The Striker

by Monica McCarty

  Not that she didn’t know the particulars of fornicating, which she did. And she knew enough from her brothers (and those people in the Hall) to know that it could be enjoyable. But she’d thought it would be embarrassing and awkward. What she hadn’t expected was the incredible closeness and bond that would be forged between them.

  He lifted his head from her mouth. “Are you all right?”

  Seeing the self-recrimination and silent apology in his eyes, her heart tugged. She would remember this moment for the rest of her life and cherish it.

  She put her hand up to cup his stubbled jaw. “I’m perfect.”

  And she was. Margaret knew this was exactly where she was supposed to be. Joined with this man in the way God had intended. She didn’t care what the priests said, this couldn’t be a sin. It was heaven.

  Eoin’s teeth clenched against the urge to thrust. The urge that was as primitive and powerful as anything he’d ever experienced.

  He’d done this before. Maybe not as many times as Fin—he was focused on other things than chasing women—but enough to know that this was different.

  And it wasn’t just because Margaret was a maid (even if he’d had to keep reminding himself of that fact with the passionate way she responded to him). Christ, he hadn’t expected that much pain. It had scared the lust right out of him. Though unfortunately only for a minute. It had come roaring back full force as he became aware of the tightness of her body squeezing around him.

  What made this different wasn’t just the sensations gripping his body, but the emotions gripping his heart. Eoin didn’t believe in bards’ shite like fate and destiny, but looking into those incredible golden eyes while seated deep inside her, the words came to mind. He felt something in his chest shift with the intensity of the emotion that rose inside him. He wanted to protect her, cherish her, and most of all love her with everything he had.

  Unfortunately, the base instincts clamoring inside him like the drum had other ideas. The pressure pounding at the base of his spine warned him that he didn’t have long. He’d just come up against the limits of his control.

  As soon as he felt her relax, he couldn’t hold back anymore. He had to move. Slowly at first, and then as her breath quickened, and soft cries filled the cottage, faster.

  Her response drove him wild. Her back arched . . . the leg around his waist tightened, and he was lost. His hips thrust, circled, and plunged. Deeper, harder, faster, until the pleasure unwound inside him.

  “Oh God, Maggie, you feel so good. I’m going to . . .”

  He couldn’t finish. He stiffened, shuddered, and cried out as the force of his release exploded from him in wave after wave of powerful bursts.

  When it was over, it was all that he could do to stand. He collapsed against her and slowly let her slide from his body as he fought to regain some of his strength—and breath.

  He was utterly drained. Spent. Wrung out of all his energy. When he was seven—just before he left to be fostered—he’d been swimming in the sea around Gylen Castle and become caught in the current. He’d nearly drowned, struggling for over an hour, before finally dragging himself to shore and collapsing in a dead heap in the sand. That was about how much energy he had right now.

  Until her muffled voice penetrated the euphoric haze. “Eoin, uh, are you all right?”

  Ah hell. He pulled back with a curse, realizing he’d probably been crushing her. He realized other things as well, like the fact that he’d just taken her maidenhead with little more finesse than an eighteen-year-old lad.

  She was probably confused—worried—wondering what the hell happened now. In other words feeling the same way he was. Divesting young ladies of their virginity wasn’t exactly something he had a lot of—any— experience with.

  He didn’t bother asking himself what the hell he’d just done, he knew exactly what he’d just done. Rather quickly. Against a wall, for Christ’s sake.

  “God, I’m sorry,” he said, raking his fingers back through his hair. “I didn’t mean it to happen that way. You deserved better.”

  She looked stricken. “You regret what—”

  He stopped her. “Nay. God knows I probably should, but I don’t.”

  It was too late for regret. Too late for self-recrimination. Too late to say he’d made a mistake. Too late to tell himself that he never should have brought her here.

  Even if he wanted to be angry with himself for doing something so incredibly stupid (not to mention dishonorable), something guaranteed to cause them both a shite-heap of trouble, and something that could jeopardize his place in his kinsman’s secret guard, he knew it wouldn’t change anything. What was done was done. Whether she was right or wrong for him no longer mattered: she was his. And damned if that didn’t make him happy.

  Reaching down, he cupped her face in his hand, gently stroking the soft curve of her cheek with his thumb. She was so damned beautiful she took his breath away, and never more than now when she bore the stamp of their passion on her swollen lips and stubble-scraped skin.

  Eoin was discovering that he hadn’t left those Viking marauder roots as far behind as he thought.

  “All I meant,” he explained, “is that you deserved far more than a wall in a fisherman’s cottage for your first time, and had I any semblance of honor and control, I would have given it to you—along with far more pleasure.”

  Relief spread over her delicate features in a bright smile. “But you did bring me pleasure.”

  He had, he realized, as surprising as that was for a maid. From everything he’d heard, the first time for a lass was always horrible. But Margaret had liked it. Just thinking about the way her body had responded to him, how she’d pressed her breasts against his chest and tightened her leg around his hip, drawing him closer, did what he would have thought impossible. Defying every law of nature, he felt himself stir.

  He looked into her eyes and continued to run his thumb over her bottom lip. “There’s more, a leanbh,” he said huskily. “Much more.”

