by K. E. Saxon
“Morg—!”
“Look at yourself. Right now. Look.”
Gwynlyan shook her head and grabbed for the covering but it was out of reach. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Nay. I can’t. Don’t make me do this, I beg you.”
He brushed his lips o’er her lids and murmured low, “Let’s save our begging for later, when you’re riding me like a warrior princess upon her stallion.”
That image alone made her want to shrivel inside. “Nay, Morgunn. I cannot.”
“Do it, or I’ll tickle you until you pee,” he said, and then his evil fingers began to do just that.
She laughed out loud and tried to twist from his hold, screaming out, “Nay! Stop! You—ha! ha!—know my weakness—aaaii!—and used it against me!”
“Do you give in?”
“Aye, aye! Ha! Ha! Just stop!”
“Open your eyes first.”
“You’re evil. Aack!”
He chuckled. “Aye. I know.”
“All right. Eep!”
“Do it.”
She opened her eyes and found his own directly above her. His mad hands went still and for a suspended moment, the only sound in the chamber was the blowing of both their breaths. Her mirthful smile turned gentle and she lifted her hand to his cheek. “I truly do hate you at this moment. I hope the next time you pee it burns.”
He grinned. “I love it when you talk mean. Do it again.”
“Nay. I’m out of the mood.”
He chuckled and rolled a bit to the side. “Okay, coward, then ‘tis time to take a long look at yourself and see yourself with truth. Look now.”
It took every ounce of courage within her, but for him, she did this thing that made her want to retch. When her eyes found the scars, immediately the urge to shut them tight again near o’erwhelmed her, but she fought it hard, and won against it. Forced herself to gaze unwaveringly at the proof of her ugliness.
“These scars,” Morgunn said into the silence, running his fingers o’er them, “are truly not as horrid as you think. And believe me when I say this, they have not taken from the lushness of those gorgeous full breasts, nor the tempting curve of your waist, nor the beautiful bend of your hip, nor the enticing handful of your rounded buttock, nor the strong, straight line of your limbs. In short, even if I were to see you for the first time, have met you only a short time past, still I would want to mate with you. Often, and with avid enjoyment.”
For a long moment—a very long moment—she just stared at them. Trying hard to see them in the same way that Morgunn did. Finally, something began to change within her. Some shift in her perspective took place. It seemed to have to do with—she knew not what, exactly—something, she thought, with simply looking at them, getting to know them, getting used to them as something that was part of her now, and all right to be there. Some proof, as Morgunn said, of the battle she’d fought and won. It settled and calmed her. It made her able to let go of that young woman she’d been, and embrace the stronger, mayhap even better, woman she was now.
Finally she looked up into his eyes again and said, “So, you want to be ridden do you?”
He grinned and gave a brief nod.
“All right, stallion, take me for a ride,” she said, shoving him to his back and settling atop him.
His manhood sprung up between them like a jack-in-the-box, and ‘twas only then that she remembered he’d ne’er found completion yet this night. And that, she thought, was a very bad thing for a new bride to do to her new husband. She leaned forward, grasping his phallus in her hand, said to him, “Get ready for the ride of your life,” then took him full into her on a slow glide.
As she began the ancient rhythm, he caressed her breasts, tweaked the peaks of them with his fingers, moved his own hips beneath hers, groaned her name o’er and o’er. ‘Twas not long before her own cries of pleasure mingled with his. She found the exact rhythm, the exact motion that brought on a wave of such intense pleasure, she could do naught but continue, work her hips harder in a bid to reach that pinnacle that was just there, but still out of reach.
As she did moved with more force, he answered in kind, gripping her hips and pushing her down even further as he rose up to meet her, until the head of his shaft pounded the mouth of her womb. All at once, he arched beneath her, pressed his head into the pillow, and yelled, “Aye, like that. Fuck me just like that.” And she did. She did until he went rigid beneath her and pumped his seed high within her. All at once, she was there as well, giving out a ragged cry when her inner muscles convulsed around him, when her world exploded into waves of rapture.
A long time later, the two of them lay twined together, naked, and though ‘twas a cold night, uncovered on their marriage bed. She felt Morgunn’s breath as it fluttered a stray lock of her hair o’er her cheek and snuggled even tighter into his side.
“That, my love, was even better than we’d had before—and before was more than marvelous,” he said into the silence. “Aye, I can definitely avow that our future may just be magnificent. Do you agree?”
She felt his chin move off her pate, so she knew he was looking down at her now. She tipped her head and returned the look. “Aye. I do,” she answered with a giddy smile.
He gave a snort that turned into a belly laugh and she used his chest as leverage when she raised up. “What? What makes you laugh so?”
“Our daughter. I could see that she was not utterly assured that all was well within our bridal chamber, but she had not the daring to put her nose too far into my and your affairs.”
Gwynlyan smiled as well, but nibbled her lip, too. “I do hope she isn’t fretting even now about it. She needs her rest.”
Gwynlyan made to rise, but Morgunn brought her back down to him with a strong grip about her waist.
“Nay, ‘tis not long now until sunrise. We can see her then. For, if she sleeps, then we will awaken her, and if she does not, she will grow even more suspicious if you go to her and declare all is well, when we told her that already before.”
“Aye,” Gwynlyan said on a sigh, and settled more comfortably once again into her husband’s side.
They lay there in companionable silence for quite a time more, until finally, and blissfully, they, too, found their rest.
