She arched her back, almost flinching away in shock, but his strong hands grasped her hips and held her fast. He groaned as he inhaled the musky scent of her desire. Parting her thighs, he bared her most feminine secrets to the most wicked of kisses. She squeezed her eyes shut as he tasted her, tenderly exploring each delicate petal.
Then he found that sensitive pearl and teased it…flicked at it with the tip of his tongue. Lightly. Again and again.
She moaned, deep and long, lashed by a storm of sensations. He slid his hands beneath the curves of her bottom and continued the onslaught, lifting her more fully against his mouth. He sampled her intimately, thrusting his tongue inside her.
She thrashed her head against the blankets, crying out as he pleasured her in the most unspeakably carnal way. His thumb returned to stroke that hard pearl, gently and slowly at first, then harder…faster.
Her body arched like a bow as ecstasy lanced through her all over again, shattering her into a thousand shards of hot ice. Moaning, felt herself flying and falling at the same time, wave after wave of sensation sweeping through her.
By the time she returned to her senses, trembling, drenched with pleasure, he had shifted over her, covered her body with his, the plaide he had worn around his hips now gone. She reached up to draw him down to her, welcoming his heat and hardness, intoxicated by his musky scent, by his weight pressing her down into the blankets. He kissed her passionately, sharing the taste of her own desire as his tongue stroked over hers.
She felt his arousal against her thigh, hard as steel. Whimpering impatiently, she shifted her hips, aching to join with him fully, to feel filled and complete, as her heart told her she would feel with Henri. He reached down to part her delicate folds and she sighed into his mouth.
He fitted the velvety steel of his shaft against her entrance, rubbing the swollen tip in her wetness, in a way that was so gentle and yet so unbearably arousing.
Then he pressed into her, his deep groan echoing her soft cry of joy and welcome as he slowly became part of her. He was huge and hard as iron, yet she felt no discomfort. Throbbing with heat and raw masculine power, that rigid part of him thrust slowly into her, his hardness melding with her softness. ’Twas perfect, so perfect, the way they fit together. She knew only a sweet fullness. Felt filled and stretched in the most astonishing way.
He groaned with the pleasure of it. She could feel his heart thundering against hers. He went still once he was embedded fully inside her, giving her a moment to adjust to having his hard length sheathed within her depths.
Naught had ever matched this—how exquisite it felt to have the man she loved become part of her so deeply, so intimately. She savored every moment, caressing the taut muscles of his shoulders and back, kissing his bearded cheek, whispering words of love in his language and hers.
Breathing harshly as if struggling for control, he withdrew a little way, then thrust inside her again, beginning to move in a rhythm that was slow and fierce and exquisitely sweet.
She wrapped her arms around him, holding onto him as though her life would end if she let go. Lifting her hips, she met each thrust, allowing instinct and passion to take over. He balanced his weight on his forearms as he surged into her, taking her faster now. Harder. His movements gathered force and speed, sweeping her to a place beyond any she had imagined.
All at once, his entire body went rigid and he shouted a fierce sound of exultation and possessiveness. She felt his climax tear through him in the same instant that bliss scattered her senses all over again. As his seed flowed deep inside her, pleasure shimmered through the core of her being, bright and hot.
Her release felt stunning this time, more powerful than even the storm that battered their shelter. Together they soared to the heavens, joined in body and heart and soul.
Trembling, breathless, they slowly floated back to earth. He sank down over her, his weight pinning her into the blankets, his heart pounding against hers. They shared their breath in a languid kiss. Then he rolled onto his side, his body still joined to hers, and cradled her in his arms.
“I love you, Aileen,” he growled. “I love you as I have never loved anyone before. And I will love you forever.”
She heard the rest, even though he didna say it aloud: No matter what happens on the morrow.
Unable to speak, she closed her eyes, trying to fight the tears that slipped past her lashes. She loved this man. This man and no other.
