“Oh, goodness, I—”
“Come, my lady, it’s been so ordered,” James taunted, cutting Aileana off and grinning so big, he revived the boyish divot in his cheek.
The song was spritely, and James dragged her into the center of the hall where the rushes had been swept away as their people gathered around, laughing, clapping; she fell into step, twirling, such a joyous release. How long had it been since she’d been so carefree? James spun her. The gathering stomped and clapped the rhythm. Her hair, secured in netting, loosened with each jump and twirl until a pin fell loose.
“My hair!” she fussed, grappling for it, but James pulled her hands away and dragged out the remaining pins, discarding them carelessly over his shoulder.
Her auburn curls tumbled loose.
“I could get lost in yer tresses, Allie,” James declared, fondness causing his blue eyes to warm.
“Bonny lass!” she heard an old man shout. “If the lady wasnae already taken, I’d dub her the winter maiden!”
Aileana tipped her head back and closed her eyes, twirling around, giving herself over to the mead and basking in the warm gaze of her enemy husband, basking in the happy crowd, content to know her people were warm and well fed and likely feasting, thanks to James’s change of heart. For the first time since arriving here, these people’s innuendos about her and James didn’t upset her. They emboldened her.
The song concluding, James caught her in his arms so they could catch their breath as the troupe launched into another reel and the people around them flooded in to dance. Brighde had once mentioned James was light of foot, and such wasn’t a lie. James hoisted her up in his arms.
“Jamie!” she gasped, gripping him around his corded neck, but he only chuckled and carried her through the crowd amid whoops and whistles, until they reached the main door. A guard dragged it open, and he stepped through into the crisp night air, where he finally set her down.
“Ah, such fun.” Aileana sighed. “I havenae danced since before the…”
Since before the MacDonald attack two years before. James’s glittering eyes went dark, and his brooding furrow returned. He looked away, letting go of her and raking his fingers through his hair. “Aileana, I—”
“I forgive ye. As I hope ye’ll forgive me for what my brother has done to ye. Brighde told me about yer cousin MacRuaidhri’s attack. And how my brother involved himself.”
The statement left her lips so swiftly, she scarcely realized she’d uttered it, and a breath later, she was pushing up on her toes to press her lips to his. He held still. Rigid.
“Kiss me, James. I nay want to lose the happiness I’m feeling tonight,” she whispered.
He relented, sinking so heavily into the kiss, he gripped her tightly, growling as his tongue thrust boldly against her. He exhaled hard, inhaled hard, and, sakes, was she floating? Nay, he swiveled her toward the outer wall and braced her there, his body blanketing hers against the chill as the stone against her back pierced her with cold. Yet she only felt heat. And hands. And his mouth crushed to hers. And his thighs straddling hers, and his… God above, the stiff column of his arousal pressed mercilessly against her hip, infusing her with wanton heat. Or perhaps it was the mead warming her, for she’d consumed a fair amount of that…
She clung to his neck, kissing him fervently back, anxious to feel more, to be more to him. Her fingers splayed into his hair, over the healing scab above his ear, gripping his nape and braids, while her other hand smoothed over his shoulder and around his back to clench his tunic.
“Ah, lass, ye make me mad for ye. Ye make me mad for the things I cannae have from ye, what I want from ye.”
His declaration, a low rumble as their lips clashed, caused her to arch instinctively against him and tighten her arms. He sucked in hard at the reaction, ground himself more tightly against her waist and hip. His fingers kneaded her hair and back, wrapping into her tresses and gripping her there. With a tug on her hair, he tipped her head, improving his angle and control, and yet she sensed if she balked even slightly, he’d step back.
“Jamie,” she whined, unclear what else to say.
“Christ, but if I carry ye above stairs, I dare say we’ll have a flock of revelers taunting us through the keyhole,” he murmured before partaking in another helping of her lips.
“But where can we go?” she whispered.
He dusted kisses along her cheek, her crown, then as his lips reconnected with hers, he paused.
“I’ve a thought.”
