His Bonnie Bride (20 page)

"We should drown," she gasped as he gently suckled. "The stream is too rocky."

"Ye should ken by now, lass, that ye dinnae need to lie on your back. Wrap your arms around my neck and those lovely legs round my waist," he urged hoarsely, his need for her rapidly gaining strength.

They both gasped when he fitted them together. For a moment they stood still, kissing gently, then with an increasing passion. His hands on her hips, Tavis began to move her slowly, then faster and faster until their passion crested and they nearly collapsed into the water.

"We could have drowned," Storm said, trying not to blush as they sat wrapped in toweling on a blanket with the food spread out around them. " 'Tis a bit chill. I should get dressed."

"Nay," Tavis said softly as he handed her a glass. "Drink this. 'Twill warm ye." He touched her drying hair as she sipped the whiskey. "The sun will soon dry ye and the chill will pass."

The whiskey warmed her even as she drank it. They ate heartily, occasionally feeding each other and laughing when they fumbled. A combination of freedom, even if transitory and perhaps illusionary, and whiskey made for very high spirits. Tavis lay back with his arms crossed behind his head when the meal was done, enjoying the sun and watching Storm clear away the food.

Storm sipped her whiskey as she sat by his side and looked at him. She wondered idly why he did not look silly lying there with nothing but a cloth wrapped around his waist. What he did look like was a man she very much wanted to make love to. She wanted to run her hands over every taut inch of his lean body. Thoughtfully, she took another sip of whiskey and wondered if she dared. It was not the sort of thing a lady should do, but then, neither did a lady sit about in so little sipping whiskey with an equally undressed man, she mused.

Blushing slightly, she recalled the only other time she had taken the initiative. He certainly had seemed to appreciate it.

Storm then recalled what Lady Mary had done to Sir Hugh. Just because they did something did not make it wrong, for they had made love the same way she and Tavis did. It was simply their attitude that made it sordid. Thinking of how her caresses had so obviously pleased him that time, Storm began to wonder if that further intimacy would also please. If there was one thing Lady Mary knew, it was how to please a man. Storm felt decidedly curious. She also felt that if it was something a man liked, then she ought to do it for Tavis, the man she loved.

Tavis opened his eyes, meeting her warm, considering gaze. He recognized that still look on her face as the one she wore when she was mulling over something. As his gaze drifted over her from the gentle swell of her breasts above the cloth to her slim thighs, he decided he would ask her what she was thinking about later. Reaching up, he loosed her cloth and it fell to her hips, gathering there to give her a rather precarious modesty.

"Ye are one lovely woman, Storm," he said softly, his eyes lifting to see the color tint her cheeks. "Why so modest? Ye are beautiful and 'tis a pleasure to look at ye. I like to look at ye."

"Do ye, Tavis?" she asked softly, her hand moving to caress his chest. "What else do ye like? This?"

"Aye," he murmured as her lips and her tongue played over his mouth before she kissed him slowly.

" 'Tis hard for a woman to know what pleasures a man," Storm said musingly as she trailed kisses down to his chest. "A man learns as he grows from women he pays for or from women who have lovers to teach them. We young ladies are ne'er taught nor told a thing. How are we to know if a man likes this?" she asked huskily as her tongue played over his nipples before her mouth fastened upon one.

His hands ploughed into her thick hair as he rasped, "I cannae speak for other men but 'tis verra fine."

She moved to kneel between his strong thighs, her covering slipping off to lie unheeded on the blanket. Her tongue traced patterns down to the edge of the cloth that still encircled his hips, patterns that her kisses retraced. Every inch of his strong legs were explored by her hands, slowly and lovingly.

"And what is this, Tavis?" she whispered as her lips continued their play over his taut stomach just above the cloth's edge and she felt his hands tighten in her hair.

"A tease,
m'eudail,"
he groaned.

Ever since the MacDubhs had visited, Tavis had thought of the magic Storm could perform with her lovely mouth and intoxicating tongue. It occurred to him that Storm was often on his mind, but he put that down to her natural expertise as a lover. The way she could pleasure a man ensured that she would be well remembered. He would not be able to forget how she could turn his blood to pure fire, make him ache more than he had ever ached for any woman.

