Unable to deny the need to touch him, she wrapped her hands around his neck and pulled him closer, wanting with desperation to feel every square inch of his body with her palms, her fingertips, and her tongue.
Ian’s hands found their way to her braid and made quick work of unbinding it. ’Twasn’t until she felt his long fingers combing through her locks that it even registered in her mind he’d done it. Those wonderfully hot lips of his soon left hers and began an exploration of her cheek, her chin, and next, her earlobe.
Grabbing her hair tightly betwixt his fingers, he pulled her head back so he could leave hot kisses along the length of her neck. There was no denying the immense pleasure he was deriving from making her mad with desire, just as she would not deny she took great pleasure from those fiery kisses.
Everything she knew about loving a man she had learned from her first husband. Though she might not have had as much experience as Ian, she was not without her own knowledge from which to pull. Though her first husband had been much older than she and not built anywhere near as nicely as Ian, she felt confident in herself.
But this kiss, these kisses? Nay, Almer had never kissed her like this. These were far different, far more passionate, more intense.
“Wife,” Ian whispered against her neck, “I dare say I shall never grow tired of kissin’ ye.”
* * *
Wife.
He had called her wife.
He believed they were well and duly married.
For a brief moment, she was tempted to remain quiet and not correct him, for she was fearful that if she did tell him the truth, he might be so thankful he’d leave her.
But she knew she could not lie to him, not now. The moment was too important. She could very well have him thinking they were about to consummate their marriage, only to have him learn the truth later. How would he look at her then? Nay, she could not stand the thought of his disgust or doubt or skepticism.
“Ian,” she whispered in a voice she barely recognized as her own, “though I wish nothin’ more than for you to continue, I fear we can no’.”
His lips were on her neck, his tongue making slow, circular motions that were driving her to the point of madness.
“Pray tell, wife, are ye no’ enjoyin’ me kisses?”
She sucked in a sharp breath when he blew a hot breath against her tender skin. “Oh, Ian, I am.”
“Then why must we stop?” he asked as he took her earlobe betwixt his teeth and nibbled.
“Because we are no’ exactly married.”
An interminable, painfully long moment passed as she felt him grow rigid with confusion. “What do ye mean, we’re no’ exactly married?” She could feel his breath against her neck.
Unable to speak at first, she had to clear her throat before she could answer. “I mean,” she paused, searching for the best way to describe exactly what had happened the night before. “Well, ye see, ye were verra into yer cups. And ye kept demandin’ that someone find a priest to marry us. And, well, ye see, ye were verra drunk…” she trailed off, for she could feel his spine stiffen, and was certain he would be as angry as a poked bear.
Another long moment of silence passed between them before he let her go, stood taller, and looked her in the eye. “Were we married or no’?”
“No’ exactly,” she said, diverting her eyes to his chest, for she could not bear to look at him. Shame and humiliation built.
“Ye said that. Now explain yerself.”
There was no easy way to explain it, so like any good woman, she decided to confront the issue head on. “Ye were verra drunk,” she began.
“Ye said that and I ken I was drunk,” he reminded her. He sounded perturbed and she knew he was going to be downright furious by the time she explained it all.
“Ye were verra drunk and yellin’ fer someone to fetch Father MacBrodie. Well, he was no’ here, ye see, so ye demanded we wake yer da. As chief he can marry a couple, ye ken.”
“I ken,” he said.
Chancing a glance at his face, she could see a tic begin to form in his jaw. “Well, we did no’ want to wake yer da, so Frederick said that as chief of Clan McLaren, he could marry us.” That much was true. “Well, ye started sayin’ vows, that ye’d love me until ye took yer last breath on this earth and then beyond. Ye promised to cherish me all the rest of yer days.”
“And?” he asked with a skeptical tone and raised brow.
“Well, before I could make ye any promises, ye sort of passed out.”
His eyes widened in disbelief. Unable to form the words, his mouth opened and closed repeatedly.
