.

  The kiss left her breathless, aching, needing. She gathered the hem of his tunic in both hands and lifted it upward. “I would see you. All of you.” She grazed a kiss against the span of chest, touching the tip of her tongue to his salty, sweet flesh. “Please.”

  “Aye.” Graham pulled away the tunic, unbelted his kilt, and allowed it drop into a puddle around his boots. Heel to toe, he worked off the footwear and kicked them aside. “I hope ye dinna mind.” He grinned. “I unlaced them whilst ye donned your night rail.”

  Mercy pressed trembling fingers to her mouth as she took a step back, taking in the glory that was Graham. A broad chest, perfectly sculpted with a dusting of black hair that accentuated his muscular build. Trim waist and oh… How in Heaven’s name? No sculpture, tapestry, nor any form of art had ever depicted a man such a way. So…formidable. Mercy swallowed hard. How could it possibly not rend her in two?

  Awareness flashed across Graham’s countenance. He stepped forward, taking gentle hold of her shoulders as he bent and peered into her face. “Trust me, lass. There will be some pain, but I swear to ye, I’ll be as easy as I can. And once we’re past your maidenhead, the pain will be no more.” He brushed a soft kiss across her parted lips. “Trust me.”

  She allowed her hands to fall away and closed her eyes as he removed her night dress and it puddled to the floor.

  “Such beauty.” Graham’s whispered words tickled across the bareness of her flesh as he kissed along her shoulder, then moved lower. “Ye may touch me, if ye like, m’love. I ken ye’re curious.”

  He had no idea how curious. But overwhelmed and slightly afraid, too. She pressed a kiss to his shoulder, then lowered her hand and touched him. So hard yet so velvety smooth.

  “May I carry ye to our bed, love?” Graham eased back a pace but trailed his fingers from her jaw, to her throat, then down between her breasts and settled both hands to her waist. “Let me love ye, Mercy.”

  Not trusting herself to speak, Mercy nodded, holding tight to Graham as he scooped her up into his arms. He walked over to the four-poster bed and gently placed her on it. Sliding back into the pillows, Mercy smoothed her hands along the sheets. “I see you turned back the bed as well as unlaced your boots while I undressed. Was I really behind the screen all that long?”

  Graham gave her an intense look and grinned. “Long enough, lass.” He slid into the bed beside her, pushing one arm beneath her shoulders and pulling her close. Kissing her with a need that chased all other thoughts and worries from her mind, Mercy shuddered and held Graham tighter. The more he touched, the more she needed. The more he tasted, the more the breathless, frenzied feeling grew. Skin against skin. Sensations stronger than she ever thought possible. Fire burned within her, overtaking her. His fingers teased and taunted ever higher along her inner thighs, then slipped deep inside her. A sudden stinging caught her unawares.

  Mercy tensed, digging her nails into his shoulders, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

  Holding her close, Graham tenderly cradled her, brushing light kisses across her face as he shushed her. “I’m sorry, lass. ’Twill be better now, though, when I actually join with ye.”

  They lay like that for a little while, Graham doing nothing more than holding her and trailing his fingers up and down her spine as they lay on their sides facing one another. Heart to heart. Two halves needing to become a whole. Mercy nuzzled her face deeper into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of him as his chest pressed against her breasts, his body molded into hers. The need returned. Her fire was ready to be stoked, then quenched. Mercy hugged a leg over Graham’s hips and rolled to her back, pulling him with her.

  “Show me,” she breathed. “Show me what it is to be your wife.”

  “Gladly, love,” Graham groaned as he settled between her legs. Gently. Slowly. He pushed into her, then waited, kissing her as he trembled above her. “Relax love. Relax and let me in. It willna hurt again as it did earlier.”

  She feared him wrong. After all, his manhood was so much larger than his fingers. Mercy forced herself to relax, breathing deeper and giving herself to the promise of ecstasy. The wondrous fullness convinced her Graham was right. This wasn’t pain. This was a powerful, maddening pleasure. She matched her thrusts with his, their rhythm quickening. Whirling pleasure exploded and spun her away. Rapturous sensations thrummed across her body in unrelenting waves of bliss. She cried out in delight.

  Graham roared, plunging hard and deep, then held fast and spasmed within her embrace. He sagged
atop her with a satisfied groan, rolled to his side, then pulled her into the curve of his arm. They both gasped to catch their breath.

  “I love ye, my wife,” Graham said between kisses to her forehead, “More than ye shall ever ken.”

