book JdM6x1406931-20978754 (7 page)

“Open your eyes, Elisabeth,” he murmured. “I want to see in them that you are mine.”

But she squeezed them shut more tightly because she knew that if he did look into them, he would know the secret.

Chapter Eight

Why would she not open those lovely blue eyes, he wondered. He had not been with many lasses—only two, really, though he had kissed a score and felt many a shapely breast and pert Highland rump—but he had never felt what he was feeling now about his beautiful young bride. Those Highland girls had been willing enough, and he had learned to read the signs their bodies gave him that he was pleasing them. Though he knew that young women always felt bound to say that he must not do this or that, the girls he had been with had said those things in a way that he could tell meant that really he must do this or that, right then, for their sake as well as his.

But Elisabeth’s words and her expressions were very different, as if what she wanted of her bridegroom were not tender caresses but something else, something she would never tell him. The urge to use the strap upon her bottom, to force her, to take her as one might cut heather from a brae or shear a fleece from a sheep, seemed to have no limit within him.

He took his fingers from where they had been rousing her little cunny, reluctantly to be sure because he had never felt a cunny so soft and, he was sure, so sweet, and the notion that he was the first man ever to touch it fired his blood. He put his right hand behind her knees, and as she gave a cry of alarm, he picked her up as easily as he would lift a lamb and brought her at last to his bed. He laid her on the mattress new-filled with heather and covered with a linen sheet.

Her eyes had opened when she had felt him lifting her off the ground, but then she had closed them tightly again and they had stayed closed as he had laid her down.

Very well; he would take the moment to look upon his comely bride exactly as he liked in the dim light that came from the well-banked fire on the central hearth. Her white arms were still above her head, with the flowing, slightly wavy tresses of red-gold ranged out under her. Her small, beautiful face, like a saint’s in a stained glass window—like saint Elisabeth herself in the beautiful chapel at Urquhart—wore an expression of concentration that made him want to kiss her out of whatever serious contemplation or inner battle occupied her so deeply. Her lovely breasts, like perfect apples, with their tiny nipples, seemed to promise him a garden of earthly delights to take his breath away. And her closed thighs, so modestly displaying only a bit of golden curl and the tiniest hint of her maiden cunny, seemed to send him spinning out into the night sky above the great loch she loved so much.

The music of the pipers now playing together drunkenly, so loudly that the shouts of the company could hardly be heard at all, seemed to come in upon them anew; perhaps a new tune had just started, for he became again aware of the sound at the same time he saw a lovely smile play across Elisabeth’s lips.

“They play very ill,” she said, still not opening her eyes.

He laughed, standing above her. “Two drunk pipers trying to keep time together. Aye, very ill.”

Her eyes opened, and again for just a moment, he thought he saw that she really did belong to him, but then as before, the other, unknown thought seemed to take her, and her hands flew down from above her head to cover her charms, right arm across her breasts and left hand over the triangle between her thighs. She turned away, to the plastered stone wall of the croft-house and curled herself into a small protective shape.

“Should not you get into bed, Angus, so that we can do as is expected of us?” she said to the wall, in a kind of strangled, defiant voice.

It was so vexing that Angus’ anger did not give him time to think. He stooped slightly and gave Elisabeth a tremendous spank upon her lovely bottom. She yelped and the cry fueled both his ardor and his wrath, and he spanked her again. She cried out, “No! Oh, no!”

“Must I get the strap, Elisabeth?” he said, furious. “Have I not told you that the way of this bed is my way, and no other’s?” He spanked her again. “Turn upon your back again, girl, while I undress.”

She complied, more quickly than he had expected. She was breathing hard.

“Spread those legs, girl, and fold your hands upon your belly. I want to see your cunny properly.” To his surprise, she did that, too, immediately, and he was treated to a sight so arousing and lovely that his head swam: Elisabeth Grant’s girlish cunt, with delicate red-gold locks and a hint of the pink inner lips showing ever so slightly.

Her eyes were open, and she was looking at him in fright, he thought, but there was something else in the fright that he could not name. “Bend your knees, lass. That’s the way your bridegroom likes to see you.”