Scooping her back up, he strode across the bailey, beneath the silent but vigilant eyes of his night watch upon the walls. Snowflakes, kicked up in a breeze, sprinkled upon them, and beneath the bright moonlight, the tops of the hay carts and thatched roofs of the outbuildings looked frosted in iridescent white.
“Naybody will want to venture out in the cold when they can dance and feast,” he said.
“Yet we’re in the cold,” she teased, unable to suppress her shiver.
He winked at her. “Nay for long.”
They came to a small byre along the far wall, and the sheep within rifled around at their arrival through the gate. James set her down, latching the pen behind them.
“A sheep byre? Are we to sit in the muck with them?” Aileana quirked her brow with amusement, but James only grinned. “Why do I feel like a lass sneaking off for my first kiss again?”
He paused. His grin fell, and his eyes widened upon her with genuine surprise. “Ye mean my kiss was nay yer first?”
“Was my kiss yers?” she returned, lifting her eyebrows and giggling.
He cleared his throat, then cleared it again while looking askance, and did it appear that his pride had been stabbed? Or mayhap that in the light he might be red in the cheeks? “Nay. But it has indeed been my favorite and all I can think about,” he muttered. “Does yer brother ken about it?”
Aileana laughed. “All of Urquhart knew, for it happened when I was a mere lass of twelve and before I’d even begun my courses.”
The strained look on his brow seemed to ease. “Before yer courses? Then ye’re…”
She rested her hand upon his arm, teasing softer. “My first kiss with ye was my second. And I would like it very much, man, if ye’d kiss me once more so I might decide which one is my favorite. Even if we must hide in a byre so our parents willnae discover us—oh!”
He scooped her back up, grinning. “Cheeky wench,” he teased, nipping her lips, and carrying her to the back of the byre where a stall sat unused, piled with fresh straw.
The body heat of the sheep did much to insulate them from the chill, but still, James lay her down upon the straw and proceeded to unwind his mantle from his shoulder and waist to drape around them.
“Suppose I banish from yer mind yer first kiss for good,” he teased, stretching out beside her and leaning over her to entrap her beneath his torso. Her skin buzzed at such unchecked intimacy.
She nodded breathily. “Of course ye’ll have to throw yer effort into it, man—”
His lips landed upon hers with a growl, and she couldn’t help but grin as he cupped her face and pushed his body against hers. Whether it was the drink that had relaxed her defenses or the underlying desire for him finally brimming to the top, she opened her lips for him to pillage with sheer desire.
“Aye, I’ll steal what kisses I can,” he murmured.
“Typical reaver,” she admonished.
He grinned arrogantly. “Aye, Devil, I believe ye’ve dubbed me. But my wife has always had an unruly tongue,” he added. “I dare say I should silence it with mine.”
But her grin had already fallen as heat surged through her, as her belly warmed in the way it was coming to do when he showed her affection.
She sucked in air, exhaled raggedly, and he pulled back to look into her eyes in the darkness. She studied him, muted by shadow, barely an out
line, but she could tell he was studying her shift in demeanor. She threaded her fingers into his feral hair and pulled him back down to her, and this time, he sank with quiet determination into the kiss. Against her leg, she felt his hardened manhood press against her, easing off gently, pressing again, as his tongue courted hers and his grip upon her softened to an exploratory caress.
The heat upon her skin turned to gooseflesh. The nerves in her belly turned to fire, as his hand slid over her stomach, around her waist, up her side, while his lips plied hers, his skilled seduction serious and wanting. She arched into his roving caress and heard him hiss an inhale.
“Ye like that?” he murmured gruffly by her ear, nipping at her lobe and pecking his way across her cheeks back to her lips.
She nodded, more frantically than she’d intended, though she was losing herself in his touch. He undulated against her more ardently. She gripped him tighter, arching and exhaling and suckling upon his lips as he was with hers, and he groaned long, low.
“Sakes, lass, ever since I met ye, I havenae been able to get ye from my mind,” he said, so gruffly, she knew he was spiraling out of control.
