Seventeen

“Everybody out!” Darach glared at the members of his clan crowding into his bedchamber. He tightened his arms around Caitlin for fear they’d start undressing her. It may be tradition, but it wasn’t going to happen to his wife—he’d be the only man seeing her naked.

Drunks, all of them.

Lachlan leaned against the wall by the window with his arm around his leman. Usually the lovers were more circumspect, but like everyone else tonight, they’d imbibed too much. She was an attractive, older woman whose husband had died and children were grown. No one thought ill of her; it was the way of the world. Darach had women he visited in his foster brothers’ clans as well.

Used to visit, he corrected. He was married now, and would have no need of other women. If he could get his wife alone.

He caught Lachlan’s eye. “You could bloody well help.”

Lachlan grinned. “I would ne’er presume to tell your clan what to do.”

Darach could barely hear him over the din, but he knew Lachlan was enjoying this too much to lend a hand.

Edina tugged on his sleeve. “Laird, I should speak to Caitlin alone before…well, you know.”

“Nay. She doesn’t need your counsel. I’ll tell her everything she needs to know.”

Caitlin frowned and pinched his arm. “Doona be rude. If Edina wishes to speak to me, I’m happy to do so.”

His brow rose. “So she can tell you about lovemaking?”

Caitlin’s eyes widened and a flush covered her cheeks. She leaned toward Edina. “I must do as Darach says. He’s my husband. Maybe we can talk tomorrow.”

“But, Caitlin—”

“Would you have me disobey him?”

“Well, nay, but—”

“She’ll be all right,” Darach said with a finality that made Edina’s mouth flatten.

Caitlin cast him a grateful look. His frustration rose another notch. He wanted her grateful for more than just that. He wanted appreciation in her eyes after he’d touched her all over and she’d come apart in his arms. He wanted her cuddled against him, naked in the bed, before they fell asleep. He wanted her beside him in the morning when he woke.

Damn it, he wanted it all. Right now.

She let out a surprised squeak as he tossed her on the middle of the bed and leaped onto the foot of it. His head almost touched the ceiling. “Get out now, or I’ll throw the nearest person out the window!” He looked pointedly at Lachlan, who laughed. The rest of his clan, however, took his command seriously and backed toward the door.

Edina hovered nearby with her hands clasped. “I thought my husband might have a word with you, Laird. Explain about young women.” Oslow stood behind her, looking horrified.

“There are things you can do to—” She stopped abruptly when Darach jumped off the bed and marched toward her. Oslow grabbed her arm and pulled her from the room.

Darach slammed the door behind them, then turned to Lachlan and his leman. The woman clutched Lachlan’s waist in a death grip.

“Get out before I kill you,” Darach said. She squeaked and ran to the door. He opened it just far enough for her to pass through.

Lachlan grinned and sauntered toward Caitlin, who sat primly on the bed. “Are you all right, love? He didn’t hurt you tossing you about like that, did he?”

“Nay, I’m fine. Do you want a cup of ale before you go?”

Darach fisted his hands. What in God’s name was she doing?

“Aye, that would be much appreciated.” Lachlan’s eyes danced merrily.

Caitlin hopped off the bed and reached for the pitcher of ale someone had placed on a side table. When her back was turned, Darach lunged at Lachlan, but the bugger darted behind a chair.

She swung back with three mugs of ale on a tray. “I thought we could talk about the woman you were with, Lachlan. She seems lovely, but ’tis most disrespectful not to marry her.”

Lachlan’s grin faded. It transferred to Darach, who almost laughed aloud. This would get the troublemaker out of the room. “I agree. There’s no reason to be afraid, Brother. Marriage is a wonderful thing. Surely you want to make your lass happy?”

Most likely, the woman had even less desire to marry than Lachlan. The last thing she wanted was another man to care for. Caitlin, however, didn’t know that.

Excitement lit her face as she handed out the drinks. “We could have the wedding before you leave. I’ll tell Edina to keep everything in place and you can be married tomorrow afternoon, aye?”

Lachlan stared at her, face blank, then tipped the mug back and drank the entire contents. When he was done, he retreated to the door. “I’m not going home just yet, lass. You doona need to rush things.”