She obeyed, and now to his amazement he saw that her womanly wetness was so great that it dripped down those glorious bottom cheeks that he had reddened just a bit with the brief spanking and made even her little pink arse-hole glisten in the firelight. At the sight of that little opening, and at the thought of what he might require of her someday soon in its regard, he stiffened so much under his plaid that he felt his yard’s head push uncomfortably against the heavy wool.

He was desperate to undress and to enjoy her at last with the yard that seemed fit to burst through his plaid, but the sight of the moisture flowing from the modest, maidenly little cunt arrested his intent. He put his hand out, and he touched her there, meaning to soothe her. She cried out, though, as if he had spanked her instead. As he caressed her gently there, up and down, she moaned, “Angus, oh, please, oh, no… please, don’t make me…”

He stood and unbelted the plaid and shrugged it off as she watched—no longer wishing, it seemed, to close her eyes. He grasped the hem of his long shirt and pulled the linen off over his head, and he heard Elizabeth gasp at her first sight of an unclothed man. He dropped the shirt to the floor.

“Do you like what you see, lass?” he asked, gently. He was sure his yard had never been so stiff as she had made it with her strange resistance and her stranger yielding.

“Do not ask me that, Angus,” she whispered. “I am so frightened of you… of… it.”

“Of my yard, dearling,” Angus said. “Do not be frightened. It will not hurt you, except a very little, at first.”

He lay down beside his bride at last and stroked her cheek. “Touch my yard, Elisabeth,” he said. “Show it you are happy to make its acquaintance.”

“I won’t,” she said, but now he thought he could tell she wanted to. He took her left hand in his right and pulled it downward as she struggled against his grip and made her touch him, made her shape her maidenly fingers around his manhood. Then he put his hand again upon her luscious cunny and began to explore in earnest, to prepare her for him so that it would not hurt her so much when he took her. She seemed to melt like snow in a thaw beneath him and to flow as with the water that comes from the snow, and all seemed well. She sighed and stroked his yard convulsively and said, “Oh, Angus…”

“It’s time, dearling,” he said. He climbed nimbly over her raised right knee, and rested his weight atop her for the very first time.

“What are you doing?” Elisabeth asked in alarm.

Angus did not respond in words but used his right hand to move the head of his yard up and down her cunny until he found the little grotto where he knew he would have the greatest delight he had ever known.

“I do not understand,” she said. “What do you mean to do?”

“I must come inside you now, Elisabeth,” he murmured.

“What? No… they never…”

Angus pushed gently, and his bride cried out under him. She began to struggle against his weight, trying to push him off.

“You must not! Stop, please!”

“Hush, dearling. This is the way of the marriage bed. You will learn to love it, but even if you do not, you will yield your cunny to me whenever I wish to fuck it.”

“I—I do not understand. It… it hurts, Angus… oh, heaven…”

She began to struggle anew, like a wild animal, and the thought that he must subdue her, the Lady of Urquhart—that he must tame her and humble her now, or she would never truly be his as she must be—took hold of him so thoroughly that he could not have stopped himself had he even wanted to.

At the same moment, Elisabeth gave a moan that seemed different, as if she were yielding to a pleasure stronger than her pride.
With lust surging through him, he gave a mighty thrust with his yard, and his maiden bride was a maid no longer. And truly, her body gave the lie to her protests, for her legs opened for him and her cunny seemed to welcome him. Without a pause, astonished by how easily he moved within her moist cunny, he began to fuck, while she cried out under him, wordlessly, in shame and discomfort but something else as well, something that sounded urgent and hungry to his ears. Angus groaned so mightily with the pleasure of fucking Elisabeth Grant, who had put him in the pillory, who had refused to show herself to him, who had resisted him when he sought to claim his rights as her husband, that he was absurdly glad of the terrible drunken piping to cover the sounds of his cry of victory and Elisabeth’s moaning submission, which seemed to shake the stone walls of the little croft-house.