She nodded again, agreeing that she’d felt the same way, for her mouth refused to produce words. He shifted atop her, pinning her beneath him. His kiss deepened, his head tilted, his hand gripped her crown while his other roved more haphazardly down her arm, around her waist, then up her stomach to cup her… Goodness, his hand was upon her breast! Again, she arched into his touch, her body knowing what it wanted, and she had no control over it. Again, he groaned long and low as his fingers began to gently knead her through her bodice ribbed with stays, frustrating him in the most delightful way.
He tore his lips away from hers and kissed down her neck, across her chest, and fought with her garment to pluck her breast from the low-cut neckline. She ought to be scandalized! Instead, she felt herself wriggling to be freed from the restrictive garment, reaching behind her back to pull the lacing her maids had worked hard to tighten.
The bodice slackened. He inhaled gratefully and dragged his nose over her skin to kiss his way to the rises of flesh below her neckline. He eased the fabric down, nudging a pert peak from its hiding place, and pulled back, a reverent softness on his brow.
…
James gazed at the dusky tip of Aileana’s breast, uncertain how to proceed. Her chest rose and fell in fragmented breaths, her bonny lips, plump from his devouring, parted so gently as she gazed up at him; he knew he’d never tire of seeing such trust in her eyes. To see this lass, so defiant against his might, so giving in her love and labor for others, was enough to give him pause. And consider. He dipped his lips to her breast, pecking it, then gently suckled it into his mouth, laving his tongue over the delicious flesh.
She inhaled hard, a whimper on her lips, and gripped his hair as if to anchor herself to him. It anchored him, too, for he was damn near to floating away. Outside, snow swirled, yet within the byre’s primitive privacy, he had Aileana Grant—nay, MacDonald, if only for a couple more days—beneath him, wanting him as he wanted her.
His hand skimmed down her arm, over her waist, over her hip, down her thigh, where he slipped his palm beneath her hemline, slowly, slowly, inching up the fabric. She squirmed. A soft whine seemed to catch in her throat.
“James, I’m…I’m burning,” she whispered.
Sakes above, she was going to drive him wild with words like those. His eager manhood begged him to move fast. He resisted, sliding his palm over her stockinged calf, over her knee to where the ribbon held it in place, over her thigh. Christ, it was smooth, like freshly churned cream. Surely his calluses scratched it. Up he ventured still, until his knuckle grazed across her privy hair, and she jumped, clinging to him so tightly, he was certain she would tug his braids from their roots.
He grinned, dragging a finger over her seam, damp and warm for him. Was she as anxious to join with him as he was with her? For once they started, he might not be able to stop. He would want to do this again and again with her until he had to give her up.
I’ll have to give her up. The day is fast approaching. She’s nay staying; she’s made that clear. Can I really do this?
Damn that voice of conscience, like ice dumped upon a fiery ember. There was no harm in what they did right now as man and wife, but could he deflower her knowing she would return home? Knowing she would forever be stripped of her maidenhood because of him? He’d stolen much from her—he saw that now. They might tease about stolen kisses, but could he steal her virginity, too, perhaps sow a child upon her, then leave her on her brother’s threshold?
Christ. He could never sire a bastard. The urge to plow headlong into this new frontier with Aileana ground to a halt. His cock pulsed with frustration, demanding to rut. But he just…couldn’t. Not when he knew they had no future.
Moments lapsed, when he realized he’d ceased kissing her breast, his palm frozen upon her thigh. Her fingers slackened their grip, and he felt her shift beneath him. He looked up to see her gazing down at him, concern marring her bonny face.
He withdrew his hand, then pulled up. Then sat up. Then raked his hand through his hair and shifted from her to face away, feeling the straw shift and her skirts rustle. When he finally glanced back, she, too, was sitting up, clutching her bodice upward and casting her face downward.
“Did I do something wrong?” she whispered on a thread. “I, I ken no’ how to…how to act…”
“Wrong?” he gripped her hand, dragging it free of her garment, though it was stiff and her posture wary. “Aileana, ye’re like fine wine I want to guzzle—”
“Am I nay to yer liking? Oh God.”