“We carried ye up here and put ye to bed. But ye would no’ let me leave. Ye kept professin’ yer love fer me and begged me to no’ leave ye.” She was speaking so rapidly it was difficult for him to keep up. “And then when ye woke this morn, I thought only to jest with ye fer a moment. But then ye got so angry and said ye regretted marryin’ me, and I was so hurt, I was no’ goin’ to tell ye.”
Finally, he moved. He took a few tentative steps away, a look of utter disbelief etched on his face. Agitated, he ran a hand through his blond locks. “So we be no’ married?” he asked, still unable to believe what he’d just heard.
“Nay,” she whispered. “We be no’ married.”
* * *
There was no mistaking her pain, for her blue eyes grew damp, her bottom lip trembled. Ian knew her sorrow was real. It had not been easy for her to admit the truth. Valiantly, she held the tears back as she stared at her feet and worriedly worked her fingers together.
He had two choices.
One, he could use this moment as an excuse to walk away now and forever. Let her go so she might make a life of her own, with someone else who could give her all the things he felt certain she deserved.
Or two, he could swallow his bloody pride and do as she suggested; use his current lack of financial stability to propel himself forward. Work from sunup to sundown every day for the rest of his life to give her all those things he wanted her to have.
Letting loose a frustrated breath, he found a plaid on the back of a chair, wrapped it around his waist and shoulder. Next, he grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the room.
Astonished, she hurried behind him. “What are ye doin’? Where are ye takin’ me?” She sounded afraid.
“To find the bloody priest!”
* * *
Dragging his soon-to-be-wife down the stairs and into the grand gathering room, he began shouting, “Where be Father MacBrodie?”
Several sets of fearful eyes looked back at him. Uncertain as to why Ian seemed so angry, people began flurrying about like leaves in the wind, unwilling to find out.
“Ian, slow down!” Rose demanded. “Ye’re scarin’ people!”
“Where be Father MacBrodie?” His voice boomed through the room, echoed off the beams and walls with ferocity.
No one answered. Instead, they fled for safety.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath as he headed toward the door.
He was about to pull it open when his father called to them from behind. “What in the name of God is goin’ on?”
If Rose had thought Ian sounded furious, ’twas nothing compared to John Mackintosh’s thundering voice. The man was taller than Ian, broad as a barn and as strong as an ox. When Rose first met him, he had scared the daylights out of her. But she soon learned that he was a kind and gentle man. Unless he was angry. Then ’twas best the rest of the world get out of his way. That must have been where Ian got his temper from.
Ian spun around, still holding on to Rose’s hand. “I need Father MacBrodie. Now.”
John’s scrutinizing gaze made Rose’s legs quake with fear while Ian seemed unbothered by it.
As if he understood everything that was happening, John gave an approving nod before answering. “He be at Seamus’s givin’ him last rites.”
Rose’s heart felt heavy at that news. Seamus was a sweet old man who had lost his wife years
before. “We can no’ bother Father MacBrodie now,” Rose politely informed them. ’Twould be shameful to interrupt a priest while he was giving last rites.
Both turned to look at her as if she’d lost her mind. She began to shrink under their gazes.
“What kind of man do ye think I am?” Ian asked.
“I imagine he’ll be done by the time ye make yer way to Seamus’s cottage,” John said. “Ye’ll no’ be interruptin’ anythin’. I’ll get Elsbeth and we’ll meet ye there.”
Before she could utter a response or argument against seeking out the priest at this most sorrowful time, Ian was hauling her out the door.
With legs as long as his, it was quite easy for him to thunder across the courtyard quickly. Rose, however, was not thus blessed and had to run to keep up with him.
Out of the courtyard, they turned left to head for Seamus’s cottage. Clutching her skirts in one hand, Rose did her best to keep up with this man she loved but could not say why she did. As far as she was concerned, he was as foolish as he was handsome, as hot-headed as he was generous. ’Twas enough to make her question her own soundness of mind.
“Ian, please slow down!”
“Why?” he asked without bothering to look back at her.
