As the corset landed on the floor, she fell backward onto the bed, her breath coming to her in a loud gasp. She lay on her elbows as her eyes fluttered close, and she took a deep breath.
“Annabelle! Are you all right?” He ran a hand over her shoulders, and he leaned over her, tracing her cheek with his fingers.
“I tied my corset too tight,” she whispered. “When it’s released, sometimes I faint with all the air that comes rushing back in.” She took another deep breath and opened her eyes again.
“I’m goin’ to burn the bluidy thing,” Cailean said, his accent as strong as his indignation. “Here. Let me hold you.” He lay next to her and pulled her close against his shoulder.
She continued to take deep breaths, while her fingers played with the hair on his chest. After many moments, she kissed his shoulder. He stiffened with her gentle touch, and she ran a hand down his chest to his abdomen and back up again.
He pushed her to her back and stared at her, his eyes gleaming with passion as he saw her embarrassment. “Why touch me like that when it makes you embarrassed?”
She met his gaze bravely. “Because you enjoy it. And I know enough that we don’t continue with our clothes on.” She gasped when he swooped forward to kiss her. His busy hands freed her of her petticoats, urging her to lift up so he could toss those aside to join his clothes on the floor.
“I should take more care with your clothes, but I can’t at this moment.” He ran a hand down her leg and grinned at the garter holding up her stockings. He tickled her as he teased a finger underneath it and eased it off. He repeated the process on her other leg, and she squirmed.
“You please me, Belle,” he whispered into her ear. “So much.” He rose to shuck off his pants. He paused when he saw her ease replaced with panic. “It’s all right, Belle.”
She bit her lip. “No one’s ever called me Belle. I’ve always been Anna.” She blinked away tears.
“You’re Belle to me,” he whispered, kissing her eyes and forestalling the shedding of any tears. “You’re beautiful to me.”
She pushed on his shoulders, rising on her elbows. “I don’t think I can do this. It’ll make me no better than my sister.” Her panicked gaze collided with his confused one.
“You are my wife. I am your husband. There is nothing wicked in us loving each other this way,” he whispered. He kissed her and felt her resistance fade. When he looked into her eyes again, he frowned. “You’re still uncertain.” His large callused palm cupped her cheek.
“I … I’m afraid,” she admitted, her voice breaking.
He eased away from her enough to give her space but kept his hand against her cheek. “Of me?”
She nodded, then shook her head. “Of the pain. Of what it means. Of what I’ve given up.” She closed her eyes in defeat. “I’m not making any sense.” She flopped onto her back with her arms spread wide. “Just do it then,” she ordered with a quivering voice. When he chuckled, she raised her head and glared at him.
He ran his fingertips from her cheek, down to her jaw, over her neck to her collarbone. Then he bent forward and kissed one shoulder and the next. “I refuse to rush this. To make you feel as though this is a perfunctory duty for me. I want you to feel joy in our touch and as little pain as possible.” He kissed his way to her breasts, earning a gasp and her arching into his touch.
“Let me teach you pleasure,” he whispered as he continued to kiss her.
Annabelle woke the first morning as a married woman, nearly falling out of the bed. Cailean lay along her backside, twitching as though in the midst of a dream and snoring softly. She toppled out of the bed and found his half-buttoned shirt on the floor. She tugged it over her head as she tiptoed to the front door. When she got outside, dawn was breaking, and she was able to discern the outhouse in the distance. After stubbing her toes a few times, she made it there and back. When she shut the door softly behind her, she tripped on a shoe and muttered a curse.
She blushed when she faced the bed to find Cailean watching her with fond amusement in his gaze. She waved outside as explanation, tugging his shirt collar tight around her. He smiled and held open the covers for her. She climbed into bed, bumping her head into his chest and settled on her side, facing him.
“For a moment, I thought you’d abandoned me,” he teased. He traced a hand over her fingers clutching the shirt closed. She shook her head as she watched him with wide eyes. “I hadn’t thought you prone to silence, Belle.”
