Sliding her hands down to the firm mounds of his butt, she pushed down as she lifted her hips, grinding against him, feeling him slide just inside her.
His hands cupped her bottom now, holding her in place as he pulled out. Holding her in place as he drove back in, burying his shaft deep inside her.
The bubble that had built exploded from her chest, not laughter but some primal combination of growl and scream.
The Wild Woman wanted more.
He shifted his hold as he pulled out again, one thumb raking over the swollen nub of her desire. Round and round, driving her into a frenzy before he drove deep again.
It was as if stars filled her eyelids and cotton clogged her ears. Every muscle in her body clenched in unison, over and over again until she felt as if she’d plunged off a precipice, flying through the air like some mythical beast.
Once more he buried himself in her, holding her body tightly to his. Deep inside her the throbbing contractions of his release sent her body trembling over the edge again.
He shifted his weight to one side, pulling her over without breaking their connection. They lay together, spent, their hearts beating as one for the longest time.
Was this what Destiny had tried to describe to her that day? The magic of the right man’s touch. A touch that curls your toes.
At last, he lifted a hand, pushing hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. For the life of her, she had no memory of the tie that held it back coming undone.
“Yer an amazing woman, Leah MacQuarrie. I canna say I’ve ever met yer like before.”
“Yer no so bad yerself,” she replied, copying his lilting speech.
He stroked a thumb down her cheek and she felt the Wild Woman stir, wondering how long might it take before he was good to go for another round.
“Yer spirit humbles me, woman. I look into yer eyes and I want to hear everything you’ve been through. I want to ken what makes you you. The story of yer life, from the way you were as a child right up to how you managed to escape MacQuarrie Keep to find yer way to the place we first met.”
He wanted to talk?
She traced her forefinger along his shoulder and down his side, feeling the goose bumps that popped out on his skin. Across his stomach, to follow the track of dark hair plunging downward.
A little lower and the object of her interest sprang to life, leaving no doubts as to when he might be ready.
After what they’d shared this evening, she saw no need for secrets between them. She’d gladly tell him all her stories if that was what he wanted.
Later.
For now, the Wild Woman called.
Twenty-three
Leah dreamed of beautiful things, of gentle things, of a butterfly perched on the tip of her nose.
She awoke to find it was no butterfly, but Drew’s fingertip resting there. He lay on his side next to her, one long leg resting atop her.
“Morning, dearling. I’d begun to wonder if you might sleep through the whole of yer wedding day.”
Her wedding day. She was getting married today.
She smiled into his handsome face, lifting her lips for him to kiss, thrilled when he obliged her.
Mindful to avoid the scar on his chest, she laid her hand on his stomach, allowing her fingers to ripple lightly over the hard muscles there. Over the muscles and lower. His shaft seemed to jump in greeting as she touched it, hardening immediately.
“Mmmm,” she murmured, running her hand up and down his length, delighted when it continued to grow under her touch until he clamped his hand over hers.
Leaning his head over hers, he covered her lips with his. Soft and warm, strong and sensual, his kiss fully awoke the need in her.
“You’ll have to rein in that Wild Woman of yers. To my great regret, we’ve no time to pleasure her now. But you’ve my oath, dearling, I’ll work extra hard tonight to make up for the wait.”
Crapola. Way too much story-sharing last night. She’d known the minute she’d told him about the Wild Woman thing, she’d regret it sooner or later.
Sooner, as it turned out.
With a sigh, she flopped on her back and let him go. Not that she had any choice. In truth, it might be just as well he had to go. There didn’t seem to be a spot on her body that wasn’t sore this morning, like she’d participated in some heavy-duty new workout program.
Come to think of it, that’s exactly what she’d done.
He rolled to his side of the bed, stretching to reach his plaid before he stood. With an expert flick of his wrist, he had the plaid wrapped around him.
But not fast enough.
Good holy shit! The scarred injury on his upper leg made the one on his chest seem no more than a silvered stretch mark. This one, with the skin all puckered and misshapen, looked as if someone had hacked a long chunk of meat from the bone.
No wonder he tried to hide it. No wonder he thought less of himself for it.
The fleeting image was burned into her mind, into her soul. She couldn’t begin to imagine the pain he must have suffered when it had first happened. Couldn’t stomach the mental anguish he carried with him even now.
Whatever it took, she wouldn’t add any fuel to that internal fire.
Tamping down her ragged emotions, she met his eyes, seeing the fear there.
“Will I see you again before we leave to go down to the chapel?”
He shook his head, his expression clearing. “Likely no, dearling. You’ll go down in the wagon with the other women. I’ll ride alongside with the men.”
The whole of the ceremony had been laid out for her yesterday. They’d travel down the hillside to the village chapel where they’d stand on the steps to receive the priest’s formal blessings on their union. Then they’d return, likely with the entire village trailing along. A good feast was not to be missed.
His shirt slipped down over his head, covering the magnificent chest she’d been coveting only minutes ago.
“I’ll send the maids up with a tub for yer bath. That way you can ready yerself in private.”
