Later, alone in their chamber, Ewan read the letter to Cristie.
“May God bless and keep his soul,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “’Tis a legacy without price, Ewan.”
“Aye, it is.” He set the scroll aside and drew her close. “And in sharing my legacy, mo chridhe, I am reminded that I ken little of yours.”
She shrugged. “I barely knew my father as anything other than a laird. He took care of us, but from afar. We were never hungry or cold. We had a couple of goats for milk, and a pony and cart. I loved my mother, Ewan. And she was a fine weaver. After she died, I found out Malcolm MacAulay had left instructions for me to be moved to Dunraven.”
“Do you ken how to weave?”
“Aye, I do. I love it. I have… had my own loom.”
“Then, I’ll add a loom to the list of things you need.”
Her eyes widened. “You have a list?”
“Most certainly.”
“But all I need is right here, Ewan.”
“’Tis very sweet of you to say so, lass. But I’ll no’ have my wife running around in my sister’s cast-offs, and wearing a piece of silver wire on her bridal finger. When you sit at your new loom, you’ll be dressed in silken finery with gold on your fingers.”
Cristie’s laughter faded, and she gave a wistful sigh. “I left my gifts behind at Dunraven. The ones you gave me?”
“Nae problem. A silk shawl and tortoiseshell comb have just been added to the list.”
“And a seashell.”
“Aye, of course. And a seashell. I might have to search a wee while before I find another like that.” Chuckling, he leaned in and kissed her. “I love you.”
“I love you too. More than anything.”
“’Tis our wedding night, Cristie.”
“Aye, I havenae forgotten.” She turned her back to him, and bowed her head. “Will you help me, please?”
“With pleasure.” Ewan placed his hands on the smooth skin of her shoulders and kissed the nape of her neck. He smelled her sweetness, felt her shiver, and heard her soft intake of breath.
The laces surrendered easily to his touch. It felt symbolically sensuous somehow, and he hardened. The exercise had always aroused him, but tonight the familiar routine would be a little different. Tonight, he was free to anticipate fulfilment.
Lastly, he pulled the pins from her hair and loosened it, letting it tumble to her waist
“Turn around, Cristie. Look at me.”
She did so, her face aglow with candlelight. Only now, seeing her unmasked, did Ewan realize how much she had hidden from him. A deception driven by fear.
The bruising around Cristie’s eye stirred a familiar anger within him, but he tamped it down. Such feelings had no place here. Tonight, he would know his wife. Every part of her.
His hand first went to the graceful line of Cristie’s throat, resting against it with the lightness of a feather. Her pulse tapped against his fingers as his thumb traced an idle line along her jaw. With a little more boldness, he slid his fingers through her hair and cradled her head. Then he lowered his mouth to hers, tasting and exploring her lips in a tender, but commanding caress. Seeking to explore further, his tongue probed the seam of her mouth, nudging it open. She allowed him entry and he deepened the kiss, pulling her tighter against him. Her muffled whimper of pleasure turned his cock to steel.
A rush of desire, like none he had ever known, burned through him, setting fire to his blood. For years, he had been starved of carnal fulfilment. His appetite, unshackled and ravenous, now demanded repletion. Somewhere behind his disintegrating control, he told himself to slow down. To restrain himself.
It took no little effort to break the kiss. Breathing deep, he regarded Cristie. Lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed, she gazed up at him with what looked like a question in her eyes. Why did you stop?
Ewan ran a hand through his hair. “You should ken, mo chridhe, that I’ll no’ be sleeping on the floor tonight.”
A slow smile spread across her face as she shrugged her robe from her shoulders. She stepped out of it and kicked it aside, and then tugged off her shift and let it fall. Enchanted by the vision before him, Ewan stood unmoving and silent
“I am yours, Ewan,” she said, “and that is all I want to be.”
“And I am blessed.” Every nerve in his body tingled with desire. He first touched her face and then moved his hand down over her heart to cup her breast. His thumb brushed over her nipple, and it pearled beneath his caress. “Very blessed.”
Cristie stood on tiptoes and kissed him. “I would see you too, Ewan. I would touch you and feel your strength.”
As much as she was able, Cristie helped him undress, and when at last he stood naked before her, she moved without hesitation into his arms. Ewan groaned, slid his hands down the curve of her spine, and pulled her against him. The feel of her belly pressed against his cock almost finished him.
She laughed as he picked her up and placed her on the bed, and then melted against him like liquid silk, eager and reaching.
“My wee wife, bonny and passionate as well.” Ewan’s hand travelled down over the curve of her waist. “We might be in this bed for days.”
She chuckled and kissed the spot at the base of his throat. “I have dreamed of this, Ewan. I have imagined your bare skin against mine, your lips on mine, your hands touching me. I wanted to please you. I want to please you.”
“You do, mo ghràidh.” Her familiar scent now carried a hint of female arousal that further stoked his desire. His cock twitched against her. “The ‘pleasing’ is near driving me mad.”
“Yet I fear I cannae touch you the way I would like because of these bandages. The way you would like.”
“A temporary hindrance. Besides, ’tis no’ just the hands that can do the touching, lass. The mouth is a fine instrument of pleasure too.”
“It is?”
He grinned. “Aye.”
She gasped as he took a nipple in his mouth and tugged it gently into a hard peak. Her spine arched, and he smiled against her flesh, delighted by her unabashed response.
“Ewan. Oh… it feels…” Another gasp. “Oh, sweet heaven!”
His hand moved over the gentle rise of her abdomen and sought out the soft curls at the juncture of her thighs. There, he paused his exploration, taking the time to massage the soft mound as he fought for control. His long abstinence from intimacy had him teetering on the edge of climax. Cristie’s unabashed responses to him, so incredibly arousing, didn’t help either.
Aye, but the night is young, he told himself, throwing all caution to the winds of passion. Drunk on desire, he slipped an exploratory finger between her wet folds. Urged on by the sweet chorus of sounds coming from her, he inserted a second finger. The two digits mimicked the thrusts of a cock as his thumb teased the hard little nub at her apex. She was slick and hot. And he was past the point of going in any direction except off the precipice.
“Ewan, please.” Her hips lifted against his hand. “Please!”
“Aye, mo chridhe.” Readied at her core, he watched her face as his penetration began, stopping his advance when he felt the resistance of her virtue. “Cristie—”
“It doesnae hurt.” Her chest rose and fell. “I want this. I want you. I love you. I love you more than… ah!”
With a single, firm thrust, he penetrated her fully, drawing a gasp from her.
“Dinnae move,” he said, as much for his tortured self as for her. “Allow your body to adjust to mine.”
She released a soft little whimper. “I cannae help it.” Her hips lifted. “I cannae help it, Ewan.”
“Cristie, I swear…” Ewan withdrew and pushed into her again, and again. He covered her mouth with his, his entire body tightening as he approached fulfilment. As tight as she was, he felt her clench even tighter around him.
And then the heavens exploded and pulled him apart. Ewan heard his name being cried out in passion, and surrendered to a blessed release.