She batted at his hands and soon their fingers were entangled. His smile dimmed when he saw her bite her trembling lip and felt her heave out a deep breath. “What is it?” he whispered, dipping his head to meet her downcast gaze.
“I never thought it would be like this,” she whispered.
He frowned when she fell silent again. He groaned in frustration as he felt her wet cheeks when he cupped one with the palm of his hand. “Why are you crying? I’m sorry about last night.”
At his whispered words of regret, she shook her head vehemently. “No! I don’t want you to apologize.” She raised her eyes to meet his worried gaze as tears slowly leaked out. “I … I’m ashamed.”
He sucked in a deep breath and dropped his hand. “Of what we shared?” At her silence, he rolled away to the edge of the bed and sat up as though he would rise. He ran a shaking hand through his hair and sat with slumped shoulders.
She rolled after him and grabbed onto his arm, preventing him from standing. “No! That’s not what I meant.” She patted his cheek he kept turned firmly away from her. “Please, talk to me.”
At the pleading in her voice, he turned.
“I know this was only a marriage of convenience,” she whispered.
He stared at her with her long black hair tumbling over her shoulders and light brown eyes lit with worry. “All we seem to do is misunderstand each other.”
“Please, listen to me.” When he gave a slight nod, she grasped his hand and tugged him so that he followed her and lay next to her on the bed. “I’m not ashamed of what we shared. It was wondrous and strange.” She flushed. “But mostly wondrous.” Her worry eased when she saw his pleasure at her words.
“Then what did you mean?” He ran a hand through her hair, holding her closer so that they shared the same breath.
“I’m ashamed for judging my sister,” she whispered. She met his startled gaze. “Not for what has happened to her now, although I fear she had little choice.” She closed her eyes as tears leaked down her cheeks. “I’m ashamed I failed to support her five years ago when my father threw her out of the house.”
“Why would he do such a thing to his daughter?” Cailean asked, rubbing away Annabelle’s tears.
“He believed our value came from our purity and our skills and taught us that, without either, we had little worth. I was never attractive, like Fidelia, so I focused on baking.”
“Why are you ashamed?” Cailean whispered when she fell silent.
“She fell in love. And our father threw her out because she acted on that love. And I judged her. I called her unworthy. A harlot. And turned my back on her pleas for help.”
Cailean studied her as she attempted to compose herself as she told the story in an emotionless voice. “How would you have been able to aid your sister?”
“I had a little money saved from my bakery earnings in Maine. I was supposed to give everything I earned to my father when I first opened my bakery, but I always held some back. It wasn’t much as I was just twenty. I should have given it to her.” She closed her eyes and turned her head into the pillow.
“Shhh, love,” Cailean murmured. “We all make mistakes when we are young. When those we trust teach us incorrectly. If we are lucky, we are given the opportunity to repair any damage we did.”
She sniffled as she curled into his arms. “If I’d given her the money, maybe she would have been able to choose another path.”
He held her, stroking a hand down her back. “And maybe she wouldn’t have. You’ll
never know, Belle.” He continued to hold her, caressing her head and back as she calmed in his embrace. “I’m sorry I hurt you last night.”
She kissed his chest at his whispered comment. “I know.” She rested her cheek against his chest. “I could never feel ashamed of what we shared. It was more than I ever thought could happen between a man and a woman.” She raised luminous eyes to meet his. “I finally understand why Fidelia was willing to risk our father’s wrath.”
He swallowed and let out a stuttering breath as he stared at her. He ran his hands through her long hair until they became entangled in a knot. “You’re wrong, you know.” He leaned forward and kissed her softly. “You’re more beautiful than your sister. And there’s so much more we can share.” He laughed as she reddened at his words. “Someday you won’t blush when I say such things.”
He eased her against his chest and murmured gentle words in her ear as though singing her a lullaby. She closed her eyes and succumbed to sleep in his arms.