She gripped her stomach, then pushed to standing, dragging his mantle with her to wrap around the laces hanging loose down her back, a telltale sign of what she’d been doing, and smoothed her hair to rid it of stray strands of straw.
Speak, man! For her vulnerability was unbearable, and she was about to leave. He, too, shoved to standing.
“Aileana, if ye think ye’re nay to my liking, then ye havenae been paying attention. I want ye. More than I can describe,” he growled and took her shoulders, turning her back to him. “Ye drive me mad with want of ye.”
“But?” she asked, looking up at him and piercing him with her hurt stare.
He sighed, then slid his hands down her arms to take her fingers in his.
“But I ken ye wish to return to Urquhart. And I’ll no’ steal yer innocence as mine, and sow a bastard upon ye in the process, then give ye back. There’s been enough stealing betwixt our people. And I ken all too well what it’s like to be born out of wedlock, having to fight hard for what yer peers are given for free. Any man ye marry willnae want to raise another man’s progeny—”
He turned away once more, severing his touch, frowning at the sour taste thoughts of Aileana abed with another left in his mouth. Yet he couldn’t leave her alone like this, with her clothing mussed in a sheep’s byre.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve grown to care for ye.” He swallowed hard.
Her hand took his, and he turned to gaze at her, her messy hair framing her face endearingly.
“Actually, James, I’d thought to discuss that matter with ye. I…cannae say living here has been so bad as I thought it would be. Yer sister has welcomed me, and yer people are growing on me. Wee Maudie is indeed a sweeting.”
“She’s a cheeky imp,” James admitted with a weary huff of laughter.
Aileana smiled, too. “I admit, when ye demanded a bride, I imagined myself enslaved, made to fulfill orders and humiliated at every turn. I feared Peigi would never withstand it, but I knew that I could.”
He shook his head, but she continued, causing him to stop.
“Ye’ve made great peace with my people and taken care with me. I’m nay averse to, eh, reconsidering my original plan.”
What was she saying? Tha
t she might stay? Or more importantly, she wanted to? His heart leaped at the thought. He searched her eyes for some sort of clue.
“Be clear with me, lass, so I’m nay led astray. Do ye want to remain with me?” he asked, the words raking over his unusually gruff throat. “Do ye wish to make this marriage permanent?”
She gazed shyly up at him, nodding. “Could it be that I’ve grown to care for my nàmhaid, too?” she whispered.
He grinned and took her upper arms in hand, wanting to hold on tightly, and dropped his lips to hers.
“And does that mean ye want to lie with me?” he murmured, his mouth renewing its dance with hers, his nose nuzzling hers.
Again, she nodded. And this time she ducked her head in embarrassment. “Will it hurt?”
Sakes, but the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. His dipped to her ear, nipping the lobe, felt her sharp intakes of breath as her grip upon him regained strength, felt his frustrated loins surge with renewed desire.
“I’ll have care, Allie. And I promise, I’ll do my best to please ye.”
She lifted her chin in that defiant way that she always did, as if prepared for any challenge.
“Then, Jamie Moidartach MacDonald. I’m willing to lie with ye and give myself to ye as yer wife, if ye promise to always treat me with the goodness ye’ve used so far.”
He nodded, dragging his finger down her cheek to linger on her lip. “Aye, nàmhaid,” he murmured so fondly this time, it was a wonder the word had ever been an insult.
He felt her lips curl up in a smile, and God, but it felt good, and new, and profound to know he’d be a husband honestly, as if they’d only playacted to this point. “And we’ll call upon a priest so that we can make this right with the church. I’ll give ye a proper ceremony, and together, we’ll align our clans, and lands, instead of remaining divided.”
She turned her face into his to capture his lips, and he gave them willingly. Ought he to take her to his chamber? Bed her like a proper husband would bed his new bride instead of rutting in a sheep shed like a lad and lass evading their laird’s scrutiny, as she’d jested? Except she was pulling him in. She was holding him and drawing him close to her.
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