Maggie nodded and bit her lip. “How … How did you have the courage to … sleep with him?” She flushed at her whispered question, and she flopped her hand around, hoping her sister would understand her euphemism.
Niamh smiled, as she recalled the night a few years ago, when she finally became Cormac’s wife. “Oh, he didn’t touch me on our weddin’ night.” She smiled, as Maggie gaped at her. “Our brothers filled him with liquor, and he was too drunk to know up from down.” Her smile faded. “I began to believe he didn’t want me. Wanted nothing more than a woman who’d be like his sister.” She shook her head. “He proved me wrong.”
Leaning forward, Maggie gripped Niamh’s arm. “How’d you find the courage?”
Taking a deep breath, Niamh whispered, “Did Jacques … ?” At Maggie’s swift shake of her head in denial, Niamh let out a relieved breath. “Thank God.” She pulled Maggie close for a fierce hug. “I’ve lived with that fear for so long.” Rocking Maggie to and fro, she murmured, “You enjoy Dunmore’s kisses?”
Maggie pushed back and stared at her sister. “Of course I do, but I’m not so naive as to believe there isn’t more to it than kissing.”
Niamh giggled. “Well, there is a lot of kissing. And, if you enjoy his kisses, you’ll enjoy his loving.” She paused. “Trust him. And understand that the first time always hurts a bit. But then ’tis glorious.” She winked at her sister and then frowned. “Now tell me why you’ve donned such an ugly frock.”
Maggie groaned, as she ran a hand down her dress again. “I know it’s ugly, but it’s the only one I have in an acceptable color to get married in.” Her fingers flirted with the stain on the bodice. “Do you think you could embroider something here and hide this?”
Niamh glared at it, as though it were past salvaging. “No, I refuse to waste any of my valuable time on that article. Take it off.” Before Maggie could protest, Niamh made a motion to strip. “Off, Maggie. ’Tis a shame to see such a beautiful lass in such a ghastly dress. All of your beauty fades away with that dreadful color.”
“Is it gray?” Maggie asked, as she shimmied out of it, before tossing it to one side, and standing in front of her sister in her underclothes. The next instant she gasped at the sight of a gorgeous dress in the palest of greens on her bed. Ornate needlework covered the cuffs and the hemline. “Oh, Niamh, ’tis the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”
Niamh smiled with pride. “Aye, ’tis lovely, if I do say so. I’ve spent the past month sewing it for you, hoping this wee bairn let me finish it.”
“For me?” Maggie asked, as tears leaked out. “Truly?” she whispered, as her fingers traced over the needlework and then the soft fabric. “’Tis too fine.”
Niamh hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Nothing is too fine for my sister on her wedding day. You’ll never know how proud I am of you. Nor how delighted I am to be here with you.” Her smiled broadened, as she gazed at her sister. “We’ve only known joy since you returned to us, Maggie.”
Maggie threw herself into her sister’s arms, holding her close. “Thank you, Niamh. I always wanted a sister and never thought I’d be fortunate enough to have one like you.” Her blue eyes gleamed with mischief. “May I try it on?”
“Yes!” Niamh exclaimed, laughing. “You must, as I have to see about alterations.” She looked into the mirror, her expression shining with joy, as she beheld her little sister. “Don’t you look beautiful.”
Maggie looked at herself, unable to believe it was her in the mirror. “I do,” she whispered, with a touch of awe. She felt like a princess, and she couldn’t wait to see Dunmore’s gaze light with pleasure at the sight of her.
* * *
Dunmore paced at the makeshift altar in the front of the O’Rourke living room. He glanced at the priest, who stood chatting with Seamus, and knew the man remained annoyed with Dunmore for being stranded in Fort Benton for the winter. Although he knew it was an inauspicious start to his wedding, Dunmore had coaxed the priest to town for his wedding, with the false promise that he would return him to Helena before the roads were impassible.
As the wind howled outside from the vicious winter storm that everyone present refused to call a blizzard—except for the priest—Dunmore knew the priest was here until spring. Seamus was delighted and had begun a full-on charm campaign to entice the man to settle in town. Dunmore remained skeptical the man would want to stay.
