“’Tis our wedding night. A celebration.” Duncan plunked the bottle on the windowsill of the wide bay window, taking up the entire left wall of the bedchamber. He pushed open one of the long, tall panels of glass. A welcome breeze rushed into the room, carrying with it the calming sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks below and the relentless cry of the gulls searching for their supper. “’Tis our night. We can do whatever we wish.”
With her glass balanced between both hands, Tilda rolled it back and forth between her palms. “Ye truly dinna hate me for forcing ye into the marriage?”
Duncan set his glass on the ledge beside the bottle, then took Tilda’s glass and did the same. He sat on the long, cushioned bench in front of the window and took hold of her hands, pulling her down beside him. Propping himself against the alcove’s wall, he eased her back until she reclined against his chest. Arms tight around her waist, he pressed a kiss into her hair. “I dinna hate ye, have never hated ye, and could never hate ye. I swear it.”
“I am glad of it.” She eased out a long breath as though she’d been holding it.
Duncan nibbled a light kiss along the silk of her bare shoulder, smiling at the gooseflesh dimpling across her fair skin. He trailed a finger across her collarbone, then traced it back, dipping lower as he made a second pass.
Tilda pushed up from his chest and scrambled to her feet. She stood with her back to him, her head bowed.
She had been so brave before. Did she fear him now that their joining was assured? Duncan straightened on the bench and refilled their glasses. “Here, lass,” he said softly. “We shall do nothing until ye are true and for certain ready.”
Her back still to him, Tilda lifted her head. “No more whiskey, thank ye. But I would ask ye to help me with my ties, so I might relieve myself of this fine dress.”
Her request nearly undid him. Need raged through him, filling him with such an aching, he shuddered. He set the whiskey aside and hurried to do as she asked, unweaving the web of lacing running down the back of her elaborate dress. The clouds of silk and lace fell away, leaving her in nothing but the sheerest chemise. Duncan swallowed hard. He couldn’t resist smoothing the backs of his fingers across the curve of her full bottom and up her back. “Ye are loveliness itself,” he whispered.
She turned and faced him, arms crossed so tightly over her breasts, they threatened to spill over. Lips parted, chest heaving with quick gasps, she gave him a trembling nod. “Now yerself…please.”
He stripped off his jacket, neckcloth, and waistcoat. He kicked off his boots, then shucked his trews. When left with nothing but his tunic, he stopped and held out his arms. Even though Tilda had seen him naked, he would go no further for now. “I would hold ye, Tilda, whilst there’s a bit a linen betwixt us…until ye are ready for more.”
Lord, how he needed her to be ready for more, but he had to be patient. This first night must not go awry.
*
Tilda didn’t go to him. Not yet. She wanted this. For a long while, she had wanted this, dreamt of it even. His touch. His kisses. The way he made her heart pound. The realization hit her as she stood looking at him, remembering all the times she had admired his braw, handsome features. She had oft wanted the feel of his skin against hers. They didn’t need a bit of linen between them. They needed to get on with it.
“Tilda?” Duncan waited with arms held out, ready to hold her.
Without a word, she unclenched her arms from across her breasts, then reached to her shoulders and untied the straps of her chemise. Her gaze locked with his, she took a deep breath and let the garment fall away to join the pile of silk and satin piled around her ankles. She bent to untie the ribbons above her knees, but Duncan stayed her hands.
“Nay, lass,” he said as he knelt at her feet. “Allow me to remove yer stockings.”
Face flaming hot and unsure of what to do with her hands, Tilda finally clenched them behind her back. She had never imagined standing naked could be such a test of her nerve. A gasp escaped her as Duncan pressed kisses along the sensitive skin of her inner leg as he untied the ribbons above each of her knees and slid down her stockings with a slow, tantalizing caress that made her shudder.
“Steady yerself on my shoulders, love,” he instructed as he lifted her foot to remove her shoe. Shoving the clothing out of his way, Duncan moved closer, still kneeling, and returned to nibbling kisses up her thighs while his hands tickled ever higher.
