by Amy Jarecki
Taking a stuttered breath, her eyes devoured every inch of the only man Anya had ever loved. His sculpted chest, the rippled muscles in his abdomen that tapered to sturdy, masculine hips. Her tongue swept across her top lip and her breathing arrested when her gaze meandered to the blond curls surrounding his erect manhood. A flood of awareness surged between her legs as it had done when he’d touched her in the one place reserved only for him. Only for her husband.
With a deep chuckle, Angus lifted her chin with his pointer finger. “If ye continue to stare at my cock, I’ll come undone.” A feral growl rumbled from his throat as he took a step nearer and smoothed a finger across her lips, making them tingle. “God help me, ye make me want to do wicked things with your body.”
Anya scooted over and patted the bed beside her. “Then do not delay.”
Angus grinned and joined her, cupping her breast, greedily kissing her mouth. His hand worked magic as if he knew exactly what she wanted. He teased her nipple, and Anya replied in kind, kissing him, smoothing her fingers down his taut abdomen. But she craved more, needed closeness, needed all of him joined with her. She inched closer until she pressed her body against his, showing him how much she wanted him to make love to her.
The feel of his skin and the heat of his body made her inner hunger rage. As if Angus read her thoughts, he kneeled over her, nuzzling into her neck, then trailing kisses down to her breasts. Anya gasped when his tongue circled the tip, so sensitive, a flame deep inside ignited as if fed by a gale-force wind. She arched her back and sighed as he caressed and suckled her.
“Your every touch intensifies the passion deep within me,” she whispered, nearly breathless.
“’Tis only the start of the magic to come.” Angus raised his lashes and met her gaze with a smoldering glint in his eyes.
Shuddering, Anya sank her fingers into his shoulders. The man who would make her his wife this night was virile, masculine, so incredibly desirable. Her tongue slipped to the corner of her lips. “I want ye to show me how a man makes love to a woman.”
“Growing impatient are ye?” He grinned, this smile even more seductive than the last. “Not to worry, lass. It is all I can do not to ravish ye afore ye are truly ready.”
Without another word, his kisses continued downward. Gooseflesh rose across her skin when he swirled his tongue in her navel.
With a rumbling growl, he combed his fingers through her sacred curls, his touch nearly driving her into madness. “I’ve dreamed of kissing you here.”
“Kiss?” Anya’s thighs quivered with his wicked wink. The memory of his finger teasing her in the bath made her desire stir like wildfire.
“Open your knees for me, lass.” He grazed his teeth over his bottom lip, looking like sin and temptation served on a silvery platter. “Since the day we met, I’ve dreamed about this moment.” Inhaling deeply, he coaxed her legs wider with his shoulders.
Mercy, with one lap of his tongue the passion inside her grew nearly to the point of bursting. A shrill gasp pealed from her throat. Again he licked. Unable to control herself, Anya rocked and swirled her hips, tossing her head from side to side.
Oh God, he slid his finger to her opening and circled it—yet another new sensation that sent her mind into a maelstrom of hot, driving need. His finger slid in and out while his tongue worked magic. Higher and higher her driving need soared until all at once her entire body went taut, hanging upon the precipice of pure ecstasy. A cry caught in the back of her throat. With her next gasp, the entire world shattered into pulsing bursts of euphoria.
When, finally, Anya regained her senses, she reached down and urged him atop her. “What happened to me?”
He nuzzled into her hair, his thick member pressing between her legs. “I gave ye a sample of what it will be like when I’m inside ye, mo leannan.”
As she shifted her hips, his manhood brushed her, instantly rekindling the craving desire. She turned her lips toward his ear. “Show me how to bring ye the same pleasure.”
At the sound of Anya’s voice, a spike of desire hit Angus low and hard, making his ballocks squeeze. God save him, he was on the brink of losing his seed. Needing to contain his fervor, he rolled beside her and gazed into her eyes—intoxicating emerald orbs able to hypnotize and bring a man to his knees. “Do ye truly want me, lass?”
She nodded, her gaze drifting to his manhood. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything in all my days.”
