When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (13 page)

He captured her
fingers
with his when she poked him again. One of his large hands wrapped around hers,
and the other delved into her hair to slip through her tresses and cup her
head. He brought her face so close to his that his warm breath fanned her lips when
he spoke. “I’m trying to tell ye that I’ve nae wanted a woman since my wife
died. Though opportunity has been plenty, I’ve nae cared. I figured that part
of me died with her. But it has nae. Ye have awakened me.”

“I have?” Her body tingled with
shock and pleasure. If she personally had awakened that, maybe she could awaken
his heart in time.

He nodded and then brushed the pad
of his thumb across her mouth. The tingling intensified and her breasts grew
heavy, her nipples taut.
This
…
this
had to be desire. She licked
her lips, liking it very much. If simple desire felt this good, desire born of
love must feel like Heaven. She wanted Heaven.

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he
covered her mouth with his.
The kiss was
consuming, demanding, and showed her that he liked it as much as she did. His
lips massaged hers, and then his tongue slipped inside her mouth, swirling,
teasing, taunting. She’d never been kissed before him, but she’d imagined quite
often what a passionate kiss would be like. Yet her imagination had not
captured it. Not really. Kissing Iain was like swimming in the water of the sea.
It was like racing on one of her father’s horses with the wind whipping through
her hair. Like hitting a target in the center on the first try. It was
everything exhilarating she’d ever done combined, but it was so much more.

She could not think, except to
concentrate on the slide of his hand
down her neck
,
over her back, and to her bottom. Suddenly, her gown was being pulled up over
her thighs as his fingers deftly kneaded her skin. His mouth blazed kisses
against
her
shoulder,
across her collarbone, and to
her
lips.

A pulsing need sprang to life
between her thighs and shot a sharp ache up into her abdomen. Before she knew
what had happened, he’d unlaced her gown and the front of it was draping open.
He pulled her chemise down, and his mouth, hot and seeking, found her breast.
His hands cupped her bottom and hoisted her up, closer to his mouth while he
suckled
in long, heady draws. Every sense she possessed sparked to life and screamed
for more.

She could not get close enough to
him, or maybe it was that she could not get him close enough to her. She wanted
to feel all of him against her, bare flesh to bare flesh. She wanted to be
consumed, and as that thought occurred, it ceded to another. She needed relief.

“You’re torturing me,”
she
whispered
hoarsely to the top of his wet head as he flicked
his tongue over her bud, then took it into his mouth. A moan wrenched from
between her clenched teeth, and he chuckled.

“Aye. I’m torturing ye because ye need
to experience the pleasure ye can only find when the pain of the yearning finds
release.”

“I don’t understand,”
she
murmured,
running her hands up the rippling muscles of his bare back to grip his corded
shoulders.

He lifted his head and grinned. Her
breath caught at how happy he looked. She’d made him happy, if only for a
moment.

“Ye’ll understand soon enough,” he
replied.

Before she could even order her
frenzied thoughts to form a clear reply, he had slipped off the last of his
clothing and tugged her gown and chemise off. She shivered when the cold air
hit her damp skin, but he settled her onto her back on the blanket and his body
came close to warm her. His hands traced over her knees, sliding down toward
the
inside of her thighs
to part them.

She tensed as she stared up at the
sky, suddenly afraid once more, but she refused to show it. She didn’t want him
to be disappointed.

“Marion,” he murmured as he applied
light pressure to
her inner thighs
until she allowed them to be opened all the way. “Dunnae be afraid. I vow to ye
I will go slow and be
gentle
.”

She curled her fingers into the
cool grass. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m only afraid you’ll find me lacking.”

Suddenly, he was looming over her
with his hands on
either side
of her upper arms, his body hovering above hers, his face directly over hers.
He looked down at her. His hair had come out of the twine that tied it back,
and it hung down the
sides
of his face. “I will
never compare ye to Catriona. Ye are as different as winter and summer.”

“Which am I?”

“Does it matter? Each time has a
purpose, aye?”

She nodded.

“I want to do things to ye, Marion.
Fierce things. Things I would nae have dared with—” He stopped with a curse.
“Will ye trust me?”