Tilda buried her fingers in his hair and held on tight. Surely to goodness he didn’t intend to—“Oh, my!” An embarrassing squeak escaped her. His hands kneading. Fingers caressing where she’d never been touched before. His mouth. Oh, heaven’s above. His glorious, talented mouth touching and tasting. Tilda shuddered, her knees about to buckle. If he did that much longer, she’d surely collapse. But, oh, if he stopped, she would surely die.
Duncan rose to his feet and scooped her up into his arms. He strode across the room and eased her down crossways on the bed. Stripping off his léine, he stood at her feet, then leaned over her, and planted his hands on either side of her shoulders. “I thought the bed might cradle ye better. Ye seemed to be having trouble standing.”
Tilda smoothed her hands up his chest and hugged her legs up around his waist. She was ready. Lord have mercy, she was ready. “Make me yer wife, Duncan. Please make me yer wife for true.”
With a gentle smile, Duncan leaned down and brushed a kiss to her forehead. “Not yet, love. I want ye to enjoy this time as much as I do. Ye’ve still some readying yet.” Then he kissed her. A deep, hungry kiss tasting of whiskey and a raw aching need. Tilda responded in kind, arching to press against the wondrous length of him.
He left her mouth and trailed his way downward, setting her entire being ablaze with the sensations he stirred. With every touch, every caress, Tilda ached for more. She arched into him, begging for release. His mouth returned to the task he’d first started, and his fingers joined. She clutched the bedsheets, clamping her legs about his head and digging her heels into his shoulders. She cried out as wave after wave of wondrous bliss washed across her, spinning her into oblivion. As the lovely spinning slowed and the rapturous thrumming faded, a sudden burning rip caught her unawares. She stiffened and lifted her head. “Duncan?”
“Shh,” Duncan consoled as he slid his arms up beneath her, shifted her lengthwise in the bed, then climbed in beside her. Gathering her close, he stroked her back and held her. “Yer maidenhead’s gone now, love. When we join, ’twill be much easier for ye.”
What a relief. She had feared she’d done something horribly wrong or perhaps something was wrong with her. She nuzzled her face to his throat and left a trail of kisses as she raked her fingers through the dark curls covering his muscled chest. He had given her such bliss to ease her virtue’s demise. What a caring husband she had found. Tilda smiled to herself as she stroked her hand downward. Aye, she had seen Duncan whilst healing him, but she had never touched him. And he had not been in such a state. So large and full.
He sucked in a sharp gasp as she took hold. What velvety hardness. And the length. How could it possibly fit? As she stroked, Duncan’s caresses and hungry kisses reawakened her body. All worry left. All that remained was need. “Now, Duncan. Please. Now.”
Rolling her to her back, Duncan settled himself between her legs. “Relax as best ye can love, aye?”
She wrapped her legs around his hips and arched to meet him. He nudged into her, then held fast. She bucked for more and slid her hands down his back, pulling him forward. She craved more of this new-found delight.
“Relax, love.” Duncan’s arms on either side of her began to tremble. “Ye are so verra tight. Let me in, Tilda. Let me make us one.”
She reached up and pulled him down into a kiss. He closed the remaining gap between them, pushing in full and hard with a groan into her mouth. He set to rocking in and out. She joined in the ancient dance, arching and bucking with every thrust. He moved faster, drove harder, until th
e wonderful ecstasy returned, spinning her into mindless oblivion. A cry escaped her. She dug her nails into his buttocks and shook uncontrollably. With a guttural roar, Duncan joined her, pounding hard and fierce until he locked his hold and shuddered his release.
Collapsing across her, he buried his face in the crook of her neck. “Lord Almighty, love. Lord Almighty.”
“Aye,” Tilda panted. Truer words had never been spoken.
Chapter Twelve
Without bothering to open his eyes, Duncan focused on the sound that had coaxed him from his pleasant dreams. He didn’t try too hard at the wondering of it. He was much too comfortable sprawled across the comfortable bed that had done quite well at affording himself and Tilda with an ample platform for their loving through the night.
The sound was water. Aye, that was it. Water splashing. He stretched out an arm, patting the bedsheets in search of his bride’s precious warmth. He wished to return to the depths of slumber with her in his arms. Only cool linens met his fingertips. Where was she? Duncan lifted his head and scanned the sunlit interior of the bedchamber. Still no Tilda.