  “And I love you, my husband,” Mercy murmured as she melted into him and hugged a leg tight around him. “With all my heart.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  He awakened to her breath tickling across his chest. With every deep inhale and gentle exhale she made, her breasts brushed against him. She shifted in her sleep, hugging a leg around him and pressing closer. Graham hardened, aching and ready to return to the pleasure of his wife’s sweet warmth. It didn’t matter that they’d loved and learned of each other ’til the rosy glow of the rising sun had filled the room. Morning birdsong had bid them good rest when they’d at last succumbed to an exhausted sleep. He’d never tire of her. Not after an eternity of sunrises and sunsets.

  The room was dim again, filled with the ever-darkening shadows of early evening. Cooler night air wafted in through the windows. A smile overtook him. After a long night of loving, they had slept through the entirety of their first day as husband and wife. A promising start to their marriage.

  Mercy shifted again and hummed out a low, soft moan followed by a light breathy snore. Graham eased his way out from under her, his stomach choosing that opportune moment to growl its displeasure at being empty for so long. He held his breath as Mercy emitted a sleepy sound resembling the mewling of a kitten, then rolled over to her other side, her fine, firm bottom giving a tempting wiggle as she nestled deeper into the covers. As much as he ached to awaken her in a most enjoyable manner, a trip behind the privy screen was sorely needed. A tankard of ale and a bit of bread for his empty stomach would not be amiss either.

  After a visit to the chamber pot and a splash of cool water to his face, Graham padded over to the table filled with food. He selected a few dried plums, a chunk of cheese, and a bannock in one hand, whilst filling a tankard with ale. Lounging down into the corner of the window seat, Graham propped his back against the wall after settling down. He breathed in the night air and peered up at the rising moon, thanking God for blessing him with such bounty. A beautiful wife. A generous brother who had told them to stay as long as they liked. The opportunity to start anew after the decimation of all he’d known and loved when his clan had died away.

  Rustling from the direction of the bed pulled his attention away. The sight of her caused his breathing to hitch, and he nearly choked on the bite of bread he hurried to swallow. Her beauty never ceased to amaze him.

  Mercy stood beside the bed, stretching her arms to the ceiling, oblivious of her breathtaking nudity. Her pale skin took on a pearlescent glow in the half light of the room. The dark river of her hair rippled across her form like a silk curtain. At the end of her stretch, her sleepy-eyed gaze found Graham. She hurried to gather up her nightrail and slip it on.

  Graham found her modesty both endearing and amusing.

  “Food. What a good idea.” She flashed a shy smile at him. A smile that made him consider setting his food aside whilst he bent her over the arm of the chair and reawakened the temptress who had shared his bed last night. “Stay there,” she said in the low, soft voice that stoked his need to an urgency. “I’ll join you.”

  Graham drained his tankard, stretched to hook the pitcher from the nearby table, and poured himself another. He patted a spot on the cushion. “I’ve a place for ye right here, love.”

  After pouring herself some wine and selecting a whisky-soaked slice of sweetmeat, Mercy sauntered toward him with such a slow, seductive swing of her hips, he thought he’d surely die. Ah…but what a fine way to go.

  She bit into the juicy cake, then tortured him even more by licking away the excess juice of the delicacy as it trickled down the side of her hand and dripped off her wrist. Setting her wine glass on the ledge, she set her knee between his legs, then leaned in and held the treat close to his mouth. “Would you like a bite?” she asked with smiling innocence.

  “Only of yourself, m’love.” Graham couldn’t bear it any longer. He’d never get enough of her. He set his hands about her waist, lifted her up over his lap, then thrust her down atop him, returning to the wondrous pleasure that consumed him.

  “Oh my,” Mercy gasped in breathless abandon, her dressing gown bunched up around her hips.

  “Oh my, indeed.” Graham nuzzled his way down her neck, pushed aside the neckline of her gown, and kissed the satin of her collarbone as he cupped her breasts.

  The cake fell out of her hand as Mercy shuddered. “Oh my…yes.”

  Graham lifted her up and lay her back across the window seat. “Aye, love. Yes, indeed.” He settled down between her thighs and buried himself to the hilt, rocking into her with an age-old rhythm.

  Mercy arched beneath him, meeting him thrust for thrust. She raked her nails down his back and cried out, her wet heat clutching around him and pulling him deeper. Heart pounding, Graham hammered forward and roared out his release.

  Arms propped on either side of her to keep from crushing her, Graham collapsed. He pressed a kiss to her damp temple. “Lore a’mighty, love. I’ll never get my fill of ye.”

