by Cathy MacRae
Urgency overtook Uilleam. “How do I find yer room?”
She giggled and pointed down the passageway. He passed two doors before she straightened in his arms and leaned backward, nearly toppling him.
“That one we just passed.”
The door to Brenna’s room was closed, but he managed to fiddle with the latch without dropping his new wife, and nudged the door open with the thrust of a hip. Candles glittered on every surface and yards of sheer white silk twined amid the boughs of greenery. The scent of evergreens was over-powering and the heat of the candles instantly raised sweat on his brow.
He withdrew his arm from beneath Brenna’s legs and let her slide slowly to the floor. She returned his kiss with fervor, and his heart—and cock—filled with longing.
“Are ye full-willing, Brenna, to discover what it means to be a wife?”
She nodded her head. “I love being your wife.”
“Ye’ve been my wife for naught but a few hours. And there’s more to it than ye think.”
She nodded again, a happy smile on her face. “There will be babes,” she whispered.
“Aye. We may have bairns. I hope we do.”
He motioned to her gown. “Shall I help ye unlace yer pretty kirtle?”
Her eyes widened, but she lifted her arms so he could deal with the silken cords. She giggled. Uilleam drew a calming breath. The scent of pine clogged his nose. He sneezed.
“Ye make a handsome lady’s maid, sir.” She giggled again.
Uilleam bit his lip, forestalling a second sneeze and the urge to frown. He didn’t think much of giggles.
“There ye are.” He finished with the knots and loosened the laces enough to slip the gown over her head. Yards of heavy cloth enveloped them both before he managed to drape the kirtle over a chair. She stood before him in a nearly sheer under-gown, the brooch resting atop her breasts. She giggled again.
Giggling could soon become annoying.
He drew her against him. Kissing seemed to silence—and please—her. A moan escaped her as she leaned into his kiss. Her lips parted beneath his and he shifted her in his arms to deepen the kiss, slanting his mouth across hers as passion flared.
Her fingers twined in his hair. Curves swelled beneath his palms. Perhaps she was also eager to pursue the bedding.
A broad smile spread across his face as he ended the kiss and swept her into his arms once again. He crossed the room in three long strides and set her upon the bed. Kneeling, he removed her slippers. Another giggle escaped her as he ran his hands up her legs and drew her stockings away. The heat of her was nearly his undoing.
“Give me a moment to undress,” he said, surprised by the husky voice which rolled from his throat. He removed his boots and hose, then pulled his cowl over his head and laid it aside. His belt and scabbard quickly followed, along with his sporran. His plaide fell to the floor in a puddle of blue and green wool and he stood clad in nothing more than his tunic.
Brenna’s eyelids drooped. With a gentle sigh, she collapsed against the mound of pillows, tucked a hand beneath her cheek, and was instantly fast asleep.
Epilogue
The end of her nose itched. Brenna rubbed the bridge vigorously and cracked one eyelid open. Mellow sunlight fell from the window across the floor, warming the thick wool rug and the well-worn boards. A curve of frost limed a corner of the window pane with a diamond-like sparkle. Grateful for the warmth of the heavy blanket on her bed, she sighed, closed her eyes, and snuggled deeper.
Silk sheets slid over her body. Her bare, naked . . . oh là là!
Her eyelids flew open, encountering the twinkle of very blue eyes.
“Good afternoon, mo graidh.”
“Bonjour, Uilleam,” she replied, her voice tentative.
His eyebrows shot upward. “Regrets? I’ll answer them now if there is aught I should know.”
Heat washed over her, feeding a pert grin. “I regret thinking Maman was foolish to insist there was a bed involved.”
“Och, mo graidh, I can show you several ways of loving with no bed involved at all.” He laughed. “But we’ll give things a bit more time, aye? Ye’re an avid scholar and I wouldnae wish ye to tire of our play.”
Brenna squirmed, wide-eyed at the thought. There was more? Her idea that Uilleam’s excellent kissing was enough to get her with child had fallen away—along with the true fact of her virginity—during the early morning hours. She’d thought her surprise complete then.
