Terri Brisbin - Taming the Highlander

“Hush now,” he whispered. “I mean you no harm.”

She allowed him to turn her to face him and met his intense gaze. His eyes flickered gold in the candlelight and the flames in the hearth threw shadows across the hard angles of his face. After feeling the strength of his arms while in his embrace, she knew that everything about this man was hard. Only his voice and his plea came softly to her.

“Come, let me do this the right way for a bride,” he urged in a velvety tone as he lifted her hand in his and led her to the side of the bed.

Once there, he leaned over and, with little effort, picked her up and laid her on the bed. As she watched, he loosened his belt and let his plaid fall to the ground. Jocelyn could not help herself as she looked down at the strong thighs now exposed below his tunic. She leaned against those thighs while he…touched her and knew the feel of them. Swallowing nervously, she returned her gaze to his face just as he climbed into the bed with her.

He had not bothered to pull the covers from the bed, so they lay on top and Connor moved over until he could stretch out next to his now-unwilling bride. She had not voiced her objections, but her body had told him with a certainty that they had reached an impasse in their trek toward consummation. Connor now faced the difficult task of stirring her passion anew so they could accomplish this duty and get on with their lives.

“Easy now,” he whispered to her as he put his hand on her leg and began to push her shift up inch by inch. He shifted onto his side so that he could lean up on his one hand while he rubbed her thigh with the other. When she did not soften beneath his touch, he changed his approach. She had liked the attention he’d paid to her breasts as much as he had. He would begin there.

Connor leaned over and touched his mouth to the tip of her breast, nuzzling it through the thin shift. He took her fullness in his palm and rubbed his thumb over the damped tip again and again until it formed a perfect bud against his mouth. Then he suckled it until he felt the tension in her begin to seep away.

“Aye, lass. Just think on the pleasure you feel and let me lead you in this,” he urged as he moved against her hip with the hardness between his own legs. Although at first she gazed at him with a haunted expression in her eyes, then she closed them and nodded.

Her body slowly responded to his touch now and soon he gauged her ready for more. Connor knew he was certainly ready and at the edge of his own control. This time when he eased her shift up and moved between her legs, she seemed to welcome his presence there. He slid his hands beneath her knees and lifted her legs up, bringing himself to the opening of her body that was now hot and wet and ready.

It was at the moment he entered her that the absurd thought struck him—this was the first time he’d made love to a woman that mattered in his life since he’d made love to Kenna more than three years before. Pushing past his new wife’s maidenhead, he could hear the voice inside of him begging for Kenna’s forgiveness for this act. His heart and soul screamed out that he was somehow being unfaithful to the vows they’d exchanged even as he moved to claim his wife’s body.

And he needed Kenna’s forgiveness for so many things and now it was too late. Too late for all of them.

Clenching his teeth as he filled Jocelyn’s body with his, he watched as a tear escaped the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek into her hair. Not daring to slow for a moment or risk humiliating himself by not being able to complete this duty, Connor pushed into her as far as he could and then slowly removed himself. Even knowing she was not enjoying this, he could not stop now. Finally after a few minutes, he felt his seed empty inside of her.

Out of breath from his exertions, he leaned over her for another minute or two until he could withdraw from her body. He wiped himself of the spent seed and her blood with the edge of the tunic he still wore and climbed from between her legs and off the bed. Gathering his plaid, he threw it over his shoulder leaving enough to cover the front and back of him, not taking the time needed to get it completely in place. He was only going to his chambers from here and no one would be in the corridor against his orders.

She lay unmoving in the large bed, her legs still spread apart until he touched her thigh while tugging the shift down over her. Her lips were clenched tightly together and her face was nearly as pale as the shift she still wore. All hints of the previous attractive blush were gone. The unexplainable and impossible urge to gather her close and soothe the hurt he had caused her was building within him, so he strode to the door of the room in three steps. Three very hurried steps.

He tried to speak but found his throat clogged with some emotion he chose not to try to identify. Clearing it, he spoke without looking back at her and with one hand on the latch.

“I will send Ailsa to you.”

“Nay,” she cried out, as she sat up, shaking her head at him. “Please send no one.”

“As you wish, my lady.” He nodded, accepting her words without asking any questions. Once in the hallway, he closed the door tightly and leaned his head against it.

Not certain what he was waiting for, Connor turned and left, deciding that he had much of the same strong wine awaiting him in his chambers that sat on the table within. He’d no sooner reached his chambers when the storm hit—bright flashes of lightning followed by loud crashes of thunder and torrents of rain poured from the skies over Lairig Dubh.

Somehow it felt right. He slammed the door behind him and found the jug where he’d ordered it left for him.

The door closed and she fell back on the bed, overwhelmed and exhausted by what had just happened between them. The hurried leave-taking and the grimace on his face told her of her failure without the need for words of recrimination.

Had she spoken Ewan’s name aloud? She thought not, but she’d repeated it over and over in her thoughts and in her heart to block out the identity of the man who truly claimed her body as his. When he ordered her to think on the pleasure, his voice and his face became Ewan in her thoughts. She imagined Ewan’s lips against hers and on her skin, suckling at her breasts, and his hands on her body, making her ache and throb as never before.

Only the piercing, burning pain had ruined the imaginary scene in her mind and the grim expression in her husband’s eyes as he plunged into her confirmed the truth—she belonged to him now and he was not pleased.

The place between her legs both ached and stung now and Jocelyn looked around the room to see what she could use to clean herself. Her robe lay on the floor where he’d dropped it so she picked it up as she made her way to the table near the hearth. As she took another step, wetness gushed down her legs. Without anything to use, she tore off the bottom of her shift and used it to wipe her legs of the blood and seed.

Realizing her shift was beyond saving, Jocelyn pulled it off over her head and dunked it into the jug of cold water on the table. Squeezing out most of the water, she washed herself as best she could, shivering as she did. Once clean, she rolled a piece of the shift up, soaked it in the water and then pressed it between her legs… there . Although a shocking feeling, it soothed the area and she repeated it a few times until the burning disappeared.

Finally, she slipped into the robe, wrapped it tightly around her and tied the belt to keep it in place. Jocelyn approached the bed and knew she could simply not climb back onto it. She would have to face it—and him—soon enough, but for now she wanted to avoid both, so she tugged the top blanket off and threw it aside. Then she pulled off three more blankets and two sheets and made her own pallet in front of the hearth. It would be warm enough for her and she would face the rest in the morning.