Darach followed, tempted to block Lachlan’s escape in order to see him flail beneath Caitlin’s eager gaze.

“I shall have to speak to her about your cursing, of course. ’Tis a wife’s duty to help her husband get into Heaven. I’m sure if she’s vigilant, she’ll break you of that unfortunate habit in no time.”

Lachlan paled and reached behind him for the latch. Darach leaned his shoulder against the door. Their eyes met.

“You’re sure you doona want to stay for another drink?” he asked.

“Nay, I wouldnae want to disturb your wedding night.”

The silence lengthened.

Caitlin reached for the pitcher. “There’s more.”

Lachlan yanked open the door and ran out. Darach slammed it shut behind him. After sliding the bar into place, he turned to his wife.

She had a mischievous smile on her face. “I thought he’d ne’er leave.”

Darach’s jaw dropped. “You did that on purpose?”

“Well, I couldnae kick him out, now, could I? That would be rude.”

He threw back his head and laughed. So much for being innocent. Caitlin laughed too, and twirled in a circle. His heart swelled as he watched her. So lovely, so devious.

Lady MacKenzie.

“Come here, Wife.” He had a hard time speaking around the lump in his throat, and his voice sounded rough.

She glanced down, then peeped at him through her lashes.

His blood thickened. He couldn’t get the image of her naked, on the bed, out of his head. Didn’t want it out of his head. “Caitlin, come here.” He could barely form the words.

She walked toward him, stopping a few feet away.

“Closer.”

Eyes lowered, she inched forward till their toes touched. His heart pounded as he waited for her to look up. When she did, he traced his fingers along her brow and down her cheek, then rubbed his thumb across her lips. “My beautiful lass.”

Smiling, she placed her hands on his chest. “Do you like my curls?”

He lifted a lock of hair from her shoulder and wrapped it around his finger—soft as lamb’s wool. Kissing the strands, he said, “I like everything about you.”

“Even when I—”

He pressed his finger to her lips. “Everything.”

Her pupils dilated, cheeks flushed. A tremor ran through her and a warm puff of air caressed his finger as she exhaled.

Looping his arms around her waist, he dropped his head to her ear and traced the whorls inside with his lips. “Do you have any questions?”

She shivered. “About what?”

“Making love, sweetling. I doona want you frightened.”

“I’m not.” Another tremor raced through her. “Well, maybe a wee bit nervous.”

Darach understood; he was nervous as well. Which didn’t make sense. He’d had his first woman when he was sixteen, and many others since then. He’d even been betrothed for a while.

But he’d never made love to a woman like Caitlin. Innocent, untutored.

His wife.

No wonder he was nervous. Her pleasure, or lack thereof, in the act would set the stage for years to come. He’d heard of men, his foster brother Gavin, for one, whose wives wanted naught to do with intimate congress. Their marriage had been a disaster.

Nay, Darach wanted Caitlin to enjoy making love, but how could she when she was a virgin? Maybe he should have had that talk with Oslow after all.

“Darach?”

“Aye?”

“Are you planning to kiss me anytime soon?”

He smiled. “I will when you’re out of these clothes and ribbons.” He pulled her toward the bed, picked up the brush from the washstand, and sat down with her. She leaned back against him. He gently released the ribbons adorning her hair, then pulled the brush through the strands until they shone like silk. She sighed with pleasure.

“Face me, love.”

She turned toward him, and he swept her hair behind her shoulders. The ends curled and tendrils framed her face. So beautiful.

His hands dropped to the silver-and-amber necklace between her breasts. “This belonged to my mother. The brooch as well. They were a gift from my father when they married. Maybe someday our son will give it to his wife.”

She nodded, a film of tears covering her eyes.

He wiped them away.

“Do you want bairns, then?” she asked.

“Aye, every one of them looking like you.”

Her brows rose. “But you’re so bonny. Your hair glints red in the sun.”

“So you said when we first met—in front of my men.” The corners of his mouth lifted. “Poor Gare was aghast.”

“I doona remember, only that you were there and I was safe.”