A few hours later, Annabelle woke with Cailean’s arm wrapped around her middle and his leg hitched over hers as though anchoring her in place. She arched into him, then stilled when she felt the evidence of his desire. His arm around her tightened and she gasped at his firm grip on her. She squirmed a little, and he woke, groaning.
“I can’t breathe,” she whispered. When his arm around her relaxed, she took a deep breath, although he didn’t release her from his grasp. She smiled as he kissed the back of her neck.
“Will you forgive me if I don’t let you go?” he whispered into her ear. “I find I enjoy holding you.”
She giggled and then sighed with contentment as his hands slowly stroked over her. “I find I enjoy being held.” At his groan of approval, she arched into him. “Will you think me shameless if I ask you to love me again?”
He moved so that she lay on her back, and he leaned over her, running a hand from her forehead to cheek. “Never. Although I worry it’s too soon.” He grinned as she blushed red.
She pulled him to her, kissing his bottom lip. “I promise it’s not.” He groaned again, gratefully forfeiting the argument.
Annabelle laid in his arms, her back to his front, shivering with delight as his callused fingers played over her shoulders and back. “Is it always like this?” she whispered.
“What do you mean?” he asked, his breath tickling her ear. He felt her stiffen, and then he groaned as he eased away from her so she could scoot and face him. He traced a finger over the wrinkles between her brows before kissing them away.
“What is it like for my sister?”
He froze in his movements, pulling back to meet her embarrassed gaze. “Not like this.” He cupped her cheek. “I …” He swore softly. “I think you’d have to ask her.”
“Did you ever visit the Boudoir?”
He nodded, his shoulders tensing as he answered her. “Aye. A few times.” He waited as he saw her attempt and fail to ask a question. “I was never with your sister, Belle.” He felt her relax incrementally in his arms. “I never felt like I do with you.”
“What do you mean?”
He pushed away, flopping onto his back. He stared at the ceiling and shook his head. “Never, not once in my life, did I imagine having such a conversation with you.” He looked at her with fond exasperation. “I should have known better.”
She bent her head. He tugged her to lean her head on his shoulder and played with the ends of her tangled black hair. “I went to the Boudoir on nights I felt I was drowning in loneliness. When I thought I’d never know happiness again. And, for a moment, I didn’t feel alone.”
“So it helped,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes. “When it was over, I always felt guilty and lonelier than when I arrived. It’s why my visits were infrequent.” He moved so he lay on his side and faced her. “With you, Belle”—he paused as his eyes glowed—“the loneliness doesn’t return.”
She smiled as she leaned forward and kissed him. “Thank you for answering my questions. I never thought to be able to speak to my husband like this.” A rosy flush covered her exposed skin.
He laughed and leaned on an elbow. “What were your parents like? Did your father treat your mother well?”
Annabelle froze a moment before letting out a stuttering breath. “My father was strict. Liked to have his home and life organized. If something was out of place, we were punished.”
“Punished?” He traced a finger over her shoulder.
“Slapped knuckles, no supper. Or he would forbid us from reading.” She closed her eyes. “That was the worst. I loved to read and to escape to another place.” She shrugged. “He thought it led to dangerous ideas and that I should be content with what I have. ‘Dreams only lead to disaster.’” She shared a chagrined smile with her husband. “That was his favorite phrase.”
“How sad.” He kissed her softly. “An’ your mother?”
“Did everything in her power to please him. Kept a tidy home. Had dinner on the table at six o’clock sharp every night. Never said a word against any of his decrees.” Annabelle’s unfocused gaze met her husband’s worried one. “And then she died. Caught a fever.”
He watched her with a fierce intensity. “And you lost your buffer from the bully.” At her nod, he sighed. “What did he do?”
“If he caught me speaking with a young man, I was locked in my room for a week so that I had time to reflect on my impure thoughts. When I scorched his favorite linen shirt while ironing, he took away my clothing budget for a year. If I burned supper, I had to forego meals with him and my sister for a month.” She smiled. “He thought that was a hardship. It was a reprieve.”