Sighing, Dunmore shook his head at the inanity of his thoughts. However, they had helped calm his nerves for a minute or two. Glancing again in the direction of the stairs, he hoped Maggie would appear soon. He had a sudden fear that she would send a message that she had changed her mind. Then he would be stuck in town with a woman who refused to marry him, marooned in his small cabin, alone and miserable.
At the sudden quieting of the O’Rourkes, Dunmore spun and faced the back of the room. He reached out and gripped Cormac, suddenly thankful he’d asked him to stand up with him. The sight of Maggie in her gorgeous wedding dress nearly brought him to his knees. The hopeful promise in her gaze made his heart flutter. He yearned to race to her and to gather her close, but he knew he must bide his time.
He glowed with pride and love, as he watched her slow approach. Eamon played a song filled with longing on a fiddle, and finally Maggie was beside him. Dunmore barely noticed Seamus backing away, Dunmore’s entire focus on his Maggie. His bride. Finally. “Hello, beloved,” he whispered.
She smiled shyly at him and flushed. “Hello, my Philip. I was worried you wouldn’t be here.”
His gaze glowed even brighter. “I am no fool.” He winked at her, as she gazed at him adoringly, while the priest began the ceremony. Dunmore had no idea what the priest said, if he gave them a blessing or if he had wished them to perdition. All Dunmore knew was that, finally, he and Maggie had exchanged vows, and he could kiss his wife.
“I am yours, beloved,” he whispered, just as he leaned forward to kiss her chastely.
She sighed, her hand rising to grip his nape. “As I am yours.”
* * *
Maggie shivered, as they entered his cabin, kissing his neck, as he carried her over the threshold. “You’re very strong,” she whispered.
He set her down, his hands running over her arms to clasp her hands. “Aye, I have to be to drive a stagecoach.” He sobered. “I’ll never use that strength against you.”
She nodded, pressing forward into his embrace. Looking around his small home, she noted the bed along one wall and the potbellied stove on the other. “Where’s your kitchen?”
He shrugged as his hands caressed up and down her back. “I never had much need for one. I can boil water on the stove, and, with the café, there was always food.”
She leaned back and stared at him, with an indulgent grin. “And you never left Mum’s hungry or without a little something to take with you.”
He shrugged and winked at her. “I learned long ago to never turn down a meal.” He led her toward the stove, already pumping out heat. “Your brother Ardan ensured we wouldn’t return to a cold cabin.”
She looked at the basket on the table. “And Deirdre is ensuring we won’t starve.” She laughed, as Dunmore tickled her. “Oh, I always worried something would keep me from you.” She stilled, as she blurted out her fear.
Running a hand over her head and undoing a few of the pins keeping her hair in an elaborate knot, he stared at her in wonder. “Can you not understand it was the same for me? I thought you’d send Aileen or Niamh to tell me that you’d changed your mind. That you knew you could do better than a mere stagecoach driver.”
“Better?” Maggie asked, her gaze clouded with disbelief. “Never. There is no better man in the world for me than you, Philip Dunmore.” Her gaze glowed with her sincerity, as she stood on her toes and cupped his cheeks in her palms. “You? … I would be lost without you.”
He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her. “Shh, love, no crying on our wedding night. Unless it’s from pleasure.”<
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She giggled and swatted at his impertinence. Then, as her stomach growled loudly, she flushed. “I’m sorry,” she gasped.
He ran a hand over her head, freeing her beautiful locks of more of their pins. “Why? My wife is hungry. I just wish in the future you’d tell me, so I could make sure you get food before your stomach growls loud enough to tell the whole town.” He winked at her again, as she giggled, and led her to the small table by the stove.
After riffling through the basket, they decided to cut into a chicken potpie. They dug into it with spoons and forks, eating it right out of the tin. “I feel like I’ve lost all my manners,” Maggie whispered, as she flushed.
“Oh, it’s like we’re roughing it,” he said, with a smile. “Your family meals are wonderful, but we won’t always be so formal, Maggie. Sometimes we might eat later or even eat in bed.”
“Eat in bed?” she asked, her mouth agape, as she stared at him. “Surely you’re joking.”