Having her eyes on him made a wee bit of seed dribble from his tip. He ran his finger around her nipple, aching to be inside her. “It might hurt. But I want our joining to be a memory ye will treasure in your heart.”
She kissed him, her lithe fingers reaching down. “It will be. Joining with you will be akin to heaven.” When her fingers lightly brushed the tip of his cock, Angus sucked in a ragged breath.
Gasping, she snapped her hand away. “Did I hurt ye?”
“Nay,” he managed to croak. With a feral growl, he again rolled atop her, this time positioning his member between her legs.
She cupped his face in her hands. “Have I ever told ye how fine ye are to me?”
Angus kissed her, remembering how at first he believed she didn’t care for him. “I’m glad of it.” He moved his cock against her, his thighs shuddering as her steamy moisture spilled over him.
Anya arched and caught the tip of his member at her entrance. Angus could scarcely breathe as her moisture brimmed around him. God on the cross, he could spill in this very moment. But he wanted to make this the most memorable night of her life, show her exactly what she’d been missing. “I’ll try to be gentle.”
She nodded, her hips continuing their seductive swirling rhythm. Merciful saints, Angus was supposed to be the one seducing Anya, but without a lick of schooling, she proved an expert. Slowly, he pushed inside until she gasped.
He froze. “Is the pain too great?” he asked, easing the pressure. “If ye want to stop…”
Her fingers sank into his buttocks. “Nay.” With a firm tug, she urged him deeper. God, he adored this woman. Ever so slowly, he slid into the length of her, and when he reached a wall, he gazed into her sultry eyes full-well aware he’d arrived in heaven.
“Is all well?” he whispered, nuzzling into her neck.
She moved beneath him. “Astounding.”
Angus rocked his hips. “With this act, I am making ye my wife, Anya O’Cahan. Will ye have me as your husband, never to part?”
“Aye. I will be your wife and cherish ye and our children forever.”
Forcing himself to wait, his eyes nearly crossed with his need to thrust. “Ye are my wife, and I am your husband in the Highland way and nary a soul can part us.”
“I love ye.”
“And I love ye as well, m’lady.”
With his pledge, Angus could hold back no longer. A frenzy of passion claimed his mind. While Anya’s fingers gripped his backside, he lost all control, his need growing while her breathing sped. Stars flashed through his vision.
Faster and faster he thrust. Anya cried out, clinging to him for dear life. His heart hammered, as a feral roar burst from his throat. Blessed euphoria pulsed through his blood while, with one last thrust, he crashed into a sea of glorious release.
Angus held himself over her, his head dropping forward as he fought to catch his breath. “Lord have mercy,” he growled, while the rhythm of his heart began to steady.
Pushing up on his elbows, he raised himself high enough to clearly see his wife’s face. Her lips swollen and slightly parted, her heavy-lidded gaze, silken hair sprawling in a mass of tangle, framing her darling face with its splay of saucy freckles. God save him, she defined the epitome of feminine beauty.
With a satiated sigh, he kissed those freckles he so dearly adored. “Was it good for you, lass?”
She swirled her hips beneath him, stirring the passion again. “So wonderfully astonishing, there are no words to describe it.”
“Ye are the world to me.” Breathing deep
ly, he rolled to his side and pulled Anya flush against his body. “Ye ken I adore ye with all my heart.”
She rested her head on his chest. “And I you, husband.”
Oh, how her words warmed his heart. Angus combed his fingers through her hair, cherishing the softness of it. The woman in his arms made his chest swell with pride—made him want to be a better man. In Anya’s arms he was, not a lord, not a chieftain. He was merely a man who adored this woman to the depths of his soul. And he fully intended to revel in her love until the sun rose on the morrow.
25
While Angus lay on his stomach, Anya applied the avens oil to his wounds. “I reckon Lilas works miracles because these nasty welts look better than they did yesterday.”
His Lordship grunted. “I wish they felt better.”
She coughed out a wee laugh. “I thought ye said ye feel no pain when ye’re in my arms.”
