The Laird of Stonehaven (11 page)

“Aye. You have no idea how I have been burning for you.” He nudged her legs apart with the barest stroke of his thumb. “I need to see all of you, taste all of you. And when I have looked and tasted my fill, I want to feel you melt around me.”

His name quivered on her lips when he stripped her of her shift and tossed it aside. She tried to hide herself from him, but he would not allow it. Then her legs suddenly went boneless as his fingers slid between them and into the moist cleft of her womanhood.

“Oh . . . You must not.”

“Aye, I must.”

He stroked her with an expertise that left her breathless and panting for more. Was this the way it was supposed to be between a man and a woman? Graeme seemed to know exactly what to do, alternating from a slow, rhythmic slide of his finger between the petals of her sex to a frenzied friction that had her clutching at him in frantic torment.

She moaned in frustration, unsure what lay beyond the titillation of Graeme’s talented hands and fearing she would never be the same afterward. Then he kissed her, and the world fell away beneath her. Her body arched into his, her senses heightened by the scent of his arousal; she felt herself spinning out of control.

When his lips abandoned hers, she wanted to grasp his thick black hair and pull him back, but he took his loving to a higher level, bringing his mouth down to suckle her nipples. She felt her breasts swell as liquid heat rushed through her veins. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this.

She thought all she had to do was lie on her back and let Graeme have his way, but naught was going the way she had imagined. Never would she have thought her body capable of such intense feelings. Pleasure was a bonus she had not anticipated.

“Your breasts are perfect,” he whispered. “Everything about you is perfect.”

Abruptly he went still, as if suddenly aware of what he had said. Then he reared back and stared at her.

“What is it?” Blair asked, confused by his sudden withdrawal.

Graeme withheld a reply as he reached for a candlestick and held it high above her. She squirmed beneath his dark, probing gaze, wondering what he was looking for.

“Turn around. I want to see your backside,” Graeme ordered.

A groan of dismay trembled from her lips. She knew, oh God, she knew. Graeme was looking for a witch’s mark upon her body. What must she do to convince him of her innocence? She was angry, angrier than she had ever been. How dare he doubt her! She started to draw away, but Graeme flipped her over and held her down before she realized what he intended. She protested violently when she felt his hand glide over her bottom and down her legs.

“What did you expect to find?” she asked when he flipped her over on her back. “Nay, dinna answer, I already know. You were looking for a witch’s mark upon my skin.”

Graeme shrugged. “I’m sorry, lass. I had to know.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I found naught but smooth, unblemished skin.” He lowered his head and kissed her abdomen. “You are flawless, lass.” With a flick of his wrist, he removed his plaid. “I hope you find me as tempting as I find you.”

Were all men as magnificently endowed as Graeme? she wondered. Somehow she doubted it. The sheer power of his sex, thrusting proudly from the thatch of dark curls at his groin, and the frightening size of him gave her second thoughts about consummating their marriage. Never would she be able to take all of him. This was a mistake. She lurched up from the bed, intending to flee.

As if aware of her thoughts, Graeme anchored her against the mattress with his hard body. The engorged length of his erection pressed against her belly, hot as fire and smooth as satin. A droplet of pearly moisture beaded from the thick, blunt head of his sex as it slid between them, warm and slick upon her skin.

“You are not going anywhere,” he whispered against her ear. “You came to my bedchamber for this, did you not?”

“I . . . had no idea it would be like this. I canna surrender so much of myself to you.”

His voice was a seductive purr as he began a slow exploration with his hands. “Can you not?”

The wonderment of what she felt returned, then swelled into something powerful, something demanding. She thought she would go mad with the pleasure of the moment, but it was naught compared to the jolt of raw sensation that struck her the instant he slid down her body, spread her legs and put his mouth to her intimate flesh.

His tongue touched her, warm and wet and rough against the tender pearl of sensation Graeme found there. She cried out and attempted to push him away, for the emotional impact was too much, too raw.

“Nay. Dinna try to escape the feeling,” Graeme murmured. “It’s all right. I willna hurt you.”