  Stroking her fingertips up and down his sides, Mercy breathed out a happy sigh. “Nor I you, my love. Nor I you.” Her stomach whined out a delicate growl between them. “Oh dear.”

  Graham chuckled, raised up a bit, and kissed her forehead. “Perhaps, I shouldha waited until ye finished your cake.”

  The prettiest shade of red stained her cheeks. Mercy tucked her face into the curve of his throat. “Perhaps we should eat. Do you wonder if anyone has ever grown weak and died in this manner?”

  “If I had to choose a way to die, this would be it.” Graham wrapped an arm around her, and resituated them to a seated position on the bench with Mercy cradled in his lap.

  A look of sadness flashed across her face. She pressed a hand to his chest and leaned closer. “Promise me you won’t die first. I could never bear to be alone again. Not after being with you.”

  “Shh…’tis all right lass.” Graham laced his fingers through her hair. “Ye mustn’t dwell on what we canna control, ye ken? ’Twould be a damned shame to let one unknown moment in the future steal away the happiness of all your days. Leave tomorrow’s worries to tomorrow, aye?”

  Mercy smiled and covered his hand with hers. “How are you so wise?”

  “I’m a Scot.”

  Mercy laughed, but soon stopped as she shifted on his lap and discovered he was hard again. Her eyes widened. “Again? So soon? Is that normal?”

  “Like I said, lass, I’m a Scot.”

  She took hold of his shoulders and gave him a stern look. “Before we start again, sir, I would like to make it clear, I want a daughter first.”

  Graham clamped hold of her fine, round behind and rubbed her back and forth against his rigid member. “Nay, love. A son first. Then a daughter if ye like. That way she’ll be protected by her brother.”

  “Just two children?” Mercy asked as she stretched out across the bench and reached for him.

  “Oh no, lass,” Graham argued as he dove into her embrace and returned to the pleasure only Mercy could give. “At least six or more.” He pounded harder, nearing the point of no return. His poor man parts had never had so much enjoyment in such a short span of time. “Mayhap a dozen wee bairns, aye?”

  “Yes!” Mercy cried out. “Yes!” she shrieked, arching and bucking beneath him.

  Her release was all it took to finish him. Graham held her fast and plunged faster, emptying into her with a throat-burning roar.

  “A dozen it is,” Mercy rasped out between gasps.

  Wrapping his arms tight around her, Graham pressed a kiss to her damp forehead. “And dinna forget—a son first.”

  “Hmm,” Mercy responded, nuzzling her cheek to his.

  A loud horn shattered their peacefulness.

  Mercy pushed him awa
y, scrambling to get them both up from the bench. “What is that?”

  A chilling, ominous sense of doom filled Graham. “An alert to the clan.”

  “What kind of alert?” The look she gave him struck him in the heart. Mercy was terrified. Damn it all to hell. Their brief, carefree happiness was at an end.

  “It could be nothing,” he said as he yanked his tunic on over his head and hurried to wrap and belt his kilt around his body.

  “But it could be something very dire.” Mercy rose from the bench, hands knotted. “It could be Campbell and his troops, couldn’t it?”

  Graham hated to fill her with even more fear, but he’d never lie to her. Planting false hope was far crueler than the truth. He nodded as he shoved his feet into his boots. “Aye. It could be.” He pondered for a moment. There had been but one blast of the guard tower horn. That did bode well, indeed. If something dire was about, the horn would still be sounding. “But I dinna think it is. The horn sounded the alarm but once.”

  Rushing over to the wardrobe beside the bed, Mercy threw open the doors. “Thank goodness Catriona had my clothes mended and put them in here.” The few garments Mercy had rolled up inside blankets and lashed behind her saddle before they’d sent the wagons away hung in a neat row inside the cabinet. She snatched one of her odd pantalette skirt creations with its adapted petticoat, a strangely short chemise, and the jacket that matched. With her clothing clutched to her chest, she hurried across the room and slipped behind the privy screen to the pitcher and bowl of water.

  Between the sounds of splashing, Graham heard Mercy muttering under her breath but couldn’t make out a word. Finished with his own dressing, Graham strode toward the door, knowing in his heart he was about to start a battle he’d never win. He stared at Mercy’s silhouette showing through the screen, willing her to cooperate with what he was about to say. “I wish ye to remain here until I send for ye, ye ken? I want to make sure ’tis safe before ye come down and join me.”