“I’m aggrieved I fell asleep before . . . ye know.”
They’d been quite intimate in the ensuing hours—once she roused from her intoxicated stupor—but not long enough to bring the words to her lips—at least, not just yet. However, Uilleam had a knack for teaching her words. Among other things. And she found she was an eager recipient of his tutelage.
“I was a bit perturbed as well,” he teased. “A hungry cock, a pretty wife, and naught but snoring betwixt us.”
She sent him a sultry look. “I will not drink wine again,” she avowed. “And I am thankful I did not have as much a megrim as I ought.”
“Thank Saint Oda and a bit of yer cook’s tisane for that.” He swept a hand over her forehead then cupped her cheek. “And now? How do ye feel?”
Brenna’s toes curled. “I feel . . . I feel like . . ..” Her cheeks had likely never been darker, for she’d never before searched for words to describe the incredible thrumming warming her insides. Was the shadow she laid in enough to hide her embarrassment?
“Like a new wife?” Uilleam prompted, a raised brow telling her he’d certainly noticed her discomposure.
She nodded, accepting his assessment. Much easier to agree when her brain had become completely empty of coherent thought and she only wished to tell him to get on with teaching her more. Would he think her completely wicked?
He rose over her, an arm to either side, legs straddling hers as he sank back on his heels.
“Sore?”
She shook her head then checked. He would continue asking intimate questions. Barbarian. She smiled and felt her cheeks heat again. “Mayhap a little.”
He nibbled the corner of her mouth, then slid over her cheek to where his breath teased the fine hair next to her ear. At her groan, he pressed against her, hot and hard, and any cobwebs lingering from her very fine sleep blew away.
“Ye will tell me if ye wish to halt,” he informed her, though she didn’t think he meant to actually growl.
Her fingers gripped his shoulders, drawing him closer. “Please don’t stop,” she whispered in his ear.
A chuckle rumbled in his chest. Her breasts tightened.
“Tell me how ye feel,” he murmured.
Distracted by the sensations tugging her in a thousand different directions, Brenna could think no clear thoughts. How to explain the sensation of being enveloped by the costliest velvet that both soothed and irritated equally? How to describe the astounding sensation of blood heated to near-boiling coursing through her veins?
How to say she wished to soar among the stars?
“Hot?” she ventured. ’Twas a simple word, easy to speak as her breath came in shorter and shorter pants.
Uilleam nodded, his night’s—and day’s worth of whiskers rasping lightly against the tender skin above her breasts. He nudged the blanket aside and drew a nipple into his mouth. His lips kneaded the sensitive mound.
Brenna moaned. “Hard?” Though if she meant him or her—or urged him to greater efforts—she wasn’t clear.
Her hand slipped from his shoulder, fingers flirting with the undulating lines of his ribs before brushing the top of his thigh. With a groan, Uilleam moved closer, into the reach of her questing hand. She closed her fingers over his cock then fluttered away.
“Hard,” he agreed. “Mayhap we should try one more thing . . ..”
* * *
Fresh, cold sea air washed Uilleam’s face. Gulls dipped and glided overhead, dark against the purple and orange sky. The Mar slid easily into the A
tlantic Ocean, the Kintyre Peninsula a mere stain on the horizon. The Western Isles lay ahead, with Donansgeir, his sister’s home, at journey’s end. He must remember to thank Maggie for allowing him a respite with his bride before facing his ma and da.
Brenna huddled against his side, warm beneath his cloak.
His wee songbird. How was he to return to his duties in a fortnight’s time when all he wished to do was take her to bed—keep her with him as he showed her things far beyond the walls of Narnain Castle?
“I swear I will never drink wine again,” she murmured.
Uilleam laughed. “Ye’ve said that for the past six days, mo graidh. Ye may wish to consider moderation next time.”
She sighed. “Nay. I will continue to imbibe cider. Or, mayhap watered ale.” She nodded, her cheek gliding against his arm. “’Twill be best for the babe.”
Uilleam staggered against the rail. “Ye’re . . .? Ye cannae possibly know . . ..”