How could anything so intense, so intimate, be all right? Without volition she began moving her hips in concert with Graeme’s carnal kiss, propelled by an unnamed urgency. She arched and twisted beneath the persistent pressure of his mouth, fearing she would fly apart. As if aware of her dilemma, he held her hips down to keep her steady, coaxing her further into madness with tender kisses and tentative brushes of his mouth and tongue.

She buried her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer, moaning in frustration because she had no idea what it was she wanted from him.

Graeme must have known precisely what she wanted, for he shifted upward, his sex poised at the juncture of her thighs. She looked up at him and caught her breath. His body, bathed in silvery moonlight, was thick-muscled and elegant, his limbs and torso cast into fascinating relief. His features were stark with need, his eyes glazed with passion. She felt his muscles tense as he slowly melded their bodies, and she waited in stoic acceptance for him to begin his brutal assault. Was that not what all men did?

She did not realize she was holding her breath until she felt Graeme’s sex prodding against her narrow opening; then she let it out in a whoosh. She closed her eyes and waited for the pain she knew would come when he tore into her.

“Relax, lass. I’ll try not to hurt you too badly.”

“You willna fit! This isna a good idea.”

“This is a wonderful idea.”

He edged forward, slowly slipping inside her. She felt herself stretching to accommodate him, felt pressure . . . a lot of pressure. Then there was a fiery tearing as he thrust his hard length all the way into her tight passage, a burning that pierced through her and left beads of perspiration on her brow.

“Stop! Take it out!”

“ ’Tis done,” he panted. “This is what you wanted, what you came here for.”

He moved within her slowly, deliberately holding himself back. Though he tried to be careful, he was large, and almost too much for her tender passage. But as he moved deeper inside her, something happened. She began to feel pleasure despite the pain, pleasure that came from the slow, sensual friction of his shaft inside her body and the silken slide of his skin against hers.

Blair clung to him, suspended in a place somewhere between pleasure and pain as he thrust and withdrew, each deep penetration seeming to impale her to her very soul. The spirits had been right. This would change her forever.

Her thoughts skidded to a halt as she felt herself spinning away from reality, felt the pain of her breached maidenhead dissipate as spiraling ecstasy began to swell inside her. Closing her eyes, she clung to him, burying her fingers in the crisp hair on his chest and clutching at him as he rocked inside her.

The force of Graeme’s passion was pushing her higher and higher, into a state of breathless rapture. “Graeme!” Her back rose up off the bed as he pumped harder, deeper, faster, burying himself to the hilt inside her. Then she was soaring, meeting his thrusts with an almost desperate urgency. She felt the earth careening, felt bliss building scant moments before a dizzying wave of release lifted her and swept her away.

Her climax was totally unexpected. She had no idea women could experience the same earth-shattering release that men felt. Distantly, she heard herself sobbing Graeme’s name as she floated slowly back to earth.

“ ’Tis my turn, lass,” he growled, kissing her slack mouth as he renewed his assault on her quivering body.

With a wordless groan, he impaled her again and again, shuddering with each deep thrust, his every muscle tense and strained. She felt him swelling, growing harder as he lifted her hips to meet his forceful strokes. His face contorted in ecstatic furor as a spasm began to shake him. With a shout he climaxed inside her, his sex throbbing against the walls of her passage as hot liquid spurted against her womb.

Graeme couldn’t think.

Making love to Blair was more than he had expected. It was a frightening revelation. He was accustomed to the afterglow of sexual satiation, yet the depth of contentment that curled through him stole his mind and sapped his energy. What had Blair done to him? The first thought that came to mind was that he had succumbed to one of her spells.

What he had experienced with Blair was deeper than the pleasure he’d known with any other woman, more profound in intangible ways he could not express, and endlessly more compelling. If he wasn’t careful, Blair could become addictive.

With great reluctance Graeme rolled off Blair onto his back, his harsh breathing and racing heart reminding him that what had just taken place between him and his wife was extraordinary and without precedence.

He turned his head to stare at Blair, wondering if she was truly a witch with magical powers. She was curled up in a ball beside him, sound asleep and looking like an earth angel. He wouldn’t awaken her now, but in the morning she would have a great deal of explaining to do. He wanted to know more about her dreams and visions.

Unable to resist the lure of her ethereal beauty, he brushed a wayward tendril of bright hair from her forehead. The silken strand scorched his fingers, and he released it quickly, stunned. What kind of magic was this?

