When a Laird Loves a Lady (Highlander Vows: Entangled Hearts Book 1) (34 page)

After they attempted to do the
dance a few times, Iain pulled her into his arms. “I think we’d nae be boiling
if we took off our clothes.”

His blue eyes caught her green
ones, and the desire smoldering in his depths sent a shiver of awareness
through her of the powerful man that was her husband. He’d not tried to touch
her in a physical way once since she’d lost the babe, and she’d been grateful,
as her body had been sore and her heart raw. Her heart still ached, but
suddenly, with his warm hands pressed against her back and his hard body molded
to her, she longed for him to touch her as he had before. She wanted him to
fill the emptiness inside of her with his love, with his body.

“I’ve a confession,” he said, his
voice husky.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“I only agreed to dance with ye so
I could hold ye close like this. I’ve nay desire to learn to dance, but I’ve a
deep ache to hold ye again.”

“I’ve the same ache,” she admitted.

His eyes widened a fraction. “Ye
do?”

She nodded shyly. “I do, but I’m
afraid.”

His gaze caressed her as his hand
came to her face and did the same. “What are ye afraid of? That it will hurt?”

She shook her head. Fiona had told
her in a matter-of-fact way that because Marion had been so early in the
pregnancy, there was no damage of
that
area, so she could resume her
marital relations with Iain whenever she felt ready. “I’m afraid of becoming
with child again and losing it.”

Iain nodded. “I’m afraid of that,
too.”

Her mouth parted in shock. “You
are?”

“Aye,
a ghràidh
.” He brought
both hands to her face, cupping it, and then brushed a gentle kiss to her lips.
“But when we are as one, everything in my world is right and perfect. Ye have
given me a gift I did nae even ken I was awaiting.”

He could not have said anything
more perfect. She cupped his face as he did hers. “I love you.”

“And I, ye.”

She rose to her tiptoes and pressed
her lips to his. When she drew back, his hands slipped around her waist and she
found herself lifted off her feet and to his chest.

“Is yer kiss an invitation,
a ghràidh
?”

She shook her head, and though
neither his body nor his eyes showed disappointment, his jaw tensed. She barely
controlled her giggle. “It was nae a simple invitation,
laird
,” she
purred in her best Scottish accent. “It was a plea for ye to take me and make
me yers once again.”

“Ye are mine always,” he growled,
sweeping her legs up over his arms. “But I’ll be happy to answer yer plea one
touch at a time.”

He strode with her to the bed, set
her on her feet, and commanded her to stand still.

She nodded and his hands were
suddenly on her, roaming over her body and igniting it in flames. He grasped
the edge of her léine and pulled it up over her thighs, hips, and breasts,
capturing her wrists with his hand as he drew the garment over her head. He
tossed it to the floor and released her hands down by her sides. She stood
there utterly naked, his gaze burning and devouring her body. He made her feel
beautiful, wanted, and wanton, and as she raised her hands to his chest,
pressed her palms there, and felt the thundering of his heart beneath her
fingertips, she knew the thrill of the power her touch had over him.

Shaking with desire, she raised up
his plaid, and as the material slid over his powerful torso, she marveled at
the effect simply glimpsing the perfection of his body had on her. Her heart
raced and her stomach fluttered while her core tightened in expectation of what
was to come. His gaze held hers prisoner as she moved the plaid to his broad
shoulders. She could raise it no more.

“Unclothe,” she commanded.

He shot her a wicked grin. “As ye
wish,
a ghràidh.
”

Every time he called her
his love
,
she felt as if her heart would burst with joy. As he lifted his arms to rid
himself of his plaid, she could not restrain herself any longer. She pressed
kisses across the hot planes of stomach muscle, and he jerked, groaned, and
grasped her by the arms in response.

Before she knew what was happening,
she was on their bed with Iain hovering over her. He devoured her mouth in a
kiss of possession, then slid his tongue down a path from her ribs to her
stomach and lower to the juncture between her thighs. He brought her to quick
surrender, her cries of pleasure echoing in her own ears.

Still, she ached for him, and she
held her arms out to him when she saw him hesitate above her, unfulfilled in
his own need, yet willing to wait for her. His concern and selflessness touched
her greatly.

“Come to me,” she whispered
huskily.

“Are ye sure? I did nae think we’d
go so far tonight. Just test the waters, aye?”

“The waters have been tested,” she
growled. “They are warm and ready.”

Oh God.
Marion was so
beautiful. She smelled of heather and freesia, and the warmth he knew awaited
him inside her beckoned to him. His good intentions to bring his wife to
pleasure tonight and not take his, to ease her back into their joining,
disappeared in a passion so strong it made him shudder.

He grasped her hips and put his
shaft at her hot, moist entrance. “I can go slow and gentle,” he panted,
offering her one last moment to reconsider or command him how to proceed.

“Don’t even think of it,” she said,
her gaze heated as it met his.