Her struggles beneath him, he realized, had become something more ambiguous. Certainly she moved with him now, did she not? But as he looked down into her face, her expression was one of defiance, as if her body’s betrayal angered her. He merely smiled at her defiance and then took her knees in his hands and pushed them back towards her bare breasts. She cried out as her cunt lay as fair for fucking as it could be, and all the while he continued thrusting into her as hard as he could, pounding her prim little backside with his hips and imagining striking it with his strap as he surely would, very soon, whenever she was prideful or naughty.

That masterful thought of thrashing his new wife because she was an arrogant, disobedient girl who needed to learn a severe lesson in the ways of Angus MacGregor’s Highland croft suddenly made every muscle in his body clench tightly together and sent him into a spend unlike any he had ever known before.

The feeling of his yard pulsing inside her seemed to make Elisabeth wilder even than she had been. She cried out loudly, and her head threshed from side to side upon the mattress with pleasure she could not hide from him, despite her shame. Angus felt her whole little body push with all its force against him, as if in one last attempt to throw him from his seat inside her cunt.

To no avail to be sure, because now, as he felt the last drops of a pleasure so extreme—indeed, so violent—that he felt his own frame must come apart, he would not let his little bride throw him by any means. Her struggles seemed only to heighten that cruel pleasure that he could never resist once he entered into it. But when she felt herself so thoroughly mastered, it seemed, when she knew past any doubt that Angus would no more let her go than he would fail to collar a straying sheep upon the hillside—then that tense body under his seemed to glow with heat, and Elisabeth gave a new kind of cry, one that Angus had never heard before. It sounded, he thought, though the thought seemed passing strange, like the cry of a Highland eagle, circling high above the moors. Her eyes had been closed as he had deflowered her and as he had fucked her harder and harder, but now they flew open, and Angus was absolutely sure that he could see love and a desire as deep as the great loch in them. Her arms reached up and twined themselves around his, and her hands gripped his shoulders convulsively, with a strength that surprised him greatly, as her back arched up and off the mattress, and then she fell back again, limp beneath him.

Her eyes were closed again, but now tears leaked from under their lids, and she was sobbing as if her heart would break.

Angus supported himself on his left arm and stroked her wet cheeks with his right hand. “Hush, lass,” he said. “It’s right that you should feel that pleasure. We are man and wife, now, and just as it is right that I take my ease in your sweet cunny, it is right that my yard should make your cunny answer to me that way.”

But Elisabeth was inconsolable and merely shook her head, still weeping. At a terrible loss to understand or to help, he said, “I love you, my own dearling. I took such pleasure in our fucking as I have never had with another lass.”

But Elisabeth lay there, weeping, and would not open her eyes or even turn her face towards his. She had spent—he was sure of it. She had spent more passionately than he had ever seen a lass spend. And they were married, now. How could he make her see that it was no shame to yield to him thus?

Suddenly, he felt exhausted. The long, thrilling love-bout with Elisabeth seemed to have taken all his strength out of him. All he wanted now was to curl up with his arms around her and fall asleep. But first, there was a duty to be done.

He rolled himself off his bride, and she immediately turned again towards the wall, with her knees up and her hands out before her like a little girl. The violence of her sobs had subsided, and he heard only the occasional little gasp of grief. His heart swelled with regret—not that he had taken her that way, for not only was it his right to have his bride as he wished, but he would not disbelieve the evidence of his senses that Elisabeth had taken pleasure in the fucking just as greatly as he had, despite her words and even many of her actions—but that he could not find a way to make her heart easy about it.

“Elisabeth,” he said gently, “I am going to take the sheet from under you and put another in its place.” She made him no reply. He looked down at the very satisfactory bloodstain on the sheet and thought that at least this part of the night would be an unambiguous success. Gently, he tugged it out from under her and laid it on a table. Then he got the other sheet, placed near to the bed for just this purpose, and spread it over the mattress, tucking it gently under Elisabeth’s beautiful, naked body. He got a plaid and laid it over her and tucked that in around her as well, and still she made no response to him at all, though he could see that her weeping was at an end for the moment at least. He donned his shirt, and picked up the sheet, and went to the door.