He pressed his lips to her forehead. “May that always be so.” His fingers found the clasp at the back of her neck and released the necklace. Next, he undid the brooch, causing the fine, woolen material of her arisaid to fall away. Her chemise was a soft, embroidered linen and covered her almost completely. He trailed his hand down her sleeve and linked his fingers with hers.

“Shall I get under the covers now?” she asked.

“Not unless you want to wear your shoes to bed.”

She giggled. Her blue eyes shone brightly in the candlelight. Unable to resist, he kissed her. Their lips clung. When he pulled back, she went with him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and he anchored her against his body. Finally, they separated, gasping for air.

“Your shoes.”

She nodded dazedly. He lifted her and sat her across his lap, one arm circling behind her, the other unlacing her slippers. Her hip nudged his groin, and he had to grit his teeth to contain his desire. The need to lay her on the quilt, spread her legs, and push inside was strong, but if he did, it would be over in seconds. She’d never want to be intimate again. Nay, he had to take it slow, bestow pleasure before he broke through her maidenhead. Give her a taste of everything lovemaking could be.

He just had to stay in control.

She played with the front of his collar and slipped her hand inside his lèine. Fingers ruffled through chest hair, brushed a nipple. His control wavered. With a jagged exhale, he grasped her hand, brought it to his mouth, and kissed her palm. “You canna touch me just yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because when you do, I stop thinking. ’Tis verra pleasurable, and I get caught up.” He placed her arm around his neck. “We have to take it slow.”

“Why?”

“Because we do.” She was so innocent and didn’t understand their joining would hurt. Maybe that was good, for he didn’t want her anticipating pain when she should be craving his touch.

Her hose were still on and he moved his hand under her chemise, to her knee. Untying the ribbon, he slid the material down, trying to ignore the silky, smooth feel of her skin. Moving to the other leg, he worked the second band loose. Their eyes met. Her lids were partially closed, her lips parted. He groaned and leaned in to kiss her. She welcomed him—hot, eager. Her hands clenched his hair. When she pulled her knees up and dropped them open, he lost it. His palm pressed urgently up her inner thigh, toward her center.

She rocked her hips, seeking his touch. “Darach!”

He paused. Her muscles quivered beneath his hand.

Never before had he seen anything as arousing as Caitlin in the throes of passion, back arched over his arm, eyes closed, knees spread. Her chemise rose upward, and he pushed it above her waist, exposing dark, glistening curls above soft pink folds of skin. The air rushed from his chest as he saw the evidence of her desire.

Wet, swollen. Waiting for him.

He could barely catch his breath. His cock throbbed almost painfully, so tight and full he thought he might explode. Just a few more minutes. She was ready for him, but he wanted her to peak once before they joined. By the look of her—chest and cheeks flushed, panting—it wouldn’t take long.

He cupped her mound, and she groaned, rubbing the slippery surface against his hand. Leaning down, he kissed the hollow at the base of her throat, then traced upward to her chin and found her mouth. His tongue thrust inside. Down below, he stroked her flesh, circling her nub, then down to her entrance and back up again.

She whimpered into his mouth, thrust her hips harder. He deepened the kiss and moved his fingers faster, with more pressure. Her grip on his hair was almost painful, but he welcomed the sign of her arousal. Slowing, he circled her opening, then carefully pushed inside. She was tight, like a wet, silk glove, and moaned at the invasion. Rotating his hand, he tested how much she could take. Not enough.

Maybe he could stretch her. He slid his middle finger in too, while his thumb stroked the tight nub beneath her curls.

Her hips found the rhythm, jerking faster every time until she bucked beneath him and cried out, “Darach! Darach, I… Oh God.” Her body tensed as her inner muscles clamped his fingers again and again, till finally she pressed her knees together. He stopped, held her tight, then gently removed his hand.

She shuddered, curving her body into his. He stroked her back and hair, pressed soothing kisses to her flushed face.

“Did that feel good?” His voice was so rough he barely recognized it.

She caught her breath. “I…I think so.”

“What does that mean, you think so?”

When she bit her lip, his fear intensified. She hadn’t liked it. “Was it supposed to be like that? I just wanted more and more. Did I do something wrong?”

His muscles unclenched, and he hugged her tight. “Nay, Caitlin. You were perfect. I didn’t want to stop either.”