His thoughts all fled but
one—possession. And with that single driving need, he plunged into her. She
immediately clenched around him, fitting him like a silken glove. Need sent him
out of his mind, and his body took over. He lifted her buttocks farther,
thrusting deeper, harder, faster, his body pulsing and tensing so very close to
release.

She arched her back, and he knew
she was close, as well. His fingers found one of her breasts and circled her
hard bud gently as he stroked in and out of her until his entire body tensed,
she screamed out her pleasure, and his own release came. The force of it
shocked him, and he stilled, his breaths coming in short pants, his heart
beating fast, and his seed flowing into Marion, leaving them both spent.

They collapsed as one onto the bed
and lay still, their heavy breathing filling the silence. When his heart
slowed, he rolled to his side and traced a finger over her flat stomach. She
turned her head toward him, her green eyes wistful. He understood and pressed a
kiss to her stomach.

“We will make another bairn.”

“And if we can’t?” she whispered.

“Then we will be a family, the two
of us. And it will be more than enough.”

She nodded and clasped his hand
with her tiny one. If he could keep pain from ever touching her heart again,
he’d give his life to do so.

Iain would have liked to keep Marion in their bedchamber
until things were settled with Froste just to keep her safe, but at the
beginning of the third week of her recovery, Marion demanded to rejoin castle
life. He was about to deny her request when a pounding came at their bedchamber
door. Marion burst past Iain, raced to the door, and threw it open.

A frantic-looking Bridgette stood
in the doorway with Graham directly behind her. “I’m sorry to disturb ye, but
Alanna’s been in labor for a day, and there’s something wrong. Ye can deliver a
bairn, can’t ye?”

Marion nodded and was out the door
and down the stairs before Iain could protest. Left with little choice, he made
haste to keep close to her, pushing Graham to move out of his way.

“How come every time I look ye’re
trailing Bridgette?” Iain demanded when the women turned the corner ahead of
them, going out of sight for a moment.

Graham flushed. “I love her.”

“Ye’re too young to ken what it
means to love a woman.”

“I’m nae too young,” Graham growled.
“I’m as old as ye were when ye married Catriona.”

The comment hit Iain like an arrow.
He stumbled to a halt.
Catriona.
He’d not thought of her in weeks. Not
once. Yet somehow he knew that if she could speak with him, she’d tell him it
was as it should be. It was time for him to truly rejoin life. The guilt he
felt over breaking his promise to Catriona lifted like a mist. She would always
have a place in his heart, but now Marion did, too.

They ran the entire way to Rory
Mac’s home. Marion and Bridgette made haste to Alanna’s bedside, where Rory Mac
paced. Iain entreated his friend to let the women work and wait with him
outside, but he refused to leave the room. Iain nodded and stood just outside
the cracked door, through which he could see Marion and was ready to intervene
should she request his help.

Rory Mac barked orders at Alanna to
simply push the baby out, and Alanna, in turn, screamed at him to get out of
the room. Bridgette started fussing at them to stop but it did no good.

Iain’s eyes widened as Marion
picked up a plate and threw it to the floor.

The shouting abruptly stopped, and
everyone looked at her. She marched up to Rory Mac and poked him in the chest.
“If you don’t want your wife to die while trying to birth your baby, I think
you should leave.”

Rory Mac gaped at Marion. “Alanna
could die?”

Marion nodded. “Look at her. She’s
been in labor far too long. Fatigue is setting in, and soon she will be too
tired to help the baby come out at all. Your yelling at her is not making it
any easier. You must leave and let us help her.”

Rory Mac looked as if he was about
to argue, but he finally nodded and came out the door. Once it was shut, Iain
threw an arm around his friend. “Come. We’ll practice combat.” It was the
perfect task to draw his friend’s attention away from what was happening
inside, and thankfully, Iain was never without his dagger.

They practiced with their daggers
and then took turns shooting Rory Mac’s bow while Alanna’s yells occasionally
punctuated the relative silence.

“I’m going back in,” Rory Mac
finally demanded after several hours had passed. “Alanna needs me.”

“Aye, she needs ye to stay out here
and be strong. Ye will be in the way in there, and ye ken as well as I do that
she’d nae want ye to see her giving birth.”

Rory Mac nodded. “Ye’re right, but
I feel as if I’ll die if I lose her or the bairn.”

Iain nodded. “I ken how ye feel,
but ye will nae lose them.” As the words left Iain’s mouth, the sound of a door
creaking open caused Iain to turn.

Bridgette strolled out, a large
smile on her face, sweat covering her brow, and a baby bundled in her arms. She
walked up to Rory Mac and looked up at him as she pulled the plaid the baby was
wrapped in down just a bit. “Meet your son,” she whispered as she handed the
boy over to him. “He was pointing the wrong way to come out, which was why it
took so long, but Marion knew how to turn him.”

“Thank God for Marion,” Rory Mac
exclaimed.

Iain nodded, feeling exactly the
same way.