Highland Promise (24 page)

        Moving a hand between them, he gently stroked her tender folds, pleased to find her wet with desire. Her pelvis tilted upward, welcoming the intimate caress. Jesu, but the lass burned with a natural passion. He thrust a finger into her feminine passage. She was so tight, so slick, so hot. His shaft flexed. Saint Andrew, help him. She needed more preparation, but all he wanted was to ram inside her.

        She whimpered and scored his shoulders. "Brendan!"

        He grabbed one of her hands and placed it on his shaft. Sweat poured from his body as she hesitantly gripped him in her palm.

        He slid two fingers inside her to help her accommodate him.

        She released her grip, then pushed against him. "Nay, I think—"

        "Do not think, Faith," he said between pants. "Just feel."

        He seized her mouth and plunged his tongue in and out, over and over, matching rhythm with his fingers below. The first tentative touch of her hands on his back sent waves of relief through him. Her legs spread and her pelvis tilted upward, accepting his caresses.

        Thankful for the primal invitation, he pushed her legs wider apart, positioned himself, and slowly entered her tight sheath. Upon meeting the barrier of her maidenhead, he halted and broke their kiss. She moaned and tried to move against him. He clenched his jaw and clamped his hands on her hips, stilling the evocative motion.

        "We are not done yet, are we?" she asked in a desperate voice.

        "Nay," he gritted out.

        "Then why did you stop?"

        "What I am about to do will hurt you."

        "I already ache."

        "Oh, God," he groaned and leaned his forehead against hers. He didn't want to hurt her any more. She was too damn delicate.

        "I ache for more of you," she whispered. "Does it have to hurt?"

        "Aye, but not for long."

        She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips to his cheek. "I trust you, Brendan."

        Hell, she was trying to comfort him when she was the virgin. He returned her kiss. Then he surged into her with one swift thrust. He paused to savor his invasion of her pristine canal as her feminine core clamped about him.

        Faith ripped her mouth from his. A small cry tore from her lips, as she stiffened beneath him.

        He rained kisses on her face and tasted salty tears. "Jesu, Faith, I did not wish to hurt you."

        "Will the pain go away soon?" she asked in a pleading tone that made him feel lower than dirt.

        "Aye, love. Just try to relax."

        She giggled, then rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and slipped her arms back around him.

        "Are you becoming hysterical?" he demanded, not sure what he would do if she was. Saint Andrew, he needed to move.

        "Nay." She shook her head and giggled again. "I just imagined a giant bear about to devour a tiny salmon, stopping to tell his prey to relax because the pain will be gone as soon as the meal is done."

        "Now is not the time for jests." He groaned as her hands kneaded the taut muscles in his back. "I hope your pain leaves soon."

        "'Tis about gone." She shifted her hips, and her eyes widened. "Oh! That was...nice."

        He chuckled. "Would you like to go for nice again, or would you prefer wonderful?" he asked as he began to pull backward.

        She clutched his hips with her knees. "I do not wish you to leave yet."

        "I have no intention of leaving. I am going for wonderful."

        He sank back into her slow and steady. She raised her knees, taking more of him. He moaned, relishing the feel of her tight sheath stretching around his pulsating flesh. Her hands threaded through his hair as she tugged his mouth back to hers for a blatantly carnal kiss. All thought of being gentle with his virgin bride fled. His thrusts became wild. She met his rhythm. Spurred on by her untamed response, he drove into her over and over.

        The sound of his name on her lips in a cry of ecstasy as her feminine muscles convulsed around him was like a siren's song to his lust. Heaven surely descended to earth as he released his seed into her womb.

        Totally spent, Brendan collapsed on top of her. She grunted and clung to him as their raspy pants broke the silence. The scent of their lovemaking hung in the mist about them. Satisfying languor and contentment filled him.

        She patted his back, then moved her arms around and pushed on his shoulders. "Brendan, you took me beyond wonderful, but you crush me now."