He shrugged. “Someday you might see the wisdom in the idea.” He set down his fork and went through the basket. “Bread, cheese, cookies. A small cake just for us.” He smiled at Maggie. “We won’t have to leave for a few days.”
She grinned at him. “Well, that is why they call this a honeymoon.” She flushed at the appreciative glint in his gaze. “Although we really haven’t gone anywhere.”
He sobered. “I’m sorry, beloved. It’s not possible to travel now. And, when it is possible to travel, I must work. I always want to provide for you.”
Her spoon clattered to the table, as she reached forward and grasped his hand. “Philip, I was teasing. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here with you right now. Please believe me.”
He gazed deeply into her eyes and nodded. “I do.” He rose. “Come. Dance with me.”
“Dance?” she sputtered. “Why would we dance? Eamon and Niall aren’t here to play us music.”
“Thank God,” he murmured, with a wicked glint in his gaze. “I want to hold you. We can hum, or we can imagine we hear a tune they’re playing.” He pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin. “Let me hold you close, as I’ve dreamed of all day.”
She sighed with pleasure, wrapping her arms around his waist. “I wanted this,” she breathed, resting against him. “A quiet moment with you to marvel at our good fortune.”
He chuckled. “A quiet moment was never to be had with the O’Rourkes determined to celebrate.” He kissed her head.
Swaying softly in his arms, she whispered, “How did you not become fall-down drunk, like Cormac did at his wedding to Niamh?” She kissed the underside of his jaw. “I saw them plying you with enough whiskey to fell one of your beloved horses.”
He laughed, pulling her tighter into his arms. “I stood near one of your mum’s plants and poured the whiskey into it.”
“You never?” Maggie gasped. “She’s been laboring for two years to get that plant to bloom, and now your whiskey will kill it!”
Dunmore shrugged, looking down at her unrepentantly. “I refuse to feel remorse, when it means I can stand here, with you in my arms, and not be blind drunk and miss our wedding night.” He shook his head. “Some things are too precious to miss, Maggie.”
She glowed at the tender look in his gaze. “Yes, some things are too precious,” she breathed, standing on her toes to kiss him. The kiss was at first tentative, as she barely pressed her lips against his. Her fingers ran through his trimmed beard, and she sighed as she rubbed her nose and cheek through the soft yet bristly hair. “I love your beard.”
“Good,” he murmured, “for I have no desire to shave it off.” He bent forward, kissing her neck. “Although, for you, I would.”
She arched back, giving him better access to her neck, gasping as he found a tender spot. “Oh, this feels like heaven,” she gasped. She shivered, as his hands ran over her, gentle yet firm. She opened her eyes and stared at him. “I know you, Dunmore. I know you’ll never hurt me. I trust you.”
He had recoiled at the mention of hurting her. “Never, Maggie. You are precious to me. My beloved wife.” He kissed her again, before spinning her around. “Come. Let’s ease you from your beautiful gown. I don’t want to harm any of the stitchwork.”
Giggling, Maggie bent her head forward, so his hands could nimbly unbutton her. “Niamh said she’d understand and would gladly make whatever repairs were necessary.”
He chuckled and kissed his way down her spine. “Even your back is flushing at that statement.” He kissed her again, murmuring, “There’s no shame in others knowing we take joy in each other, love.”
She shivered, when he found a scar on her shoulder and ran his thumb over it again and again, as though his tender touch could erase it. “No shame. I’m new to this.”
He growled and pushed down her beautiful dress, leaving her in her underclothes. After untying her corset, he eased that off her, leaving her in her shift. “Aye, I’m glad you are new to this. For you can learn what it is to be adored.”
She smiled, her hand rising to cup his cheek, as her eyes shimmered with tears. “I already know all about that.”
He groaned, reaching for her and picking her up. He set her on the bed, deepening the kiss for a moment, before he shucked his clothes, watching as she squirmed around to slip off her shift. After she cast him a beguiling smile and tossed her shift at him, he laughed, crawling onto the bed with her. With the winter storm raging outside, it was as though they were in another world, just for them.