"Mayhaps if ye tell me what ye want," Storm purred as she continued her play.

"Ye ken weel what I want, witch," he rasped.

"Is it this,
acushla?"

She undid the cloth slowly. Her hand moved over the seat of his passion as her lips drifted to his thighs.

She felt him shudder as she teased and stroked, and knew the power a woman could have over a man. In her case, the power she had came back upon herself. As Tavis's passion grew so did hers, his pleasure increased her own and she surrendered to desire almost as quickly as he did.

" 'Od's blood, woman, ye do ken how to use those beautiful hands. Ah," he gasped as her lips brushed agonizingly close. "Storm, my Storm, maun ye torture me so? Have pity on a man."

"Do ye call this pity, Tavis?" she murmured as her lips took over the pleasant work of her hand.

"I call it heaven," he said hoarsely as pleasure closed his eyes. "Aye. 'Tis heaven."

The sharp edge of his need, a need unsatisfied as she had healed, was gone, so he had the strength of control to simply enjoy. He did not want to rush, wanted to luxuriate in the waves of pleasure flowing over him. That control nearly snapped when her lips engulfed him, performed that intimacy he had never dared ask for. His eyes flew open and he half sat up in surprise.

His violent reaction made her pause, and she peeked at him through the tangled curtain of her hair. "Nay?" she queried in a small voice, terrified she had erred badly.

"Aye," Tavis ground out, urging her back with the hands he had clenched in her hair. Sitting up, Tavis's gaze riveted to the mass of bright hair splayed over his lap. His body trembled as he fought for control. The subservient appearance of her position was a fraud, for he was at that moment her slave. Ecstasy nearly doubled him up until he knew he had reached his limit.

Storm found herself flung onto her back. Tavis's possession of her was savage as he threw himself on top of her and drove into her deeply and swiftly. After the first shock she was caught up in the ferocity of his lovemaking. It was short-lived in its violence as they crested the heights within heartbeats of each other. Her limbs lay heavily around him as he collapsed on top of her, his face buried in the curve of her neck and his breath coming in harsh, shaky rasps.

In silence they parted, each moving to get dressed. There was a tension in the air that made Storm nervous. She could not help but wonder if she had done wrong. Because something gave a man pleasure did not mean he approved of a lady performing it. Storm had recognized the hypocrisy of men early in life.

Tavis's silence was due partly to embarrassment. He knew he had taken her roughly, more roughly than he could remember ever having taken a woman. Never before had he been driven to such a point of white-hot, blind desire. Her ability to do that to him unnerved him slightly. He saw the stiffness in her movements and watched her wince as she bent to pick up the blanket.

"I have hurt ye," he said in obvious remorse as he moved to stand before her.

Holding the folded blanket to her chest, Storm murmured, " 'Tis naught, Tavis."

"Ye are a poor liar, lass." He brushed the hair back from her face. "Ye are sore. 'Tis there to see in the way ye move. I am sorry. God, but ye drive a man to madness."

" 'Tis not an unpleasant soreness, Tavis. I felt it not in its making and it will pass."

Taking the blanket from her, he tossed it aside and took her into his arms. The confusion in his mind caused his arms to tighten around her as he buried his face in her silken hair. He had the strongest urge to flee with her, to go somewhere where it mattered not at all who they were. Knowing she would have to return to Hagaleah, he looked into the future and felt chilled by the emptiness he saw there. There was nothing to fill in the space she would leave. Giving himself a mental shake, he tried to convince himself that he was caught up in the afterglow of good loving. Any man would dread the thought of losing such pleasure. It would be a transitory sense of loss.

"Storm?" He pulled away a little to look down at her face, not sure of what he wanted to say.

"Aye, Tavis?" She saw the confusion on his face and wondered at its cause.

"Thank ye," he whispered, and brushed a light kiss over her mouth as his hands gently cupped her face.

"Ye are quite welcome," she said, forcing herself to smile over the twisting pain in her heart, a pain caused by the knowledge that this was all she would ever have of Tavis MacLagan.