She had always loved Henri, and always would. And for this one night, safe and cherished in his arms, she allowed herself to dream of how sweet their future would be if they were man and wife…if they could spend the rest of their lives together, their days filled with laughter and adventure and joy, their nights like this.
’Twas Christmas Eve, and she allowed herself to hope.
The storm still howled outside, raging winds lashing the walls of the ancient abbey, but inside all was peace. The fire on the hearth had burned low, the candles almost out, and still Henri lay awake, his heart filled with wonder at the miracle of having Aileen in his arms at last. She was more sensual, more giving, more beguiling than any woman he had ever known.
She lay curled against him on the woolen blankets, one of her hands tucked beneath her chin, her other arm stretched across his ribs, holding him close even in sleep.
His every muscle felt heavy, lax, his body sated from their joining and ready for sleep, but he was reluctant to close his eyes. He wanted to cherish every moment of this night…because it might be the only night they would ever have together.
Aileen sighed in her sleep, snuggling closer to him. Then her lashes lifted and she blinked sleepily. A slow smile curved her lips when she discovered him looking at her. “Joyeux Noel,” she whispered.
He realized she was right—it must be after midnight by now. It was Christmas.
“Nollaig Chridheil, my sweet lass.”
She laughed. “I am afraid, milord, that your Gaelic is terrible.” She levered herself up on one elbow.
He wove his hand through her tousled hair, brushed his mouth over hers. “I am afraid, milady, that my Gaelic will always be terrible.” He rolled onto his back, drawing her on top of him, her naked breasts pillowed against his chest. “Only eighteen letters, but every one of them is impossible to pronounce. It is the most confounding language.”
She brushed a tangle of hair off his face, traced the scar on his forehead. “’Tis fortunate for you that most Scottish nobles speak French.”
“I am a fortunate man.” He drew her down for a kiss. She parted her lips and he began to deepen the kiss, but she broke free. Lifting her mouth from his, she dusted light kisses over his cheek, his jaw, his throat. She lingered over the throb of his pulse, running her hands over his shoulders and chest with a soft sigh of pleasure.
She teased one of his nipples with her fingertips…then her tongue.
Then she began moving lower.
“Aileen…?” he murmured, his body going taut as he guessed her intention.
“I want to learn every inch of you,” she said in a husky whisper. “I want to please you…as you pleased me.” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “With my mouth. Is that possible?”
Every drop of blood in his body shot straight to his groin. Never had any woman looked at him with such passion, such desire in her eyes. Her hand slid down over his ribs, his stomach, lower…until she touched that part of him that was already hard and throbbing with need.
Her fingertips stroked him, a gentle tease, and he nearly broke apart.
Whispering an oath, he lay back, his heart thundering…and granted her request. “Aye, my sweet, wicked lass.”
He felt her long, loose hair trailing over his naked skin like ribbons of silken fire as she kissed her way down his body, taking her time to discover every angle, every mark, every sensitive place. The ridges of his ribs. A long scar on his side from a lance that should have killed him. The bristly dark hair that trailed down the center of his abdo
men all the way to his…
She caressed his rigid arousal with her fingers, teased him with her nails. He grasped fistfuls of the blankets, fought to yield to her, to allow her to take control.
She closed her fingers around him, caressing him lightly, almost reverently. Her hand glided down to the base and back to the rounded crest. He groaned an aching, wordless sound of pleasure, his head falling back onto the blankets.
Then she lowered her head. He felt her breath first…then her mouth.
The touch of her tongue burned him like the torch he had used to set the hearth ablaze. She tasted the drop of silky liquid at the tip, making a low, feminine sound of discovery. She lingered over the rounded head of his shaft, licking and exploring every sensitive curve.
Jaw clenched, eyes shut tight, he felt his whole body shaking with desire, with raw need.
Then she parted her lips and drew him into the hot silk of her mouth—and all the air left his lungs in a rush.
A hoarse roar wrenched from deep in his chest. Clearly enjoying the effect she had on him, she circled his hardness with her fingers, clasping him tight, her hand sliding up and down while she suckled the rounded tip.