        He rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She snuggled on top of him with her head in the crook of his neck. Damn, it felt right to hold her close. He was on the verge of losing his heart to her, and he didn't like that one bit.

        Her fingers drummed his chest. He placed his hand on top of hers to still the movement.

        She yanked her hand away and pushed on his shoulder. "Well?"

        Damn, she should be as exhausted as he was. "Well what?"

        "Was I any good?" she demanded.

        "You have potential. Now go to sleep."

        "Arrogant goat." She shoved off of him and lay on her side, facing away. "If I have to go to perdition because of you, the least you could do is lie and tell me I did well. Mayhap I lied and you did not take me beyond wonderful."

        He turned onto his side, slipped his arms about her, and pulled her back against him. She fit him well for a tiny bit of a woman, and he loved the way the essence of lavender mingled with her womanly scent. "You have so much potential that I think we should do this often."

        She jabbed an elbow at his waist.

        Hell, she was a temperamental wench. He nuzzled her neck. "You were so good you damn near wore me out."

        "Truly?" She sounded so vulnerable he hadn't the heart to goad her more.

        "Aye."

        She rolled over, wrapped her arms around him, and patted his back. "You wore me out too."

        Brendan grunted and closed his eyes. Mayhap now he could rest.

        Her fingers began caressing tiny circles over his back. It was damn distracting, and he would be back on top of her soon if she didn't cease the arousing play.

        "Do you wear out all your women, Brendan?"

        What a ridiculous question to delay sleep over. "What kind of question is that?"

        She shrugged.

        "I cannot very well say I have never been with another woman if that is what you wish to hear."

        "I never asked that." Her words held an offended edge.

        She needed soothing, or he would never get any rest. He nipped her ear. "I only have one woman to wear out, and I plan to keep her exhausted."

        She relaxed, so mayhap he would finally be able to get some sleep.

        "Brendan?"

        Or mayhap he would turn into an exhausted old man. "What now?"

        "I might have been meant to be a nun, but I am glad you are my husband, even if it means perdition."

        His heart swelled, and he tightened his embrace. He had to find a priest to talk some sense into her soon. He had no intention of allowing her fears of eternal damnation to weight her with regrets in the light of day.

        They would stop at the Ranald holding on the way home, so Faith could speak with the priest there. She would probably enjoy the reunion with her friend too.

~ * ~

        The roar nearly jolted the breath from her body.

        Faith jerked awake and tried to roll off her stomach onto her back, so she could fend off the enraged beast about to devour her. She found herself pinioned and unable to budge. Her heart hammered in her throat. She drew in a deep breath to scream.

        "Why in the name of all that's holy did you not tell me?" Brendan demanded.

        Relief surged through her as she realized it was his hands holding her down. She dropped her forehead to the ground and closed her eyes. The man needed to learn not to rouse her in such a violent manner. "Rats, Brendan. You could frighten a body to death, waking it with that howl. All you had to do was nudge me."

        "Answer me."

        "I cannot answer you, because I do not know of what you speak."

        "I speak of the bruises marring your bottom."

        O Lord, she was naked. Thoughts of the intimacies they had shared assailed her. Humiliation burned her entire body. He could not only see her bruises, but also the scars from her flogging. She wanted to dig a hole and crawl inside. "Can we perhaps discuss this after I dress please?"

        "Now, Faith," he demanded.

        The beast. He could show a little compassion for her sensibilities. She wasn't used to being naked around him, for heaven's sake, though nudity didn't seem to bother him. "Oh, all right," she snapped. "I did tell you."

        "You never—"

        "I did too. The day we left Londontown. You said I deserved it. I was angry, so I decided not to say more. Your pounding horse made me hurt worse, and I changed my mind. Then you made me sound weak in front of your men. I was afraid if I complained again, your men would think me unfit. I started to tell you yesterday, but you ordered me not to fast, so I thought to offer this as my penance. Does it make you happy to know this, you surly brute?"