  “Really?”

  The spark of anticipation in her eyes went straight to his bollocks. She was still standing in front of the wall, and he was remembering too well how she’d looked pressed up against it. How her eyes had slitted, her breath had quickened, and her cheeks had flushed.

  He had every intention of seeing that again, but this time, he was going to do it right. “Aye, really. But before I show you exactly what I mean, you must agree to one thing.”

  A small frown drew between her brows. “What’s that?”

  “To be my wife.”

  The look of shock on her face would have been amusing had it not been at the expense of what honor he had left.

  “W-w-what?”

  He frowned. Surely she knew as well as he what this meant. She was his, damn it. She’d given herself to him, and he had no intention of letting her go.

  “I want you to marry me, Maggie. Right here, right now.”

  Margaret’s head was spinning.

  Barely had she recovered from the fear that she might have killed him—the look on his face before he’d collapsed against her had been as close to a man glimpsing paradise as she’d ever seen—then she was reeling from the blow of thinking he regretted what had happened. Now he was proposing? And unless she was mistaken, what he was proposing was just as shocking.

  “A clandestine marriage?” she asked.

  He nodded grimly. “It’s not ideal. And if there was another way, I wouldn’t suggest it. But you know as well as I do that our families will not want an alliance between us. The church might not like informal ceremonies done without the banns, but it will be valid—and binding.”

  Their eyes met, and she knew exactly what he meant. Even if their families wanted to try to undo it, they would not be able to. If they agreed to wed right now, spoke their vows, and consummated them, in the eyes of the church they would be just as married as if they’d posted the banns for the next three Sundays and then exchanged vows before the church d
oor with a priest.

  “But once we explain to them what has happened . . .”

  “Do you really want to take that chance? What do you think your father will say?”

  Her father would be furious. She didn’t want to think about what he would say, but it was what he would do that worried her. She wouldn’t put much past her father when his pride was involved. He wanted her to marry the Lord of Badenoch’s son—no matter how improbable that was now—he would not settle for a kinsman of Bruce’s, and a third son at that. Her father loved her, but he would do whatever it took to keep them apart, virginity or not.

  Eoin was right, if they didn’t marry now, they might not have another chance.

  But something was holding her back from saying yes. She tilted her head, studying this serious, handsome warrior who’d wound his way around her heart. “Why do you want to marry me, Eoin?”

  He stiffened. “I would think that is obvious.”

  That was exactly the problem. Margaret wasn’t a romantic. She hadn’t thought her husband’s feelings for her would matter to her when she wed. It was discomfiting to realize that they did. Honor should be enough, but in this case it wasn’t.

  “There is no reason for anyone to know what just happened,” she said softly.

  His jaw clenched angrily, his eyes darkening to midnight. He ground out each word. “I will know.” His eyes scanned over her as if he were remembering every moment. An unmistakable thrill spread over her skin. “You gave yourself to me, Margaret, and if you think I’ll pretend it didn’t happen, you don’t know me very well.”

  She didn’t. That was part of the problem.

  The dangerous glint in his eye made her shudder. Had she not been backed against a wall already, she might have taken a step back. But she wouldn’t let him intimidate her. “You do not need to fall on your sword for the sake of my reputation, Eoin. I’m afraid it’s rather too late for that. Marrying me won’t change what they think.”

  His eyes narrowed. Holy cross, he could look menacing!

  “That isn’t what I’m doing.”

  “Isn’t it? I’m strong enough to weather the storm; I will not let them defeat me so easily. I don’t care what they say. I know the truth.” She gave him a wry smile. “Believe it or not, at home people actually like me.”

  He held her gaze for so long she didn’t think he was going to say anything. But as usual, his expression held no hint of his thoughts. “I believe it. And that’s why I want to marry you.”

  It took her a moment to realize what he meant. When she finally did, it felt like the sun had just broken out from behind a cloud. “You care for me.”

  He drew her up against him. “Aye, I care about you, lass.”

  The deep, rough huskiness of his voice sent tiny shivers racing across her skin. She looped her hands around his neck as if they belonged there. “I care about you, too.”

  As his hands already were moving possessively over her body, clearly he’d guessed as much.

  “Good. Now, if you are finished with your questions, you have about five seconds to give me an answer before I carry you over to that bed. You can be my wife the second time I’m inside you or the third, but either way, I will be inside you, and you will be my wife.”

  Her eyes widened. This was a fierce, primitive side of him she’d never seen before, and something about it made her pulse quicken and her blood heat. Or maybe that was the feeling of him hard against her.

  She arched a brow. “Is that the way of it, then?”

  “It is.” His hand was on her breast. She sucked in her breath as his thumb circled over the crest of her nipple. When he’d made it hard, he drew it between his fingers and gently pinched. She gasped as pleasure flooded her senses—and flooded somewhere else as well. She trembled with pleasure.

  “And, Maggie?” His mouth was by her ear, his warm breath and silky tongue making her shudder.

  She was in such a sensual daze it took her a moment to realize he was talking to her. “What?”

  He lifted her up into his arms. “Your five seconds are over.”