Like that was going to happen. While there was nothing she’d like more than to soak her tired, achy body, she had no doubt that as soon as he opened that door, she’d be beset with the women of his family, each one determined to fix her up for her wedding day.
With a kiss to her forehead, he was gone.
As she’d rightly guessed, he couldn’t have been more than halfway down the hall before the pounding on her door began.
“Hold on. I’ll be right there.” She threw back the covers, realizing as she did so that every stitch of clothing she’d worn had somehow made its way to parts unknown during the course of the previous night.
Untangling the linen coverlet from the bed, she wrapped it around herself before opening the door to what turned out to be quite a parade of activity.
Sallie entered first with Anabella trailing behind, heading up an entire parade of women all intent on some specific part of getting her ready for her big day. Two hefted a large wooden tub while several others carried steaming buckets.
Her bath had arrived.
Anabella laid the dress she’d held on the bed, turning her best imperious glare in Leah’s direction after a pointed look around the room. “From the looks of things in here, I’d say you’ll no be needing a lecture on how a proper virgin spends her wedding night.”
No. She certainly wouldn’t be needing anything like that. As a matter of fact, after last night, she was pretty sure she was qualified to be the one giving that lecture.
Not that she’d be rude enough to point that out to Anabella. No matter how much she might like to.
“Leave her be, Mother MacPherson,” Sallie rebuked. “They’re already married, as you well ken. Obtaining the blessing from the church is but a formality and today naught but an excuse to celebrate with my brother and his new wife.”
Maybe that’s what today was all about for these people. But for Leah, it was all about getting rid of Moreland s
o she could convince the MacKiernan laird to help Hugh and Margery.
A purely business transaction, and nothing more. The marriage meant absolutely nothing to her. Absolutely nothing.
Still, a feast was a feast and like everyone else, she saw was no reason not to enjoy a good party.
Or the attentions of a handsome man.
Leah sat as patiently as possible while Rosalyn affixed the circlet of blooms in her hair. Unfortunately, after her morning of preparations, her store of patience for the day was dwindling fast.
For a while there, she’d thought she was going to have to bodily remove the giggling gaggle of women from her chamber in order to have that “peaceful” bath Drew had suggested. Even once they’d left, she could hear them outside her door. Chattering and carrying on like . . . well, like a gaggle of women.
They’d fussed over the dress she wore, picking and adjusting every fold and fall of the garment. The dress was lovely. A pale yellow piece of fluff, with ribbons and actual button closures, the likes of which Leah hadn’t seen in years.
She ran her hand across the material now, watching how the soft cloth billowed behind her touch.
“Keep yer head still for a bit longer, lass. I’ve almost got it.” Rosalyn words were muffled as she spoke around the pins she held in her mouth.
Leah tried to ignore the distress she felt wearing the beautiful dress. Ellie had been all smiles as she’d announced it was the one she’d worn at her own wedding. It had been the part about how she was sure Leah and Drew would be as happy as she and Caden that had gotten to Leah.
A huge lump sat in the back of her throat threatening to dissolve into tears with the slightest of provocations. Whether her unhappiness stemmed from guilt over faking the marriage or disappointment that the marriage wasn’t real, she refused to allow herself to dwell on it. Putting much thought to the matter, she knew for a fact, would be all she’d need to send her over the edge of the emotional precipice where even now she teetered.
It was a business transaction. A means to an end and nothing more. Certainly not anything to get all weepy and emotional over.
“There,” Rosalyn pronounced, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “All done.”
As Leah stood, the long ribbons that hung from the delicate circlet draped gracefully over her shoulders and down her back. Although her dress was borrowed, the women had told her the circlet must be prepared just for her, a keepsake to put away to honor her marriage.
She let out a long shaky breath and looked around at the women who circled her. “I guess I’m ready.” The hitch in her voice surprised her.
“Oh, no, sister.” Sallie hurried forward, throwing her arms around Leah. “No tears. Yer face will go all blotchy and swollen. You dinna want that, no on a day as special as this.”
“Besides, you know those tears are contagious, don’t you?” Ellie stepped to her side, putting one arm around Leah’s shoulders. “Why do you suppose weddings always make everyone want to cry?” She laughed at her own question, wiping her cheek.
“Joy,” Rosalyn said simply, as if the answer should be obvious to anyone. “There’s nothing like the joy of realizing you’ll spend the rest of yer life with yer own true love. Nothing like the joy of seeing two souls made whole when they’re joined together.”
Against Leah’s will, the tears that had pooled in her eyes began a slow trickle down her cheeks. First one and then another, as if once the path had been forged, the way was open.
For something that was intended as no more than a means to an end kind of business transaction, this wedding was kicking her emotional butt.
This simply would not do. She would not allow herself to behave this way.
A few sniffles, some rapid blinking, and she had the situation back under control where it belonged. Two deep breaths and she was good to go.
As long as everyone kept it light, she’d be fine. It was those heavy philosophical musings about what marriage was supposed to be that got to her. As long as there were no more provocations of that sort, she had it locked down and ready to go.
“Brides,” Anabella scoffed. “You’d never have caught me shedding even a single tear, I can tell you. No at either of my weddings.”