        That last insult felt good. But her irritation fled when she realized he hadn't answered. Rage emanated from his heated flesh and his hot breath blasted against her shoulder.

        "I am so furious with you at the moment that you would be wise not to use that tone with me." His burr was menacing and low.

        She knew he would never hurt her on purpose, but what if he got so livid he couldn't control himself?

        "Why are you so angry?" She curled her fingers. "I am the one with the bruised bottom." And he didn't mention the scars. Were they not as bad as in the past, or did they not matter to him? She wasn't about to ask him either of those questions.

        His sigh blew against her neck. He reached for her hands and opened her fists. Some of the stiffness left his body, and his lips pressed against her shoulder. "I am angry because you are injured. 'Tis my duty to protect you from harm, and 'tis your duty to tell me when you are hurt. Where are your hand shields?"

        "In my pouch."

        He moved away from her. She flipped onto her back, grabbed the edge of the blanket, and drew it over her from breasts to hips. Sitting up, she glanced toward Brendan. Her breath hitched. And not just because his brawny flesh rippled like a sleek lion with every move. What stunned her were the marks on his back and shoulders.

        "What happened to your back?" She reached out to touch the wounds. "You look as if some wild beast clawed you."

        He faced her and raised a sardonic brow. "'Twas a wanton she-beast who marked me in her passion."

        "I did that?" She plowed her fingers through her hair. No wonder Father Abernathy had said she was the Devil's handmaiden.

        "Do not fash, Faith." He caressed her jaw. "Considering the condition of your tender bottom," he said as he slipped a protective shield on one of her hands. "'Twill be awhile before I take you again. I shall treasure every sting as a reminder of our night past."

        She knew she wouldn't die of embarrassment, but she would wish herself dead if his men saw those marks. "Brendan, I know you intend to wear your plaid, but—" She broke off and bowed her head.

        He finished tying her second gauntlet in place and tipped up her chin. "What do you wish to ask me, Faith?"

        She shrugged and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Would you consider wearing a tunic too...please?"

        Amusement glittered like fairy lights in his cobalt eyes. "You are asking a warrior to cover battle wounds and not boast."

        She sucked in a breath and couldn't stop her lower lip from quivering. "You thought of last night as a battle?"

        "Not last night, sweet, but we have been battling since we first met. Last night was a celebration of my victory. By the way, you can forget the convent now." He tossed her a gloating wink.

        The arrogant brute! She wanted to come up with a tart reply, but felt the overwhelming urge to cry instead. He had ruined their wonderful night. She cast her gaze to the ground to hide her gathering tears. "May I have a few moments alone to dress please?"

        Tipping up her chin, he captured her gaze, and his knuckle grazed her cheek in a wispy caress. "I am glad you are my wife."

        He kissed her brow, then stood and donned his plaid. "Do you need any help with your pleats?"

        Faith shook her head, wishing he would hurry and leave so she could give into her pitiful emotions. "I shall manage."

        He chuckled and walked toward the forest trail, calling over his shoulder, "Over a gown this time, Faith."

        Tears wouldn't fall. She felt so miserable and vulnerable. Removing her disguise and learning her husband wasn't angry had removed her fear of rejection. It was strange to be herself again though. At first she thought she could bluster her way through the change. She wasn't so sure she could now. What if she accidentally enticed someone other than Brendan? His anger wasn't something she wished to provoke again.

        The night past had seemed so wonderful and intimate, drawing them together in a bond that was surely meant to be. At least she thought so. Brendan obviously didn't share her feeling. He was glad they were wed, yet believed he had won some battle between them. She didn't even realize they had been in the midst of a war.

        She needed to get over her shyness around him, though she would never be able to flaunt her body as he did his. 'Twas sinful.

        And all she needed was another sin on her tarnished soul. Oh Lord, that was why she felt lower than the bottom of a deep pond covered with scum. She had gone against the penance she received from one of Almighty God's priests. How much worse could she get?