  9

  EOIN DIDN’T KNOW what had come over him, except that he knew he wasn’t going to leave here without Margaret MacDowell as his wife.

  The lass did something to him—besides turning him into a lust-crazed lad, that is. She brought out a fierce, possessive side of himself that he’d never exhibited before. He wasn’t sure he liked it, and it sure as hell wasn’t very civilized, but there was no denying that he was carrying her to the bed with every intention of ravishing her—again.

  He held her gaze as he crossed the few steps to the small bed. He had to put her down to pick up the plaid he’d shoved off her shoulders and lay it down over the straw “mattress.” Next time there would be feathers and silk bed linens, but for now this would have to do. At least it was an improvement over a wall.

  With any other woman he wouldn’t have considered asking what he did next. But Margaret was different. She was bold and confident, and not easily shocked. “I want to see you, a leanbh. All of you.”

  It took her a moment to understand what he meant. Her eyes widened ever so slightly before meeting his with a challenge. “And if I should wish the same?”

  He grinned. He was hoping she’d say that. He was realizing there were some good things about a wife who couldn’t resist a challenge. “I could hardly refuse.”

  “You first,” she said, her voice a little breathy.

  He’d taken his clothes off in front of more than one woman, but never had he been so aware of the effect his nakedness had on another. She watched his every movement with the rapt attention of a hawk, not missing any detail as he quickly divested himself of his clothing.

  With every inch of skin he revealed, her breath would catch then quicken, until eventually he pulled off the linen tunic to reveal his chest, and it stopped altogether. If the way her eyes seemed to devour his arms and stomach were any indication, she was one of those lasses who liked a lot of muscle.

  As if the breathy sounds of her arousal weren’t enough, he swore he could also feel her growing hotter. And that in turn made him hotter.

  By the time he removed his braies, he was as hard as a spike. And growing harder by the minute as her eyes devoured that part of him, and egged on by a little gasp that parted her lips in a perfect little O that was too damned suggestive. It was too easy to imagine her soft pink mouth closing around him, sucking, milking, taking him deep down her throat.

  “If you know how to open your throat . . .”

  Ah Christ. He groaned, and her eyes flew to his. “You’re big all over,” she said almost accusingly. “No wonder it hurt.”

  He grinned; he couldn’t help it. A big cock was sure as hell something he wasn’t going to apologize for. She was sure to appreciate it later, although he doubted she would believe that now. “It will feel better this time, I promise.” He lifted a brow in silent challenge. “Your turn.”

  She took one more look at him, sniffed as if to say we’ll see, and started to remove her own clothing. It was his turn to watch like a hawk. Hell, he couldn’t have looked away if the English were kicking down the door.

  Her movements were quick and unthinking with no hint of seductiveness, yet that is exactly what she did. There was a natural sensuality to her that could not be denied. It permeated the very air around her.

  Each movement felt like a silent beckoning, a lure for him to touch her. His hands itched to rip the blasted garments right off her, but he forced his fists to his side.

  She shimmied. She dipped. She reached and tugged. Tempting. Enflaming his desire with the skill of Salome and her veils.

  When Margaret finally lifted the chemise over her head to reveal a body that would have made Venus weep with envy, he thought he was going to explode. Unconsciously, he’d fisted his hand around himself and was one hard pump away from doing exactly that. When her eyes followed the direction of his hand and widened with unabashed curiosity, he swore and re
leased himself.

  She definitely was going to kill him.

  She was unreal. Her body more incredible than he’d imagined—and he’d done some pretty detailed imagining. Long, sleek limbs, curvy hips, a narrow waist, lush, round breasts with berry-pink nipples that jiggled enticingly as she shook out her long hair over her shoulders, and inch after inch of flawless, creamy white skin.

  She stood there proudly, without an ounce of shame, as he drank her in. Why shouldn’t she? She had nothing to be ashamed about. She was perfect.

  And she was his. His wild, wicked little enchantress.

  Holding her gaze, he reached out to brush the back of his finger over a pearly nipple so exquisitely formed it didn’t look real. “You are beautiful, a leanbh. Beautiful.”

  She grinned. “So are you.” She reached up to loop her hand around his neck, bringing their naked bodies into contact for the first time.

  He hissed at the sizzling shock of sensation, sliding his arm around her velvety-soft back to draw her closer. “Warriors aren’t beautiful. You’ll have to think of some other word.”

  She sucked in her breath as he started sliding his mouth down the side of her neck close to her ear. “Or what?”

  His teeth closed around the tiny lobe. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”

  He could feel the excited jump of her heart against his. “How?”

  Naughty lass. “Like this.” He nibbled on her ear and slid his hand around to take her nipple between his fingers and start to pinch. He could tell how much she liked it by the soft little moans and deepening imprint of his cock on her belly.

  Carefully, he lowered her down on the narrow bed. As there wasn’t much room, he had to prop himself on his side and lean over her. But since that gave him plenty of access to that gorgeous body, he didn’t mind.

  Margaret was grateful to feel the straw of the mattress at her back, as it meant she no longer had to think about standing. She could concentrate fully on what he was doing to her.