He twisted his head enough to give her a devilish waggle of his eyebrows. “Then crawl back into bed and I shall be healed.”
Anya hummed as she worked in the oil, careful not to let it run onto the bedclothes. After a night filled with ravenous passion, she was a bit sore. “But ye told me we must go to the hall and announce our nuptials.” In truth, she was in no hurry. Everyone in the castle must know what had happened between them last eve. And though she would have things no other way, looking the clansmen and women in the eye was not going to be easy.
“We do, though ye cannot fault a man for trying.”
She brushed his hair away from his face and kissed his cheek. “Will ye have such an insatiable appetite forever?”
He tugged her downward and nibbled her ear. “When it comes to my bonny wife, yes, most definitely.”
How on earth was he able to render her utterly smitten with a whisper?
With a sigh, he sat up, pulled on his shirt, and tucked it into the waist of his brechan. “No matter how much I want to stay and while away the day with ye in my arms, we’d best venture below stairs afore my mother sends a search party.”
Anya squeezed his hand while her stomach did the same. “I suppose we cannot put it off any longer.”
“Are ye nervous?”
“Terribly so.”
He cupped her cheeks between his palms. “Do not be. Always remember ye are the Lady of Islay and the woman I have chosen to be at my side.”
“Yes, my lord,” Anya said, pulling his plaid across his shoulder and securing it with the chieftain’s brooch.
He offered his elbow. “M’lady.”
It was a relief to have Angus at her side, but as soon as they stepped into the hall, everything grew deathly quiet. All heads turned their way before the benches scraped the floorboards while everyone shot to their feet.
“Mercy,” Anya whispered under her breath.
“Smile,” he replied, starting down the long aisle to the dais, where the Dowager Lady of Islay sat in the seat that rightfully now should be Anya’s. Fortunately, the woman was smiling. Friar Jo, however, appeared as if he’d just swallowed a bitter tonic.
As they approached, Her Ladyship stood and greeted them at the top of the stairs. “Son, I pray ye have tidings of good news this morn.”
Angus said nothing as he kept Anya at his side and turned to face the crowd. “I have invoked the Highland vow of marriage and claimed this woman as my wife. Welcome the Lady of Islay to the clan!”
“Oh, rapture!” cried Her Ladyship as the hall erupted in a resounding applause.
“Let us break our fasts,” said Angus before he led Anya to the table and gestured to the lady’s chair.
She hesitated and glanced to the dowager.
“Nay, lass. Your place is at your husband’s side. I’ve always prayed this day would arrive.”
“I beg your pardon, m’lord,” said Friar Jo, wringing his hands. “This pagan custom ye have invoked is quite unfounded.”
Angus plucked a goblet from the table and signaled for a servant to fill it. “Have ye a solution?”
“Ye must marry in the chapel straightaway. Ye cannot wait. I shall deliver your vows this very day to ensure your souls do not end up in purgatory for the rest of your days.”
Anya clapped a hand to her chest. “This day?”
“There can be no exceptions.”
Angus gave her arm a nudge. “The friar has spoken.”
“If it must be today, then there is no time to spare.” Her Ladyship clapped her hands. “Send a tray to my chamber for the Lady of Islay and tell Freya to join us there straightaway.”
As Anya was about to take a bite of porridge, Angus’ mother grasped the spoon, set it aside, and pulled Anya to her feet. “Come with me.”
She looked longingly at her food. “Now?”
“Ye can eat above stairs.” Her Ladyship smiled to the friar and then to her son. “We shall arrive at the chapel following the midday meal.”
With that, Anya found herself whisked into her mother-in-law’s bedchamber. “We’ve much to do if ye are to be properly married this day.”
Smoothing her hands over her hair, Anya moved farther inside. “I haven’t brought anything to wear. I did, after all, jump out of my window with nothing but the clothes on my person and my cloak.”
“And that is exactly why I hastened to bring ye up here.” At the foot of her bed, the lady opened an ornately carved cedar trunk, pulled out a dress, and shook it. “I wore this when I married Angus’ father.”