“Oh là là!” She waved away his words. “I have no immediate expectation. We’ve been wed less than a sennight.” She wrapped both arms about his waist. “Though, from our efforts, t’would seem possible.”
“Just by kissing?” he teased her.
“Nay, and I’ve well-learned otherwise,” she said with a sassy grin and a pointed look that plunged unerringly to where he was already rock-hard.
He brushed aside a fluttering lock of her hair to better place a kiss on the curve of her cheek.
“I dinnae think I shall be able to walk back to our cabin.”
Brenna giggled. “I do not think this is the best spot for another lesson.” She turned pensive, raising a finger for each point as she whispered a litany of the ways he’d loved her in the past sennight.
He growled. “Lass, ye are the most trying woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of encountering. I beg ye, say nae more.”
She hummed a few bars of a bawdy tune he’d heard the sailors singing as the ship got under weigh that morning.
“I’m glad to see ye continue to broaden yer knowledge,” he teased.
She nodded. “Oh là là, the things I know because of ye. I add to them daily, I’m pleased to say.”
A shout from the forecastle drew their attention. Instantly alert, Uilleam scanned their surroundings for any threat. Amethyst sky met darker waters as the sun disappeared over the horizon, but naught stirred on the waves except the Mar.
Brenna shifted against his side. “Did ye hear a dog?”
“What?” His eyebrows lifted in alarm. Naught but faint scars remained on his legs where Kari’s puppy—and the tabby cat—had nearly ruined his expectations of a wedding night. He flinched at the memory.
“Nae. I heard naught but gulls and a squabble elsewhere on deck. We dinnae bring a dog aboard.”
“Is the journey long?” Brenna sighed, clearly losing interest in the other activities aboard the ship.
“A day or twa, nae more. Are ye seasick?” Panicked, he stared at her face. Was she flushed? Pale? He needed a lantern to see.
“Do not fret. I have fine water feet.”
Uilleam roared with laughter. “Sea legs, lass. Sea legs.”
She sent him a tolerant look. “I’m glad your sister has gifted us this time together. She must be a thoughtful woman.”
“Aye, she is,” Uilleam agreed. “And ye will like her husband and wee bairn, as well.”
“A babe? Boy or girl?”
“A lad.”
“I hope your sister likes me.”
Uilleam laughed. “Och, my sister will like ye, mo graidh. Though ye are naught like her.”
“She will like me because I love her brother well,” she said with returning confidence.
Uilleam gathered her against him and smiled as he regained the ability to move his legs in a manner approaching normalcy as they abandoned the sunset for a different, more private venue.
“Och, aye, my sweet little bird, ye do love me well.”
~Not Quite The End~
A sharp bark interrupted them. There was no mistaking the sound. Brenna hesitated outside the door to their cabin, laying slender fingers on Uilleam’s arm.
“Did ye hear?”
Uilleam did not wish to acknowledge the sound, as he was far more interested in the lovely noises his wife made at the peak of her passion. But the disruption by the sailors and their rising voices cooled his ardor.
“Wait here.” He strode toward the growing knot of sailors, recognizing Caz at the edge of the small crowd. A volley of sharp barks quickened his step.
“What is about?”
Caz glanced up. A slight grin lit his face. “It appears we have a stowaway.”
Uilleam’s attention shifted to the center of the group where a large crate sat, its lid askew. Men stepped aside as he approached. The captain sent him a questioning look.
“Do ye know our wee cabin boy?” A twinkle in his eye both comforted and alarmed Uilleam.
“Should I?” He stepped closer.
“I’m not a boy!” a girlish voice squealed as its owner climbed from the box. A mass of black curls topped a head no higher than Uilleam’s chest, and dirty hands gripped a small terrier. The barking intensified.
“There are nae other passengers aboard, and our stowaway is too young to be a sailor.” Graham MacLean tilted his head. “We could use a cabin boy.”
“Kari! What are ye doing here?”
Uilleam whirled in an attempt to catch Brenna as she sailed past. “I told ye to wait!”
She sent him an arch look then sank to the planks beside her sister.
“Kari! Are ye well?”