He swung his feet to the floor, then stood and stretched. Padding into the front room, he hardened at the sight that met him. Tilda stood in the center of the large copper tub, slathering a thick, foamy lather all over her tempting body. The slow, languorous movement of her hands across her curves made Duncan swallow hard. Her fair skin shimmered, pearlescent and slick in the morning light flooding into the room. Duncan envied the suds sliding down the silkiness of her body. His mouth watered at the sight of her breasts, wet, full, tempting. Unaware she was watched, she turned her back to him and bent over to retrieve another handful of soap from the crock on the low table beside the tub.
A groan escaped him. He could bear this no longer. Duncan strode across the room, stepped into the tub, and pulled Tilda against him. “Ye are a rare vision, and I must have ye, love. Ye’ve nearly undone me with all yer soaping.”
Sliding her hands up his chest, she wiggled her warm, slick body against him. “I thought to freshen myself all sweet for ye. Now, how am I to wash with ye here in the tub with me?”
Duncan didn’t bother with words. Actions always spoke much louder in situations such as this. Cupping the wondrous slick curves of her bottom, he lifted her up, then lowered them both into the water. He settled her down atop him, burying himself to the hilt with another rapturous groan. Tilda’s delighted gasp spurred him onward. With a steady rocking of his hips, he set the water in the tub to sloshing. “A fine idea, m’love. I canna remember when I’ve enjoyed bathing more.” After a greedy nuzzling of her luscious breasts, he lifted his gaze to hers. “Do ye no’ agree?”
“Aye…most definitely,” Tilda said between panting gasps whilst gripping his shoulders and increasing the motion of the waves.
Water splashed over the sides. Tilda arched her back, lifting her wondrous breasts high in the air. She held tight to the sides of the tub and rode harder, keening out her delight. Duncan couldn’t get enough of her glistening body. He bucked and arched beneath her. With a firm grip of her bottom, he slammed her down harder upon him with each rocking motion. He roared his throat raw as he spilled himself inside her.
Tilda’s elated cries joined with his. She clenched and shuddered atop him. Splashing down to his chest, she propped her chin atop his shoulder, and gasped for breath. “Reckon anyone’s ever drowned at this?”
“’Twould be a fine way to go if they did.” Duncan resettled himself higher against the side of the tub, sliding his hands up and down her slippery back. “I’m afeared I’ve ruined yer bath, love. Forgive me?”
Still astraddle him, Tilda pushed herself up from his chest and tried her best to assume a stern look but failed miserably. Joy danced in her gaze. “I dare say ye improved upon it quite well, husband.” She leaned forward and treated him to a sweet kiss. “Hmm…husband. I do like the sound of that.”
Duncan brushed a finger to her cheek while squeezing her fine round arse with his other hand. “Aye, wife. I do, as well.” But now that his head had somewhat cleared, and his thoughts had returned from pleasures of the flesh, a troubling unease filled him. He had a wife now. Bairns were sure to follow if his brothers and their wives were any sign. Where would they live? How would he feed them? Protect them? Provide them with all their wants and needs?
“What ails ye of a sudden?” Tilda combed his wet hair back out of his eyes and studied him. “Ye’ve gone all dark and stormy on me.”
“We canna stay here forever, Tilda.” As gently as possible, Duncan lifted her off him and shifted her to the other end of the tub. This was not the sort of conversation to have whilst inside yer wife. He couldn’t properly think in such a position. He scooted upright in his end of the tub, then stood, and stepped out. “Ye are my wife. We’re certain to be blessed with bairns. We canna stay here. This is nay the place for us to raise our children.”
Knees folded to her chest, she wrapped her arms around them and frowned down at the sudsy bathwater. “I’ve never thought about where we might go.” She gave him a worried look. “Ye canna return to Tor Ruadh. ’Twould be the first place both the British and the MacDonalds would look.”
“Cape Wrath would be the same.” Duncan knotted a linen cloth around his waist and took to pacing. He thought better when he walked. “Reckon the British have already taken yer father and those who helped in Aberdeen?”