Anya stepped in and examined the fabric, taking note of the intricate embroidery around the neckline. “Is this silk?”
“It is.”
“Oh, my, ’tis ever so soft and the embroidery is exquisite. I love the birds…all different sorts and colors, aren’t they?”
“Aye. It is difficult to believe the colors haven’t faded after all this time.”
“Did ye do the stitching yourself?”
“I did.”
“I see ye were quite talented even back then.”
“I suppose I had a good teacher.”
“Your ma?”
“I began under her tutelage, but when I showed a wee bit of promise, she sent me to the master weaver in our village. He was renowned throughout the kingdom—even made tapestries for the king.”
Anya had no doubt as a young lass, the dowager had shown more than a wee bit of promise. “And ye were allowed to be apprenticed, even though ye are a woman?”
“The weaver didn’t like the idea at first, but one does not grouse overmuch when one is given a directive by the lord and lady who control the lands upon which one’s shop was built.”
“Ye were most fortunate.”
A knock came at the door. “I’ve a tray for your ladyships.”
“Come,” said the Dowager Lady Islay.
Freya stepped inside. “I figured since I had been summoned, I’d bring the food ye requested.”
Anya plucked an apple and took a bite. “’Tis ever so good to see ye again, and I’m glad ye will be tending me.”
Freya set the tray on the table. “I’ve missed ye as well, m’lady. I hope ye don’t mind, but I took the liberty of clipping some bluebells from the garden. I thought ye might like a crown of blooms on your wedding day.”
Anya bent down to sample the fragrance. “These are perfect, thank ye for thinking of me.”
“Have ye considered who might give ye away?” asked Her Ladyship.
Straightening, Anya drew her hand over her heart. If only her father were still alive. She couldn’t ask Friar Jo because he’d be conducting the ceremony. Raghnall was a possibility. After all, he was shipwrecked on the Isle of Nave with her and Angus. “Rory,” she blurted.
“The guard?”
“Whyever not? He spent a great deal of time watching over me during my imprisonment.”
“Well, then, I have no doubt he will be honored.”
Angus paced at the front of the chapel while Raghnall looked on with his arms crossed. But it was well after the noon meal. The welts on his back
needled him to the point where his temper was on edge. He barely felt the pain when Anya was near, but as soon as Mither had taken her above stairs, the agony had set in. “We sent a messenger hours ago.”
Raghnall tapped his boot on the flagstone. “I do no’ believe the bell has rung since. That means an hour has no’ yet passed.”
Angus panned his gaze across the crowd of clansmen and women who had amassed for his wedding. “Ever the practical one,” he growled under his breath. “It feels as if eons have passed.”
“Good Lord, I do no’ believe I’ve ever seen ye so overwrought in all my days of serving ye, m’lord, and all on account of a wee Irish lassie.”
“My wife, mind ye. The ceremony is merely a formality.”
The man-at-arms crossed himself. “Oh, ye of little faith.”
Angus rolled his eyes to the cross atop the altar. “Wheesht.” Perhaps the order of his marriage had been a bit back to front, but considering one sundown to another, everything was perfectly executed, or it would be if his bride would make an appearance.
The door swung open and young Fenn burst through. “Her Ladyship is approaching!”
“Thank heavens for small mercies,” said Raghnall, moving beside him. “I was afraid ye’d wear a hole through the flagstone.”
Choosing to ignore the man’s remark, Angus watched the steward lead his mother to the front pew. Her smile couldn’t have been broader as she gave him a nod. But his attention was soon drawn away by the gasps of awe from the crowd.
Anya stepped inside on the arm of her guard, Rory, who appeared to be as happy and as proud as a father giving his daughter away to a king. The bride looked a tad nervous until her gaze met Angus’. In that moment, as she strode forward, all the onlookers seemed to vanish, making it seem as if they were the only two people on the entire Isle of Islay. His bride wore a flowing gown of silk, which fit snugly enough to give him a glimpse of the shapely form beneath its folds. In her hands she carried a bouquet of spring bluebells, the same blooms encircling a sheer veil atop her head.
