Ye Belong to Me
Isabel’s heart swelled with pride when Darroch easily achieved a lull in the conversation by simply clearing his throat.
“I thank all o’ ye, especially Hammond and Gladys, for yer generosity and good wishes. Courtesy of Fanny, our bridal bower awaits…”
Hearty cheering broke out, with many a tumbler of water raised to Fanny’s health.
“Therefore I’m obliged to leave to carry out my husbandly duties…”
The cheers turned to guffaws. Isabel felt the fire rise in her face.
“And we bid ye all goodeve.”
He took her hand and led the way through the merry throng to the steps, good-naturedly accepting many a hearty slap on the back.
She hesitated at the open door, dismayed to see the drizzle had begun again. “Wait,” she urged.
She pulled out the hatpin and handed it to him.
His frown turned to a smile when she removed the hat, coiled the braid on top of her head and shoved the bonnet back on. She retrieved the pin, secured the hat then pulled the brim down almost to her eyebrows. “I dinna want to lie abed with wet hair,” she explained.
He chuckled. “Practical and beautiful,” he said, covering his head with the end of his plaid. “Ready?”
Aye, she was ready to give herself body and soul to this man. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his lips. “More than ready.”
He took her hand and they dashed into the lengthening shadows to begin the steady climb back to Fanny’s croft.
*
They ran too recklessly along the path and, once inside, collapsed onto Fanny’s wooden chairs, gulping air as laughter threatened to choke them. The sheep bleated in reply, adding to their hysteria.
The old woman had left the lantern lit. The little croft suddenly seemed like the coziest place on earth to spend a wedding night. Darroch couldn’t recall ever feeling such great happiness, but merriment turned to outright lust when his grinning bride yanked off her wet hat, tossed it aside and raised her arms to undo the braid.
He leapt to his feet. “I’ll do that,” he rasped, when what he really meant was he wanted to take down her hair and kiss her silly while cupping breasts rendered all the more tempting by the tight jacket.
In his youth he’d bedded too many lasses. But he’d never felt the need that consumed him as he straddled Isabel’s thighs and sifted fingers through her long, thick mane. Since his daughter’s birth, he’d lived like a monk. It had gradually become easier, but now his seed threatened to erupt from his rock hard tarse before he’d even touched his wife’s most intimate places.
Isabel inhaled deeply when he raked his fingers along her scalp. “Ye should take off that wet plaid,” she murmured in a sultry voice that echoed in his swollen sac.
For some ridiculous reason, he suddenly felt nervous. If he unbelted and removed his great plaid, his shirt was long enough to cover his arousal—barely. She might be frightened if she got an inkling of his size.
He should assure her he’d make her ready, but she wouldn’t understand his meaning. Darroch, the consummate lover, stepped away, dithering like a green lad.
Isabel frowned. “Ye look nervous.”
“I am,” he acknowledged. “I’ve ne’er bedded a woman I loved before.”
Well, that didn’t sound right.
“I mean…”
“Ye love me?” she whispered, eyes wide.
His confidence rushed back. “Tell ye what. Take off yon jacket and skirt and I’ll remove my plaid and show ye how much I love ye.”
She bit her lip nervously as she got to her feet and began to slowly unfasten the buttons of the jacket. He realized as she eased the garment open that she wore no shift underneath.
Saucy wench flitted through his brain but his throat was too dry to utter the words.
He hastily unbuckled his belt, let the plaid fall to the floor and kicked it away. He resisted the overwhelming urge to look down at his tarse when she stared at the tented shirt.
She slowly opened the jacket, slipped it off her shoulders and held it in one hand, as if unsure what to do with it. It humbled him that she was waiting for his approval, obviously unaware of her stunning perfection. Nothing he could say would come close to adequately expressing his awe. “Isabel,” he rasped, fidgeting with the ties at his neck.
He was completely unprepared for what she did next. She dropped the jacket. The ankle length skirt slid to the floor. His bride stood before him clad in naught but thigh-high leather boots.
