Highlander Medieval 06 - Her Highland Hero (17 page)

Angus and Edana took their seats on the other side of her da while they listened to John complain. “I do not know why the man would bring her here and not return her to her own people.”

Tibold said nothing, just continued to eat his deer and drink his ale. Angus knew his da by marriage wasn’t about to explain anything to the Norman that he didn’t wish to.

“Mayhap he didna believe she would be safe if Lord Wynfield had it in mind to send her again to serve the English queen,” Angus said.

“Lord Wynfield is a fool. Once I return, he will have to find work elsewhere. It is my duty to ensure my cousin has a proper husband.”

To earn favor with the king, Angus thought cynically. John didn’t care one whit what Isobel wanted. Now that her da’s nephew had taken on the title, there was no real reason for Isobel not to wed Marcus, except because John wished to use her as his pawn.

“You know that Isobel has pledged her heart to Marcus.” Angus was not sure how much John knew about the situation, but he wanted to make John aware that they weren’t about to turn her over to him.

John gave a disgruntled laugh. “She knows it is not her choice. Just as when her father was alive. But aye, I was in attendance at one of her dances and saw the way she looked at him and the way he looked at her. ‘Twas obvious they had feelings for one another.”

“One of her suitors sent men to kill Marcus. Now he has had her father murdered and slain her escort before they could reach Winchester. Think you, if you decided some other husband for her, that you wouldna be marrying her to the villain? Although, now that you have stepped in to take your uncle’s title, mayhap none of her suitors are that interested in marrying her.” Angus hoped that would be the case and then John would give up the notion of marrying her off to someone else. If he had to give away some of his newly acquired property, would he decide he’d rather not and just hand her over to McEwan?

“She has a substantial dowry,” John said coldly, as if it bothered him that she still had means and that he had not gained all her da’s properties upon his death. He fingered the brown bread disdainfully. “Where is this McEwan? I wished to thank him personally.”

Tibold said, “With his wife, I suspect.”

“He has a wife? Here?” John sounded shocked.

“Aye, here,” Tibold said.

Angus smiled at the laird.

“Then why would Isobel wish to wed him?” John asked.

“She loves him,” Angus said.

“But he is married.”

“Aye,” Tibold and Angus said at the same time.

Gunnolf and Niall chuckled.

But Angus suspected they would have trouble once John learned that Marcus’s wife
was
Isobel.

Marcus helped Isobel out of her garments, though he was not a practiced lady’s maid and he had a lot to learn. He was trying hard not to pull her hair or fumble with her ties, and he felt like a green lad.

She smiled up at him, her expression lighthearted and affectionate, just the way he loved for her to be. She pulled at his tunic and gave a little tug.

“Your bath first, lass. If I strip out of my clothes first, you will never have your bath.”

She chuckled wickedly and helped him with removing her clothes. And then, naked, her hair covering her breasts, the rest of her skin bare to him, she seemed a wee bit shy, as she quickly climbed into the bathwater. It was a small bath, only one person could fit in, and he was wondering if one of his men could create something larger for two to bathe in when he returned to his keep.

He took the cloth from her that she had started to use to wash her arms, the water high on her chest, her long hair floating on top of the water, some of it wet enough to cling to her breasts. He started to wash her back as she pulled her hair forward and she leaned over a bit.

“You are beautiful, Isobel,” he said, his voice already turning husky with need. Just the sight of her naked, the desire to brush the hair away from her breasts, to see the dusky nipples that he’d barely glimpsed, peeking between strands of her silky hair.

“You are also,” she said.

He smiled at her declaration, no woman having ever said that about him, though only Isobel’s comment would have interested him.

Then he washed her hair with the soap Edana had left for them. Once he was finished with Isobel’s hair, he swept the cloth across her breasts. She leaned back against the tub, closed her eyes, and purred.

He was done in, his groin tightening with need, his blood hot with desire. He slid the cloth over her breasts again, his hand feeling her nipples grow erect, as he paused to enjoy them. He couldn’t touch her and see her like this without wanting her with rampant longing.

