His Bonnie Bride (10 page)

"Nay, I must not. I ... ah!" she cried softly when he cupped a breast in his hand and his lips closed over the hardened tip, sending shafts of fire through her as his tongue flicked over the nub, creating an ache that he eased with a gentle suckling. "I am lost," she whispered, her hands burying themselves in his thick hair while her body arched against him in graceful need.

" 'Tis the purest nectar," he murmured as he gave her other breast an equal service, his hand moving in a slow caress down her stomach. "Your skin is like the finest silk."

Storm bit her lip in an attempt to stop the soft sounds of passion trying to escape her. It was in vain, for they exploded in her throat, sounding very much like a contented purr. He was turning her into a mindless receptacle for his lust, yet she could not stop her body's response to his practiced caresses. Her hands touched him wherever they could reach, moving with a shy but greedy delight that she could not control. As his kisses moved over her soft midriff, his hand slid between her legs to caress and probe. She tensed slightly, briefly, then slid over the edge into a mindless state, aware only of her pleasure and an aching need that was rapidly growing within her.

Tavis sensed her final capitulation and gave a soft, triumphant laugh. He had felt the passion within her, felt her tremble as she fought to subdue it, and had used all his skill to make passion the victor. His reward was the way she was coming alive beneath him, her thrashings and the sounds of pleasure escaping her stirring him in a way he had never experienced before. As his mouth edged its way back to her breasts, his fingers sought out the heart of her, readying her for his final possession and luxuriating in the warm moistness of her, a warmth that would soon know him more fully.

He wanted to savor his passion, the like of which he had never known before, but soon reached the limit of his endurance. Her small hands with their shy, unpracticed touches were driving him near to madness, giving him more pleasure than he had ever found beneath the skilled touch of others. His strong hands upon her slim hips to hold her steady, he eased into her, met the obstruction of her innocence and shattered it, his mouth swallowing her startled cry of pain. His teeth gritted against his body's urges, he lay still, letting the pain subside and her body adjust to his intrusion.

"It hurts," she whispered a little tearfully. "Can ye not leave now?"

"Nay, 'tis the sweetest haven I have e'er known." His lips moved gently over her face as his hands stroked her body, easing away the tension. His hand on her thigh, he said, "Wrap these slender beauties around my waist, sweet Storm. Cradle me to ye. Hold me close atween these silken thighs."

With a passion-induced obedience she did so, and shuddered along with him as he deepened his possession of her. Her eyes locked with his where he hovered above her, raised up on his elbows. A soft gasp escaped her as he began to move slowly; what was left of her pain was forgotten as a nearly painful pleasure grew within her. Unaware that her eyes had turned to a deep molten color, she was held in the fierce light of his gaze. After a moment she began to move with him in nature's own rhythm.

"Aye," he groaned in a voice trembling with passion as his lips teased at hers. "That is the way of it. Parry my ilka thrust. Take me so deep inside ye that I cannae find my way out. So sweet. So verra sweet," he rasped, and took her lips in a greedy kiss as he began to move faster.

Storm met his growing fierceness with an equal one of her own. Her slender arms joined her legs in holding him close while her tongue played with his as their kiss matched the growing frenzy of their movements. She was only dimly aware of his husky mutterings, his voice thickened by passion nearly beyond her comprehension. Suddenly the feeling within her grew to a point that alarmed her. She felt balanced on the edge of some precipice, her body drawn back like a bowstring ready to be released. Despite her growing fear she could not bring a halt to things, and that only increased her agitation. Suddenly she was an unwilling passenger on a journey she did not know the destination of.

"Tavis, I ... oh, God, please, something ... Tavis, I fear to shatter. Help me, please. I am afraid."

Cupping her face in his hands, he strove to articulate clearly so that he might ease her fears before they dimmed her passion. "Dinnae fight it nor fear it, sweeting. Give yourself to it. Give it to me. 'Tis the glorious ending of our journey. Savor it."

He held her gaze and read her release there even as his ears heard her impassioned cry. His body luxuriated in her tremors of inner delight. With one fierce thrust he sought his own escape, seeing in her face the way her body greedily accepted his passion's tribute before he collapsed in her arms. For a moment they lay intimately entwined, letting their minds and bodies slowly return to normalcy.

