She dipped the spoon and swallowed a wee taste, though the tempting aroma made it difficult not to guzzle it down like a peasant. She sipped the ale, determined not to gulp it as he had.
She refused to meet his gaze, nervous about the effect those unsettling eyes always had on her. Long neck, indeed!
*
As darkness settled on the village, Rory became anxious. He’d expected some emissary with word of Caitlin’s safety before this. Now, he faced the problem of spending the night in the cottage alone with Fiona.
Her reputation would indeed suffer as a consequence, no matter there was naught between them. Although, he couldn’t deny something intriguing about the prickly lass drew him. She hid her beauty beneath scowls and snarls, but when she let her guard down…
He scraped his fingernails through the irritating bristles under his chin. Long neck! No one had ever told him that before.
“Cease that infernal noise,” she complained.
He smiled inwardly. Perhaps he should have been content to let her go on not speaking to him. “Sorry, my beard is itchy.”
“Uncle Jamie has a razor. I’ll gladly shave ye,” she offered with a wicked gleam in her eyes.
“Some other time,” he replied with a chuckle. He’d have to make sure he located the razor at the earliest opportunity. And hide the poker. “I suggest ye take the bed. I’ll turn my back while ye…”
The likelihood of Fiona disrobing was ludicrous. Her glare confirmed his stupidity.
“If ye think I’m taking off my clothes with ye present, Rory Blair…”
He’d enjoy watching her undress but made the mistake of laughing when she blushed profusely.
The empty bowl narrowly missed his head.
Tryst
Shaw paced the confines of his chamber while waiting for Caitlin. He finally sat on the bed, having decided not to strip off his clothing. He doubted his betrothed had ever seen a completely naked male. The purpose this night was to introduce her to the pleasures of intimate fondling. She deserved to keep her maidenhead intact until they were married. It would be easier to control himself if he kept on his shirt and trews.
Hearing the squeak of hinges, he leapt off the bed and hurried to the door, lest she change her mind. “Caitlin,” he whispered, taking her into his embrace. “My love.”
She melted into him, the warm contours of her form confirming the barrier of clothing had been the best idea. Still, she must be aware of the hard need pressed against her.
“Ye’re shivering,” he said, putting his arm around her waist.
“I’m a wee bit nervous.”
He led her to the chair by the hearth and drew her onto his lap. “As am I, but I assure ye we’ll just kiss and cuddle and give each other pleasure. We willna join our bodies until we’re wed.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and he felt the tension drain from her. “I enjoyed kissing ye before.”
He put his finger under her chin and bent his head until their lips were almost touching. “What did ye like about it?”
“’Twas gentle.”
He brushed his lips over hers. “Like that?” he asked.
“Again,” she whispered.
This time, he lingered longer to nibble her lower lip.
“Mmm,” she crooned. “Ye’re teasing me.”
He stroked his finger along the underside of her chin. “Slow teasing is an important part of kissing.”
She surprised him by cradling his face and sucking his upper lip. “Like this?”
“Ye’re a fast study,” he replied with a smile, “but if ye learn too quickly ’twill be difficult to hold to my promise.”
She pressed her forehead to his. “I want to belong to ye, Shaw. My body craves ye.”
He inhaled deeply, moving his hips, so there could be no mistaking his need. “I dinna ken how much ye ken about men, but ye can mayhap feel the proof of my desire.”
She chuckled. “My limited knowledge comes from Moira. She mocks her paramours. She has pet names for them according to their male appendages. There’s Long John, Wee Cock, Big Cock…”
Shaw wasn’t sure he liked the direction the conversation had taken, though his own cock clearly relished the word on her innocent lips and wanted to show off. He eased her to her knees between his legs and held her gaze as he unfastened the fall of his trews. “I canna take ye yet,” he rasped as his shaft sprang forth, “but we can touch each other.”
Her eyes traveled down his body and came to rest on his tarse. She gasped, rousing the inevitable salute. “Can I touch ye?” she whispered.