Though Graeme tried to sleep, he could not. Blair’s reason for wanting to consummate their marriage did not please him. She had come to his bed because she feared her brother, not because she wanted her husband.

Blair said she could never love him. Mayhap not, but he had encountered no problem in arousing her. Her passion had stunned him. He’d had no idea she was capable of such an enthusiastic response, and he was willing to bet she was surprised as well.

Perhaps her physical response to him was the answer to their problems. If he could seduce her into loving him, she would lose her powers. Without her powers, no one could accuse her of witchcraft, and danger would no longer stalk her.

Aye, that was what he would do. Make Blair love him and at the same time enjoy the benefits of the marriage bed. While his own heart was well protected, he knew Blair’s was vulnerable. If the only way to protect her from herself was to use her vulnerability, then so be it.

As for her dream about MacArthur and MacKay, he’d be a fool to disregard it. He would keep a watchful eye out for them.

Blair was still sleeping soundly when Graeme eased out of bed at first light. He washed and dressed and left his chamber to break his fast, careful not to awaken Blair. He took a seat beside Stuart and Heath, who were enjoying their oats and bannocks.

“Ye’re late, lad,” Stuart said. “ ’Tis not like ye to oversleep. Do ye still intend to help us with the shearing?”

Stifling a yawn, Graeme nodded as he attacked the bowl of oats Glenda set in front of him.

“What ails ye this morning, lad?” Stuart asked. “Did ye have a bad night?”

Graeme grinned. “Actually, Uncle, I had an exceptionally good night.”

Heath nearly choked on his bannock. “Never say ye bedded the witch! Are ye mad, Graeme?”

Graeme sent Heath a quelling look. “Blair is my wife. Bedding one’s wife is a normal occurrence.”

“Mayhap ’tis a normal occurrence when one’s wife is normal,” Heath groused. “I wasna worried about ye as long as I knew Blair hadna lured you into her bed, but this changes everything.”

Graeme sent him a confused look. “How so?”

“After bedding her, ye are more susceptible to her spells. I didna want to tell you this, but now I have no choice. Aiden saw yer wife sneaking out to the stillroom last night. Lord only knows what evil she was hatching out there.”

“Blair isna evil, nor is she a witch,” Graeme protested. “What she has is a highly developed imagination that produces fear in others. I will do everything within my power to protect her from herself.”

He bit off a chunk of bannock, chewed thoughtfully, then added, “By the way, Blair believes her brother and the MacKay are up to mischief and that she may be in danger. Warn the others to watch for them if they take it into their heads to come to Stonehaven.”

Stuart shook his shaggy head. “I knew the lass was trouble. Ye shouldna have wed her, Graeme. And once ye did, ye shouldna have bedded her. Once the witch has her clutches in ye, she will manipulate ye to do her bidding.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Graeme asked with a hint of amusement. “How will Blair manipulate me?”

Stuart shrugged. “I dinna know, lad, but it canna be good. What do ye suppose she was doing in the stillroom in the middle of the night?”

“Communing with nature,” Graeme said for lack of a better answer.

Heath rolled his eyes. “Can ye truthfully say ye trust the lass?”

Graeme hesitated. “No woman can measure up to Joan, but I trust Blair as much as I trust any woman who is not Joan,” he said carefully.

“ ’Tis time ye forgot poor wee Joan,” Stuart advised. He made a careless motion toward Glenda, who was standing nearby, drawing a pitcher of ale from a barrel. “ ’Tis no secret that Glenda has feelings for ye. Let her ease ye, lad. Ye’d be wise to take what she offers instead of falling under yer wife’s spell.”

Graeme pushed his bowl away and rose to his feet. “Enough of this nonsense. Blair isna a witch, nor is she capable of casting spells. What I do in the privacy of my bedchamber is my business. If you two are finished dispensing worthless advice, perhaps you’d like to join me in the sheep pens.”

Grumbling, Stuart and Heath left the hall. Blair entered as Graeme prepared to follow them. “I must have overslept,” she said, hesitating to meet her husband’s gaze. Did he remember the passion he had unleashed in her? Her uninhibited response to his lovemaking? Vivid color stained her cheeks.