“’Twas the same for you?”

“Not quite. But it will be before we’re done.”

Her eyes widened. “There’s more?”

He smiled at the look on her face. “We’ve barely started.” Lifting her from his lap, he stood her between his knees. She clasped his shoulders for support as he raised her chemise over her head.

The breath caught in his throat as he finally looked upon his wife naked—happy and flushed with desire.

She was a wee lass but had curves in all the right places: hips, waist, rosy-tipped breasts. His hands slid up her thighs, thumbs caressing the hollow at the curve of her hip, the slight swell of her belly. His palms dipped into her waist, then curved over her ribs before cupping her breasts. She gasped as his fingers trailed over pebbled nipples.

His throat tightened suddenly, and he wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on her chest. In all his life, he’d never been this aroused by a woman, yet he found himself just wanting to hold her. He closed his eyes and inhaled the warm, fresh, flowery scent of her mixed with the muskiness of their arousal.

She held his shoulders and rested her cheek on his head.

“Darach?”

“Aye?”

“I’m glad you’re my husband.”

“I’m glad you’re my wife. I promise to keep you safe and happy, lass. Always.”

“I know.”

It pleased him she had no doubt he could protect her, provide for her.

Caitlin was his—to comfort, to pleasure. He slid his hands down her spine, to the jut of her backside that had caused so much trouble sitting in front of him on Loki, rubbing innocently against him. He kneaded the soft flesh and she swayed forward.

He grinned. She liked that. Finding her nipple, he suckled her breast. She moaned and dug her hands into his hair. She liked that too.

He wanted her so aroused she barely noticed the pain of his entry, so needy she couldn’t resist. Patience was a virtue, and if it meant Caitlin enjoying herself, he had plenty of it.

Her knees buckled and a primal pleasure filled him, knowing his touch did that to her. He rose from the bed, pulled back the quilts, and laid her upon the linen sheets. She stared at him, her breath heavy, eyes bright. Trailing his fingers down her body, he watched with fascination as she undulated beneath his touch.

“Spread your legs,” he said hoarsely.

She did, even raised a knee so her foot was flat on the bed. One hand lifted above her head, her lips parted. Candlelight played over her skin, caressing curves and dipping into hollows.

With a groan, he tore off his clothes and tossed them to the floor.

“Wait,” she said, sitting up onto her knees and tucking her feet beneath her backside. “I want to look on you too.”

The air huffed from his lungs. He didn’t want his size to frighten her. Never before had he felt so engorged, so desperate to be inside a woman. Her eyes trailed over his shoulders and chest, then down his stomach. They widened when they took in his cock. Darach cursed silently and slid onto the bed, rolling her beneath him.

Worried eyes met his. “Will you fit?”

“Aye. It’ll be tight, but only the first time.” Her thighs cushioned his shaft and he inhaled through his nose and out his mouth to gain control. If he wasn’t careful, he would lose his seed before he even entered her. “I need to lay between your legs, Caitlin.”

The heat of her core welcomed him as she opened her thighs, and he positioned himself over her. His hand cupped her breast, gently pinched her nipple. She arched and groaned into his mouth. Raising her knees, she rubbed against his shaft.

Mindlessly, he thrust forward, the tip of his cock pushing at her entrance but not yet breaching it. She rocked against him, bit his shoulder. Darach growled, wanting to push all the way in. Instead, he slipped his hand beneath her hips and lifted her into a better position.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he said.

She did, heels digging into the small of his back, teeth nibbling along his neck. He took her mouth with his, then slowly pushed inside. Hot, silky flesh enveloped him, sent shivers of excitement through his body. He shook with the effort to restrain himself as he pressed through her maidenhead.

Heaven.

Then she wrenched her mouth from his and tried to wriggle free with a small moan. “It hurts.”

Hell.

He paused. Only his tip was past her entrance. Holding her still, he dropped his face into the crook of her neck. It took all his strength not to thrust the rest of the way. Maybe that would be best, just to finish it, but she had tensed her muscles against him.

He raised his head, jaw so tight it was difficult to speak. “Caitlin, look at me.”

Her eyes were frantic, glancing everywhere but at him. “You must be doing something wrong. Why does it hurt? It didn’t hurt before.”