A crispness to the air foretold the coming autumn and bid farewell to summer. Storm sighed as she prepared to go to the hall. She knew she was pregnant, and the only good thing she could think about it was that she was so far along the sickness had passed and she had been successful in hiding it from Tavis. Now she just had to worry about when she would begin to really show. At the moment she only looked as if she were putting on a little weight. She knew, however, that that was apt to change at any time, for she was too far along to keep it hidden much longer. It had amazed her that Tavis had yet to feel the quickening of his child, for it grew stronger with each passing day.

She had not told Tavis about the baby for she felt it would put a wedge between them. One of her fears was that he would demand that, if she bore him a son, the child stay with him. That was something she could never bear. It was becoming imperative that she get home.

Sighing as she moved to the door, Storm knew that her troubles would not cease once she got home. Eventually she would have to tell her father and in such a way that he did not ride out for Caraidland screaming for blood. There would be the spiteful tongues blaming her for what she had no control over to contend with. With no maidenhead and a bastard child, she would be unweddable. A cold, loveless future stretched before her, and that would be the hardest thing to face, especially now that she had had a taste of love, if unreturned, and the passion it bred. She envisioned endless nights of aching with a shudder.

As she walked into the hall, she thought about the life growing within her. Despite her gloomy thoughts on her future, as well as her current worries, she found a flicker of elation struggling to grow. She would have a piece of Tavis to hold and love. Storm knew that would bring her future pain, but she felt the joy of their child could outshine that. There would be a child of Tavis's body to whom she could give all the love she ached to give to Tavis.

Tavis sat in the hall, drinking ale and talking with his family, but his mind was on Storm, not on what he was saying. Fighting weather was passing even in France, he presumed. Soon Lord Eldon would be coming home. The king could not hold all his high-born knights at his side even if he opted to stay in France for the winter. By now word of the trouble at home must have reached Lord Eldon, and Tavis had no doubt that the man would be hieing it back to Hagaleah to gain his daughter's freedom through ransom or sword. Each day Tavis expected to hear word from the man.

The ransom would be paid, Storm would return to Hagaleah and Tavis's bed would be empty again. The thought brought a chill to his bones. Still, he ignored the small voice that wearily tried to tell him of his feelings. He continued to tell himself that he liked her and relished her passion, a combination he had never enjoyed before. That was why he hated the thought of her leaving. It meant a return to women who satisfied a need at only the most basic of levels.

He had grown greedy of late as thoughts of her leaving crowded into his mind more and more. It did not surprise him that she lingered abed in the mornings. A twinge of guilt assailed him as he recalled how wan she looked at times. That would not stop him from making love to her each and every chance he got, however, but he did think he would try not to disturb her night's sleep as often as he had been. It would not do to send her back to her father looking ill and well used.

Thinking that brought him to wonder what would happen when Lord Eldon discovered that his daughter had slept with her captor. It was ample reason to take up his sword. Tavis knew that his family would be crying long and loud for blood if they had a cherished daughter treated as he had treated Storm. It was a man's responsibility, if nothing else. Dishonor must be paid for in blood.

The only reason he was not positive that they faced a battle with Eldon was because of Storm. It was not vanity that told Tavis she thoroughly enjoyed their lovemaking. Her protests at the start had been very weak and, after that, she had never turned from him; rather she had welcomed him to her bed each night with open arms, a sweet smile and a passion to equal his own.

Would she tell her father how she had been used? If Eldon guessed, would she try to turn aside his natural wrath? Storm did not seem to be the vengeful sort but, because he had offered her no words of love, would she react as a woman scorned and need MacLagan blood to soothe her wounded vanity?

Even as the questions formed, Tavis answered them negatively. Storm would do her best to keep the families from meeting at sword point over her lost innocence. She was a practical, logical person and would not wish any deaths to occur over something that was inevitable and that she had enjoyed. If naught else, she would want to do all she could to keep her own family from battle.

His thoughts were interrupted by her entrance. A slow, enjoyable survey of her as she came toward him told him that no one could say she had been abused. In fact, he thought she looked better than she had when she had first arrived, although there was a sadness in her eyes at times that he was loathe to investigate. Her gentle curves had become more womanly. A lovely smile touched her equally lovely face as she greeted everyone, and he felt his loins stir, causing him to smile crookedly at his own weakness.