His heart thundered, his every muscle strung tight, sanity spinning out of reach. The sensation of her tongue gliding over the head of his shaft while she held him tight in her fist rendered him senseless. Dazzling bursts of of fire exploded behind his eyes.
“Aileen,” he shouted in warning, unable to bear another second.
She released him, moving swiftly, rising over him with silken grace. She balanced herself above him with one hand on his chest, reaching down with her other hand to guide the tip of his wet, rigid shaft to her entrance.
Then she lowered her hips and took him inside her in a single, hard stroke.
An oath tore from him. Aileen’s head tipped back and she cried out in pleasure. Groaning, he grasped her hips as he sank deep into the hot silk of her body. She rocked against him, rising and falling over him. She abandoned herself completely, as if that glorious, carnal kiss had unleased something within her, something new and wild and exhilarating.
Their gazes locked as they rode the storm together. He played with her long hair, fondled her breasts, tugged her nipples to hard peaks. Catching her waist in both hands, he held her down against him and drove into her. Harder, faster. He felt her inner muscles drawing tight around him.
She arched above him and shouted his name as release washed over her. A heartbeat later, the world exploded into pieces as a blazing climax tore through him. His triumphant shout echoed through the darkness as he felt his seed rushing forth, felt as if his love, his life, his soul were pouring out of him and into her.
They collapsed together onto the soft blankets, both spent, trembling with the last ebbing ripples of pleasure. He drew her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly, tasted his own desire on her tongue.
And with every ounce of his being, he vowed that even if God and all the angels and every man in this world tried to take her from him, he would defy them all. She was his. To his last breath, to the last ounce of strength in his body, he would never let her go.
No matter what the morning might bring.
By dawn, the winds had quieted, the storm finally passed. Aileen woke to Henri kissing the curve of her throat, and they made love again, slowly and gently and silently this time. Then they fed each other orange slices for breakfast, along with oat cakes and honey Henri had brought in his pack. They lingered over every sweet taste, every touch, every moment they could steal before the outside world could intrude on their refuge.
But all too soon, they knew they had to prepare to leave this sanctuary in the forest. The search party from Glenshiel would be arriving soon. Their garments, they discovered, were still a bit damp, but dry enough to wear. After melting some snow in a wooden bucket for washing up, they helped each other dress…reluctantly. Henri tied the laces on the back of her gown, and even plaited her hair, his every touch so gentle and tender.
Then they tidied up the abbey, putting everything back as it had been when they arrived. Aileen made only one exception: after they doused all the fires, she took one of the blankets they had slept on and tucked it inside Henri’s pack to take with them. She wanted one memento, a reminder of this magical night that she would cherish always.
Henri sheathed his weapons in his belt, picked up his pack, then took her hand, leading the way to the door. As he opened it, he glanced back over his shoulder one last time. “You were right.”
“About what?” she whispered.
“This is an enchanted place.”
They stepped outside into a world turned white, as if God had breathed a whisper of pure innocence across the land. A glistening blanket of snow flowed over the forest floor, through the clearing, over the hills as far as they could see. Every tree branch glittered with ice.
Henri kept one arm protectively around her waist, and she leaned into his embrace, unable to stand the thought of being parted from him. She could not bear to let him go, to face all that this day might bring.
Still daring to hope, she prayed that God might grant them a miracle.
A movement beneath one of the evergreen trees caught her eye. “Henri.” She pointed. “Look!”
“Saints above, that could not be…”
A small white animal had popped its head up out of a snowdrift beneath the tree. Yipping and whining when it spotted them, it started bounding over the snow toward them. With its long muzzle, pointed ears, and fluffy tail, it looked almost like…
“A Yule Wolf?” Aileen choked out.
“That looks more like someone’s lost puppy than a wolf.”