Please!
“Aye,” he replied, sliding his hands inside the robe to cup her breasts.
She moaned when he brushed his thumbs over rigid nipples, then curled her fingers around him. “’Tis silky and firm at the same time,” she said. “Ye’re too big for my hand.”
Feeling smug, he became worried when she stared blankly, her mouth agape. “Is something amiss?”
“Moira must be daft. She claims a man can fit inside a woman.”
He struggled with the temptation to show her it was indeed possible, hoping his voice wouldn’t crack if he explained. “The mon makes sure his partner is ready. I’ll wager ye’re already wet for me.”
She averted her eyes. “How did ye ken?”
“A woman has a certain scent when she wants a mon.”
She touched her nose to his shaft and grinned. “Ye’ve a unique aroma as well, Shaw Drummond.”
His resolve to control his urges faltered. “Ye can taste me, if ye like.”
She didn’t hesitate before swirling her tongue over the swollen tip, which augured well for future intimacy. “Sweet and salty,” she said, licking her lips.
“Och, Caitlin,” he exclaimed scooping her up from the floor. “Ye’re too tempting. Can I touch yer woman’s place?”
“To see if I’m wet?” she asked, entwining her arms around his neck.
He offered up a silent prayer of thanks for the gift of a passionate innocent. Seized with a need to suckle while he explored her intimate folds, he carried her to the bed he’d sworn to avoid.
*
Perched on the edge of the mattress, Caitlin stared at Shaw’s muscles when he tore off his shirt. “Ye have hair on yer chest,” she murmured, sifting fingertips through the soft, dark curls.
“Aye,” he replied, easing the trews off his hips. He tossed the clothing to lie where it may and stood before her, naked, arms held wide. “When we wed, I’ll promise to worship ye with my body,” he said with a smile. “So, I wanted ye to see ’tis true. My body already craves ye.”
“Ye’re sculpted like a god,” she whispered in reply, awed by his chiseled beauty. “I hope I dinna disappoint ye.”
Shaking his head, he took hold of her hands and helped her rise. “Let me see ye naked,” he rasped.
Caitlin rarely bared her body, even before Nairn. Now, an insistent throbbing in a very private place urged her on. She removed the robe and lifted the nightrail off over her head without a second thought.
Gooseflesh marched over every inch of her skin as he studied her. Would he think her breasts too big? The maid in Stirling had assured her such a notion was folly. Still…
“I’d be a fool to be disappointed with perfection.”
Emboldened, she stepped forward into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. They stood chest to breasts, belly to belly, thighs to thighs, his heat radiating into her very soul. “Dinna be afraid,” he whispered as he eased his male member between her legs.
“I’m nay afraid,” she replied truthfully, though her heart was racing too fast, her body weeping for the warm, hard maleness moving against her as he slowly thrust his hips. She parted her legs, her body craving his entry.
He cradled her face in his hands and put his mouth on hers, but then pulled away, breathing heavily, when she tried to deepen the kiss. “If we carry on like this, I willna be able to keep my promise,” he said huskily, liftin
g her onto the bed.
“But I ache for ye,” she whimpered as he lay beside her.
“Trust me,” he replied. “I can soothe the ache.”
“Ye lie,” she murmured when he licked and suckled a nipple, intensifying the wanton desire spiraling through her body. “’Tis worse.”
“Shall I stop?” he teased.
Nay, she didn’t want him to cease his suckling, but if he would just…
He muffled her scream with his kiss when his finger found the place that longed for his touch.
She opened her legs and dug her heels into the mattress, holding his manhood for support as the sensations overtook her.
“Aye, lass, come for me.”
Something cataclysmic was coming, coming…
A wave of euphoria crashed over her. Lifted to impossible heights, she was drowning in brightly colored light, her body at once rigid yet completely limp.
His clever finger played her like a musical instrument, prolonging the ecstasy. She stopped breathing until he gently coaxed her mouth open with his tongue and breathed for her.