Dunmore paused, running his hands through her lustrous silky hair. “I always dreamed I’d see your hair like this every night. That I’d be the lucky bastard who had the right to touch it.” He leaned forward and inhaled. “To smell it.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her tighter toward him, and he leaned over her, kissing her.
Their kiss deepened, and he rolled so that she lay beneath him. He groaned with delight to feel her softness and her warmth, one hand tangled in her hair, as the other roamed over her. He felt her quiver, and he groaned again, as he felt his passion for his beautiful wife grow. As he leaned forward, his lips trailing over her jaw and to her neck, he felt her rapid breath on his cheek and a soft cry.
He stilled. Every instinct in him clamored for him to continue with his passionate caresses, but a warning bell sounded in his mind at that cry. Raising his head, he focused on Maggie. On his precious wife. “Beloved?” he rasped. His astute gaze roved over her, and he froze.
Rather than passion, he realized she shivered in terror. Her eyes were clamped shut, and a fine sheen of sweat clung to her brow.
“Maggie?” He stroked a finger over her cheek and then cupped her face. “Maggie, look at me. It’s Dunmore. Your Philip.” He paused, as he saw her eyelids flutter. “Look at me, please.” When she opened her eyes, his breath caught at the depth of her fear. “Oh, my darling, I’m sorry.” Philip fell to her side. “I … It was thoughtless of me.” He no longer touched her, as though afraid any further contact with him would only provoke further suffering.
“No!” she cried out, following him and resting her head on his shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him, shuddering when she felt him against her. “Please, don’t give up on me. Please.” She grabbed one of his arms and pulled at it, resting it against her back. “Please don’t be revolted by me.”
Dunmore enfolded her in his embrace, rocking her to and fro, while she rested on his chest. After kissing her on her head, he pleaded, “Stop, Maggie love.” He held on tight, when she shrunk at his words in an attempt to slink away from him. “Never think such things about me.” He waited until she raised her head, and he ran his hands through her long loose hair, gazing deeply into her tormented gaze. “I love you. I cherish you. The thought that anything I did harmed you is past bearing.” His eyes held unshed tears.
Maggie gazed deeply into his eyes. “I got lost for a moment,” she admitted, flushing with embarrassment. “I couldn’t control my fear.”
He nodded, his ha
nd now stroking down her neck to her shoulder. “I wish you never had any reason to be afraid. I wish I’d been able to protect you.” His gaze shone with sincerity. “I’m so proud of you, beloved. You had the courage to believe in us and to marry me.”
She ducked her head a moment, before whispering, “I want to be with you, Philip, but I’m afraid.”
He arched up and kissed her, softly at first. He relished the feel of her soft lips, the sound of her gentle sigh of pleasure, as she softened into him. Soon the kiss had deepened, and he groaned at the feel of her hands digging into his hair, gripping his shoulders, her chest and hips pressed into him. He moaned again at the feel of her body all along his.
“Maggie, darlin’,” he gasped out, as he kissed her cheek and then her neck, as she arched her head back and gave him access. “Do you trust me?” When she opened her eyes and nodded, he smiled. “There’s more than one way to love, my Maggie. Let me show you.”
“Please,” she gasped, as his hands roved over her waist.
He smiled, meeting her gaze, now filled with passion and only a hint of trepidation. Soon they were lost to each other, any fears momentarily banished.
* * *
Maggie rested her head against Dunmore’s chest, her eyes closed in sleepy contentment, as his fingers played through her hair and over her shoulders. He seemed content to hold her and to touch her reverently, but a nagging doubt bloomed that he had not been satisfied by their lovemaking.
“You’re inventing problems where they don’t exist, Mags,” he murmured, the deep rumble of his voice echoing under her ear.
She propped her head up, so her chin rested on his chest, and she gazed into his eyes, frowning when she saw how guarded he was. Usually she knew exactly what he was thinking. She could tell he was happy or frustrated or about to lose his temper. Now all she could decipher was a hesitancy and a wariness. “Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispered, wincing as her voice emerged wobbly. She wanted to exude strength, but she felt weak and vulnerable, as she gazed at the man she loved.
Pioneer Devotion: The O’Rourke Family Montana Saga, Book Six Page 17