“Because I can no’ keep up with ye, ye big lummox!”
Beyond frustrated with him at the moment, she tried yanking her hand from his tight grip. While she could guess why he was in such a hurry, she was not certain she was equally enthusiastic about the idea. This was not how she had imagined her wedding day: hauled through mud puddles by an angry groom, who still wore no boots.
“Ian, please!” she pleaded with him.
Reluctantly, he stopped and turned to face her.
Och! Those big blue eyes of his were enough to melt her heart like butter left in the sun. But when they were filled with intense anger, as they were now, ’twas enough to make her want to run screaming and hie herself off for safety.
“Would ye please tell me why ye’re in such a hurry to find the priest?”
Judging from his perplexed expression and raised brow, he thought it a most daft question. “To marry us.”
She had expected as much, but considering how angry he seemed, she thought it best to ask for clarification. “And ye mean to do that now? With ye half naked and no boots? And besides, ye have no’ even asked fer me hand yet!”
“Of course I have!” he exclaimed.
“Nay,” she said, giving a slow and thoughtful shake of her head. “Ye broke our troth, remember? And now ye’re draggin’ me to find a priest. Do no’ look at me as if I’ve lost me mind, Ian. Ye be the one who keeps changin’ his!”
Cocking his head to one side, he asked, “Do ye wish to marry me or no’?”
She took a deep, cleansing breath before answering. “That depends.”
His scowl increased, forming tight lines around his eyes. “Depends on what?”
“Do ye plan on always bein’ so temperamental? Do ye always plan on changin’ yer mind as quickly as the weather?” Considering the events of the last few weeks, she thought it a most reasonable inquiry. “Besides, ye’ve yet to ask me proper.”
It was not her intent to vex him or instigate another argument betwixt them. However, she thought it important to set matters straight before they reached the priest.
“Again, I ask ye, do ye wish to marry me?” The slight tic in his jaw increased in time with the beating of her heart.
“Will ye always be this temperamental? Will ye always be this pig-headed and obstinate?”
“Aye, I will,” he replied. “Because I fear ye will vex me to the point of madness each and every day of our lives. But I find I love ye enough to live with that flaw.”
’Twas her turn to be angry. “Flaw?” she asked with much exasperation. “If ye find me so flawed, why are ye in such a hurry to marry?”
“Because for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, I love ye. When ye’re no’ vexin’ me to the point of madness, I find ye sweet, bonny, and generous. Ye have the ability to amuse me while ye’re vexin’ me. And I do no’ wish to spend the rest of me days without ye, wonderin’ what might have been betwixt us.”
Tears flooded her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. ’Twas most refreshing to hear him say those sweet words while sober. With the sleeve of her dress, she swiped away her tears and smiled up at him. “Ye vex me as well, ye handsome lummox.”
A broad, much relieved smile formed on his lips, making his eyes twinkle in the sunlight. “So ye’ll marry me then?”
“Aye,” she replied with a sniffle. “I’ll marry ye on one condition.”
His smile faded. “What condition?”
“Ye will at least put on yer boots?”
4
“What about the banns?” Father MacBrodie asked, aghast at the notion of marrying anyone without following proper procedure. They were standing in the courtyard, he and Ian and Rose. Ian was determined to marry Rose immediately. Father MacBrodie was just as determined to see that rules were followed according to the law.
Appearing as round as he was short, he had to lean his head back in order to look into Ian’s eyes. Though he was as pious as the day was long, he was not afraid of putting a Mackintosh in their place when the occasion called for it.
“We do no’ need banns posted,” Ian assured him. “I have me family’s blessin’.”
Father MacBrodie cast a glance at Rose. “What about her family?”
Rose smiled thoughtfully. “The Macktinoshes are me family.”
The older man eyed her suspiciously, staring into her eyes as if he could sense a lie from a thousand paces.
Her smile faded. “Both me parents be dead, ye ken. I’ve no brothers nor sisters, save fer Aggie. Though we share no blood, we share a bond just the same.”