*
Darroch’s nostrils flared as he stared at Isabel, putting her in mind of her father’s prized bull. She suddenly felt vulnerable in her nakedness and very silly in the boots that she’d completely forgotten. She folded her arms to cover her breasts and began toeing off a boot. “I’ll take them off,” she stammered. “I forgot…”
He must have stripped off his shirt the moment she averted her gaze from his body. She had a fleeting glimpse of his prodigious manhood before he lunged, lifting her to his body. “Nay,” he breathed, “put yer legs around me.”
Inhaling deeply, she obeyed, whimpering as her breasts pressed against his solid chest and his hard maleness nestled at her mons. She wrapped her arms around his warm neck, a thousand emotions swirling in her heart. Would there be pain? Would she be enough for him? Was it true that a man entered a woman’s…?
Her bottom touched the cool linens of the box-bed. Darroch’s growl caused wet warmth to gush from a very private place. “I canna…” he rasped, a moment before she was impaled.
She cried out with shock.
Her legs somehow found themselves draped over his shoulders as he braced his thighs against the box of the bed and thrust and thrust. It was painful until she lay back on the mattress and surrendered to the dominance of the magnificent male she loved, relishing the ecstasy plain on his face.
He grunted with satisfaction, stretching his powerful neck when he reached some sort of pinnacle, then fell forward on top of her.
She wasn’t sure how long she lay beneath him, rapt in the realization that now she was a woman; she’d willingly gifted her most precious possession to the man who suddenly gathered her in his arms and crushed her tightly to his body. “Jesu, Isabel, I’m sorry,” he murmured into her neck. “I intended to go slow, but…”
His manhood moved within her. Sweat sheened his body. It had been a little nerve-wracking to be at the mercy of a rampant aroused male, but she gloried in the notion it was she who had excited him to the point he’d lost control.
He was breathing heavily. “I’m spent for the moment, my love,” he rasped, setting her on her feet.
She clenched her inner muscles but his manhood slipped from her body. Her heart lurched when she espied the proud lance. “I’ve bloodied ye,” she wailed. “I’ll get water and a cloth.”
He caught hold of her hand before she could reach the ewer. “Nay, ’tis proof ye belong to me now, Isabel MacKeegan.” He nodded to the linens. “See.”
Red specks dotted the clean linens. “Oh no, after Fanny went to the trouble of…”
Darroch pecked a kiss on her nose. “I can assure ye if there wasna blood on the sheets yer cousin would be mightily disappointed.”
She didn’t have time to consider his meaning when he put his hands on her waist and lifted her to sit on the edge of the mattress. “Lie back on the bed.”
She obeyed, feeling vulnerable with her legs dangling over the side. Inhaling deeply when he disappeared into the shadows, she looked down at her naked breasts, certain her nipples had never been so rigid. Baring them to Darroch’s gaze had been daunting, but exhilarating.
She startled when a cool cloth touched her most intimate place. She sputtered a protest and tried to sit up, but he shook his head. “’Tis a pleasure for me to cleanse ye,” he said softly, his eyes feasting on a part of her body she’d never seen.
He lovingly patted her dry, then took hold of her ankles. “Bend yer knees,” he said, pushing gently.
She lay completely open to his gaze, uncertain of his intent when he licked his lips and bent his head. When he put his mouth on her and suckled, intense delight overcame the shock of the invasion. She clutched the linens as previously unknown sensations crept up the back of her thighs, spread their glow up her spine, played havoc with her nipples and spiraled into her womb.
She arched her back and surrendered to the need to purr like a contented cat.
The purring stopped abruptly when the sensations all came together in a climactic spasm that robbed her of breath as she left the earth and soared in heavenly bliss. She floated on a cloud, seemingly weightless, her rapidly beating heart echoing deep within the place that cried out once more for Darroch’s manhood.
As if he knew, he slid slowly into her pulsating sheath. She whimpered when he withdrew, just as slowly, but screamed out the incredible feeling of fulfillment when he plunged again, and again, and again. They flew together, higher and higher, until she lost herself in his euphoric cry of completion.