* * *
Gwynlyan bit her lip in concentration as she carefully made the final flourish to her signature. After her capture by Alaric, she’d not been given the means by which to write, so her skill had grown weak with disuse, but in the past five moons since her renewal of vows to Morgunn, and their subsequent return to their holding, Aerariae secturae, she’d exchanged several letters with her daughter and the skill had slowly begun to return, become easier.
A hand landed on her shoulder and she started, but calmed when she heard the dulcet murmur of Morgunn close to her cheek.
“Another letter to Morgana, is it?”
“Aye,” Gwynlyan replied, carefully setting the quill down away from the vellum she’d been scribing upon and turning her head up to meet her husband’s eye. “Their son’s well whelped, our daughter is hale, and she craves a visit from us.”
“And by what name will my grandson go by?”
“Robert the Younger—Morgana insisted.”
Morgunn lifted a brow at her, giving her a sardonic smile. “Knowing my daughter as I do now, this surprises me not.”
Gwynlyan smiled, though she too lifted her brow. “You held no such loathing in doing near the same with the naming of our daughter, I will remind.”
He tweaked her nose, dropped a quick kiss on her lips, then, making her eyes want to cross, said close to her face, “Aye, but mine holds more dignity, my love.”
She grinned and rolled her eyes as she looked down again at her letter. “Aye, and I’m sure Robert would say much the same of his in any comparison to yours.” Shaking her head with a sigh, she continued, “You know you like him well, why can you not admit it?”
She’d expected a witty rejoinder and instead received a small p
ause, a thoughtful reply.
“Because he is the man that took my place in my daughter’s esteem.”
This made Gwynlyan swing around and stare at him. “Morgunn! Your daughter adores you. What an odd thing to say.”
His brows furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down. “Aye, but not in the same worshipful way she did as a lass.” His voice had a tinge of bitterness in it when he said, “Nay, that she reserves for her husband now.”
Gwynlyan reached out and took hold of Morgunn’s hand. “Do you not think that is as it should be, my love?”
He looked down at the floor, shrugged, and said with a bit of a pout. “Mayhap.”
“You would not have liked it had I not transferred my worshipful regard of my own father to you, my husband, once we wed. I know you would not have.”
“Aye, but you are my wife. She is my daughter. ‘Tis different.”
Gwynlyan sighed. “And as such, ‘tis natural to feel the loss, I suppose. I’ll say naught more of it. However, I will at least get that confession from you that you like well your daughter’s husband.”
‘Twas Morgunn’s turn to roll his eyes. He heaved a heavy sigh, but finally said, “Aye, I like him well. I confess, ‘tis hard not to do so.”
Gwynlyan grinned up at him and he returned it, giving her hand a squeeze as well.
“How are you feeling this morn?” he asked her.
By habit, her hand went to her rounding belly. “Fit. Well. Joyous. Content. Eager. Well.”
“You already said well.”
“Aye, but ‘twas worth repeating.”
He glanced at the letter she’d written, tipping his head at it. “And did you at last tell her the reason you’ve been delaying a journey there these past few moons?”
Gwynlyan gave him a giddy smile. “Aye, I did. Now that her babe is born, and now that I’ve carried this one”—she glanced down at her belly—“until past its quickening, I feel more ease in doing so. Tho’ I do still worry what her feeling will be to having a new brother or sister when she, herself, is old enough to bear.”
“Knowing my Morgana, she will plan a feast and dance a reel. She will be as pleased about our babe as we are, fret no more on that score, my love.” He leaned down and kissed her again. As he broke the kiss, he said, “Mayhap she will visit us instead. For, I would like to meet this grandson of mine, this Robert the Younger.” Bringing her to her feet, he continued, “Leave that for now, let us walk in the glen, enjoy the sun, enjoy the flowers, enjoy each other.
A shiver of anticipation traveled through her. “Aye, let’s.”
* * * * *
Thank you for reading
Song of the Highlands
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DON’T MISS THE FIRST THREE BOOKS IN THE MEDIEVAL HIGHLANDERS SERIES:
THE HIGHLANDS TRILOGY: The Macleans
Highland Vengeance
Book One
Highland Grace
Book Two
Highland Magic
Book Three
MORE BOOKS BY K.E. SAXON
Sensual Contemporary Romance
Love Is The Drug
A Stranger’s Kiss (novella)
A Heart Is A Home: Christmas in Texas (novella)
Sensual Romantic Comedy/Fantasy Romance
Diamonds and Toads: A Modern Fairy Tale
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
K.E. Saxon is a third-generation Texan and has been a lover of romance fiction since her first (sneaked) read of her older sister's copy of The Flame and the Flower by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss. She has two cats, a 26-year-old cockatiel, and a funny, supportive husband. When she isn't in her writer's cave writing, you can find her puttering in her organic vegetable garden or in her kitchen trying out a new recipe. An animal (and bug) lover since before she could speak, she made pets of all kinds of critters when she was a kid growing up. Her mother even swears that she made a pet of a cockroach one time (but K.E. doesn't believe her). She likes to write humorous, sexy romances.
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Back Cover Copy
Copyright
Author’s Note
Glossary
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
PART TWO
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
PART THREE
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
PART FOUR
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
PART FIVE
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
PART SIX
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Bonus Material: Of Us That Trade In Love (Morgunn & Gwynlyan)
Other Books by K.E. Saxon
About the Author