She arched her back, pressing her body against his, needing to be one with him.
He moved her hand on his manhood, which seemed to have grown even bigger. He grasped her nape, his breathing becoming labored as they fell into a rhythm. Then, suddenly, he was standing at the side of the bed, legs braced, male member in hand. “Forgive me,” he rasped as his essence erupted onto the linens.
She gaped in astonishment. “’Tis the most wondrous thing I’ve ever seen,” she replied as he collapsed onto the mattress and gathered her into his arms.
He smiled, touching a finger to her still-throbbing womanhood. “Wait until we are wed. Then I’ll nay spend my seed on the sheets.”
“Hasten the day,” she replied.
I’m Cold
Fiona couldn’t sleep. Uncle Jamie apparently didn’t require as many blankets as she did in the winter and he needed to do something about the draft from the doorway. However, she certainly wouldn’t admit to Rory she was cold. He’d no doubt get the wrong idea.
Perhaps that wasn’t fair. For all his faults, he wasn’t a defiler of women, and the body heat of another person might help in the circumstances.
Good grief. Are ye daft?
She’d gone to bed in a huff, determined to keep her back to him, but she wondered if he was sleeping by the hearth—which couldn’t be very comfortable.
Not that she cared about his comfort.
If he’d fallen asleep, she might have a chance to escape, though she didn’t have the strength to move the barricade. She’d have to incapacitate him somehow, perhaps with the poker.
Nay, it was by the hearth.
In any case, she doubted she had the fortitude to bash a man over the head with a poker. He’d probably hidden the razor too. The prospect of slashing a person’s throat made her queasy. It would be a shame to mar that long, corded neck.
Suddenly, she was sweating and short of breath. “Confound it,” she growled, throwing off a blanket.
Her heart lurched when a dark figure loomed over her, bearing a candle. “Are ye all right?” he asked.
Struggling to sit up, she gathered the linens to her chin. “Ye scared me half to death, silly mon.”
The flickering flame illuminated the concern in Rory’s eyes. “Ye called out. I was worried.”
“I was cold,” she explained, wishing she’d bitten her tongue.
She grew even more uncomfortable under his intense stare. Was he going to offer to keep her warm? Would she rebuff him, or…?
Her throat constricted when he unfurled his plaid and tucked it around her. “That might help,” he said with a smile. “Woven with wool from Blair moorland sheep.”
The selfless and tender gesture robbed her of breath.
He held a finger to his lips when she opened her mouth to protest. “I’m warm enough by the fire.”
She slid down under the covers as he retreated, inhaling the scent of wool and man lingering in the plaid.
*
Rory returned to the wicker chair by the fire and resumed his watch over Fiona, relieved when he heard soft snoring.
For hours, he’d sensed she was cold and been sorely tempted to climb between the sheets and offer to keep her warm. She’d probably have thrown the pillow at him, or kneed him in the balls. That was more Fiona Drummond’s style. She had a defiant spirit in her that he admired.
Yet, he’d seen a trace of something else in her eyes as he stood over her. A longing? Or had the flickering candle played tricks on his senses and caused yet another inconvenient arousal?
He’d put his constant physical responses down to the natural attraction of a lusty mon to a feisty woman, but he admitted inwardly he hadn’t been a “lusty mon” for many a year.
Of all people, Fiona Drummond had resurrected intense desires he thought he’d left behind in the wild days of his student years.
He swallowed the bitter irony. If there’d been any chance of a relationship between them, he’d ground it into the dust by taking her hostage.
The one lass he’d ever considered sharing his life with would spit in his face if he proposed marriage.
Filled with regret, he stared into the smoldering peat until he heard the cock crow.
Is It Obvious?
Shaw cradled Caitlin, reluctant to wake her. However, if he didn’t escort her back to her chamber soon, his already hardening cock would want to make love to her again. “Let’s get ye back to yer chamber before ye’re missed,” he whispered.
She opened her eyes and touched her hand to his face. “I want to stay with ye,” she whispered with a yawn.