Unimpressed, the priest asked, “How long have ye known this man?”
“More than a year now,” Rose answered. She was growing more and more uncomfortable under his scrutiny.
“Are ye aware of his reputation, lass?” he asked before turning to stare Ian down. “As a scoundrel? A man who has no compunction in ruinin’ an innocent lass’s reputation? As a womanizer of near biblical proportions?”
He may have meant it as an insult, or a simple statement of fact. Ian took it as a compliment and smiled proudly. A deep blush came to Rose’s cheeks. Aye, she was well aware of Ian’s past, but she was confident he would no longer chase women after they were married. “I ken what he was, Father.”
“Are ye no’ worried he’ll break yer heart, lass?”
Smiling cheekily, she said, “Nay, fer he kens I’ll kill him while he sleeps if he even thinks to.”
Somewhat satisfied with her answer, he offered the closest thing to a smile he ever volunteered. Then he glared at Ian, “Be there a reason why ye’re in such a hurry? Have ye by chance already endangered this young woman’s soul by taking her to yer bed outside the bonds of marriage?”
Ian’s lips curved into a devilish grin as he leaned in to whisper into Father MacBrodie’s ear. “Nay yet. But married or no, I intend to take her to me bed before this day is out.” He righted himself before adding, “Ye can either marry us this day, or ye will be the one to blame if her soul is endangered.”
* * *
After they exchanged their vows, a loud cheer exploded from the crowd.
There had been no time to prepare a celebratory feast, for which Ian was ecstatically grateful. He’d been waiting for more than a year to take Rose to his bed. They could observe their union with the clan on the morrow. But for now, for tonight, he wanted her all to himself.
Scooping her into his arms, he carried her into the keep and above stairs to his — nay, ’twas their’s now — chamber. Pausing at the door, he offered her a tender kiss and his most devilish smile.
“Ye seem to be in a hurry,” Rose teased.
Laughing, he pushed open the door with his booted foot and carried her inside. “I’ve been waitin’ a very long
time fer this night.”
“And ye be certain ye ken what ye’re doin’?” she asked playfully.
Shutting the door with his foot, he carried her to the bed, and in a frolicsome fashion, he tossed her onto it. “I think I have the way of it,” he said as he began shedding his clothes.
Rose, no naive lass, happily watched as he removed first his plaid, then his boots, which were quickly followed by his tunic and trews. What sprouted forth surprised her. Not only was he more than amply endowed, the endowment appeared quite ready, willing and able to bestow itself upon her.
Past experience — though she knew ’twas not nearly as much as Ian possessed — told her that she should probably hurry and remove her clothing before ’twas too late. Many times, her late husband had found his own release before she had a chance to warm to the idea. Mercifully he had explained ’twas an affliction all men suffered from, especially when loving a woman as beautiful as she. Rose could not begin to fault Almer, for he was such a dear, sweet man.
Quickly, she began to unlace her dress whilst she pulled her woolens off with her toes.
“Wait,” Ian said as he climbed onto the foot of the bed like a wolf about to devour its prey. His blue eyes were dark with a smoldering desire that nearly stole her breath away.
He lay beside her and hooked one finger under the laces. “I’ve been dreamin’ of slowly relievin’ ye of yer clothes fer an age, wife.” Ever so slowly, he tugged at the lace, slowly, methodically pulling it free from the first grommet. “Though I must admit there were many a time where I could have simply lifted yer skirts and taken ye in an instant.” He looped his finger around the lace again and tugged ever so slowly. “But tonight? Tonight I wish us to take our time.”
She too had been thinking of this moment for an age. Almer’s words echoed in her mind… Ye’re too beautiful, Rose, and that be why at times I can no’ hold onto me seed fer more than a few heartbeats and leave ye behind. Determined not to be left behind this day, she felt it necessary to voice her worry. “Are ye certain?”
“Certain of what?” he asked, as he pulled the lacing through another grommet, paying no real attention to what she was asking.
Ian's Rose: Book One of The Mackintoshes and McLarens Page 5