“I’ve no surprise at that.” Rosalyn handed a soft cloth to Leah to dry her face. “That’s what comes of viewing marriage as a business transaction rather than wedding for love. It’s a sure path to nothing but misery.”
And there it was, winging in from out of nowhere, the final little philosophical provocation she’d hoped to avoid. It landed like a punch to the gut and vibrated out. The lump in Leah’s throat burst, turning what had been a gentle drip to a flood, the whole of it totally, completely beyond her control.
She’d officially dropped over into Emotional Wreck territory.
Someone took the dry cloth from her hand, replacing it with a cold, wet cloth to hold over her face while someone else patted her back and made soothing, cooing noises in an attempt to calm her down.
How utterly, completely stupid of her to behave like this. Consoling herself that none of this was real didn’t help at all. If anything, it made her feel worse, turning the flood of tears into breath-catching sobs.
A knock sounded at the door and she muffled the sounds she made by holding the cloth to her face, fighting to control her ridiculous emotions.
“Da says to hurry the hens. Everyone’s waiting in the courtyard.”
“Oh, he says that, does he?” Sallie sounded a bit sniffly herself. “Well, you tell him we’ll be down when we’re good and ready and the lot of you can just wait until then. It’s no like there’s a wedding to be had without the bride. Now go on with you.” A pause and then Sallie yelled at the retreating footsteps, “Duncan! You’d best tell yer father I’ll be talking to him about that hen remark when I see him next.”
Beside her, Ellie chuckled softly. “Ran will be eating those words for days to come.”
The interruption had been exactly what Leah needed, diverting everyone’s attention from her long enough to allow her to pull herself together.
She dropped the cloth to the table near the fire before taking in a deep breath and slowly releasing it. With all the ridiculous damned tears at last dried up, she was herself again. Back in control.
Ignoring the excited, inane chatter swirling around her, she followed along as they made a type of procession out of her bedchamber toward the stairs, headed to the courtyard where Drew and the others awaited.
Such a silly little interlude back there. A breakdown like that was completely unlike her. All she could think of was that it was a result of being surrounded by all those women, all obviously on total estrogen overload.
Years ago in researching a paper for the advanced science class she’d taken, she’d read an article about how when women lived closely together their bodies would regulate themselves so that, after a while, all the women would have their monthly cycles at the same time. She’d wondered then about the author’s assertions that somehow the estrogen passed messages from one woman to another.
Too bad she wouldn’t be around in seven hundred years when that article was being researched. She could offer up today’s weirdo moment as verifiable evidence of the claim.
They’d stepped outside onto the great staircase by the time Leah was ready to pay attention to her companions again. To her surprise, the courtyard was filled with men on horseback and women and children crammed into wagons, all waiting to accompany them down the hillside to the chapel in the little village.
A general excited murmur wafted over everything, evidence of the festive mood.
Without thought or intention, she sought him out.
Drew stood at the foot of the stairs, freshly scrubbed, wearing finery she hadn’t seen before.
His eyes captured hers, his expression so intense she nearly missed her next step and was forced to grab Ellie’s arm to prevent herself from falling.
Within a heartbeat he was at her side, taking he
r arm to the cheers of those waiting.
“Yer holding up?”
She nodded in answer to his question, unable to speak. This close, with his damp hair curling down into the ruffled shirt at his neck, his beauty overwhelmed her. Her mind filled with memories from the night before.
His hair had been damp then, too, but not fresh from the bathhouse. He’d hovered over her, sweat from their mutual exertion glistening on his naked body, sparkling in the glow of the fire’s flickering flames.
She shivered as he caught her up, his hands at her waist, to lift her into the wagon.
“Yer the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen,” he whispered into her ear just before he released his hold on her.
A moment ago she would have sworn there wasn’t a spare drop of moisture left in her body, but she’d have been wrong. There they were, buckets of tears pooling, glassing over her vision. Gallons of them, all just waiting for her to tip her head the slightest bit so they could pour down her face.
Blinking hard, once and then again, she fervently prayed she wouldn’t embarrass herself out here in front of everyone.
His low chuckle sent a ripple of excitement coursing through her body. The kiss he placed against her ear, his teeth tickling at the lobe, turned the excitement into need, driving away any thought of tears as those gathered around set up a whooping cheer of approval.
“That’s better,” he whispered before stepping back. With a low bow to her, he turned and mounted his horse, bringing the animal alongside the wagon next to where she sat.
Better? She wasn’t so sure. The tears were irrational and stupid, yes, but the pounding need that heated her face now and set her body thrumming with a desire to rip that fancy shirt off Drew’s back was hardly an improvement.
She put a hand to her cheek to cool the burn. It was as if a fever had taken her. An illness might explain her irrational behavior. If she were able to be ill. Which she wasn’t. Try as she might to deny that part of her, at times like this her Faerie heritage was undeniable.
The only illness she’d ever suffered had been when she touched someone, taking their illness on herself to heal them. And other than that little mishap with the wound on Drew’s arm while they traveled to Dun Ard, she’d made sure to avoid using her gift for over a decade.
Healing the Highlander Page 18