“I would have burned every bluidy dinner afterward,” Cailean muttered, earning a startled laugh from her. “Did he ever hit you?”
She shook her head, and she felt him relax. “He swung at me a few times when he was deep into a bottle, but his aim was terrible, and he tended to do himself more harm.” She took a long inhale and met her husband’s worried gaze. “I hate drink.”
He nodded. “I can understand why. I can’t promise I’ll never have another drink again. I like my odd whiskey here and there. But I can promise you that I’ll never drink to excess or threaten you.”
She nodded and snuggled into his embrace. His large hands held her close against his chest, and he thought about what she had told him as she slipped back into sleep.
The following morning, his head shot up, and he strode toward her at her gasp of surprise upon opening the front door. “Belle?” he asked as he grabbed her shoulders to pull her into the safety of their small cabin. He peered over her and smiled. On the doorstep sat a basket. He hefted it up and set it on the kitchen table as Annabelle shut the door.
After lifting the checkered cloth covering the basket, he grinned at his wife. “Seems Alistair was concerned we wouldn’t have enough provisions and would have to come back to town earlier than we wanted.” He extracted a jug of milk, a wedge of cheese, two loaves of bread, fruit, and a plate of sliced ham. “This should keep us going through tomorrow.”
“If we economize!” she said with a laugh. “I’ve never seen someone eat like you.”
He pulled her close and kissed her. “You haven’t been around Ewan yet. He’s worse than I am.” He kissed her again, cutting short her giggle. “Come back to bed,” he coaxed, tugging her in that direction.
“We were to go on a walk,” she protested, arching into his touch. “I can’t return to town only able to describe the inside of the cabin!”
He kissed down her neck, his hands roving over her corset-free front. “I’d think that would be a testament to a well-spent honeymoon.” He groaned as she gripped his hands and held them out to their sides.
“No, Cailean. I want a walk. We can consider the rest later.” He seemed mollified at her promise of later. She spun, grabbed her hat and walked outside. She smiled as she heard his laughter following her.
He grabbed her hand, and they walked,
fingers entwined, along a small path. The air smelled of last night’s rain, crisp and clean. She took a deep breath and relaxed further. “I never knew a place could be so beautiful.” When her husband remained quiet, she looked at him to see his gaze distant. “What was Scotland like?”
“Wild, rough, unpopulated. A bit like here.” He paused as they looked over a field thick with grassland, birds swooping and calling to each other overhead. A meadowlark sang, its song changing slightly as it continued to warble. “I’m from Skye, aye?” He didn’t wait for her to acknowledge her answer. “It’s an island in the Highlands and cut off from most of the world. You come to feel as though it’s the only place on earth.
“My father had a croft. A small piece of land he tilled for potatoes. We raised a few animals, chickens mainly and a goat for milk.” He sighed. “Wasn’t much of a life but seemed like heaven to a young lad. There were hills to explore, lochs to swim in, and fish to be caught. The threat of fairies hiding in the streams, waiting to trick you into joining them in their world.” He caught her staring at him with rapt attention.
“Why did you ever leave?”
“I never thought to. But the croft was small, and Father had four children.” He shrugged. “I had no reason to stay.”
She frowned as he began to walk again. “I’ve seen you with your siblings. You adore them. You had every reason to stay.” Her protests silenced suddenly when she remembered what Leticia had told her. “You lost your wife.”
His gaze jerked to her. “Aye. I lost my wife. I had no reason to stay.”
Annabelle nodded, the spring in her step absent, and her joy in the summer day diminished. “I’m sorry she died.”
He squeezed her hand. “As am I. It was twelve years ago, Belle. I’m trying to move on.” He stopped underneath a large cottonwood tree. A brook trickled nearby, and the air was cooler and more humid in the shade. He cupped her face with his hands. “I know neither of us chose this marriage. It was foisted on us. I’d like to think you could be happy. With me.” He leaned forward and kissed her. He smiled at her automatic response.
Montana Untamed (Bear Grass Springs, Book One): Bear Grass Springs, Book One Page 13