“And I’d like nothing better, but ye ken ’tisna possible.”
He lifted her to stand by the bed and helped her struggle back into the nightrail. He kissed each pouting nipple in turn before guiding her arms into the bed-robe.
“I feel I’ve entered a wonderful new world,” she said as he cinched the belt.
“By coming into a mon’s chamber in the dead of night,” he teased.
She cupped his face. “Seriously, Shaw. Ye’ve introduced me to pleasures and feelings I ne’er kent existed.”
He put his arms around her waist, careful not to hold her too tightly lest he give in to the urge to keep her with him all night. “Ye ken, Caitlin, ’tisna every mon and his wife who enjoy sexual congress. For some, ’tis simply a duty. We’re lucky we can make each other’s bodies sing.”
She chuckled. “’Tis the right way to describe how yer touch made me feel. My body is still singing!”
He quickly donned his shirt and trews, keeping his back to her as he dressed. “Now, ye understand why the rooster crows loudly every morn.”
Her eyes widened. “Of course!”
He escorted her to the door, stepped into the empty hallway then kissed her gently. “Goodnight,” he whispered.
“I love ye even more now,” she replied.
He kept watch as she made her way to the safety of her own chamber, his heart full.
*
Caitlin chuckled when the cock’s crow woke her the next morning. It seemed fitting, and she would never hear the rooster crow again without thinking of the hours she’d spent with Shaw.
She’d been attracted to him the moment they met. Having experienced the euphoric delights of mutual touching of intimate parts, she felt reborn—a woman, nay a lass any longer.
“Good morrow. Did ye sleep well?”
She sat up abruptly and eyed her sister who was already out of bed and standing by the window. It was the same greeting Nairn offered every morning, but perhaps she’d woken during the night and noticed Caitlin’s absence.
Or, perhaps she can tell by looking at me I’ve…
“Good morrow. I did. And ye?”
“Like a log,” Nairn replied, easing Caitlin’s worry.
They completed their ablutions in the boudoir. Caitlin avoided the mirror, convinced she must look dif
ferent. Nairn chattered, apparently noticing nothing.
Moira arrived to help them dress. She gossiped as usual. A terrible truth suddenly struck Caitlin. Everything she’d heard about intimacy had come from this maidservant. It was only by some miracle that she’d been betrothed to a patient mon willing to introduce her slowly to sexual delights. She made a promise to ensure her sister was better prepared for marriage.
“I hope Rory has returned,” Nairn said as they made their way to the hall.
Caitlin’s heart raced. She might have bumped into her brother in the hallway if he’d come home during the night. Rory would have recognized in the blink of an eye what she’d been up to.
Strangely, she didn’t care. She belonged to Shaw Drummond and that’s all there was to it. “As do I,” she replied.
It turned out to be a forlorn hope.
She was also disappointed not to find Shaw breaking his fast. A servant informed her Laird Ian had summoned him and Major Merryweather to his solar.
*
Upon first hearing Ian Blair’s gruff summons to his solar, Shaw feared the old chieftain had gotten wind of the tryst in his chamber. However, ’twas of course the matter of the missing Rory that was to be discussed.
He was somewhat relieved to leave the hall before Caitlin arrived, certain everyone would be able to tell they’d shared intimacies. He felt like a new man. Caitlin was right. His body was still singing.
Ian stood by the cold hearth, his face lined with worry. He clearly didn’t intend to invite his visitors to sit. “Firstly, we must find my son.”
“Agreed,” Merryweather said. “And there’s the matter of Stirling.”
Blair shook his head. “I willna sanction that idea until I hear Rory’s approval.”
Irritating as the delay was, Shaw understood and respected Ian Blair’s wish to consult with the new laird. He could only hope his own father would eventually come around to that point. He’d already been away from Drummond for too long. “I propose we ride for Drummond with the major today. I canna think of a reason why Rory would still be there, so we’ll search thoroughly for any sign of him as we journey.”
Kilty Party Page 13