Poppy surged in the young girl’s arms, greeting Brenna with puppy kisses and excited whines and moans. Kari released her pet and Poppy raced in a circle, nose to the boards, before squatting beside a barrel and releasing a healthy yellow stream.
A seagull landed on a barrel next to the dog and fluffed its feathers before demanding a tribute from the crew. Poppy yipped and leapt to a long, low box against the rail in a single bound, reaching the top of the barrel an instant later.
The bird shrieked and launched from its perch, shredding the air with the sound of rippling feathers. Poppy’s chest hit the top of the barrel and slid toward the rail amid a scrabble of claws. Kari screamed as she tore from her sister’s grip and grabbed the wee terrier as the furry body slid over the polished, spray-slick rail.
Brenna loosed a shriek and scrambled after her little sister, seizing a fistful of velvet cloth an instant before Kari overbalanced and risked a plunge overboard.
Uilleam cursed and dove after the trio, wrapping his arms about his wife, his wee sister by marriage, and the terrier puppy.
They fell with a thump to the deck. Kari landed heavily in Uilleam’s lap. Brenna threw her arms about his neck. Poppy piddled on Uilleam’s plaide then darted away to hide between two crates lashed to the rail.
The sea gull flew off with a defiant caw.
Gritting his teeth in an effort to keep his frustration from showing, Uilleam ignored the wet stain on his plaide and bent his attention to Brenna and Kari.
“Are ye well?” He eyed the pair.
Kari nodded, black curls wild about her head, her velvet gown crumpled, stained, and ruined from hours in the crate and her sister’s panicked grip. One sleeve hung askew, the stitching parted from the cloth. Her green eyes brimmed with tears. Her lower lip trembled.
Uilleam sighed.
Kari crawled from his lap and squatted before her puppy.
“Come on out, Poppy.” She made a smooching sound and beckoned to the frightened terrier. “Come here. Bon chiot.”
Brenna released her hold on Uilleam’s neck and faced her sister.
“Kari! What were ye thinking? Ye could have fallen overboard! What if someone sealed your crate? Or stacked others atop? What if . . .?”
“Haud yer wheesht, lass,” Uilleam chided softly, not willing to allow Brenna full rein with her imagination. “Yer sister is unharmed and so is he
r wee scrap of fur and fang.” He eyed the tiny beast and found both puppy and sister somewhat subdued.
Kari plumped onto the deck and sighed. “I wanted to see the world. ’Tis no fair Brenna has all the fun.” She glanced at Uilleam. “Brenna used to tell the best stories about ships and where they were going. But she hasn’t told any in years,” she added in youthful hyperbole, “so I decided I’d find out for myself where the ships go.”
Brenna shook her head. “Oh, Kari. What will Mama and Papa say? They must have missed ye by now.”
Kari’s eyes grew wide. “They will be angry.”
Brenna turned a worried look to Uilleam. “We must get her home.”
Uilleam gently edged his wife off his lap and stood with a glance to starboard. An island slipped astern as they sailed past. Islay. They’d passed the half-way point.
“If I might make a suggestion?” Captain MacLean cleared his throat and glanced at Uilleam. “We’ll make better time with the wind in our sails than if we turn about. I’ve orders to deposit ye and yer bride at Donansgeir then head to port at Morvern. I could set someone ashore at Oban which isnae far. On a fast horse, t’would only be two day’s ride to back to Corbie’s Burn—mayhap a bit more.”
Uilleam thought hard. He wasn’t certain he wished to keep the ramscallion in his care for however long it would take for word to reach Lord le Naper and an escort sent to retrieve her. Howbeit, he was fairly certain he did not want to return to Corbie’s Burn amid the hullabaloo of a lost child.
“Don’t send me home!” Kari’s lower lip wobbled.
Brenna rose and stood next to Uilleam. “Ma petite, they will be very worried.”
“They’ll scold me.”
“They should,” Brenna assured her. “Ye should not have run off.”
“We will send word,” Uilleam said. “’Twould take us a day and a half to turn about and reach Corbie’s Burn. ’Twill nae take much longer to implement the captain’s plan.”