With her return to sanity, Storm found herself caught in a growing sadness. She knew some of the reason for her tears was the sense of loss, the realization that she was no longer innocent, her childhood irrevocably put aside. The greatest cause of her depression was the knowledge that something so beautiful to her was simply the use of a woman to the man she held. Though not one given to weeping and fully aware that it was mostly self-pity, Storm found herself too caught up in her crying to stop.

Leaving her arms, Tavis fought to quell the guilt that had swiftly grown from a small twinge at the start of her weeping. With a damp cloth he washed them both clean of the signs of her lost childhood. Returning to the bed, he took her into his arms, ignoring her slight resistance.

"Dinnae greet, lass. I cannae give it back. E'en an I could, I would just take it again."

Storm hoped he would never gain a full accounting of what he had stolen from her. " 'Tis easy for ye to speak so. It matters not how many women a man has. They can even find a pride in their conquests. 'Tis different with a woman ere she wants to wed. A man expects his wife to be pure, untouched by any man. Ye have ruined my hopes for marriage and a family."

" 'Tis not quite as bad as all that," he said quietly, although he thought it might be.

"Nay," she snarled, wrenching free of his gentle hold, " 'Tis always easy to find those who will take me for my fortune. Men such as Sir Hugh or mayhaps another of Lady Mary's past or present lovers."

It was not a pretty picture. Tavis grew angry, for she was stirring up his guilt again, a feeling he was not overly fond of. The cynicism he had so often brought to the fore failed him. He could not say it mattered not to him and mean it. Then, too, the thought that no other man might want her now was fleetingly pleasant, but only fleetingly, for he knew it was not true.

"The bride gift may not be so sweet, but ye'll nay be left to wither on the vine."

"Would ye take a wife that was no virgin?" she snapped, already sure of his answer.

Tavis smiled slightly when she registered open-mouthed surprise at his answer. "Aye, an I kenned 'twas nay her fault. A lass is no match for a man. 'Tis wrong to blame her for what she couldnae prevent. There'll be enough men willing to overlook your lack of a maidenhead, for ye be highborn, pretty and wealthy. Just dinnae tell them how much ye enjoyed it." He laughed softly and easily parried her blows, pinning her beneath him on the bed. "What is this ye wear, lass?" he asked, picking up the amulet she wore around her neck, which he had disinterestedly pushed aside earlier.

Looking at the circle of amber he held, a lovely butterfly forever caught in full wing-spread within, Storm relinquished some of her anger. "It was my mother's. She found it when she was a small child and had it hung upon this chain. When she fell in love with my father she gave it to him. As she lay dying, she told me to wear it and do the same. 'Tis not often ye find such beauty caught in amber, nor caught so perfectly. She felt it was a perfect love token, for 'tis unique and the shade of our eyes."

"And ye have nay found a man to give it to as yet?"

"Obviously not," she drawled, trying to ignore a twinge of pain that came with recalling her circumstances.

Ignoring her reference, Tavis stared into her eyes, truly fascinated by their coloring. "Aye, 'tis the same color, and your eyes can snare a man as well as this resin did the doomed butterfly."

"I have no intention of snaring anyone," she snapped indignantly.

"Nay?" As he cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs caressed her cheeks with a slow, gentle motion.

"Nay." She could feel herself reacting to his touch, as well as the lean strength of him pressed so closely to her. "Well, now that ye have had what ye wanted, ye best scurry back to your own bed."

"I never scurry."

Biting her lip against a rising annoyance, as well as a growing passion, she gritted out, "Then walk, run, trot, lope or do as ye please, but ye best get to moving."

"I am not going anywhere, lass." He smiled as her eyes widened.

"Ye cannot stay here. 'Twould be known by all what ye have done come the morning."

" 'Tis common knowledge now. I made my plans plain enough ere I left the hall."

For a moment Storm was speechless with embarrassment and outrage. "Did ye have to? How can I face all the others on the morrow? Could ye not have kept my disgrace a private matter?"

Shaking his head, Tavis found her naivete hard to believe. "Ye are my prisoner and a bonnie wee lass. Not only your kinsmen will question your innocence when ye leave here, but my folk have wondered why I have nay touched ye. Those that didnae ken I had not all thought I had. Near half the folk ye have faced all week have thought ye in my bed or I in yours. Think on it no longer, my sweet little one."