Then he ran the cloth lower, over her legs and pushed them apart to see her dark curly hair at the apex of her thighs and washed there.

“Ahh,” she groaned and started to rise from the tub. He quickly dropped the wet cloth and grabbed a much larger one to dry her. He wanted to wrap her in it and carry her to the bed, but he needed to wash the dirt and mud off himself from all the traveling through the wet region before he joined her there.

He helped her out of the tub and guided her to sit by the fire. “I will wash up quickly and then we will retire so you willna catch your death.”

“Aye, hurry.” She looked sweetly at him, her skin so soft and clean.

“Aye, of that you can be sure.” In no time at all, he had discarded his sword and scabbard,
sgian dubh
, boots, his plaid, and tunic on the floor, then got into the bath, noticing that she was watching him the whole time, appraising him, seeing just how aroused he was, which had the effect of making him even harder.

She was attempting to dry her hair without showing off her body too much or at least trying to keep herself covered so she’d remain warmer by the fire. She kept revealing a slim leg, a full breast, a nipple as she toweled her hair with one edge of the cloth.

He would have sat in the water longer, but he vigorously scrubbed himself down as quickly as he could, then surged up from the tub and grabbed the lengthy bit of cloth to dry himself. Once he had managed that, he joined her at the fire, pulled the cloth from her hands, and began to dry her hair. He kept the front of his body against her back to warm her. The fire helped to warm her front, while he attempted to dry her hair the best he could.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, still drying her hair, but holding her close. “I love you, Isobel. I always have.”

“Oh, Marcus.” She turned in his arms, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her luscious, naked body against his. “You know I have always loved you. Even when you were impossible.”

He chuckled and dropped the cloth, then grabbed her up in his arms and carried her to the bed. “I have never been impossible.”

She laughed. “Aye, you have.”

He set her on the bed, then climbed in beside her and yanked the curtains closed.

“Your wound,” she said, with real concern.

“Healed, a scar, but it doesna bother me much now.”

“May I see?”

“It probably isna pretty to see.”

“Turn over. Let me see.”

He really hadn’t wanted to. She was beautiful and he didn’t want her to see him all scarred up.

She gingerly touched around the scar. “It does not hurt?”

“Nay, no’ any longer.” He turned then and saw the tears in her eyes.

“Ah, lass.” He felt moved by her tears, but he didn’t want her to feel bad again over what had happened to him.

He kissed her mouth, raking his hand through her damp hair. She touched his arms, his back, his waist, exploring like she wasn’t able to earlier, just like he had never been able to with her.

Her lips were sweet on his, her mouth softening against his. He treasured her, had loved her for her smiles and flirtatious ways directed only at him, how witty and clever she was, and how she never shied away from work or duty. But mostly the way they had shared a secret love for one another, when they were permitted naught more.

But now…now she was his.

The urge to plunder her was great, as much as he burned to have her, but he attempted to slow his racing heart, to drink in her sweet scent from the soap made from the aromatic herbs of fennel, lavender, and lime, to enjoy this first moment of bliss that he had feared he’d never experience.

He cupped a breast and ran his thumb over the nipple, already taut with expectation. She shivered a little, and he leaned down to lick the nipple as her hands moved to his head, her fingers raking through his hair. His touching her and her touching him made him steel hard for her as she moaned a little when he swirled his tongue around her nipple.

She rubbed her foot against his leg and he smiled to see her unafraid and eager to touch him. He hadn’t known what to expect from the lass who was inexperienced in the art of lovemaking, but she proved to make his blood heat and his heart pound with her sizzling touches. Though he was certain she didn’t realize just how much she did.

He groaned as her leg moved higher on his leg, and he pushed it back against the bed, then ran his hand down her hip, and over her dewy curls at the apex of her thighs. He began to stroke her, to ready her for him, to make her even wetter, to soften, to accept him before he made the plunge that would claim the lass for his own.