She already did. God help her. He
had her trust completely in this moment. She hoped he didn’t prove her foolish
to have given it so easily. “I trust you.”

“I’ll nae take that lightly. I vow
it.” He leaned forward, brushed his lips to hers, and then feathered kisses
down the center of her chest, over her belly, and to the juncture between her
thighs. When his fingers parted her and his lips found her sensitive spot, she
gasped and drew her thighs together. She would have squeezed his head between
her legs, but he pressed her thighs back apart as his tongue tortured her
sweetly.

She’d never experienced anything so
sinfully wonderful as the slide of his tongue against her tender flesh.
Coherent thought left her, and soon she was moaning, thrashing, and begging him
to end the pleasurable torture. And he ended it in a way that left her feeling
as if she had been filled with vigor and then drained. There was nothing left
in her. Not a speck of ability to move. But she knew instinctually they were
not done.

When he came up to hover over her, he
lifted her bottom off the ground, and in the next second she felt his hard
staff pressing against something inside her. She started to ask him to wait,
but her words were lost in another gasp as he eased into her and broke through
whatever barrier was there. He stilled, filling her completely, and she was
suddenly nervous about his size.

“This hurts,” she murmured, tears
stinging at her eyes.

“I’ll nae move until ye say,”
he
replied
,
his voice gravelly, as if he too were in pain.

Tears trickled out of her eyes, and
she sniffed. He leaned down and kissed the left and then the right sides of her
temples, taking her tears into his mouth. That gesture, that simple display of
wanting to
take away
her pain, restored her
faith and destroyed her fear.

“Will it feel better if I let you
move?”

“Aye. I think so.” The strain of
waiting vibrated in his voice. “I think it will feel verra good, but if it does
nae and ye want me to stop, I will.”

“You vow it?”

“Marion,” he growled. “I’d rather
die than hurt ye.”

Her heart ached with his sweet
words. “You may move.”

He didn’t say a word, but she felt
the tension in his still body spring loose as if he’d barely held it in
control. He began to move then, and within seconds, his words proved true. It
felt very good, indeed. So good that after a few more minutes she was demanding
he move faster and harder as the pressure of before, that pulsing ache,
blossomed to life again and demanded satisfaction.

He went slowly, though, moving in
languid, almost careful strokes, until she growled her dissatisfaction and
clawed at his back. “I’m not glass underneath you, Iain. You will not break me.
Quit holding back.”

“Ye’re sure?”

She could hear the strain in his
voice again.

“I’m sure.”

Holding himself back had been agonizing, but he’d
not wanted to hurt or scare Marion. But when she begged him to take her, he
could not contain himself any longer. He did not unleash his need; his desire
for her
took
him, and he lost control. Each of her moans increased his
craving further until he took her first on her back, then above him while he
guided her motions, and then from behind. His fingers worked frantically
between her thighs as his body hummed with each stroke in and out of her hot
slickness.

He could not get enough of her, and
while he had a deep fear that he would hurt her, he was unable to control
himself as he’d done all those years with Catriona. Marion was warmth and
health and bursting with a desire that seemed to match his own. Her body
welcomed him and wrapped around him, compelling him forward. His blood rushed
through his veins and beat a quick cadence in his ears. He pumped into her,
needing to consume her and needing to be
consumed
.
He forgot himself completely as the sweet, sharp ache of pleasure gripped him
and he claimed her as his, now and forever.

He shuddered as his seed poured
into her, and then he came to rest beside her, panting as he pulled her into
the crook of his arm. As he gazed up at the sky, brilliant with its specks of
starlight, such contentment filled him that he felt at once uneasy at how
simple it would be to forget his past pain and loss. He didn’t want to forget
Catriona. Loving her and knowing her had, in part, made him the man he was
today. Yet, deep in his gut, he feared that he might forget her with the
craving he already felt for Marion.

Marion shifted in his arms, and he
gazed at her and traced the delicate slope of her cheekbone up to her closed
eyes and over her pale hair. She was so different in appearance and personality
from Catriona, but God help him, Marion pleased him mightily, and he
desired
her in a way he’d not known before. It was an insatiable hunger, whereas it had
been a comfortable, careful need with Catriona. An easy slow thing, pleasurable
but not devouring, because she had been too weak for him ever to allow himself
that sort of greedy pleasure.