“Och, the poor wee beastie is so tiny.” She bent to scoop the wriggling bundle of white fluff into her arms. “How did it come to be here?” She blinked. “Unless…”
“Aileen.” He chuckled. “Fairies did not leave a Yule Wolf under an evergreen tree as a Christmas gift for us.”
“Then how did it come to be here, all alone?”
“Wandered off from its owner or its den and became lost in the storm.”
“Oh, he is so sweet. And he must be hungry.” She reached into Henri’s pack, dug out a piece of cheese, and offered it to the pup. It eagerly took the morsel from her fingers. “And he has blue eyes!”
“All puppies have blue eyes.”
“Especially Yule Wolf puppies,” she said enthusiastically.
“Cubs,” Henri corrected, laughing. “Wolves have cubs. That is a dog. Therefore, a puppy.”
“He is frightened and cold.” She tucked him inside her cloak. “Poor lad is shivering.”
“So am I. You could tuck me inside your cloak,” Henri suggested. “You mean to keep it?”
“I believe ’tis a he.” She snuggled the puppy against her cheek. “What shall I name him?”
Before Henri could reply, they heard the thunder of horses coming through the forest from the north. A moment later, they could see a half-dozen men galloping into the clearing, Darach in the lead.
“Our rescuers have found us,” Henri said, his voice filled with with regret rather than relief.
“Aye,” Aileen felt equally disappointed. She stepped apart from Henri a pace, then another as she recognized her father among the riders.
Would they know? Would everyone be able to tell, just by looking at her, that she had enjoyed the most wicked, most wonderful night of her life last night in Henri’s arms?
The group rode up to the abbey. Aileen noted that they had brought fresh horses for her and Henri, along with warm cloaks and blankets.
“Thank God you are both safe!” Darach reined his charger to a halt. “Are either of you hurt?”
“We are undamaged, beau-frere,” Henri assured him.
Aileen’s father dismounted quickly and pulled her into his arms. “Daughter.” For a moment, he seemed beyond words. “When Brochan and Magnus returned last night in the storm, without you…” His voice choked out. �
�I thought I might have lost you.” He shifted his attention to Henri. “You have my thanks for getting her to safety, d’Amboise.”
Henri bowed. “I would give my life to protect her, milord.”
“Aye, well…” Her father kept one arm firmly around her shoulders. “I realize now that I may have judged you too harshly, Frenchman. Brochan confessed that he behaved like a reckless blockhead at the bridge—while you were steady and calm. ’Twould seem you are no longer the impulsive youth that you once were.” He glanced down at the puppy wriggling in Aileen’s arms with an expression of amusement. “And you have even fulfilled your promise to capture a Yule Wolf.”
Darach sent two squires to fetch Henri’s and Aileen’s horses from the stables. “Lochlann, as I told you yesterday, Henri’s years in battle have honed him into a man of strength and honor, a man to rely upon. And sometimes, apparently, he is even capable of the impossible.”
Aileen felt the hope in her heart flare brighter.
Only to have it doused by her father’s next words.
“True as that may be, Lord Alsh and his party arrived at Castle Glenshiel just as we were leaving…” He looked at her with regret in eyes. “And he would hear naught of accepting any bride but Aileen.” Taking her hand, he led her toward one of the fresh horses, away from Henri. “My daughter will be marrying Lord Alsh today.”
The snows lay so thick across the hills and glens, the journey back to Castle Glenshiel took ’til the middle of the afternoon. Aileen felt her heart breaking with every mile they rode, her spirits sinking into despair as they galloped across the wide stone bridge over the River Linnhe. She could hardly bear to even look at Henri. Last night, she had felt such soaring hope. But today everything had changed.
Today would be her wedding day…to another man.
She didna understand how her heart somehow kept beating. She fastened her attention on the fluffy white puppy snuggled against her. The wee beastie had fallen asleep, curled up inside her cloak, his warmth and trust the only touch of sweetness in this bitter, awful day.
His Scottish Bride - Shelly Thacker Page 9