Her hands had stilled on his waist, her breathing nearly ceasing as she gave into the feel of his stroking her.

He smiled at her, loving that she was so caught up in the moment, that naught else seem to exist. Then he began kissing her again, stroking her at the same time, her hands again moving over his muscles, touching, kneading, drawing him even further under her spell.

“Oh, oh,” she panted out and he smiled again before he inserted a finger into her wet sheath, feeling as deeply as he could go, enjoying the sensation of her body rippling with pleasure. “‘This might be uncomfortable for a wee bit as you welcome me in,” he whispered against her ear, not wanting to frighten her, but he didn’t know if her mother or Mary or some other woman had warned her what the first joining would be like.

“‘Twill burn and hurt and then I will be sore,” she said, “but later, ‘twill be joyous.” She smiled up at him, willing him to bury himself in her.

“I wish the first time wouldna.”

She reached down and touched his length, making it jump under her soft hand. “‘Tis only natural when you are so big and I have never been with a man before.”

“Aye.” Still, he didn’t want to hurt her and he feared she would be afraid to make love again with him if this was not done well.

He moved her legs further apart and lined himself up, pressing gently into her. She sucked her breath in and he said, “Breathe and relax. ‘Twill be easier that way.”

She relaxed considerably and he pushed in, took her maidenhead, saw the shimmer of tears in her eyes, and he immediately held himself still.

“Do not stop,” she implored him. “I just never thought this moment would come. Love me, Highlander, like I have always loved you.”

“Aye, lass.” Though he suspected the tears were not strictly of a sentimental value, but that she was hurting. He pushed all the way in and once there, she finally truly relaxed. He began to thrust, enjoying the coupling, but also hoping that their joining would be fruitful soon.

He loved her with all his heart, and no one could take that away from him.

Isobel couldn’t believe how Marcus had moved the world for her as he’d pleasured her and made her feel like the earth had shifted. She had never expected him to kiss her breast, or tongue her nipple. Or touch her between her legs and make her feel so exquisitely. She had only thought he would tup her like a ram did a ewe. But this…this was so wondrous, she wanted to do it over and over again.

Now, he was filling her with his staff and she couldn’t believe how big he felt inside her, and how amazing that felt as well. She felt connected, as though they were meant to be together, and now they were. That they could no longer be torn apart. He began to kiss her as his thrusts slowed and she kissed him right back, her tongue sliding around his in the most delicious way. When she did that to him, he began thrusting deeper, harder, faster, and she could feel his heart beating hard, just as fast as her own was pounding.

He held himself still for a moment and then thrust again. She felt her own body climbing to that other sphere where she had felt the earth move for her before. A wash of warmth spread through her as he thrust one last time and settled on top of her.

She loved the feel of him against her, his body so hard and strong, and muscled. She wrapped her arms around him, not having known what to expect, but it was amazing beyond measure.

“Are you all right, lass?” Marcus whispered to her as he moved to get off her, and she felt him slide out of her and wondered when they could do it again.

“Aye.”

“Sore?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Come, let me wash you and then I will dress and let a servant know we wish some sustenance.”

She nodded, and he climbed off the bed, then took her hand and waited for her to leave the bed. She was no longer a virgin, an unmarried maid. She loved Marcus for it.

She wasn’t certain if it was something a husband or wife should talk about, but as he pulled her over to the cool bathwater, she said, “Did I give you pleasure?”

He smiled down at her with such tenderness, she felt her eyes prick with tears.

Then his smile faded. “You are feeling bad?”

“Oh, Marcus.” She threw her arms around him and hugged her naked Highlander to her chest. “‘Twas wonderful. Naught that I could ever have imagined, though I must admit, I tried many a night after I saw you and you had to leave me behind. Or in between the long periods when we could not see one another.”

He kissed her cheeks, her eyes, and her mouth again, his tongue seeking entrance. She felt deliciously wicked when they kissed in such a manner, yet she reminded herself they were well wed, in the Highland way, and it was the only thing that mattered. She was a Highlander, just like Marcus, after all.