He wedged a hand behind her head. “Look. At. Me.” She did, and he held her gaze. “I’m not doing anything wrong. Once we’re joined, it’ll stop hurting.”

“But—”

He kissed her firmly. “Trust me.”

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Good. Now take a deep breath.” Her rib cage expanded as she inhaled, then let go. The tension in her body lessened. “Another.” The second breath relaxed her further. “Does it still hurt?”

She shook her head. He kissed away the tears on her lashes. “This is just the beginning, lass.” Then he thrust forward.

She cried out, but the pleasure that rushed through his body blinded him momentarily to her distress. She was so hot, so wet, enveloping his shaft in a velvet tunnel. His stones tightened, and he knew he was about to lose his seed. A few strokes and he’d be done.

He gripped her shoulders, so she couldn’t move. The tears were back in her eyes, and she’d bitten her lip. Concern fought with the need to seek his own release. Damn it, he would see to her pleasure first.

“I’m in now, sweetling. It willna hurt anymore.” He could barely get the words out.

She nodded.

He loosened one hand from her shoulder to wipe the tears from her cheeks, then kissed her. Long and slow. By the time he pulled back, she breathed heavily. Her gaze had that aroused, hooded look he loved. Trailing his hand down to play with her breast, he watched for signs of excitement. She closed her eyes, arched her back.

The movement shifted her hips. Her silky flesh rubbed along his length, and he thrust forward before he could stop himself, so he was pressed to the hilt again. Her eyes popped open.

He expected to see pain there, but instead he saw desire.

“Do that again.”

His breath caught and he had to clench his muscles to stay still. “I canna, not yet.”

The witch had turned him into a lad again. Wedging his hand between their bodies, he found her nub, circled it, and prayed she responded quickly.

She grabbed his head and dragged it down for a kiss. He fisted his hand in her hair as she writhed beneath him. When her heels dug into his backside, his control snapped. He withdrew and pushed forward. Everything swelled, tightened, and he did it again. Harder this time.

Breaking the kiss, she whimpered as she bucked her hips. His weight bore down on her, his brain turned off. They found a rhythm, thrusting mindlessly until she screamed, and her inner walls contracted around him in waves.

He shouted as his body stiffened, and his seed released. With a final grunt, he collapsed on top of her. Unable to move or think, he lay there, gasping for air.

Slowly, he came back to his senses. Caitlin’s chest heaved beneath him.

“Canna. Breathe.” She pushed against his shoulders.

He rose onto his elbows. “Sorry.”

His arms felt weak, his head heavy. He pulled out of her with a groan and rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Never before had he lost himself in a woman so completely, been so overcome.

His control had vanished.

Anxiety niggled in his gut and he closed his eyes. Even with Moire, he hadn’t felt such all-consuming passion. And look where that had ended.

He turned his head toward her. She looked as dazed as he felt, and he trailed his fingers down her cheek.

Making love to his wife had been the most incredible, most terrifying experience of his life.

“Caitlin.”

“Aye.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Doona lie to me again. Ever.”

She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to. It just came out.”

“I know. But I’ll protect you. Always. You doona have to make up stories to stay safe.”

She nodded, then rolled over and climbed on top of him, her head on his chest. His arms surrounded her, and the anxiety eased from his belly, replaced by a profound sense of peace.

“Darach? Do you love me yet…just a wee bit?” Her voice sounded sleepy as she drifted toward slumber.

He glanced down to see her eyes closed, her breath coming slow and even through parted lips.

Did he love her? He knew without a doubt he would die for her, would leave his clan, his brothers, for her, just as her father had done for her mother. Was that love? Darach had thought he’d loved Moire, but when she’d betrayed him, his pain had been more about his foolishness than her deceit. He’d grieved the child she’d lied about more than he’d grieved her.

But if something ever happened to Caitlin…

His stomach clenched, and he refused to think about it. She was safe, warm, sleeping in his arms, surrounded by his clan, his castle. And his bairn could be growing in her belly. That frightened him as much as it pleased him.

Aye, maybe he loved her.

He kissed the top of her sleeping head. “Just a wee bit.”