Marion, however, was not weak. She
had begged him to take what she wanted to give him, what she knew she could.

“Marion.” There was much he could
not say—truthfully, he didn’t even begin to know how to—yet he could tell her
how she’d pleased him. He also wanted to verify that he’d satisfied her and not
hurt her. “Marion,” he whispered again.

Her answer was a snore, deep and
sated.

He smiled in amazement that his
wife could have fallen asleep so easily after napping not long ago, but he
supposed with the long ride, having to fight for her life, and his pleasing her
so—he grinned with pride into her fragrant hair—she would be exhausted.
Personally, he was starving. He gently extracted his arm and set Marion on the
blanket, then retrieved his plaid and laid it over her before rummaging in the
satchel he’d brought earlier for some bread, cheese, and wine. After partaking
in all three but still saving some for Marion, he lay back down on the blanket
beside her and listened to her even breaths.

Things would be good and well
between them. How could they not be with the desire that burned so bright for
each other? With that thought, Iain fell into the first deep sleep he’d
experienced since Catriona had died.

Iain awoke before Marion the next morning and he
disentangled himself from his wife, who had wrapped her arms and legs around
him during the night. He retrieved his plaid and folded the part of the blanket
he’d been lying on over Marion instead. He laid the food he’d saved for her on
top of his satchel and set it by her head before going down to the river to
wash. Once he was clean, he dressed quickly and went to check on Angus, Rory
Mac, and Neil. Angus had already packed his horse, as had Rory Mac, except Rory
Mac was now reclined against a tree.

He grinned at Iain. “Finally ye’re
awake. Late night?” he teased.

Iain ignored Rory Mac’s question
and walked over to Neil. “How do ye feel?” he asked. The man still looked
pitiful.

“I’ve felt better. I’m sorry if I’m
slowing ye down.”

“Dunnae fash yerself,” Iain
rebuked.

Iain sensed someone standing behind
him, so he turned to find Angus staring at him. “Did ye remember what I said te
ye about Marion?” Angus demanded.

Iain could have simply reminded
Angus he had no right to demand anything from Iain, but instead, Iain nodded.
“I remembered.”

Angus peered at him suspiciously.
The older man stepped closer. “Did ye go te sleep with Marion in yer thoughts
or a ghost?”

Rory Mac sat up from his spot in
the grass with a smirk on his face. “By the screams coming from yer direction,
I’d say ye went to sleep with yer new wife in yer thoughts. Ye look tired,
too,” the Scot commented with a chuckle. “I ken I’m tired. I could nae sleep
over the noise.”

“Shut yer mouth,” Iain and Angus
ordered as one. With a look of understanding, they silently agreed that his
joining with Marion was not a topic to be discussed by anyone.

Rory Mac waved a dismissive hand at
Iain. “Hold yer
anger
. I was only teasing.
I’m glad to see ye’re finally moving on. And ye, ye old goat, I suppose I’m
glad an old man like ye has someone to care about.”

Iain’s worries concerning Catriona roared
to life with Rory Mac’s words and stirred his ire. “I will never forget
Catriona. No one could ever take her place.”

Rory Mac’s gaze locked on something
or someone behind Iain.

Iain knew it was Marion even before
he turned to see her standing close behind him. She’d donned her gown, which
was bunched oddly as if she’d had trouble lacing it. She had a pained look on
her face, and he instantly knew she’d heard his words.

“Marion—” He started to apologize
and faltered. How could he say he was sorry for something that was true? He
could not say he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t say she’d misunderstood. “Did ye
see the food and drink I left out for ye?” he asked instead, aware that he was
hurting her, though he didn’t want to be.

“Yes, thank you,” she replied, her
tone sounding withdrawn and slightly cold to him. He could be imagining it,
he
supposed
.
He tried to catch her gaze to meet her eyes, but she looked around the camp,
evidently avoiding him. “I see we’re packed and ready to depart. I hope you
were not waiting on me.”

“Nay,” he replied and stepped
closer to her. She subtly shifted away from him.