Tilda shook her head. “Nay.” She stepped from the tub and wrapped a linen around herself, tucking it under her arms and knotting it above her breasts. “We took care to wear cloaks and hoods. Witnesses couldna be certain who helped ye.”
“They’d know it was the Mackenzies well enough because of our association.” Duncan padded across the cool surface of the marble floor. The sea breeze fluttering in through the window brought him no peace this morning.
“Aye, but they could nay prove it.” Tilda went to the table laden with food, selected a bannock, and nibbled at the edges. “This is nay the first time Da has challenged the British.” She pointed the bannock at Duncan. “The key is to keep them guessing and never give them substantial proof during such a campaign.” She shrugged. “And they fear him. That is our greatest advantage of all.” She spread a dollop of butter across the end of the bannock, then waved the butter knife at him. “And no MacDonald would ever be fool enough to set foot on Mackenzie land.”
Cape Wrath. Duncan mulled over the idea, wishing for a way to return to Tor Ruadh, at least, for a little while. Tilda would love his brothers and their wives, and they would love her. He raked a hand back through his wet hair. He had so wanted adventure. Been bored with life at the keep. Now life at Tor Ruadh was lost to him, and he missed it something fierce. He glanced back into the room. But now he had Tilda. A comforting warmth settled in the center of chest. A sense of peaceful finality. Aye, she was worth it. She was his adventure. To Cape Wrath they would go.
“How long from here to Cape Wrath.” His middle tightened at the thought. How many days of retching must he endure? He joined Tilda at the table and helped himself to a chunk of cheese and a bit of bread.
Tilda gave him a sympathetic look. “Less than a day.” She filled a metal goblet with wine and handed it to him. “We could ply ye with spirits until ye passed out to get ye through it.”
“I doubt Tait’s cove possesses that much whiskey.” He had never passed out from drink in all his life. His brothers, all three of them, envied this debatably useful ability to remain in charge of his senses no matter how much he imbibed. He shook his head. “If I fill me gullet with drink, it will only supply me with more to heave.”
“Ye fared so poorly on Tait’s galleon. I would have thought such a large ship would nay have bothered ye so fierce.” Tilda poured herself a bit of wine and moved to the window, looking out across the bay. “Perhaps a smaller ship would suit ye better? We could ask for passage to Cape Wrath on one of the sloops.”
Duncan joined her at the window. “Ye h
ave me at a loss, woman. I know the Highlands. I know horses.” The thought of Rab being pampered and introduced to several mares in Tait’s stables on the isle made him smile. Aye, his horse was more than pleased with the turn events had taken. He motioned toward the sea below and the rows upon rows of masts. “I dinna ken ships.”
“A sloop it is then.” Tilda set her glass to the table and headed toward the bedchamber. “Of course, Tait’ll have to bring yer horse to Cape Wrath later when he delivers cargo.” She tossed him a quick smile back over her shoulder as she disappeared into the next room. She reemerged a moment later with the bedsheets in her arms. She hefted the bundle to the door of the suite and dumped it on the floor.
“Ye’ve stripped the bed?” If a stripped bed was what she wished, it didn’t matter to him. Sheets only got in the way.
“Proof, remember?” She pointed to a mahogany wardrobe flanking the door to the bedchamber. “Ye’ll find clothes in there. Mine are in the cabinet in the bedchamber.” Tilda strode with purpose, flitting about the room like a wren building her nest. “Soon as we’re dressed, we’ll find Tait and secure a ship, aye?”
As she passed him, Duncan snagged hold of her wrist. “Be ye so eager to leave our wedding chamber?” He gathered her into his arms and gave her a kiss flavored with wine and the promise of things to come. Still deep in the kiss, he worked free the linen tied at her breasts and tossed the cloth aside. Skin to skin. The sea breeze from the opened window brushed across their bare flesh. Aye, this was a much better task than getting dressed and worrying about where to seek sanctuary next.
Tilda broke the kiss, smiling up at him with a suggestive gleam in her eyes. “Perhaps we should stay for a wee bit longer, aye?”
“For certain, love.” Duncan turned and swept his arm across the end of the table, shoving platters, glasses, and bottles out of the way.
“The table?”
The Warrior (Highland Heroes Book 2) Page 14