"How unjust of them," she whispered. "Do ye not care that they think ye a ravisher of maids?"

"Nay." His hands began to stroke her slim length and he felt her tension being replaced by desire. "I've nay ravished ye. Seduced, mayhaps, but nay ravished." His tongue tracing the outline of her mouth, he murmured, " 'Tis here in your arms I intend to stay until ye are given back to Hagaleah and England."

Neither paid much mind to how uncomfortable the mere thought of separation was. Even so, it killed what little resistance Storm had. Tavis became all the more desperate in his need.

Iain paused outside his father's door, saw a shaft of light, heard voices and rapped. Following the command to enter, his gaze settled upon Janet, a woman he neither trusted nor liked. He said nothing until his father finished off his potion, handed the goblet to Janet and she had left the room.

"Putrid rot," Colin grumbled. " 'Tis little help it gives me, yet I feel I maun suffer it."

"Tavis is with the Eldon lass."

Colin sighed. "Aye. 'Twas due. I hope he isnae going to hurt the bairn."

"Nay. He might not keep to the letter of his promise, but he'll not harm her. She's an Eldon."

"I ken that weel enough, and many's the man who'd say 'Have at it, Tavis,' but she's a good wee lassie and I cannae wish her hurt. Muckle's the year Eldon and MacLagan have faced each other at sword's point, but the man doesnae deal in treachery and butchery. Many's the time I wished I could have a friend at my side as worthy as that foe. I cannae like visiting dishonor upon his child. Then, too, there's the wee matter of me sword arm," he finished, touching the smooth scar at his shoulder.

"Aye. All this I can see weel, but 'tis more than that, is it not?"

"I have ne'er seen the lad in such a fever for a lass."

"Nor have I. 'Tis what drives him to go against your wishes, mayhaps against his own."

Hesitating, Colin held his son's gaze and then decided that Iain was very probably of a like mind, so would not find his growing qualms foolish ones. "I fear Tavis is sowing himself a harvest of grief," he said quietly, and Iain solemnly nodded.

Ignoring the tension that was building within her with each step she took, Storm followed Phelan into the great hall where dinner was to be served. Since Tavis had begun to share her bed there had been less of an air of imprisonment to her stay at Caraidland. Tavis did not like someone hanging around all the time, yet Storm knew she would not get many steps away if she tried to flee. There was always someone near, always a pair of eyes following her.

The fortnight had brought yet another reply from Hagaleah, couched in such terms that, although it was a refusal, it could not be acted upon as such. When Storm had presented Tavis with what she considered a reasonable tally for her nightly services and suggested that he deduct it from the ransom there had been a spectacular argument. She thought it a little hypocritical of him to use her like a whore, but then become enraged and outraged if she dared to call herself one in even the most subtle of terms. Nevertheless, she was careful not to, for they found quite enough to argue about as it was.

Then there were Janet and Katerine. They did all they could to make life miserable for her. They were proving to be experts in the field. It had reached the point where Storm feared an immediate outbreak of hostilities. More and more the subtle remarks flew, anger simmered and reaction was forced down to grow greater and fiercer.

Kate's reason for being vitriolic was plain to see. It had taken Storm a while to understand Janet's. When she did she wished fervently that she had not or that she would be proven wrong. Instead, as Colin grew weaker, Janet's reason for resenting her became all too clear. Janet plainly wanted Tavis, desired her own husband's son.

A silent groan rose up in Storm as the ever weakening Colin was led out of the hall, no longer able to linger with the others after the meal. The ritual of the women preparing to retreat to a far corner of the hall and leave the men alone to talk but the men inducing them to stay was gone through. Storm preferred staying at the table, for she really had little in common with the other two women, and the men afforded some protection from the vicious remarks and rising animosity. She was not afraid of the women, but did fear a humiliating scene if things were not kept curbed in some way.

Storm continued to feel that someone was slowly poisoning Colin but, although she had a very strong suspicion as to who it might be, she could not yet accuse someone. The watching she and Phelan indulged in had left them with only one firm conviction: Malcolm was the only one they could wholeheartedly exonerate. Their reasons for doing so were rather vague, but they did not care. If nothing else, they had to trust someone soon or Colin would die. Storm wondered how she could get to Colin's room to talk privately with the devoted Malcolm. There was little time left. It amazed Storm that Colin still lived, for he looked so very close to death.