Iain glanced at Angus, who shook
his head, and then Rory Mac, who simply shrugged. It seemed the best thing to
do was continue on their journey. Even if he could think of the right words to
comfort her, he’d not say them with Angus and Rory Mac listening. “We’ll depart
now, unless ye need a moment.”

“No.” She shook her head, her voice
tired, even slightly sad.

Once he had settled behind her and
the horses started toward the MacLean’s hold, Iain thought about Marion and why
she continually put herself at risk to defend him when he’d told her not to.
Did she think she had to prove her worth? He suspected it was a possibility,
given that her father likely made her feel insufficient. He wanted to ask her
about her life in England, but he’d rather be able to see her face and
expressions in case she tried to conceal the worst from him. Yet, he wanted to
let her know he was thinking of her and that he would make it clear to his clan
that she was important to him.

“When we get to my home, I’ll have
a bedchamber made for ye next to mine.”

She turned around sharply, almost
toppling herself. He had to grab hold of her arm to keep her on the horse and
turn her back around. “You’re giving me my own bedchamber?”

He could hear the shock in her
voice. He had to hide his sudden grin because he was that pleased that having a
grand bedchamber made her happy, even though she’d sleep in his every night. He
knew it was not the custom, but he personally thought a man not sleeping with
his wife was foolish. “I am. And ye can make it grand. It will be the grandest
room in the castle.”

“Oh, Iain, thank you! I, well—”

He thought he heard her sniff.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you
for being so considerate and thinking of me. Will it be acceptable for me to
alter Catriona’s bedchamber, though? If not, I can leave it or take a different
room—one less grand.”

Talking of Catriona with Marion was
not what he had wished, but he didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, as if she
were taking something that had belonged to Catriona. “It will be fine. Catriona
did nae have her own bedchamber. She shared mine.”

Marion cocked her head to the side.
“You never
offered
her one?” The
confusion was evident in her voice.

“Nay. I preferred she sleep with
me, and she thought it was silly to have a chamber she’d never use.”

Marion hunched her shoulders
forward. “I see,” she responded in a small voice that made him frown. “Have I
upset ye?”

“No,” she immediately responded,
her reply snappish. “I’m simply tired from last night.”

Guilt for letting himself act so
freely and take her with such abandon overcame him. “I’ll nae bed ye tonight,”
he proposed reluctantly.

“Please stop talking,” she said.
Her tone was not an order but more a plea.

Perhaps his wife was shy about bed
talk. Well, he’d not say another word about last night, then. The problem was,
with her pressed between his thighs on the saddle, all he could think about was
last night and how she had felt in his arms. But instead of saying something
else that might embarrass her further, he said nothing.

Several hours later, Marion shivered as she
scrutinized the cloudy gray sky, and when Iain pulled her against his chest and
wrapped an arm around her waist, she didn’t try to move away or protest. Her
desire not to freeze to death overrode her hurt and anger at herself for the
moment.

She bit her lip as her vision
blurred with the threat of tears. She blinked, a few trickled out of her eyes.
She prayed they’d not hit Iain’s hand. She didn’t want him to know she was
upset by his earlier words that his first wife, Catriona, could not be
supplanted. Of course she couldn’t. It wasn’t his feeling that way that was
upsetting, though. It was that there was never going to be a place in his heart
for her. He’d told her it was so, but hope had started to grow with his praises
and the way he watched over her. And then last night…

The things he’d done to her and the
way he’d made her feel… Well, she’d thought it was the beginning of something
special, that a connection had been forged between them. She’d even foolishly
gone to sleep with hopes that she may one day have a piece of his heart. But
she’d never have his heart. His desire was all he was willing to give of
himself.

And it was made worse knowing she
could not even say he just wasn’t a sharing and loving man. Obviously, he had
been—with Catriona.
She
had shared his bed. Soon his whole clan would
know that he didn’t care for Marion enough to allow her to do the same. It was
humiliating and hurtful. She felt too much like the child who had always tried
to do everything to please her father to gain his love but had never been
enough. She simply refused to exhaust herself trying to gain Iain’s love when
it was clear he had no intention of ever giving it.